Encyclopaedia of Tiny Facts

The nickname of Jessica McClure, who, at the ripe age of 18 months, fell into a well; the baby from Midland, Texas, remained in the hole until her rescue, 58 hours later; October 14-16, 1987, are the dates of Baby Jessica’s hole adventure; I was in third grade at the time, and remember Baby Jessica’s plunge as the second-most defining moment of my life to that point; the most defining moment of my life at that point was the Challenger Explosion; these were the first times in my life that I was aware of collectively experiencing grief and heroism with a group larger than my immediate family; when Baby Jessica fell into the well, we waited with rapt attention as a family—a family of Americans; this was one of the numerous messages I received from the 1989 ABC TV movie, “Everybody’s Baby: The Rescue of Jessica McClure”; Beau Bridges and Patty Duke were excellent in the TV movie; I do not know the name of the actor baby in the TV movie, though I would be willing to bet that the baby was played by twins; this is my second-favorite TV movie; my favorite TV movie is “Not Without My Daughter,” starring Sally Field and Alfred Molina; 1987 was, in my memory, a good time for television; my favorite shows to watch on TV in 1987 included “Pee-Wee’s Playhouse,” “The Charmings,” “Amen,” “Max Headroom,” “Golden Girls,” the miniseries “Amerika,” “227,” “Double Dare,” “Full House,” “Cheers,” “Married…With Children,” “A Different World,” “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,” “I Married Dora,” “Webster,” “Moonlighting,” “Who’s the Boss?,” “21 Jump Street,” “MacGyver,” “ALF,” “Duck Tales,” “Family Ties,” “Perfect Strangers,” “Designing Women,” “Magnum, P.I.,” “Fraggle Rock,” “Newhart,” “Growing Pains,” and “The Cosby Show,” but I remember most vividly the continual coverage of Baby Jessica in a well; I was watching an episode of “I Married Dora,” which co-starred a then unknown teenager named Juliette Lewis, when the show was interrupted to break the Baby Jessica story; in the months and years following the Baby Jessica phenomenon, there were dozens of copy-cat incidents of parents dropping, pushing, or urging their children to leap into wells (anticipating fame and financial remuneration); no “baby in a well” story has approached the level of infamy or success of the Baby Jessica story; parents should not push or coerce their children into wells; Barabas, the protagonist of Christopher Marlowe’s 1592 play, “The Jew of Malta,” boasted: “Sometimes I go about and poison wells”; this line of dialogue has been known to excite literate anti-Semites throughout history, yet the play, surprisingly, is incredibly sympathetic towards its titular Jew; two heroic men—William Andrew Glasscock Jr. and Robert O’ Donnell—received the bulk of the credit for rescuing Jessica McClure in 1987; Robert O’Donnell committed suicide in 1995, leaving behind a note that read, “No help from nobody but family”; William Andrew Glasscock Jr. is currently serving a 35 year prison sentence for sexual assault, improper storage of explosives, and sexual exploitation of a child; it has come to my attention that “Not Without My Daughter” was not, in fact, a TV movie.

Located in the Kill Creek Township, Osborne has a population of approximately 1,600 people, spans 1.5 miles, and, when viewed on a map, resembles a flea; however, Osborne possesses an important and defining feature: it is the geodetic center of North America; the historical marker that declares this fact is located on private property, at Meade’s Ranch; a relatively quick car-ride from Meade’s Ranch will take you to Smith County, Kansas, which is the geographic center of the contiguous United States; by all account, these diminutive Kansas towns could vie for the title of “Center of the World”; this fact was not lost on Aleister Crowley, the infamous British occultist, member of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, practitioner of magick, and founder of Thelema; the central doctrine of Thelemic Law, which was born from the Ordo Templi Orientis, is “Love is the law, love under will”; in 1916, Crowley lived in the United States under the employment of British Intelligence; Crowley believed that in central Kansas he would locate a “Scarlet Woman” who would sire his “Moonchild,” a living incarnation of a God; according to lore, this area of Kansas is a gateway to Hell, so a Scarlet Woman would logically make it her home (perhaps disguised as a farm wife); during the four months Aleister Crowley spent in the area between Osborne and Smith County, he reputedly slept with 88 women—and men; by all accounts, no Moonchild was born as a result of Crowley’s sex-binge; I have a friend named Angela who is originally from central Kansas; I would be surprised if Angela is actually a Scarlet Woman; Angela is now a successful aerobics instructor in Boulder, Colorado; Angela grew up on a sheep farm, and as a child she assisted her father in “docking” the sheep, which involves using an Elastrator to place a strong rubber band around the testicles; blood flow to the testicles is cut off and eventually they shrivel and die; now, Angela lives in a stucco house on a golf course and drives a Grand Cherokee; Angela has done well for herself, runs her own business, and is a thoroughly “modern woman”; there are no more sheep in her life; if you go to Osborne, Kansas, and ask about sheep farming, you may meet Angela’s father; it is a distinct possibility; everyone seems to know everyone else in the “Center of the World.”

