From tob@cwis.unomaha.edu Tue May  4 16:35:55 1993
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Date: Tue, 4 May 1993 16:18:22 -0500 (CDT)
From: Tob Wood <tob@cwis.unomaha.edu>
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Reply-To: Tob Wood <tob@cwis.unomaha.edu>
Subject: Orange cones
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Cc: Dave Manning <dmanning@cwis.unomaha.edu>,
        Elwood Blues <grimm@cwis.unomaha.edu>
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Status: O


   You know those orange traffic cones that you're always tempted to run over?
Well, I have a few in my apartment and people who don't know me very well
always ask me why I have them.  People who DO know me, know better than to
ask in the first place.  I then have to explain my artwork, its origins, and
the whole underlying concept, that, or I just say "I don't know" (which I'm
pretty good at).  So instead of a lecture, I thought I would tell everybody
about my cone sculpture that I called "Cones".  Unfortunately, it doesn't
exist anymore; that's why I have the cones in my apt - a reminder.
   Back in my wilder years, I used to hang out with a guy by the name of Brian
Wanzenreid.  We've been friends for about 15 years.  We would never have
anything to do on weekends, so we would drive around and usually end up
downtown.  One Friday or Saturday night we were heading downtown more bored
than usual and we passed up a bunch of the cones in question.  I told Brian
to stop (I didn't drive back then) and I jumped out and grabbed one.  Brian
didn't question my behavior (you can see why we've been such good friends for
so long) and we took off.
    When we got downtown, we made our rounds, found nothing particularly
exciting and headed over to my parking garage.  My parking garage is an
eight story affair called Omaha Park One.  In the meantime, they have built
Omaha Park Two and Three, but they're not anywhere as cool as mine.  I don't
own Omaha Park One, the city does.  I don't park at Omaha Park One, the rest
of the city does.  Still, it's MY parking garage goddammit!  (What's my
affinity for parking garages?  I don't know, it might be all the pre-fab
concrete and the crazy acoustics, but I never have figured out why I am
attracted to them.  If you would spend more time in one, you might start to
understand.)
   So we spent awhile hanging out in the parking garage, walking around,
riding the glass elevator, throwing rocks at busses from the top of the
elevator shaft (it was a game: 1 point for direct hit on the roof, 2 points
for a rock that bounced of the street and then hit the bus, 5 points for
hotel shuttles, automatic win for hitting a "ZZ Top car", automatic loss
for hitting a pick-up with a dog in the back.  Brian likes dogs, he made
up that rule) eleven stories up, and just generally causing chaos.
   I was looking north over the city, and I noticed that there was some
stuff on the roof of the building accross the alley, and I was wondering
how it got there since there was no way to get on the roof.  There were
no stairs, no fire escape, no nuthin'.  Of course, I thought this was great,
so I ran back to the car with Brian on my heels to get the cone we had
appropriated earlier.  We took the cone up to the top with us and gazed over
the edge.  I told Brian that I wanted to throw the cone across the alley and
onto the roof, but I was too wimpy to throw it that far.  Brian said, "Here,
give it to me".
   Brian stepped back about twenty feet and held the cone by its tip.  He
let out one of his trademark war cries, and started spinning, moving toward
the edge like an athlete in the Hammer-Throw.  With a simian grunt, he hurled
the cone through the void, and it landed on the roof with a satisfying
"thunk".  We looked at it.  We looked at each other.  And as if on cue, we
both said, "Let's do more!"
   So we went and rounded up 3 or 4 more cones and repeated the process.  I
eventually took a turn and succeeded on my first try.  I really need to have
more confidence in myself.  We looked at the cones somemore and I thought to
myself, "Geez, if anybody sees those, they're gonna wonder how they got
there".   I turned to Brian and said, "Brian, I have created art without
knowing it again."
   Brian said, "What are you going to call it?"
   "`Cones'"

. . . .  . . . .

