Bony Livestation Mario Bros
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Hans-Olof was not a handsome man. He had always been overweight, had always had glasses. The overweight boy with glasses had matured into a fat man with thick glasses. He had always known that his weight was the first thing that people noticed about him and in most cases judged him by. Everyone felt free to give him advice on diet and exercise, but very seldom did anyone have something to say that he didn’t already know. Except the nutters, of which there were quite a few. They could say just about anything, such as he’d get thin if he ate nothing but butter and bacon.
Another aspect of being fat was that there were very few roles to choose from. People had clear expectations of how a fat man properly should behave and basically there were three choices. To start with you could be the jolly fat guy who talked loudly and made a lot of jokes, many of them about yourself. This was not an option for Hans-Olof, since he just wasn’t loud and outgoing. The second possibility was to be fat and stupid. This was an easy role to get into, since most people had the preconception that fat and stupid went together. But Hans-Olof was not stupid either, not at all.
The third possibility, the one that he had opted for, was fat and boring. As a boy he was interested in fat boring boy things like stamps and toy trains. He was not bullied in school as was some other fat boys who tried to avoid their narrow range of options and wanted to fit in with the semi-cool kids. He did well in school, but not conspicuously well. Hans-Olof lay low, stayed in character and became an accountant.
He got a job at the economics department at the hospital. Again he did well but not conspicuously well and was considered dependable and steady. And boring. No one disliked him, no one was mean to him and no one asked if he wanted to come along when the others went for a beer after work. This was not because anyone would have minded if he came along, it was just that no one thought that he would be interested, if they thought at all.
Hans-Olof was not entirely happy with his life, but he was not entirely unhappy either. He liked his job well enough and the pay was decent, if not spectacular. He lived in a nice little house with no mortgage, since he had inherited it from his parents. His father was dead but his mother was still going strong, pretty much at least. Taking care of the house had become a bit too much for her and she had moved to a small apartment.
Hans-Olof kept himself busy fixing things around the house and spending a lot of time on his hobbies. He was active in the model airplane club and he still liked to expand his toy railway system, which now filled a whole room in the basement. He also worked out three times a week, he felt that while he apparently had no choice in his body-shape he should at least keep healthy.
He also had a deep love of music. His taste was eclectic – not at all in line with his image as boring – and he appreciated most kinds of music, from Bach to Peace Love and Pitbulls. He also played the guitar a little, just simple stuff and only by himself, but he liked it.
What he lacked was someone to love. And kids. He would have loved to have a family. His expectations were modest, he knew he was not a great catch. But he was sure that somewhere there was someone he could love and who would be content to settle for a life with him. The world was full of less than beautiful women whom the handsome men didn’t want. He didn’t care about beauty, and he had a steady and dependable heart to offer, as well as financial security. What he wanted was someone who genuinely cared for him and who wanted to have children. He had no expectations of passion, a steady and dependable everyday love was what he hoped for.
He had tried internet dating sites and had a few trial dates, with dismal results. While he was not particular about looks, he wanted a real connection. The ladies he had met had all been all right to communicate with by email and SMS, but face to face had been a disaster. He was boring, they were boring and boring times two isn’t boring but bloody unbearably boring.
One day he got a new colleague. He had been asked to be a bit of a mentor for her, take care of her and answer her questions.
‘Hi, I’m Marie.’
‘Hans-Olof.’
‘Nonono, I cannot call you Hans-Olof. Too long, too geeky. I’ll call you Ho, ok? Like an owl sounds and you look sort of like an owl, round and those glasses. Hope you don’t mind, I like owls they’re cute.’
‘Ho is fine, hoe is not.’
‘Shit didn’t think bout that, but yo Ho no hoe. Don’t like that gangsta crap anyway. This girl is a good old-fashioned punk rocker. Almost classical music these days.’
‘You’re supposed to have this desk.’
‘Next to yours. Perfect. Hey, let me guess…’ This while eyeing through a leaflet of instructions, passwords and routines. ‘I bet my tail feathers you like Talking Heads. Vintage hip, intelligent but not all that physical. Right?’
‘Must admit I do like Talking Heads. I’ll give you a moment to read through those papers. If you have questions, just holler.’
‘Just read them, didn’t I? Routine 9 seems somewhat excessive. Otherwise no questions. Me I like more down to earth rock. Clash, Ramones, Ebba Grön… you know. Do you play an instrument?’
