Peeing your pants. One of the greatest fears known to mankind. There was a time in my youth that I was so fearful of urinating in my undergarments that I would literally go to the bathroom three or four times before leaving on road trips of any length. It’s hard to really pinpoint the reason for the severity of this fear. I mean, dogs urinate everywhere when they feel like it, and does anyone really hate dogs?? Hell Adam Sandler said that peeing your pants was cool, and he’s the most reliable box office draw in the country right?? Come to think of it, a valid second opinion might be warranted, especially after “Jack And Jill”. But, whatever darkness brought upon us by the mighty deities that knows our hearts has sought this fear out. And I, for one, mean to end it right here…or something.
So I’d like to take this opportunity to make a public admission. Hello, my name is Shawn…and I am an ex-pants wetter. WHEW! That feels so much better. HEY!! There’s nothing wrong with it, its just a fact of life that we as human beings have to accept happens sometimes. It may not be the preferred method of bladder release, but it does happen on occasion, and I, for one, want to not be portrayed like Casey Anthony every time I make boo boo onsies.
Life is stressful enough to navigate without having to deal with the judgmental laughter of bratty little boys and girls searing in your skull. And as I continue to age like the fine wines of France , Italy , or, New Jersey
That being said, I would like to narrate now to the public the harrowing tale of my first real remembered experience of pants wetting. Or, how Dennis Quaid’s perfectly feathered hair, Underrated Character Actor David Patrick Kelly, Nunchucks with FREAKIN’ maces attached to them, and a man in a Giant Rubber Snake Costume caused me to severely loose control of my bladder. Or, in layman’s terms, the reasonings for my undying nostalgia and worship for a small little sci fi gem of the 80’s Joseph Ruben’s “Dreamscape”
 |
| "With A Title THIS Bendy It's gotta Be Good!!" Ah!! The 80’s, or 1984 specifically, was one of my all time favorite years in the history of my cinematic education. The film release schedule of that year reads like a laundry list of awesome. “Ghostbusters”, “Indiana Jones And The Temple Of Doom”, “Gremlins”, “The Terminator”, and my personal favorite “The Last Starfighter” to name a few. But I digress, back in this magical land of the past, our local theater, the one we went to all the time as a family, was an amazing movie palace called the For me, the week long wait until Friday Family Nights was excruciating. All week long I would scour the local paper, trying to guess what sights my dad was intent on sharing with us that week. Legend has it that I taught myself how to read by outsmarting my family, who were trying to get me to go see whatever re re-released Disney classic was out by telling me we were going to see “Star Wars” yet again. But in my desperation and longing for truth, justice, and the American way, I constantly leered at each show time to teach my feeble little four year old brain to learn the correct times so I could call them out on their heinous fabrications. Even then, I knew I was an addict, and I needed my fix. The good stuff. Kind of like Pookie from “ Then there were the best days. Secret Saturdays, I’d call them. Days when my mother and sister were distracted by the random baby or wedding shower that was spearheaded by one of my aunts that week. These were the days that my cinematic education underwent a dramatic change, where THE REAL lessons took shape. These were the days of wine and roses, the days of Chuck Norris, Charles Bronson, William Girdler, and George A. Romero. The days where dad took me to the movies he REALLY wanted to see. Films of questionable moral content for someone so young. They started out small with the random “Godzilla” re releases that popped up on TV or at the Will Rogers. But slowly the films became darker, and way more interesting. Viewings of films like “Grizzly” and “The Terminator” followed suit as I creeped my way toward adolescence. And it was these Saturdays that cemented my addiction to genre film and mine and my dad’s eternal bond as cinematic renegades. And for this, I will be eternally indebted to him. I’ll admit that I’d seen scarier films than “Dreamscape” when the film popped on my radar one sleepy afternoon. Maybe it came to me while watching the latest episode of “Son Of Svengoolie” or “Robotech”, or maybe I saw the amazing Drew Struzan poster artwork at the |
 |
| "See How AMAZING This Thing Looks??" |
For those uninitiated with the unfounded glory that is “Dreamscape”, its plot was somewhat borrowed by Christopher Nolan for the Oscar Nominated Best Picture “Inception”. Dennis Quaid, and his awesomely feathered hair play Alex Gardner, who after leaving his job as a government employed psychic has made a nice niche for himself in the gambling industry by betting on the ponies and blowing out the hot licks on his neck strapless sax while shirtless. But, his sexy 80’s paradise is cut short when his ex mentor Paul Novotny (cinematic treasure #1 Max Von Sydow) comes calling on him to procure his participation in his new research, psychic dream projection. This, believe it or not, was a novel concept in ’84, Fred Krueger notwithstanding.