Every weekend after that we threw cones.  Usually we had other people with
us and it became a game:  Who could throw one the farthest, who could get one
to stand up on its base etc...  Brian had the distance record at first, then
Travis beat it and his record stood for a long time.  I eventually beat it
by a few inches, but either wind and/or rain moved them around so we really
couldn't tell anymore.  I was the only one ever to get one to stand up
(you realize this was pure luck).
    One time we took Mabo with us.  He was a Japanese exchange student that
lived next door to Brian and eventually lived with Travis.  We adopted him
and made it our mission to indoctrinate him into the American Teenage
Lifestyle.  Mabo's English wasn't so hot, but he was picking it up.  However
when we explained what we were going to do that night, he could only shrug his
shoulders and say "I don' unna stan".  Don't worry Mabo, you'll love it.
As we were stealing the cones from various sites around the city (we would
find these in advance and go back for them after dark; many a Friday afternoon
phone call from Brian started with `I know where there's cones'), Mabo had
a perplexed look on his face, but he trusted Brian and I.  After all, weren't
we the guys who taught him how to say, "My name is Bond, James Bond"?  We
got to the garage and went to the top with a few of us carrying the cones,
including Mabo.  As soon as we walked out the door to the top level, Brian
grabbed a cone in its proper throwing position and ran screaming across
to the other side and flung the cone over the side with a majestic arc.  Mabo
stood there with his mouth open because he couldn't see that the cones were
landing on a roof below.  Later he told us that he thought Brian was throwing
it at a car in the street.  Brian cheered and we all walked over to the side.
As soon as Mabo saw the 16 or 17 cones on the roof, he busted up laughing.
 He didn't stop laughing for about ten minutes, and whenever another cone
went over the side, he would start up again.  Eventually he came over to me
(I think he instictively knew this was my idea; smart boy) and asked, "Why
you do this?"
   "Art", I replied.

Travis took a turn and managed to miss the entire building. [I could tell
you Travis stories 'til the cows come home]    We were all treated to the
sight of an orange traffic cone falling eight stories.  Mabo enjoyed this,
but he enjoyed it much more after Brian explained to him it was one of our
rules that if anybody missed, they had to go back down and retrieve the cone
AND take the stairs BOTH WAYS as punishment (you have to be pretty incompotent
to miss the entire damn building).  Apparently the image of Travis carrying
a cone up eight flights of stairs really struck Mabo as being hilarious.  We
couldn't shut that kid up for 15 minutes.   We took Mabo with us everytime
after that.
   An amusing side story:  One Saturday afternoon (after a Friday night of
cone throwing and skateboarding in empty swimming pools) Brian and I went
to pick up Mabo for a day of creative anarchy.  The mother of the host
family that Mabo stayed with asked us what we were going to do.  I don't
remember what we told her, but I'm sure we lied.  Then the mother asked Mabo
about what we did the night before.  Now we didn't know if Mabo knew that our
nocturnal activities were highly illegal or not, but we didn't have to worry;
Mabo said (and I quote to the best of my memory) "We go to palking an thlow
cone at buirding an go to swimming pooo".  The mother said, "Oh Mabo."
Then she turned to Brian and I and said, "You boys should help Mabo with
his English instead of teaching him nonsense."
   Brian and I looked at each other and laughed out loud.  She didn't
believe Mabo.   We WERE teaching Mabo some strange stuff, but the only time
he ever got a sentence right, everybody thought he was mutilating the
language.   There's something significant to that.
   Anyway, a few weeks later Mabo went to a Goodwill store and bought a
second hand jean jacket.  He was a graphic arts student in Japan, and he
painted a cartoon scene on the back.  The cartoon was as if you were looking
up between two buildings, watching an orange traffic cone sailing through
the air.  It was great, and I regret not having him make me one too.

 . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The building that had the cones on its roof was demolished about a year
ago.  I almost cried.  I took dozens of people to the parking garage to
see "Cones".  There was 26 of them up there and it was quite a sight.
That's why I keep cones in my living room; memories.  I also get excited
whenever I see a cone on the street.  Now you'll know why I'm jumping
up and down, pointing, and shouting "Cone! Cone! Cone!" if were ever
hanging out together in the vacinity of an orange traffic cone.

<*>-<*>-<*>-<*>-<*>

One more side story.

One night after throwing, Brian and I were walking around in a park downtown.
We ran into a guy named Tracy who I only see about once a year.  He was in
town on a business trip and we went back to his hotel room to party it up.
He was staying at The Red Lion so we were fairly impressed.  This is a pretty
nice hotel about three blocks away from my parking garage.  When we got to
his room on the 15th floor, I looked out the window and exclaimed, "Hey
Bri!  You can see the cones from here!"
  Before Brian could answer Tracy said, "That was you guys?"
  I said, "What?"
  Tracy said, "About an hour ago I was having a drink and looking out the
window and I saw a couple of guys climbing around on the roof of that
parking garage.   Then they threw a bunch of things onto the roof of the
other building and I thought to myself, `That's something Tob would do'"
  After hearing this, we all cracked up and then we told Tracy the whole
story behind what we were doing.  He said he figured it was something like
that, and then we went and showed him in person.

- - - -
There.  Some more history.  I might relate the `Soaking Geris' episode
later if anyone is interested,  but I refuse to go into the History of
The Vanagang.  So.......'til next time, true believers....

Tob

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