‘I play the guitar a bit, strictly by myself. I like Clash when they play rock, but they did a lot of crap too. I’m impressed you spotted no. 9 right away, we’ve been griping about it for months. The bosses think that the more control they have the more efficient we will be.’
‘Same shit everywhere, half the time goes to documenting what little work you get done on the other half. I agree that Sandinista is mainly shit. Hey, I do have a question, how do I get a coffee round here?’
‘We have a small cubicle over there with a coffee-machine. It’s free but terrible, the way it’s supposed to be at a hospital.’
‘You want a cup, Ho?’
‘No, I’m fine. Take your time and say hello to the others.’
She got herself a cup and then made her rounds. He could hear her big laugh and see how the others all warmed to her. She seemed to have an uncanny gift to know what people wanted to talk about. Ho mused that very few people are boring if they talk about what they really like. Perhaps those who are considered boring just don’t have the strength to lead the conversation where they want it to go? One reason Ho was boring was that people assumed that he, being boring, wanted to talk about boring things. Now Bertil approached him.
‘She seems nice.’ he said.
‘Yes, and smart. She spotted no. 9 right away.’
He saw that she had won over Britta now, not an easy task in such a short time. Of course, it was easy to see that dogs were a good topic with her, since she had pictures of her terriers everywhere. But how did she know that I was interested in music? he thought. Far as he could tell there were no clues visible. Maybe she was psychic.
Marie was big, too. Not fat like Ho, but big enough to feel fat or not feel fat, depending. Her hair was as black as her lipstick and nail polish. She had a silver skull in her left ear and more rings than was possible to count (without staring rudely) in her left.
Ho knew she was twenty eight – seven years younger than him. He admired (and envied) how easily she could make everyone like her. Ho sure did and he was looking forward to working with her. The whole place looked more alive when she was there, even the dusty plastic flowers in the windows.
‘How do you get lunch round here?’ She asked Ho after a serious session of number-crunching. Her PC had been rattling like an endless Led Zeppelin drum solo. She obviously typed – and thought – fast.
‘You bring a lunch box or eat in the cafeteria.’
‘No box today. Were you going to the cafeteria?’ He wasn’t. He had made a lot of spaghetti yesterday.
‘Yeah, sure. Want company?’
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br> ‘Great. We can talk more about music. And you.’
‘Me? Well, I’m not a very interesting subject for discussion. Kind of boring, I’m told.’
‘I don’t believe that. I don’t find you boring at all. That guy Bertil was a little boring, though, when he tried to impress me all the time.’
‘He’ll get over it, he’s harmless.’
‘I know he is. But you mister master mentor, are you as harmless as you seem?’ She made a little dance with her eyebrows. ‘Well, shall we be off? Hi Ho, here we go.’
The cafeteria served potato pancakes with fried pork and was unusually crowded. This was a popular dish, eaten with lingonberry jam, but they found a reasonably secluded spot where they could talk.
‘Ok, Ho said. I’ll tell you about me if I must. But you first.’
‘Right, oh my master. The short version. I’m from this town but moved to Stockholm after I finished school. Accountant, like you. I worked in a hospital there, Danderyd, same kind of job as here. Got pregnant, got ditched, beat up the fuckhead, moved back home to be closer to mum and dad. Was a full time mummy for a year and a half. Now I’m going back to work, got this job due to my experience from Danderyd. Always liked music, always played in bands. Play the guitar, like you. Sings, writes the songs. Got a punk band, Toasters With Ties. If you want to hear us we’re on Youtube. We’ve got maybe seven visitors.’
‘Wow, your short version is longer than my long one. I graduated, worked where I work. The end.’
‘Bullshit, Ho. Don’t you try to pull that I’m so boring crap with me. But never mind, there’s no hurry. If you had a band, what name would you choose?’
‘On short notice…The Bores…The Drearyfucks…The Poor Mes…The Solipsists Biting Their Tongues…The -atmans’
Marie was laughing her head off. ‘Your boring disguise ruined again,’ she giggled. ‘But I didn’t get the last one?’
‘Just that every one in the band has a stage name ending in -atman. Like I’d be Fatman.’
‘Don’t knock yourself. You’d look great in superhero tights. I could be Bratwoman.’
‘The drummer could try to hit flies while playing – then he’d be Swatman.’
‘And the one who was too stoned to remember what songs we play would be the Whatman.’
‘Oh, goodness me. I guess we’d better head back. But this has been a most enjoyable lunch.’