A famous American pugilist and rapist; born on June 30, 1966, Mike Tyson became the WBC heavyweight champion at age 20; in recent years, “Kid Dynamite” has been known more for his ridiculous face tattoo; the tattoo is Maori in origin; Tyson is from Brownsville, Brooklyn; Mike Tyson was not always a joke; he was once the most powerful and fear-inspiring man alive; in fact, in 1986, Mike Tyson was a superhero; “Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!!”—a 1987 video game for the Nintendo Entertainment System, which requires players to brawl their way from the pathetic Frenchman, Glass Joe, all the way to a title match with Mr. Dream, AKA Mike Tyson, is the third finest Nintendo game ever made; “The Legend of Zelda” and “Super Mario Brothers” vie for the top two spots; according to popular legend, “Duck Hunt,” a game which came free with a Nintendo Entertainment System, was the favorite video game of Charlton Heston; I knew every lyric to the 1989 song “I Think I Can Beat Mike Tyson,” by DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince; my favorite line was “…now how can I say this and be a little discreet/let’s just say that my bowels released”; I had never seen a Mike Tyson fight live on television, so in 1990, when my friend Ethan invited me to his house to watch a Tyson match broadcast from Tokyo, I was ecstatic; we spent the hours leading up the fight attacking Ethan’s punching bag and then sharing a Domino’s pizza; Ethan and I took classes in Kenpo karate together, and while he was larger than me, I was faster; the fight was against a loser with 42 to 1 odds against him; it was to be a massacre; however, James “Buster” Douglas, the rube that Tyson was supposed to decapitate, knocked out Mike Tyson in the 10th round; it was beyond shocking—a revelation akin to meeting the Pope and receiving a gimpy handshake, or examining an obscure DC Comics issue of “Superman” and discovering the outline of a scrawny penis; later, in a studio interview with Larry Merchant, Tyson said, “Buster fought a good fight. I fought a bad fight. We’ll do it again, hopefully”; James “Buster” Douglas lost the title in his next fight, promptly retired, swelled to almost 400 pounds, and nearly died in a diabetic coma; my friend Ethan, who invited me to watch my first—and only—Mike Tyson fight is now in the Special Forces of the United States Marine Corps; he has done a tour in Iraq, and will soon be returning to the Middle East; Mike Tyson now lives in Phoenix and raises pigeons; according to a 2005 article in “USA Today,” these birds are Tyson’s “greatest joy next to his six children.”

The opposite of Rumspringa; Rumspringa is an adolescent period for members of the Amish denomination of Anabaptist Christians, prior to Baptism; during Rumspringa, Amish teens are allowed to fraternize with members of the English (non-Amish) world and try alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, drive motorized automobiles, and wear non-traditional clothing; fremd comes from the German word, “fremde,” or stranger; Fremdspringa is an unofficial exchange program, relatively obscure, which allows teenagers in larger Amish communities—including Lancaster County, Pennsylvania—to live with English families in major cities like Philadelphia, while the non-Amish parents send their teenage children to live in Amish communities; during the period of Fremdspringa, the English teens participate in Amish activities, like prayer, barn building, farming, and bundling; these English youth are also expected to dress and wear their hair in a typical Amish fashion; a small number of English teens participating in Fremdspringa do not leave the Amish communities; this is permitted, though the English teens are expected to live by the Ordnung; when English teens embrace an Amish way of life, it is considered a reverse-shun (or Meidung); during June of 2000, I rode a bicycle through Lancaster County on my way to West Virginia; due to poor hydration and oppressive heat—which topped 100 degrees Fahrenheit—I came down with heat exhaustion; while still on my bicycle, I got chills and became delusional and nauseous; I stopped on the side of the road, curled up in a ball, vomited on myself, and passed out; I was woken by two young African-American men dressed in Amish clothing with beards and shaved upper lips; I was sure that I was hallucinating; these two young men walked me to their buggy, gave me water, and insisted on taking me to a non-Amish medical clinic; during the ride, I was told that these young men were brothers from Philadelphia and had participated in Fremdspringa five year earlier; at first I thought it was a joke of the “hidden camera” variety; however, after the brothers’ heartfelt stories about falling in love with Amish women, getting married, and being embraced by the community, I was convinced; one of the brothers had three children, while the other had one child, and lost another child to Maple syrup urine disease (MSUD); this was a sad story, but he was a noble man; the Amish brothers dropped me off at a health clinic where I was treated for heat exhaustion; I am too old to participate in Fremdspringa; when I have children, I may consider allowing them to participate in Fremdspringa; I sometimes wear a beard, but I have never belonged to a religion; Amish Honey Carrots with Sweet Pickles is a delicious recipe, and easy to prepare.

