*In Pursuit of Jerry Dude

Here is a short story that i did for CRWR 480. I hope you enjoy it. (also, i'm not stoked on how blogspot and layout seem to not work together at all.


In Pursuit of Jerry Dude
By Scott Gibson

***

This story is presented as a work of fiction... names and like likeness and... um... coincidence... and all that.

***

A Cool Section Title Goes Here

Alison was driving me home from Creative Writing 480, and I was telling her about attempting a 9 kilometer longboard ride home after drinking two bottles of wine the previous weekend (I think). The conversation shifted to her weekend, and her friend’s birthday at The Cabana restaurant in the Mission and local billionaire Jerry Dude, who somehow made his way to their table and never left.

Although Jerry Dude only knew a couple of the women at the table to a very limited extent, having kids that also attended Anne McClymont Elementary, Jerry Dude proceeded to supply the table with $600 bottles of Champaign throughout the night.

It struck me, “He should finance the wetsuit friendly bar!” I said to Alison.

“What?”

“The wetsuit friendly bar!” I reiterated “You know, the Bar me and Weez and Anthony are going to make, out of the run down resort on Cox Bay... We’ll get him to fund it... well not fund, like, invest in it”

“You’re just gonna ask him?”

“No I’ll befriend him first, then, when we’re tight enough, I’ll tell him about the bar. Jerry Dude will be stoked on it, and he’ll put up the money. Really, the wetsuit friendly bar can’t not be successful, it’s a good investment for him too.”

***

The Hottest Place North of Montana

Alison had heard Jerry Dude’s appearance at The Cabana was not an isolated incident, and had seen him there herself twice. So we assumed The Cabana would be a good place to start the pursuit. I asked Alison if I could refer to her as the bait, in this piece. She agreed when we established that she was only the bait because her children went to the same school as Jerry Dude’s.

We sat on the patio, close to the entrance. I figured there would be a good place to start. I didn’t want to come on too strong. It was my first time at The Cabana, since before I went to Asia, I was far from a regular. And I had to present myself properly to Jerry Dude; I had to get into his world, or at least blend in with the vapid charm of the Mission. I had to convince Jerry Dude that I was worth the few millions of dollars that I was eventually going to be asking him for.

And we sat, and drank our drinks. Nursed our drinks. My beer wasn’t getting fuller and Jerry Dude was nowhere to be found. Could it be that Jerry Dude is just a weekender and spends his Wednesdays reading to his kids or volunteering at the hospital? I hoped that wasn’t the case. I usually had time to grab a drink at the Cabana once or twice a week, but volunteering at the hospital is a commitment.

The glass emptied to my reflection. And like I was driving though a tunnel, holding my breath, hoping that everyone else in the car wouldn’t notice I was doing it, I didn’t acknowledge the empty glasses, and waited just a little longer.

Alison brought my attention to the door; there he was, Jerry Dude. Walking through the door, glowing like a Greek god as his shirt shimmered a vapid gold and green. There’s not many middle age men who can pull off done up and scruffy as well as Jerry Dude. He looked as hollow as I’d expected, which I have associated with being a plus when trying to extract money from someone.

Alison suggested playing by debit as it would bring us into the closest proximity to Jerry Dude. At the debit counter I stared at Jerry Dude as much as possible, without looking like I was staring at Jerry Dude. As we walked out I turned to Alison, “Wave to him, and then we’re set up for next time.”

***

My Wet-Suit Friendly Bar

Think about it. A bar with grip on the floor, that can easily be hosed down at the end of the night. Right off Cox Bay, one of Tofino’s main surfing spots, the most consistent in the summer. There’s an abandon resort there, no one’s using it, and it could easily be converted. the problem lies in purchasing said resort. The solution lies in Jerry Dude.

I’m torn about using glass in the wetsuit friendly bar. I don’t support using plastic, but I do support people being able to walk barefoot.

I was traveling though South-East Asia this past summer and I wondered why no bars in Canada have hammocks in them. My wetsuit friendly bar will totally have hammocks.
The reason that the bar couldn’t fail would be that, in Tofino, there are only 2 other bars (and one of them only is a restaurant with a pub section, the other has eared the affectionate nickname of “The Dirty Maq”), but neither of them are near the resorts. So in the summer we make the money from the tourists who are coming right off the beach, and in the winter we become the main watering hole for the people living in the Tofino staff accom(modation)s.
Jerry Dude would really benefit from this investment.

***

The Other Scott in Jerry Dude’s Life

Not long after my first Jerry Dude sighting Alison spotted him again. Jogging: no shirts need to be as tight as his was. I would assume that his ipod was playing the Scott Stapp solo album. (Scott Stapp is the former singer from the band Creed.) I Wikipediaed Scott Stapp. Scott Stapp, in his Wikipedia picture, was also wearing a shirt that presented more nipple than I needed to see. Coincidence?