‘Thank you, Ho oh my mentor. The one run over by a steam-roller would be Flatman, by the way.’
Eating had always been a source of comfort to Ho. As a boy his mother had always given him something to eat when he was sad, and these days he mothered himself by the same principles. Now he suddenly discovered that he had stopped eating chocolate at work. He didn’t need it anymore. Not only did he have fun with Marie, he had fun with the others as well. They could sit and play word-games, or just talk, while working. He also discovered that he had lost a little weight, without even trying. Encouraged, he increased the frequency and speed of his walks.
By now he was called Ho by everyone except his mother, who found the name ridiculous. She dropped her usual hints about grandchildren and in a weak moment Ho mentioned this new nice girl at work. Serious mistake. She immediately made a chicken out of a feather (as we say in Sweden) and demanded to meet her. Not a chance, but Ho had to get openly cross with her before she dropped the subject. He understood, of course, that her biological granny clock was ticking louder and louder, he knew that feeling very well himself.
One Saturday, while walking through the park, he met Marie with a super-cute little girl in tow. Her name was Kajsa. They were heading for the playground, but very slowly since Kajsa wanted to walk, not ride the stroller. She was proud of her speed and stamina and sternly told Ho to look at her when he happened to look somewhere else which he seldom did since there was nothing there more worth staring at. Except possibly Marie in a green dress with a black vest and a ring in her nose she never wore at work. Marie introduced him as Uncle Ho.
‘You know they called Ho Chi Minh Uncle Ho?’ he said.
‘Hohoo!’ said Kajsa. Apparently she, too, associated me with owls rather than dead politicians. Good thing, too.
‘Is she named after Kajsa Grytt?’
‘Nothing is hidden from thy owly sight oh Ho.’
‘Play.’ said Kajsa and lifted her arms in Ho’s direction. She obviously wanted to be carried to the park by him. This was, of course, a pleasure and an honor as it was to play with her for two hours. He hadn’t thought it could be fun to stand and push a swing for forty five minutes, but with Kajsa it was.
Then she suddenly got super-tired, cried for two minutes and then fell asleep mid-cry in the stroller.
‘Thank you.’ Marie said. ‘Playing in the park is possibly the most mindkillingly boring activity in the known universe.’
‘I loved it.’
‘I know you did. I wish her fucking father was half the man you are, Ho. Or even half the owl. Hey, I’ll splurge for a coffee, you got time?’
‘Sure, I’d love a coffee, but you don’t have to…’
‘Yes, Ho, I have to. You have spared me an eternity of swingpushing and other horrors. I could just sit and relax. I wrote a new song, actually.’
‘Toasters doing all right?’
‘Hey, you remembered. Except we are The Ground Zero Naughts now.’
‘Born Without a Sign with the Astro Naughts might be a neat song title.’
‘I can’t believe you think you’re boring, Ho. Kajsa sure didn’t think so and neither do I.’
Ho sighed and told her about the Three Options.
‘What the fuck, Ho. That’s the stupidest bloody thing I ever heard. It might have been semi-true when you were like twelve, but come on. In case you didn’t notice you have grown a bit since then. You’re bloody well big enough to rise above those stupid clichés.’
‘It’s not that easy.’
‘Hey, we’re not talking easy here. I never said anything about easy. We’re talking about you living a shitty life because you think it’s expected of you and that sucks. You want something with your coffee? A roll or something? No? Do you take milk now it’s proper coffee and you can’t see the bottom of the mug? No, good call, neither do I.’
‘You are right, of course. This table good?’
‘Fine. Yeah, I’m right. But, hey, it’s easy to be right about others people’s shit. Know what, I’ll tell you some of mine and you can be right about that and then we’ll be even.’
‘I don’t know if I’ll have anything helpful to offer, but I’ll listen.’
‘Right. Well, it’s this thing with men. I never seem to get it right. My relationships have always been with guys who are super charming at first and then turn into either paranoid-controlling assholes or cold-indifferent assholes. After I had Kajsa, with the premier fucking asshole of all, I took myself off the market.’
‘I’m like one of the guys with the guys in and around the band, except a guy you can fuck sometimes when you get an itch. Fuckbuddy hi bros kind of deal. It could be worse, I get my itch scratched too, and I can get really fucking itchy, I tell you. But it’s not really what I want either. So. What do you think.’
‘I think you’re worth a lot more than that, Marie.’
‘Well, I really hope you are right.’
‘Of course I am. You told me, being right about others is easy.’
