Tommy Karr

Tuba-Ruba may have been one of my favorite games… for about four hours. And then I transformed it into a room-to-room communication device.

See, Tuba-Ruba came out in 1987, just as I turned 12 and I was at that age where a) I didn’t particularly want to be tangled up with a girl and b) I was realizing (slowly) that I would never want to be “tangled up with a girl” and c) no guys wants to be be tangled up with each other.  So, this clever contraption of marbley-madness soon evolved into something more entertaining.

Forgoing the marble aside, I linked the Tuba-Ruba together and stretched it from one room to the next.  It snaked around corners, behind the couch and up along the armrest.  My mother, napping quietly, had no idea what I was up to.

“Debbie,” I whispered from around the corner and down the hall, just within spying distance.

From my hiding place I saw her twitch and slowly open her eyes.  She craned her next from side to side, curious if she had actually heard anything or if it was just part of a dream.  She drifted back to sleep.

“Debbie,” again.

Another half-glance around.

This time, no whisper.  “Debbie!  Where is the cake?”

“Jesus!” and she lurched forward, sitting up and looking around, missing the craftily hidden tube stuck into the crack of the armrest.  “Who the hell…?”

“Where is the cake?” came my forced monotonous tone.

“What cake?”

“The cake I want to eat.”

“Who the…?  There is no cake.”

“You should make a cake.”

At this point she was searching the room, very Don Knotts in Private Eyes.  “Ok, Tom!  If that’s not you then this house is possessed.  Either way, I don’t like it.”

“It is not Tom.  It is the Spirit of Cakely Desires.”

She rolled her eyes, standing in the center of the room, hands on her hips.  “Uh huh, well the Spirit of Cakely Desires is about to get his butt whooped if he keeps this up.”  I ducked back behind the wall, no longer able to see her, but busily planning my escape.  What I thought was funny had obviously caught her on the bad side of a nap.

I croaked, “Then this is definitely not Tom.  It might be Mike or Bob.”

She’d found it.  Booming through the Tuba-Ruba came, “You’re busted buster!” and the next thing I knew she was holding an opaque piece of tube at the corner, glaring down at me.

“Surprise?” I smiled.  Maybe my irrepressible charm will save me.

“Think you’re funny?” she asked.

“A little bit,” I said, slyly.

“Well, you’re a little bit right,” and she caved.  “Let’s go,” and she waved me towards the door.

“Is this a trick?” I asked, cautious.  This smile she wore could have been a disguise.

“Nope, you made me want cake.”  Getting her to want something was a surefire way to get it yourself.  It is the same principle I applied in getting her to hook us up to cable television.

So off we went to get cake.  The Tuba-Ruba stayed on the floor until we returned from whatever cake place we had found and both she and I was sated.

Makes me wish I had a Tuba-Ruba now for adult problems.  “Where is my free month of cell phone service?”