Novotny hopes to use his research to help patients that suffer from chronic nightmares, which would be all fine and good except for shadowy government agent Bob Blair (cinematic treasure #2 And Academy Award Winner (FINALLY) Christopher Plummer) who seems to want to use the research, Alex, and his new buddy, the mildly psychotic and strangely introverted Tommy Ray (cinematic treasure #3 the great David Patrick Kelly) for some nefarious purposes involving The President Of The United States (final cinematic treasure #4 Mr. Green Acres himself Eddie Albert) who, it seems, has been having some troubling nuclear fueled end of the world nightmares himself, for plots convenience I’m sure. Wacky dream antics involving cheating wives, unfinished skyscrapers, and burned corpses all vie for the attention of Dennis Quaid’s Vidal Sassoon VO1 hot oil enhanced head. Because if it don’t look good, he don’t look good.
 |
| "I Know, I'm Awesome, And So Is My Hair" |
“Dreamscape” is one of those great old 80’s indie flicks that capture the spirit of its bigger brother Spielberg/Lucas flicks perfectly. It’s the kind of film that goes down your gullet like a glass of milk warmed to perfection by your mom with love to help ooze you to sleep. And, it’s fun, breezy and light on calories and trans fats so it’s good for the genre fan’s soul. The cast that they managed to pull together for this thing is nothing less then amazing, including two of this years Oscar nominees Plummer and VonSydow (who really needed to be nominated for a better film). For me, Quaid has always been one of Hollywood
David Patrick Kelly has always kind of scared the crap out of me. If you’ve seen “The Warriors” you’d likely know why. This man has been one of the most reliable creeps in the history of cinema, and can pretty much play weird better then any one else in recent memory (so SUCK it Depp, but know I love you). When he first appears in this movie you can obviously see that if Quaid and he had to get down the fist to cuffs, Quaid could defiantly pound him into the pavement. But there’s something beneath the surface about Kelly, some magical crazy power that makes him one of the most frightening humans alive. Whether he’s playing full on bat crap Luther from “The Warriors” or being slightly comedic bat crap Sam The Sleazebag in “Ford Fairlane” he’s always held the patent for extreme creepy, no matter what guise his creep wants to take shape in. And it is his total bat crap crazy character of Tommy Ray…that brings us back to our original story…already in progress. (so SUCK it Patrick Kelly…but know that I will always stay at least 3000 yards away from you at all times.)
 |
| "Seriously This Dude Is Creepy...EVEN JUST EATING A SANDWICH!!" |
When I think back on that horrible…horrible day…I really wish I hadn’t chosen to get the large soda. But, the Will Rogers had GREEEN RIVER SODA. For those unfamiliar with Green River, it’s a brand of soda that was only brewed in Chicago Will Rogers Theater Rogers
 |
| "My Chilhood Obsession, And The Reason For My Dampness" |
Everything was all fine and dandy, that is until Cory “Bumper” Yothers showed up, who I assume is the gingerfied brother of reality TV’s Tina Yothers, or actually her posing as a red haired boy to get more work during hiatuses of “Family Ties”, which may also be possible. You see in the film his character, a sparky little tyke appropriately named “Buddy” is having recurring nightmares about a “Snakeman” a large man with a giant, fake looking, cobra snake head that is attempting to murder him in his dreams (visions of Kruger plums dancing in your head). The Snakeman was so extremely gnarly that it caused one of the non feathered psychics to loose his mind. But Quaid’s hair does not know pity, or remorse, or fear, so it brilliantly decides to persevere. And follow the lesser known Yothers into his nightmare to deal with the beastie.