Kajsa woke up and wanted to drink. Ho went to get her something.
‘No fucking soda!’ Marie hollered. ‘They’re poison. Orange juice!’
Orange juice it was. While waiting in line Ho thought about what Marie had told him. It was weird that such a lovable and loving person could settle for so little love. He realized that he would have loved to be the one who provided that love she wasn’t getting now, which was a thought he hadn’t dared think before. Wow. What if? He already loved Kajsa, too, and she seemed to like him.
Monday morning Marie was radiant.
‘Hey, Ho!
Guess what? We’ve got a gig. We’ll fill in for Kukhuset Rasar at Club Primal this Friday. Their bassplayer got appendicitis. Isn’t it brilliant?’ It was, of course, brilliant. Club Primal was the most prestigious venue for punk and hard rock in our town. A lot of good bands played there. Kukhuset Rasar was a militant feminist punk band as you could tell by their name (The Cockhouse is Falling Down or, (double meaning) The Cockhouse is Ranting). They are pretty good, a bit like Le Tigre. Well, militant feminists have appendixes, too. Ho had noticed that they were coming to town and for a moment considered going, but he chickened out. He felt that he would have been too much out of place and decided not to go. But now he had to, of course.
‘I’ll be there!’ he said. ‘I’ll try to get Britta, too.’
Marie laughed. ‘Hey, maybe she would like it.’ She wouldn’t.
Wednesday morning Marie was devastated.
‘What’s wrong with all fucking bass-players!’ she yelled. ‘Ful went skateboarding yesterday. And of course he fell. And of course he broke his fucking wrist. So of course he can’t play! Fuck!’
Ho opened his mouth and to his own surprise he said, ‘Maybe I can fill in.’
If Marie had been the least bit hesitant it would never have happened. If he had had time to expect anything at all, that is what he would have expected, she would say can you really do it and he would say perhaps not and that would have been it. What she actually said was, ‘Great idea!’
‘I don’t know if it’s all that great, but I think I can do the songs that were on Youtube. The bass parts aren’t all that complicated. But I don’t have a bass.’
‘Borrow mine. We can get it now!’ She was off, dragging Ho. ‘Emergency!’ she yelled at Birger who looked very confused. They both had time due, there was always extra work round the end of every month. They could cut work with a clear conscience. Not that Magda seemed to think about such mundane matters right then.
Ground Zero Naughts had a place in a cellar under a warehouse. They could make as much as they wanted at any hour. Now it was Ho’s turn to be loud. He discovered that loud was fun.
‘You’re doing great, Ho!’ Marie yelled. She had called the others, and all had been able to come there for practice. They would soon be there and Ho was quite nervous. ‘How come you do bass-lines so well?’
‘That’s all I can play, never got the chords-stuff together. But I like to play records and try to find the bass-lines. It’s not too different with a real bass. But I can’t look like this if I’m supposed to be a rocker. In fact, I want to be someone else entirely. I still can’t picture myself on stage.’
‘We’ll get you a disguise. You’ll look like a rock star, never fear.’
The others were turning up now. Ho was afraid they’d veto the whole thing as soon as they saw him, but no. They were grateful and very nice. They all had silly stage names, like Ful (ugly). Marie (Lady Bug) played guitar and sang. The drummer, (Raw Liver) looked sort of like a biker and would usually have made Ho quite nervous, but he was very mild-mannered when not pounding his drums. Finally there was Ferret on lead guitar, who looked a lot more like an accountant than Marie did.
Ho had a lot of fun! ‘I have to get myself a bass.’ he thought. The bass lines were all basic – this was punk, after all. He just had to find the proper level of aggression.
‘Too much Tina Weymouth!’ Marie yelled. ‘You’re not the nice intellectual now. We are dirty and bad, and so are you. Otherwise – great. We’ll call it a day, see you again tomorrow. By then I’ll have Hoot Owl here in character.’
‘I don’t think Hoot Owl is quite right. Too close to the real me. I want to have a name terrifying to people of today. What do you think of Starch?’
‘Heehee. Perfect.’
Thursday at work Marie was giggly. She told Ho that she, being his personal punk stylist, had assembled an outfit for Starch. She didn’t want to tell him what it looked like, but asked him if he could function without glasses since they didn’t fit his Starchy image. No problem, he had contacts. His eyes got itchy after half a day but for the duration of the concert he would be fine.
Leela
- 20.10.2021
- 18
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