capers – John Lee Taggart

July 31, 2015July 31, 2015

Adult Movies and Angry Stares

I think as an eternally awkward and embarrassed individual certain scenarios are made doubly worse and triply…trebly…erm – errrr…three times as dramatic as they should be. Phew, that was an ordeal in itself!

But I have somewhat come to terms with this fact and now consider myself to be a somewhat fully functioning nervous wreck, as opposed to a few years ago where I was a full time rocking chair enthusiast…

That doesn’t mean that I’m suddenly a cool cucumber, reminiscent of Jude Law in his prime (before his hair receded and he started looking like a half peeled potato). You see, I don’t particularly have a strut, and my smile to strangers is still weirdly forced – but I no longer poo my pants at the prospect of talking to someone working in a supermarket. Which is sort of like a victory…in my own strange way…well, it saves money on new clothes anyways – which is practically the same thing.

But on a recent flight I found myself resorting to old habits…as the nerve-racked Mr. Hyde-side of my being crept uneasily back into my life, stammering and sweating with every embarrassed step. You see I was on a long-haul flight just a couple of days ago, and was the reddened meat of a Chinese grandmother sandwich…we had nodded, and smiled to each other – and had even exchanged some muddled pleasantries before growing suitably bored and reaching for our respective sets of headphones. (The internationally known sign for “don’t talk to me please.”)

I began to look through the selection of films, hoping to catch sight of a new-ish one I’d missed the first time around. There were a few that stood out; a serious looking one with James Franco and Jonah Hill, a thriller with Jake Gyllenhaal, and…the newest Spongebob Squarepants movie – all promised to offer some entertainment, and an opportunity to put a dent in the horrendous thirteen hour flight time. I then decided that I would keep these three in reserve, and would only start to watch them when life suddenly didn’t feel like living…until then I would watch some funnily bad films, whilst I still have the energy to put up with them. Strange logic, but made sense at the time.

So on went a low budget movie picture about a serial killer…can’t recall the name but after ten minutes some poor lady was being strung up in ropes as she screamed and begged for mercy – it was brutal. Unfortunately this opinion hadn’t escaped the grandma buns on either side…who were now staring at me as if I was the crazy killer myself…I mean, the scene had me uncomfortable, but the looks had made it unbearable: as if they were saying “ahhh, so this is the sick shit you’re into then, huh? I wish I had never smiled and said hello now…I retract them both from our shared history books.”

Anyway, the humiliation and embarrassment took over and so off it went – it was a terrible movie in the first place so nothing lost, right? Instead I searched for something else to fill the silence and put on a rather unsuspecting drama of some sort…which opened with a gratuitous sex scene – naturally. But surprise-surprise they weren’t fond of that either, and both began to swivel their heads, and tut louder than I had ever heard anyone tut. “Hmmm-mmm, oh” they began to murmur…but any fool could have worked out what they were really trying to say…

“So this is the sick shit you’re into, is it? That’s the check list for any movie you watch; violence, gore, and overly dramatic and cringeworthy sex scenes? Can’t you just watch fucking Toy Story like a normal human?! You make me sick – and after all we’ve been through as well…urgh.”

So I zapped off that as well; I had got the message loud and clear. There was something nice about staring at the blank black screen after the whole palava – there was to be no judgement, which felt good. I then pulled out the book I’m currently reading (W.H. Davies’: ‘The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp) and flicked through its pages until the grandma bread on either side of me slipped away into unconsciousness…about three minutes later thankfully.

I was then free to watch whatever I wanted. So on went the classic: ‘Killer Penis Hostage Bastard’. It was a fun watch, I’d recommend it to anyone! Apart from my new grandmother friends of course. But shhhhh, they don’t need to know about that!

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December 29, 2014December 29, 2014

Sexy Back

I’ve been having trouble with my back this past year – which has made me feel like a complete Grandad, constantly twisting, clicking, and moaning on…I thought it would be a good idea to get it checked out by a doctor in England in the short window that I was on home-ground. You know, to see if anything was really amiss, or if I was just whining unnecessarily!

So I had to set up an appointment, but wasn’t really sure how to go about it…I know you can just Google these things but for some reason it didn’t cross my mind…I just rolled in unannounced and thought the nice people at the reception would probably help me out;

“Errr…hi…hello, hi. I’d like an appointment please…”

“Alright, what’s the problem?”