So basically I was WAY sucked into this thing by this point. The gingered Buddy with his generic blue jeans and baseball cap somehow started to remind me of a more pathetic and way more red haired little me. I was, for the first time I can remember, putting myself IN the character. And what I was experiencing was true, nightmare enduing fright. I can’t express why or how. But I knew that if this thing could get this ginger douche bag…somehow, I knew it would come for me. And in my DREAMS no less, you see this was before Freddy for me, so I wasn’t aware that Chuck Russel, after torturing me by writing this, would a mere half decade later give me the tools to fight back, as a wizard master, a ghettofied strong man, or someone who could bring other people into their dreams. I knew not of Hypnocil. (Strange how this film shares the same writer and basic same plot of Nightmare On Elm Street 3?? HMMM??) I had to sleep EVENTUALLY. And I knew that when I did, I was a goner. This Snakeman was going to get me, no matter HOW fake it looked. For posterity, what follows below is an accurate transcript of my bladder battling it out with my inner monologue.
Just then, I had a little tingle that told me. ”PSST..Hey…kid…you probably should grab your dad and get to the restroom pretty soon.” “Remember all that soda you just sucked down??” “Not a good idea when you’re sitting in the middle seat in the middle row of a PACKED theater.” I glanced down the row to the right, a sea of legs about thirteen seats thick, to the left, about 19 fathoms wide. Not very good options, I could hear the crowd screaming “DOWN IN FRONT!!” jeering as we passed them down the LONG isle towards the men’s room. That would be SO embarrassing. “Little punk kid, can’t hold down his soda..he’s like a little girl.” “Why’d you get the large soda, your bladder’s not that big…what were you THINKING??”. And just then..”WAIT a SECOND!! Plummer wants to kill the President?? I KNEW there was something off about that guy!!”. I could hold it. Dennis Quaid’s hair was in danger. I had to make sure that it made its way out with its bounciness firmly in tact.
 |
| " It's Kind Of Scary Right??" |
That was when that creepy guy from “The Warriors” showed up in President Oliver Douglas’ dream. I remembered hoping that Arnold The Pig would walk away from this one unscathed. Warriors guy was dressed in a ninja outfit. All black, this guy meant business, although he was really bad at karate. Quaid’s hair was gonna mess him up. Take that Warriors guy. Then, another tingle, this time with a little more urgency, “KID….don’t mean to be a jerk…but if something doesn’t happen soon…there might be trouble... Just putting it out there.” I looked up at my dad, he noticed me looking and whispered “Everything ok big buddy (dad’s pet name for me)?? Cool movie huh??” All of a sudden I felt really ashamed. He had asked me earlier “Are you SURE you want the large soda? You’re not going to be peeing all during the movie are you??” Hey, I was like nine years old, practically a man. Of course I could handle that large soda. It was puny to me in my giant manliness. Maybe it was too big for my sister, but me, no problem. I was a man, a man whose enormous bladder knew no borders or boundaries.
He had asked me. I could have relented. But the temptation of a giant bucket of limey slightly carbonated yumness was too great. I knew the risks going in. And now I was going to have to suffer the spoils of fools. I was going to have to hold it like I had never held it before. It would be difficult, but all great adventurers have to battle their inner demons, this would be my ultimate battle, and I would emerge victorious. “WOAH!! Warriors Guy has nunchucks with MACES on them!! Quaid’s hair could be in trouble! This is awesome!!” “Man…I need to get me some nunchucks. Maybe I could go to that karate store at six corners and get some. How much do nunchucks cost?? Probably like $1000 dollars. Maybe I could make some with sticks and string??”
 |
| "NUNCHUCK'S WITH FREAKIN' MACES ON EM!!" |
“KID!! DANGER!! DANGER!! THERE’S DEFINITELY GOING TO BE SOME WARM LIQUID INVADING YOUR PANTS IN THE NEAR FUTURE!! RAPIDLY TRAVERSE TO THE NEAREST RESTROOM AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!! THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING!! Large soda…stupid kid. What was he thinking?? That thing was like a bucket. Green River …..yellow river’s more like it. My bladder was on its last legs, and apparently extremely pushy, not that I could blame it. But it had to be near the end, I couldn’t leave now, this was the best part. “Awesome!! Crispy zombies in the subway train. President Oliver Douglas and Quaid’s hair better high tail it pronto!!” “Awww man, here’s Warriors guy, he’s gonna get it now!!” “Wait?? What the?? AAAAUUUUGGGHHH!”