The name of the steamship featured prominently in Werner Herzog’s 1982 film, “Fitzcarraldo”; starring Klaus Kinski as the titular Brian “Fitzcarraldo” Fitzgerald, the film’s story revolves around a Caruso-loving Irishman in the jungles of South America who floats a steamer down a river, then engages a tribe of natives to pull the boat over a diminutive mountain; while Fitzgerald seeks rubber tree wealth, his true love is opera; a minor civil war emerged during the filming of “Fitzcarraldo”; Werner Herzog and Klaus Kinski collaborated on five films; these films are more punk than Krautrock, though “Fitzcarraldo” possesses a fine, hypnotic motorik that could be compared to, if one chose, the Kraftwerk song, “Autobahn”; obviously, the Amazon river acts as a surrogate for the autobahn; Klaus Kinski, an infamous satyromaniac, chose to spend the years before his death in 1991 authoring an autobiography (“Kinski Uncut”) which detailed his appreciation of women, particularly nuns; a popular rock n’ roll myth maintains that during a 1982 concert in Des Moines, Iowa, Ozzy Osbourne, formerly of Black Sabbath, bit the head off a bat; in outtakes (not included in the theatrical or DVD version) of “My Best Fiend,” a 1999 documentary by Werner Herzog, detailing his relationship with Klaus Kinski, Herzog states that it was Kinski, not Ozzy Osbourne, who bit the head off the bat in Iowa; the Ghost Bat and the False Vampire Bat are the only species of bats known to eat other bats; between 1879 and 1883, the War of the Pacific was fought with allied Bolivia and Peru against Chile; the War of the Pacific, also known as the Saltpeter War, was fought largely over massive deposits of bat guano; in certain circles, Werner Herzog is known as a notorious fabulist; in other circles—with smaller vocabularies—Herzog is known as a big fat liar; Aida means “reward” in Arabic; I have never been to the opera, but when asked, I say that Puccini is my favorite opera composer; off the top of my head, I could not name one opera by Puccini.

A massive white bean, the size of an imposing, albino beetle; Gigantes—or “giant”—beans are often used in Greek meals; my introduction to Gigantes beans came several years ago at a farm stand in Pescadero, California; located a few miles inland from the Pacific Ocean and Highway 1, Pescadero is a short drive south from Half Moon Bay, a surfing spot world-renowned for its deadliness; Phipps Country Store, located in Pescadero, has a dazzling collection of beans, including Gigantes; my mother purchased a bag of Gigantes beans, and she, my father, and I ate lunch at Duarte’s Tavern; this meal made me cry; in January of this year, my girlfriend and I drove south from San Francisco, and I insisted on stopping in Pescadero; we ate at Duarte’s Tavern and ordered their famed Olallieberry Pie; perhaps you are not aware of this, but the Olallieberry Pie at Duarte’s is the finest pie known to man; no, really; the first thing you should know about this pie is that olallieberries, which sound like a Dr. Seuss berry, are real; olallieberries are the hybrid of a youngberry and loganberry; youngberries are a hybrid of a dewberry and a blackberry; loganberries are a hybrid of a blackberry and a raspberry; there is science in berries; the Olallieberry Pie at Duarte’s Tavern is aesthetically perfect, overflowing with cold, plump, tart olalieberries and a hot pie crust that is flaky, buttery—more like the phyllo dough used in baklava than typical graham-cracker pie crust; you must get this pie a la Mode; my girlfriend could not order the Olallieberry pie a la Mode because she is allergic to cow milk; still, she loved the pie; after leaving Pescadero, we drove south and stopped at the Pigeon Point light house, which is tall and ancient and has a youth hostel; we discussed staying at the hostel, but we drove on; my girlfriend and I arrived in Santa Cruz at sunset, and walked on the wharf pier; from earlier trips, I remembered seeing seals barking beneath the pier, like hungry, homeless, black labs that tumbled into the sea and decided not to return to land; there were no seals this day; from the pier we watched the decaying wooden boardwalk, a Coney Island doppelganger; my girlfriend and I hid behind restrooms, found a bench, kissed and groped; we drove further south, pulled off the highway in search of an out-of-the-way place, and instead found ourselves in a crowded grocery store parking lot; we fooled around, feeling hidden by Japanese imports, but soon realized that two stoners standing in front of a Laundromat were watching us, smoking, drinking coffee, and probably providing running commentary, like an episode of “Mystery Science Theater 3000;” outside of Santa Barbara, we got a room at a cheap motel and did what we’d being wanting to do the entire trip down Highway 1; while next door there was a remarkably tacky arcade that looked neon enough to have been built in exactly 1986, and we discussed how fun it would be to play video games, we did not go; we fell asleep with HBO on, the volume turned low; the next morning we got coffee at a Starbucks and drove to Los Angeles; we passed a town called Summerland, which I knew nothing about, and had never noticed before; that morning I was completely happy, wanted to be nowhere else, and could not believe my good fortune to be sharing a car with the most beautiful woman alive; every song that played on the radio that morning felt like it was programmed just for us; when I got back to Los Angeles I did laundry; my girlfriend and I purchased no Gigantes beans on our trip; Gigantes is one of the few Greek words I know; the only Greek word I use on a regular basis is “malaka”; I learned this word from my freshman roommate in college, and yelled it out as he received his degree at graduation; I meant it affectionately, but his family was not amused; if you do not know the meaning of the word “malaka,” spend an hour in front of Port Authority, and you will soon hear it used in several different, equally colorful ways; sometimes, too often, I feel more alive in my memories than I do in the present—even as I write these words; malaka!