Now I found this odd. Maybe it’s just me! But what if it was something really personal, something I really didn’t want to share with the rest of the waiting room? A like…ball related thing, or like a penisey problem, or whatever. I probably wouldn’t want a load of strangers hearing about all that!

“It’s like a weird back thing…it’s like, sorry…it’s…”

“A weird back?”

“Yeah…I don’t know – it aches, I just wanted to check if it was-“

“You wanted to know from a professional if it is weird, or not?”

“Ergh, yes. I suppose so.”

“Ah…ha…”

And so after a condescending few minutes, I was given my appointment time – and bid her good day. I returned a week later…although funnily enough I hadn’t been having much to complain about. My back had been relatively well behaved. Now I would look like a big fat liar! Despite this I didn’t want to end up looking like a fool at the reception again, so kept going over the name of the doctor over, and over, and over – so that I wouldn’t be caught out!

“Hello! I have an appointment at 9:20.”

“Okay, what’s your name?”

“Doctor Foo.”

“No…what is YOUR name?”

“Err…my…errr…” Now this really threw me, I was racking my brains for what seemed like forever, why did she have to ask me such a difficult question?! I felt like this was the final question on Who Wants To Be a Millionaire? I was never going to get it right! Only a genius would!

“Err…it’s…John. John…Taggart!” Phew, got there. I took my seat with reddened cheeks, and an expression that clearly spelled out how ashamed I was.

I waited a while, trying not to make eye contact with people – and also trying to subtly block the sputtering coughs from the contagious man next to me. But I didn’t have to sit for long, and was soon shepherded through by a beeping machine, announcing my name in red – and informing me of which room I had to go to. Room 7.

I walked in unsure whether to do a handshake, after all I may have hand-plague…or something…or do doctors wear gloves for that very reason? Hmm…not sure. Anyway, he didn’t offer it, so I decided against it. Instead I just sat, as he quizzed me on this, and that. After the interrogation he told me to roll up my jumper – which made for an awkward scene, me standing with a self-made belly top, as he massaged, and prodded my knobbly joints!

He came to three conclusions, a trifecta of back ache horror, if you will. It wasn’t due to my flat feet, as I had guessed (I have feet like Donald Duck) instead it is down to working with small children – always leaning, and bending down to speak to them – like the BFG. Then there is the fact that I am always writing, and I probably slouch into my laptop when I do…then there is the fact that I am a tallish person in Asia…so I have to stoop somewhat to get a clear view of things, as “it’s not designed with John size in mind” as Dr Foo boldly announced!

After all that we shared some stories about China, and Korea, which was nice – I then thanked him for his time, and bounced back home – paying special attention to my posture, asI had just endured quite a telling off!

At least I can head back to South Korea with peace of mind! Mind…the long flights always give me a sore bum…perhaps I should have got Dr Foo to check that for me too…

On second thought, I think I’m fine.

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November 7, 2014November 23, 2014

Bad hair day

Today has been, well, not the best. There were some good parts; like been put in touch with Samsung to do some editing work for them, and then there was warming up yesterday’s pizza for lunch (apparently my diet has…well…died.), oh and an old friend of mine from Georgia State, named Katie Adkins, suddenly found herself thrusted into internet fame due to her featuring in the comedy clip, Too Many Cooks, which according to my news feed became a viral sensation all of a sudden.

Not too shabby.

Then I tried to leave the house, and all hell broke loose. I was already in a bit of a pissed off mood; I had messed with the caffeine levels too much – pushed myself too far, yes I had got to almost 25,000 words on my novel – but I hadn’t got the coffee balance right. So I was in one of those moods where everything seems like it is falling apart, and it also appears that the whole world (despite being inanimate objects) are out to get you, and only you! So you stub your toe on a chair, and kick it back which surprisingly hurts as well – so you then find yourself having some kind of physical altercation with the thing, littered with one-sided expletives, and probably more kicking, and punching – as it just stares at you all…“really, like really?” Then you go to pick out a shirt, and it is tangled up somehow, so the rest of the shirts fall…cue, huge almost suffocating sigh. You put the shirt on back to front, inside out, miss a button…you know the drill; sod’s law. Milk spills, handles come off in your hands, towels don’t cooperate and come flying off the rail for some reason. Everything was just going to shit basically, it was like a carnival crazy house today, except not fun. And I wasn’t paying with any form of currency, I was paying with my fucking SANITY.

