27: Over at the next table, Bill was getting to know the members of his son's band. "Where's Jeffrey anyway?"
Carrionette rolled her eyes. "You know him. He's late to everything. Instead of being on time, he uses Ahn time." Everybody laughed at that.
"Am I mistaken or is your name Carrie Annette?" Bill wanted to see what kind of people his son was hanging out with. He didn't seem to know his son at all, sadly.
"It's Carrionette. Basically, it's a play on words. It's like a meat puppet. A carrion marionette. My real name is Carolyn Oneiro. I'm Japanese. I've got some pictures of me and my family and the band. Wanna see them?" She reached into her purse.
"Oh yes, I would love to see." She handed him two photographs.
"That's me and my parents at a restaurant the night I graduated from college. They wanted to celebrate and brought me out for sushi. My father is the CEO of Visencom, the local electronics company."
"I've heard of Visencom, yes."
"That second photograph is of the band at our first show on the lawn at the Marble Cliffs College. The sound technician sucked so we sounded really bad." Bill smiled at the picture where he could see them all on the little stage in mid-performance.
"That must have been during Lowe's 'goth' phase when he wore all white because he heard that Chinese wear white to funerals." They both laughed. Lowe visibly blushed. "Thank you for sharing those pictures with me." After handing the pictures back to Carrie, Bill turned to Alexander and said, "And you. Did I hear that you are named, Alexander Graham Taco? Is that a stage name?"
"Yeah, you know. I mean, well, my real name is Alex Manchot. My mother is Mexican and my father is French. So you're the 'Have an iced A' dude. That's awesome. I've seen you on TV since I was a little boy."
"Yes, the A Mart is our life's work," Bill replied.
"So, like, what. You sell, like, things that start with the letter A or what?"
"Dude, you're such a dumbass, Alex," chided Lowe Freq.
"He doesn't know, Lowe," said Bill. "It's OK. Actually, we are an Asian food store. We specialize in Chinese and Korean groceries."
"Oh yeah, that too. That was my next guess," spluttered an embarrassed Alex.
"If you don't mind, I would like to know what your shirt means."
"I think I stole this from Jeffrey, actually. IQ=QQXdB is a geek thing. You know how some people think that just because they're so vocal about their complaints, it makes them somehow smarter? QQ is computer talk for whining. It's supposed to look like two eyes crying or something. And obviously, dB stands for decibels. So, basically, your smartness level equals how loudly you bitch and moan and complain."
Bill's face was inscrutable but vaguely conveyed amusement. Without commenting any further on Alex's shirt, he turned to Lowe. "Last, but not least, Yong Lowe. We go way back. Why do they call you low freak?"
"It's Lowe Freq. As you know, my last name is Lowe. And Freq is short for frequency. I'm a bass player so I play in the lower frequencies." It's at that point that Jeffrey finally came down from his room.
"What up, G? Where you been all morning?" asked Lowe.
"Lowe, que pasa? I took half a sleeping pill last night then I spent the entire night in bed half asleep. 'Sup, C-Note? The Taco Man. Yo, pops, what's the haps?"
"Hello, my son. I'm just getting to know your band here." Bill fished a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. He brought one up and pointed it toward Jeffrey. "Cigarette?"
Jeffrey looked at it blankly. "Yes it is," he replied.
Bill retracted his hand back just an inch and turned the pack to look at the label. "I meant, would you like a cigarette?"
"Oh, no thank you, dad. I don't smoke."
Bill shrugged. "Would anyone else like one?" No one in the band did. Bill pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit up. After a few puffs, he gestured toward the bar. "Can I pour any of you a drink? They have Regal Lager." Everyone politely declined.
Jeffrey looked suspiciously at his father. "No thanks. I only drink when I smoke. Dad, why are you being so nice all of a sudden? You're freakin' me out."
Bill nodded then shook his head. "Well, since I lost Sandy, I've been realizing my finite lifespan. I hardly know you. What is it they call you?" Bill poured himself some Cisler's Cheap Scotch on ice.