***

Scott and Jerry Dude go to Thailand: A Jerry Dude Fan Fiction of Sorts

I had told Jerry Dude that I had bough hammocks in Ayutthaya for 20 baht a piece (under $1). Within 48 hours we were in Bangkok; Jerry Dude makes things happen.

We sat on Khao San Road beside Chan’s beer and bucket cart. I told Chan that Jerry Dude was my rich-uncle while Jerry Dude ran to the bathroom. I was kind of embarrassed to be with him, and I felt that a family tie would be the best excuse for me to have crossed the world with him. He was excessively drunk (I was too. Had i not been I may have realized there was no reason to say that he was my uncle,) and way making passes at an uninterested Chan.

I convinced him to try silkworm larva, but he began vomiting before they reached his lips. I took off my checkered bandanna and Gave it to Jerry Dude to clean up with, and apologized profusely Chan. She wasn’t that upset, it’s happened before.

The next morning I woke up on the floor of Jerry Dude’s room. (He had an air-conditioned room.) I was wearing a shirt that I had never seen before and my dreadlocks smelled worse than usual.

I walked to a store and bought two 1-liter water-bottles. I began drinking one and brought the other one back to the guesthouse. I placed it beside Jerry Dude’s head and left. I walked towards the bookstore that I had been to yesterday. There wasn’t a poetry book that I wanted yesterday, but I like looking for books.

***

Lisa the Alumni

I hadn't stalked in weeks. and quickly the stalkless weeks became stalkless months. I intended to, but my student-budget had already demoted me to box-wine; going out for pints was out of the question most weeks.

Jerry Dude was proving a more difficult target to acquire due to the lack of time and resources at my disposal. The clock was watching me, but, unfortunately, I was not watching Jerry Dude.

However, I did find out that a girl I knew from high school, who was a couple years younger than me had worked at Cabana. I asked her about Jerry Dude. She said she didn’t know much beyond him being rich and kind of dirty. I told her that we’d grab a drink some time and I’d try to extract a story from her. She said that she liked the phrase “extract a story.”

We never went out for drinks.

***

Scott and Jerry Dude go to Thailand Part Two: The Snake

Jerry Dude is wearing his custom made snake-skin blazer and boots. Apparently in Thailand you can choose a live snake and get clothing made out of it’s skin. I suppose it’s somewhat similar to choosing a live lobster. It’s also highly illegal.

We spent fours being questioned by Thai authorities, all of whom spoke minimal English. However, during out interrogation there was a shift change, and an official who spoke Mandarin came on. Jerry Dude is apparently flaunt in Mandarin and somehow we left fine free, but only after the officials shared a pizza with us. It was a meat-lovers pizza, but I ate it anyway. I felt that putting on a good face was more important than sticking to my pesco-ovo-vegetarianism.

I’m not going to lie, I enjoy the times that I have to eat meat.

***

Not the Box-Wine Tonight Thank-You

I was at The Cabana with Alison and Lindsey, there to celebrate the survey that Alison and I had failed to accomplish earlier that day. We looked for Jerry Dude but didn’t see him. However, the smoked salmon pizza was fantastic, even if I did have to pick off the bacon.

***

Passing the Torch?

I was about ready to head to bed but a friend began talking to me online. He had started a website showcasing the music of the Interior’s composers. He told me that the idea is for his website to be resource for film companies to find scores and composers for scores in their movies.

He tells me that the talent is here, and he just needs an investor.

*uhscott

I've been doing some lyric essays for my creative writing classes in uni over the last few years. I haven't really done anything with them since, and don't have any solid plans to at the moment, so i thought i might as well post some of them on here. here is a piece about names. (I haven't edited it since i handed it in)


***


Uhscott

In Jakarta a girl asked me my name. I replied “uh’scott.” She reiterated it back to me to be sure she’d heard correct “Uhscott?”

Having to take a moment to think of an answer, when the question was my name only further confirmed to me how distant myself and my nameare. This realization isn’t a new. For about as long as I can remember a part of my mind wanders in search of a name that I find fitting for myself. So far, no luck.


Elliott Smith was born Steven Paul Smith. He began calling himself Elliott because he felt that Steve was a “jock name”, and that Steven was too “bookish.” His girlfriend at the time had an ex named Elliott. There’s a street named Elliot (note the single ‘t’) in Portland Oregon where he lived at the time.


I was born Scott Edward Gibson. I was never taught how to spell my middle name, and I spelled it “Edword” until my friend corrected me in grade eight or nine.