It was then that I took a moment to just drink some water, breathe in, and breathe out. Clear my head.

I then lied to myself, saying “ahhh…that’s better.” Although clearly nothing had changed.

The next few minutes went by pretty smoothly, as I was ultra careful, and extra polite to my surroundings. I got to the final stage of doing my hair, and I had decided that I wouldn’t wash it properly as with the way the day was going, I would probably squirt shampoo in my eyes, and make myself blind for life…or even worse, in one eye – and then everyone would call me a pirate…a sham-poo-pirate, a pirate made of poo, who is a sham, because he didn’t get his eye patch through banditry, but instead because he was an idiot who couldn’t wash his hair properly…oh, the gossip, and rumor that would circulate the galleons…I couldn’t cope with all of that. So, obviously I couldn’t let that happen.

So I just brushed it back, in an attempt to renew yesterday’s gel, and grabbed the hairspray to cement it in place. It looked shit, but it wasn’t like I was going anywhere important – just wanted to get out for fresh air, and then a coffee shop for a change of scenery, and hopefully more writing. But my hair wouldn’t agree with me, it kept sprouting up at regular intervals, and down-right refusing to stay down…I would press it, and spray, spray, SPRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY – but then, pop! It would be back up again…as if someone was holding an invisible balloon above my head, charged with static.

To combat this, I brushed it a different way – more spray, spray, spray-spray, SPRAAAAAAAAAAY! Again it would just pop! back up. I think it thought it was being fucking cute, but I can tell you now, I was not amused in the slightest. The room was starting to fill with this obnoxious spray, this horrible gas – it was filling my lungs up, and tasted like urgh…locker rooms.

I tried to just breathe through my mouth instead, but I could taste it too…so I gave one last SPRAAAAAAAAAAY, then combed it back – and stared at this frustrated, and exhausted husk of a reflection that looked back at me. He was begging me to shoot him in the head, so that this day would be over…but instead I marched over to the other side of the room, and picked up a cap – and pulled it over my head.

Done.

As I was packing up my laptop, I decided I would throw out the useless hairspray that had given me so much hassle, I mean if it doesn’t do its job then I don’t need it, right? Well…that’s when I caught sight of the label…Nivea Men: 48 Hour Silver Protect. I threw it in the bin anyway, take that inanimate object – you’re not getting the better of me! And anyway, if I started getting hot-headed over minor details later on, at least I wouldn’t be all sweaty about it…

Well, I wish that was true – but instead I spent the rest of the day, thinking there was some smelly bastard behind me, or in the surrounding area…but each, and every time – it was me.

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October 30, 2014

Tweety Bird

The other day I was at a shopping center, and needed to pee. Nothing out of the ordinary there! After all, I often need to pee…well not often, I don’t have bladder problems, or weird kidneys – don’t get the wrong idea, it’s not like a running to the bathroom every two seconds thing, just you know sometimes – I just drink liquid, and then…it’s like…I think we are over-thinking this, can we please move on?

Ahem. So yeah, errr…I headed to the bathroom…

I walked past a guy leaning on the wall, who then decided he would tail me in…quite odd behaviour – I would have probably been more concerned was I not bursting so much to urinate. In fact, I would have definitely highlighted him in my peripheral vision as a possible lunatic, and taken the necessary steps (using a cubicle) so I wouldn’t have to deal with him. But the burning pain of the wee-wee clouded my judgment.

Instead I just picked a urinal (hate that word, I know you didn’t ask – but still, urgh), and got down to it. He was a starer…I could feel his eyes on me, you always can – I tried to man-oeuvre myself for minimum genital visibility, using a bit of coat, and left hand to provide some camouflage…but he didn’t give up – this whole process made my whole process stop, I couldn’t handle the pressure of the sudden audience I had…but I was strangely still desperate to go…if only he would stop staring this whole thing could be over with! I began to sweat, and shake – as the sharp shooting pains ran through my lower regions.

I changed tactic. I began to stare back at him, not like…at his…I wasn’t doing eye for an eye, I was staring at his eyeballs instead – I also coupled this with a look which I hoped said loud and clear; “I am not enjoying this little exchange, so can you kindly please stop staring at my penis, thank you ever so much, and good day!”

He turned away, the complete relief flooded out – I turned to read the advertisement on the board in front of me, something about hair-loss by the looks of it…I pondered whether I would ever get it done, will I go bald? I am not sure if-