The voice of Foghorn Leghorn, Porky Pig, Yosemite Sam, Tweety Bird, Daffy Duck, Sylvester the Cat, Barney Rubble, and, most famously, Bugs Bunny; as I grew up in front of a television set, and as a child I worshipped Looney Tunes, I probably listened to Mel Blanc’s voice more than my father or mother; I am grateful for Mel Blanc, who, along with Mr. Rogers, helped me grow up relatively sane; a saint; 1908-1989.

An infectious disease transmitted to humans through primates and rodents, including a minor American outbreak in 2003 caused by domesticated prairie dogs; monkeypox is the cutest sounding pox, followed by cowpox, chickenpox, and smallpox (which actually does not sound that cute); plum pox is wicked, but only a threat if you are a plant; my bout with chickenpox coincided with my early-adolescent discovery of masturbation, and I spent an entire morning and afternoon trying to set a personal record; 11 times is the correct answer; my mother, who was an able and motivated nurse, brought me toast, chicken noodle soup, and glasses of orange juice mixed with ginger ale throughout the day; whenever she left my room, I would masturbate; this was a one-man Olympics, you see; as my mother was stealthy—even with a couple plates in her hands—there were a few near misses; I imagined that day’s endless cycle of masturbation to be somewhat akin to the water—or hydrologic—cycle that is learned in elementary school, but instead of an endless loop of precipitation, infiltration, evaporation, sublimation, and condensation, it was chicken soup/ginger ale-orange juice hydration, imagination, and ejaculation; I felt that in some small way, I was undermining my mother’s efforts to bring me back to health, and this subtly pleased me; by the end of that day, my forearm was sore and the fruits of my efforts were meager, almost depressing; another disease with an adorable name is moon face; I once worked at a movie theater with a girl who developed moon face; believe me, having seen the emotional devastation that moon face wreaked on that dateless ticket-ripper, I can honestly say it is no joke; my heart goes out to the moon-faced children of the world.