Scott means one who is Scottish. I’m not Scottish. Three out of my four great grandparents were born in Canada, and as far as I know my European heritage is mainly English and Irish. We aren’t in contact with any European relatives that I know of. My parents just chose the name because they liked it. I’ve met other Scott’s who aren’t Scots and the name seems to work for some of them.

While searching for deeper meaning behind my name I read that some people suspect that English called the Scot’s Scot’s because of their tattoos, and that the word Scot may have meant tattoo. So when I make my parents proud with a new tattoo, I remind them that it is essentially because they didn’t put enough thought into naming me.

Somewhere along the line I removed the capitals from my name. I forget why, it was probably inspired by the linear notes in a punk CD, maybe the Ataris.


GG Allin was born Jesus Christ Allin because his dad believed that he would be a great prophet. The name GG evolved from his brother Merle’s inability to pronounce GG’s birth-name when he was a toddler.


I’ve never understood common-names. If someone has a child who they think is special and completely unique. why would parents name their child something so common that the name may not even be unique within their child’s kindergarten class?

I think if I had a daughter a would name her Astoria (it could be abbreviated to Tori) after the town in Oregon where the Goonies takes place. There would be no other Astoria in her class (touch wood).

A friend of our family named his first daughter Iclyn. I think it’s a gorgeous name. That same friend of our family named his first son Xanthan (pronounced Zanthan). I think it’s a stupid name.


While washing dishes in Tofino Weez asked me when I’m going to change my name to something that fits with my personality and lifestyle. On that shift the conclusion was reached that my name should be Star Dinosaurbones. If he reads something of mine and doesn’t feel that I’m being true to myself he’ll tell me that it isn’t Star Dinosaurbones


Sufjan Stevens claim that his name reflects his cultish upbringing. He doesn’t use the word cultish with negative connotations.


I’ve always wondered why some married couples have different last names. I figure if you choose to spend your life with one person you would rather share a name with them than with your parents.

I do understand the equality element. But there are other options. For example, choose a name that describes you as a couple and both take it. Instead of being described as the sons of an Man named Gib whom we’ve never met, not shall we ever meet, we could be referred to as “the Awesomes”

Or both partners could hold both their own surnames, their own surname and the surname of their partner. And in holding both surnames they would be holding the histories attached to each surname. I suppose this could get out of hand if the couple’s children were to do the same with their partners.

I would be uncomfortable taking my wife’s last name, mainly because I know it would require an explanation almost daily. But I suppose there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the right person.


The Ramones required and “ee” sound to be at the end of a member’s name. The classic line up is Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee and Tommy. I felt C.J. Ramone was a bit of a stretch. Elvis Ramone completely broke form, but he was just a fill in for two shows.


My friends don’t generally seem to feel that “Scott” is an adequate pronoun for the person that I essentially am. Usually I’m referred to as Scott-Gibson, if not to my face, at least when I’m mentioned in stories.


A partial list of my names:

Scott
Gibson
Scott Gibson
Scott Edward Gibson
Scott Edword Gibson (no longer in use)
scott gibson
scott fucking gibson
scott fuckin’ gibson
crush
scotty
scotty g
Scotch (by my god-daughter Kennedy, who can’t pronounce my name properly... It’s kind of awesome)
star dinosaurbones


Tim Commerford from Rage Against the Machine is listed under a different variation of his name in the liner notes of every Rage Against the Machine album. These names include Timmy C., Y. tim K., Simmering T, Tim Bob, and tim.com.


When I worked at Greenbay we had to choose camp names. It was the summer of 2003 and I ended up with the name Crush, alluding to the turtle in the Pixar blockbuster Finding Nemo. It worked well enough for the time I was there. There are still people who only know me as Crush.

A friend from camp whent under the alias of Switch. We still usually refer to each other by our camp names. When we’re in public it sometimes reaches my attention that we sound like we think we’re super-rad and therefore gave ourselves nicknames that we think are super-rad. We do a poetry collaboration occasionally and have titled it I Have a Crush on Switch.


When I sent a friend request to Elizabeth Bachinsky on Facebook I pondered how to sign my name. I went with no capitals hoping that it would portray me as artistic.

At the same table in Jakarta, where I introduced myself as “Uhscott” I was taking with another Indonesian, a boy. He had an Indonesian name, I don’t remember it, but I will never forget the name that he initially introduced himself to me with: Rocky Montana. When asked about the origin's of his chosen name he talked about the rocks in the bottom of the oceans, and the mountains of Montana that he had seen in pictures. His name told of the interconnectedness that he felt to the Earth, to it’s highest and lowest points.

I didn’t leave Jakarta with any more name than I had when I came with. But I left with a good example of a person who has a name.