"Um. Wow. Um. They call me G-Bomb cuz I'm a G and I'm da bomb," Jeffrey said with his practiced answer to the familiar question. "Actually, the g-bomb, 'gook', is derived from the word 'han guk', which is Korean for Korean for those of you who are etymologically challenged."
"I didn't realize you still remembered any of your Korean."
"Yeah, some. I've also picked up some Spanish over the years, living here in Arizona, but han guk mal esta taw dificil than Spanish."
Bill looked at his son in confusion. "What?"
"I said, 'Korean is more difficult than Spanish.' I just said it using words from three different languages."
"Dude, you speak three languages? I speak, like, three-fourths of a language," said Lowe Freq.
"That's quite impressive, son. Now, please forgive me, but what was the name of your band again?"
"No problem. We are the Maine Eleven Company. We used to be called the Faux Pho Foe Four, but no one could pronounce it or spell it correctly so we wanted to change our name. One day we saw a banner of the Mexican national flag with the green, white and red colors. Emblazoned in huge bold-faced white letters, it said MEXICO with two letters in each color block of the flag. It looked like it was broken up as ME, XI, and CO. Naturally, we came to the conclusion that it was extolling the Maine Eleven Company. We painted that banner onto our van as an advertisement for what became our band's name."
"I see. With the first name of your band, did you mean 'foe' as in English for enemy, 'faux' as in French for fake or 'pho' like the Vietnamese noodle soup?"
"Shit, man. Where were you when all those stage announcers called us the 'Fox Poe Foe Four'? It was actually all three that we meant. Like if we were the 'Fake Soup Enemy Four'. Good job, dad. Maybe we woulda stuck with that name if there were more people like you out there."
"Thanks for the compliment, son. Both of the names you came up with were quite witty and clever. Your mother was witty like that. I'm glad you got that from her. So you're a rapper?"
"Well, as I always like to say, 'I'm not a rapper, but I play one on CD.' It's kind of my catch phrase. I do sing also. Not all our songs are rap. We've got an eclectic mix of styles." Bill found himself to be quite impressed with Jeffrey and his friends.
Carrionette rolled her eyes. "You know him. He's late to everything. Instead of being on time, he uses Ahn time." Everybody laughed at that.
"Am I mistaken or is your name Carrie Annette?" Bill wanted to see what kind of people his son was hanging out with. He didn't seem to know his son at all, sadly.
"It's Carrionette. Basically, it's a play on words. It's like a meat puppet. A carrion marionette. My real name is Carolyn Oneiro. I'm Japanese. I've got some pictures of me and my family and the band. Wanna see them?" She reached into her purse.
"Oh yes, I would love to see." She handed him two photographs.
"That's me and my parents at a restaurant the night I graduated from college. They wanted to celebrate and brought me out for sushi. My father is the CEO of Visencom, the local electronics company."
"I've heard of Visencom, yes."
"That second photograph is of the band at our first show on the lawn at the Marble Cliffs College. The sound technician sucked so we sounded really bad." Bill smiled at the picture where he could see them all on the little stage in mid-performance.
"That must have been during Lowe's 'goth' phase when he wore all white because he heard that Chinese wear white to funerals." They both laughed. Lowe visibly blushed. "Thank you for sharing those pictures with me." After handing the pictures back to Carrie, Bill turned to Alexander and said, "And you. Did I hear that you are named, Alexander Graham Taco? Is that a stage name?"
"Yeah, you know. I mean, well, my real name is Alex Manchot. My mother is Mexican and my father is French. So you're the 'Have an iced A' dude. That's awesome. I've seen you on TV since I was a little boy."
"Yes, the A Mart is our life's work," Bill replied.
"So, like, what. You sell, like, things that start with the letter A or what?"
"Dude, you're such a dumbass, Alex," chided Lowe Freq.
"He doesn't know, Lowe," said Bill. "It's OK. Actually, we are an Asian food store. We specialize in Chinese and Korean groceries."
"Oh yeah, that too. That was my next guess," spluttered an embarrassed Alex.
"If you don't mind, I would like to know what your shirt means."