Known derisively as the “Illuminati for hipsters,” the “Society for Concerned Indifference” is an infamous, secret organization whose existence is unconfirmed; popular legend has it that the Society—nicknamed SCI—was formed at Brown University in the early 1980’s; SCI’s members are rumored to include many young leaders of the business, publishing, entertainment, and political world; the Society for Concerned Indifference was formed in reaction to the preppy chic that became popular in the 1980’s and was personified by Princeton’s eating clubs as well as the secret societies at Yale; SCI and its members were vehemently anti-authoritarian, participating in acts of “intellectual terrorism” and “commonplace surrealism”; as its founders graduated and moved to New York City and Washington D.C., the group set roots in both cities; members of SCI are each allowed to “tap” three new members in their lifetime, and while there is no age requirement, most new members are invited in their late-20’s to mid-30’s, as they rise in their respective field; while it can not be confirmed, I have known two people that were rumored to be members of SCI; one of these people was an ex-girlfriend, though we only dated for two months, and she never spoke of SCI; after we broke up, friends of mine told me that she was supposedly a member of the Society for Concerned Indifference; they assumed that I knew and was keeping the secret; I always wondered if my ex-girlfriend thought I was unworthy of SCI membership, or of the knowledge that she was a member; the other person I know who may be a member of SCI is a former classmate from college; two years ago, I ran into him in Barcelona and we went out for drinks; after five hours of drinking Cava and absinthe, my friend referred to a party in Wainscott where the guests included numerous magazine editors and politicos; there was skinny-dipping and spouse-sharing at this party; we parted ways that night, and while we swapped e-mail addresses, I e-mailed him a week later but never heard back from him; I have since lost touch with my old classmate; SCI is known for hosting tri-annual meetings of all its membership in the Hamptons, Newport, and the Chesapeake Bay town of St. Michaels, Maryland; supposedly, members of SCI correspond with each other through encoded messages in articles in major newspapers and magazines of which their members are editors (including “The New York Times,” “The Washington Post,” “TIME,” and “Better Homes and Gardens”); John F. Kennedy Jr. was reportedly a founding member of the Society for Concerned Indifference; once, while shopping in a pet store, I encountered two women, probably a mother and daughter, examining aquariums; the mother-figure was lecturing the daughter, saying something like, “You don’t know loss. Losing J.F.K. was a tragedy, and I remember that day.”; the daughter-figure replied by saying something along the lines of, “When I found out that J.F.K. Jr. died I was plucking my eyebrows like the models in “Vogue” magazine and when the man on the radio said that John-John and his wife had both died in a plane crash I tore all my eyebrow hairs clean off my face”; the mother-figure grabbed the daughter-figure hard by her shoulder and dragged her out of the store; I was left questioning if it is possible to quantify pain, and why parents bother with pets; perhaps it is morbid and insensitive, but recently I have been wondering why celebrities that die in plane crashes tend to be so attractive; the Society for Concerned Indifference takes its name from the grave of the photographer/Dadaist, Man Ray, whose Parisian grave has an epitaph reading, “Unconcerned but not indifferent.”

An American rock n’ roll duo from New Hope, Pennsylvania, Ween is known for technical virtuosity, wicked jam sessions, and inspiring millions of bong-hits—as well as the consumption of household cleaning products; while Ween does, in fact, jam during live shows, they are not a “jam band”; if you can not find at least one song in Ween’s massive catalogue that you enjoy, then you are humorless, and more importantly, heartless; Ween does not take themselves too seriously, but they are not “funny” like, say, “Weird Al” Yankovic; my favorite Ween songs include “Sarah,” “Tried and True,” “What Deaner Was Talkin’ About,” “Birthday Boy,” “Exactly Where I’m At,” and “I’ll Miss You” (from the soundtrack to the 1996 film, “Beautiful Girls”; this song is my favorite aspect of the film, save for the lovely, slightly discomforting chemistry between Timothy Hutton and the adolescent Natalie Portman; this relationship seems to be a source of endless fascination for young male cineastes as well as middle-aged perverts); yesterday, while standing in line to order a brownie at my neighborhood coffee shop, a sexually ambiguous woman—who resembled Lori Petty of “Tank Girl” fame—pointed at the stereo and said to the bald barista, “Ween”; the Ween song, “Mutilated Lips,” was playing, loudly; the barista was confused and did not reply; the woman smiled and repeated, “Ween”; after a long, uncomfortable moment, the barista said, “Huh?”; the woman, who perhaps felt like a tail being chased by its cat owner, finally explained that she was referring to the song currently playing; the barista sighed, nodded, felt uncool; they parted; while it was a minor incident, both of them will most likely remember it and recount the story to friends and/or loved ones; in their accounts there will be mirth—or mockery—depending on whether the barista or customer is telling the story; the confusion between the barista and the customer was understandable; the customer used “ween” as a noun, and the barista understood the word as a verb; the barista believed he was receiving an order; it would have been a strange order for a coffee shop—less so for a nursery; “ween,” an archaic Chaucerian, Miltonian, and Spenserian term meaning “to think,” is a homophone for “wean,” the sad process of stopping a child’s suckling; I have no recollection of my weaning, though I imagine it was traumatic; my neighborhood coffee shop has delicious cold-press coffee, also known as a “Toddy”—which is quite different than a “Hot Toddy”; the choices of milk at my neighborhood coffee shop include skim milk, whole milk, half-and-half, and, if requested from the barista, soy milk.