That was when it happened. “Auuuuggghhh!!” was what came out of my mouth. A statement often lamented by Charlie Brown and his freakishly verbose gang of Peanuts. Although, when the cry was heard from them I expect they were much dryer, except for maybe Linus. Warriors Guy, one of the creepiest men ever, was turning INTO the snake man. It caught me off guard, I wasn’t prepared at all. “I WARNED You…now look at yourself…stupid kid..”. Immediately I felt a warm sensation in the bottoms of my Hulk branded Underoos. Followed by an emotional combination of disappointment, fear, shame, and embarrassment. I cursed Green River Soda, Quaid’s hair, Warriors Guy, Arnold The Pig’s dad, nunchucks, and especially f*ckin’ Corey “Bumper” Yothers, that ginger douche bag.
All I could do was sit, with my hands folded…as I began to sob uncontrollably. Knowing that it was my own fault and no one else’s. Dad looked down on me…”Are you ok?”, he said with an almost psychic sense of the travesty that just occurred. I looked back up at him, so ashamed…and just frightened beyond belief. “This is it. Everyone here knows that I just wet my pants. They’re going to tell EVERYONE!! Kids at my school are going to make fun of me. Mom will say ‘I told you so, you’re not big enough to see those movies!’ And worst of all I’ll HAVE TO THROW OUT MY FAVORITE PAIR OF HULK UNDEROOS!!” I was mortified. Dad knew it.
 |
| "Take That You Creepy Douche! You Are Now Officially Oliver Douglas' BITCH!" |
He went to pick me up to leave. But I sobbed louder as people started to stare; I shut my mouth almost immediately. I was now going to have to live at the Will Rogers, so that no human on earth would ever know the mystery of my shame. I could live in that chair; feed myself from the little bits of popcorn and Milk Duds that stuck to the floor. I would be all right, as long as I kept my butt firmly bolted to that movie theater seat. No one would ever know. It wouldn’t be so bad.
Then, just then the curtain came up, the movie had ended, Quaid’s hair had ultimately proved itself to be victorious. The patrons started to cattle their way through the doors. Until it was just myself and my father, sitting in our red velvet squeaky prisons, defeated. I never wanted to go to the movies again. And I KNEW I could never again show my face at the Will Rogers. It was the end of all things joyful, the end of childhood…the darkest day I had ever known.
But then…Dad took off his windbreaker, looked directly in my eyes, and said something amazing. “Time to go!!” “You can take my jacket and tie it around yourself so you don’t get cold”. It was around 65 degrees; definitely not jacket weather, no chance of me getting chilled. But suddenly, a ray of light shown from the heavens on that windbreaker, its blue greeniness shone like starlight as he gently placed it down on my legs. I then began to realize the sacrifice that my father was willing to make for me. There was no way that Jacket was going to make it through the day. Sure we could wash it. But like so many other traumatized veterans of foreign wars, it would never be the same. From then on, it would always be known as “The Pee Jacket”. And it would have to be burned, completely demolished. For our good, and the greater good of mankind.
I never saw that jacket again. I do not know what became of its tattered moistness. But I do know that that night we didn’t speak a word about what happened. We just drove straight home, and when we arrived, Mom said “How was your movie?” Dad commented “Fine”. Mom shot back “Hope fully it was not too scary!” Dad retorted “No...not at all. Shawn, go upstairs and wash up for dinner Big Buddy!” and I shot up those stairs like Wally West on his fastest day. I was sure that Mom was going to catch me and then…my sister would do a Letterman top 10 list of pants wetting jokes. But no…everything was all clear, and we continued on like it never happened. That horrible moment erased from existence. (Well until now anyway!!) And I felt closer to my father at that moment then I ever had with any other human being. We were bonded, for life, not just as father and son, but as partners. Our team had been through the ringer, but had survived in overtime as we just managed to win the big game. My respect for his managerial style and his character grew a Grinch like 10 sizes that day. And I’ll never forget it.
So…what life lessons to be learned from all of this folly??
THE ABS'S OF MOVIEGOING (As quoted by Shawn Lynch)
1) RESTROOM BEFORE THE SHOW!!! ALWAYS!! NO EXEPTIONS!!
2) The “SMALL” soda is always big enough. It doesn’t matter if it’s a quarter more.
3) And, most importantly,
ALWAYS SIT IN THE AISLE SEAT!!
So check out “Dreamscape” if you’re a fan of fun 80’s sci fi flicks, and realize the great time it truly can be. And kids…if one of your fellow brethren accidentally wets themselves, go easy on ‘em. Because remember. IT CAN ALWAYS HAPPEN TO YOU!!!
 |
| "My Church, May You Always Remain Awesome In My Memory!" |
