There's Crazy In Them Thar Hills!!!

SAN FRANCISCO, CA - I beg of you, Dad. Maybe you should reconsider.

My dad has talked for quite some time about moving to Reno when he retires to relax and spend his days prospecting.

Maybe he really should reconsider.

Late yesterday, (let's just call him) Randy rolled into the hostel. Let me just say, first off, he was a very friendly, nice guy. Wilson, if you're reading this, please don't show him this. I know he's at the Tortoise now and I really mean no disrespect when I write this, although it is no doubt disrespectful. I am compelled to share this in the name of art ("for the good of the film!").



Randy is something else. He was quite talkative during his dinner, which was great. No problem. Talking is great. He explained his fascination with gambling in great detail to Chris. He told us he was a prospector. It was later that was really interesting.

I was talking with Adrienne around 1am in the kitchen when he wandered in. The talking began. I now feel confident I could write a whole book about Randy if it were suddenly necessary.

I know all about his prospecting. I know about prospecting techniques. I know all his places of residence for the past 20 years or so and all the best things to check out in those places, along with people to go see (names, addresses, shoe sizes, next of kin, etc.) I know about his buddy Helmut and his experiences in the Holocaust. I know about Helmut's wife Sonia, the fact that she is 85 years old, and that Randy has a hard time believing that, but it has to be true. I know the fine details about Randy snapping his arm in nine places when he slipped on a mountain side and wedged his arm in a crack on the fall down. I know about all the painkillers he took after this. I know about his brother and the artwork he does, along with a crash course in glass blowing and inlaid brass. There were so many other details, they got lost in the shuffle, my brain filtering them out because all the other details were just coming in too quickly.

This all happened in less than 45 minutes.

He also suggested we let him up on the roof so he didn't have to go down 4 flights of stairs to smoke his cigarette. The answer was no.

I felt bad because he was a genuinely nice guy and I really didn't/don't want to offend him, but I felt like shooting myself... just a little bit. I wasn't sure there was any other way out of it.

He rolled that cigarette (which took about 10 minutes) and I became hopeful that Adrienne and I could finish our conversation or go do something different other than this. But then he stood there with the cigarette in hand for another 15 minutes, talking the whole time. When he finally went out for the smoke, Adrienne and I were just to physically and emotionally exhausted to bother staying up. She went downstairs to her bed and I sat up for another minute to check my email. Randy came back up and started watching Conan O'Brien on his mini TV, laughing and talking throughout. During the course of all this (about an hour), we had to ask him to quiet down no fewer than 4 times. Gia even woke up once, came out into the common area, and asked him to keep it down.

This morning, I woke up and walked into the common area to find him speaking with/to some guy about the Grateful Dead, who he knows that's related to them, and how they really missed out by not broadcasting shows on the internet. This slowly turned into a monologue about Sirius Satellite. When that guy wandered off, he started talking to Surja.



I tried to snap pictures secretly since he seemed a little skittish about being photographed. Dave mentioned something about his saying that helicopters were following him yesterday. Maybe he can join the Tin Hat Club with Melissa and I.

I shot some video of him as well. I couldn't help it. It was fascinating. He didn't stop talking the entire time he was here. The entire time. Really for real. After he talked to Surja, he asked to get another night. He had only booked one but, unfortunately, we didn't have any beds available. So, he made arrangements for the Green Tortoise down the street. Then he checked out and went downstairs for a shower. Apparently, he talked to everyone down there for a while until he hopped in the shower.

And then proceeded to sing in the shower the whole time.

After getting out, the talking resumed. It seemed as though he would never be leaving. People looked like scared animals looking down the barrel of a gun when he grabbed them and started talking. Some found a way to get out. That didn't stop him at all.

This video here features Randy talking in a room by himself. The fellow he was talking to just kind of walked away, so Randy decided to just continue the conversation with himself. Until some girl wandered along.



I was down there doing some chores and worked on making beds at the other end of the hall. I was afraid of getting caught.

Randy went to the bathroom for a while and I tried to hurry to make beds in his room while that was going on. And, to absolutely no one's surprise, he talked the entire time while on the crapper. To no one.

Did I get some video of it? Yes. Yes I did.

Again, apologies. All in the name of art ("for the good of the film!"). Karma will no doubt get me back.



In case you're wondering what he keeps saying, it's "¡Ándale!" over and over again. Like Speedy Gonzalez. This went on for 10 minutes.

I ran upstairs to ask Dave something in his room and he told me to tell Randy that check out was at 10:30 and he needs to move along. Crap. Why me? Luckily, when I returned to the third floor, he was all packed up and heading out. He talked at me for a few more minutes and then said goodbye, walking downstairs. Guess I got off easy.

But wait.

Something happened and while I was still on the third floor. Apparently, he came back in the building and went up to the fourth floor once again, starting up conversation and grabbing something to eat.

He finally did leave, bound for the Tortoise to continue to spread the word.

So, Dad, maybe it's not such a good idea. There must be something about spending that much time alone in the mountains, hoping to hit it big with some gold, that does something to someone. Maybe just all the time without someone to talk to. Like kinking a water hose. The discussion just builds and builds until it suddenly explodes all over the place when it's finally given the chance.

Who knows? Maybe it would be fun to have a crazy prospector for a father.