"I think I stole this from Jeffrey, actually. IQ=QQXdB is a geek thing. You know how some people think that just because they're so vocal about their complaints, it makes them somehow smarter? QQ is computer talk for whining. It's supposed to look like two eyes crying or something. And obviously, dB stands for decibels. So, basically, your smartness level equals how loudly you bitch and moan and complain."
Bill's face was inscrutable but vaguely conveyed amusement. Without commenting any further on Alex's shirt, he turned to Lowe. "Last, but not least, Yong Lowe. We go way back. Why do they call you low freak?"
"It's Lowe Freq. As you know, my last name is Lowe. And Freq is short for frequency. I'm a bass player so I play in the lower frequencies." It's at that point that Jeffrey finally came down from his room.
"What up, G? Where you been all morning?" asked Lowe.
"Lowe, que pasa? I took half a sleeping pill last night then I spent the entire night in bed half asleep. 'Sup, C-Note? The Taco Man. Yo, pops, what's the haps?"
"Hello, my son. I'm just getting to know your band here." Bill fished a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. He brought one up and pointed it toward Jeffrey. "Cigarette?"
Jeffrey looked at it blankly. "Yes it is," he replied.
Bill retracted his hand back just an inch and turned the pack to look at the label. "I meant, would you like a cigarette?"
"Oh, no thank you, dad. I don't smoke."
Bill shrugged. "Would anyone else like one?" No one in the band did. Bill pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit up. After a few puffs, he gestured toward the bar. "Can I pour any of you a drink? They have Regal Lager." Everyone politely declined.
Jeffrey looked suspiciously at his father. "No thanks. I only drink when I smoke. Dad, why are you being so nice all of a sudden? You're freakin' me out."
Bill nodded then shook his head. "Well, since I lost Sandy, I've been realizing my finite lifespan. I hardly know you. What is it they call you?" Bill poured himself some Cisler's Cheap Scotch on ice.
"Um. Wow. Um. They call me G-Bomb cuz I'm a G and I'm da bomb," Jeffrey said with his practiced answer to the familiar question. "Actually, the g-bomb, 'gook', is derived from the word 'han guk', which is Korean for Korean for those of you who are etymologically challenged."
"I didn't realize you still remembered any of your Korean."
"Yeah, some. I've also picked up some Spanish over the years, living here in Arizona, but han guk mal esta taw dificil than Spanish."
Bill looked at his son in confusion. "What?"
"I said, 'Korean is more difficult than Spanish.' I just said it using words from three different languages."
"Dude, you speak three languages? I speak, like, three-fourths of a language," said Lowe Freq.
"That's quite impressive, son. Now, please forgive me, but what was the name of your band again?"
"No problem. We are the Maine Eleven Company. We used to be called the Faux Pho Foe Four, but no one could pronounce it or spell it correctly so we wanted to change our name. One day we saw a banner of the Mexican national flag with the green, white and red colors. Emblazoned in huge bold-faced white letters, it said MEXICO with two letters in each color block of the flag. It looked like it was broken up as ME, XI, and CO. Naturally, we came to the conclusion that it was extolling the Maine Eleven Company. We painted that banner onto our van as an advertisement for what became our band's name."
"I see. With the first name of your band, did you mean 'foe' as in English for enemy, 'faux' as in French for fake or 'pho' like the Vietnamese noodle soup?"
"Shit, man. Where were you when all those stage announcers called us the 'Fox Poe Foe Four'? It was actually all three that we meant. Like if we were the 'Fake Soup Enemy Four'. Good job, dad. Maybe we woulda stuck with that name if there were more people like you out there."
"Thanks for the compliment, son. Both of the names you came up with were quite witty and clever. Your mother was witty like that. I'm glad you got that from her. So you're a rapper?"
"Well, as I always like to say, 'I'm not a rapper, but I play one on CD.' It's kind of my catch phrase. I do sing also. Not all our songs are rap. We've got an eclectic mix of styles." Bill found himself to be quite impressed with Jeffrey and his friends.
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