One of the ramifications of having a less than conventional mother is that you're sometimes a participant in conversations like the one I had yesterday with her when she called my office:
"Jeff?"The back story on this is that a couple years ago when Loggins came to Ruth Eckerd Hall in St. Petersburg for a concert, my mom hung around afterward when she heard he was going to be signing autographs for his book. She waited patiently until it was her turn to meet him.
"Yes."
"I need you to do me a favor."
"Uh oh."
"I need you to find something out for me."
"What's that?"
"I need you to find out where Kenny Loggins is staying."
"No."
"I just need to know where he is."
"Why?"
"Because he's playing the Taste of Pinellas. I just want to know where he's staying."
"Well, then, you call."
"But they won't tell me where he is."
"They won't tell me, either, mom."
"He's playing here and he's playing in Orlando. I bet he's staying at the Vinoy."
"If he's at the Taste, he's at the Vinoy."
"He is? How do you know that?"
"I don't know that. But I'd only guess that he is. Proximity, mom."
"I just want to know where he is."
"No."
"I need to know if he's out by the pool."
"No, mother."
"Why won't you help me?"
"Goodbye, mother."
"Wait."
"Goodbye, mother."
"Wait. You're not going to help me?"
"Not only am I not going to help you, I'm actively not going to help you."
(maniacal laughter heard on the other end of the line)
"I'm not only actively not going to help you, I'm going to go out of my way to actively not help you."
(more maniacal laughing audible on the other end of the line)
"Goodbye, mother."
"Wait!"
"Goodbye, mother."
"Wait!"
:::Click:::