And now for something completely different...

The man was standing just inside the doors of the Seaside Town Hall, leaning close to the light switch and clicking it off and on, off and on, off and on.

“It’s a binary system,” I offered.

“Of course it is,” said he. “Brilliant.”

And that’s how I first spoke to Terry Jones, one of the founding members of Monty Python’s Flying Circus, who was in Seaside recently to promote his new book, Who Murdered Chaucer? Jones had been hoping to find a dimmer switch, as he was about to present a PowerPoint show.

My son and I took seats on the front row, where he later stood close enough that we could’ve kicked him in the shins if we’d’ve wanted, but we didn’t. That wouldn’t have been nice.
We listened to him explain the political history of Chaucer’s time, and how wannabe kings could convince the rabble to engage in unjust wars over very large tracts of land if they lied to them enough and plied them with false “proof” and gave them nouns to hate (in Henry IV’s case, “heresy.”)

Thank goodness we live in more civilized and enlightened times, and nothing like that could ever happen now.

Jones showed how the illustrations of Chaucer’s original manuscripts had been painted over to hide the historical personages they were meant to parody, thus protecting the author from royal retribution. It was a scholarly presentation only occasionally punctuated by his trademark high-pitched old-lady voices.

And now for something completely different…

Having stalked Jones — er, that is, followed him to Sundog Books and up the back stairs, past wonderfully retro record albums displayed on the walls, and up to a room set aside for the signing — no wine, thank you, I’m driving — we joined the line and purchased a copy of Terry Jones’ War on the War on Terror.

We hadn’t thought to bring along my DVD of Monty Python and The Holy Grail, or Lady Cottington’s Pressed Fairy Book, on which he could’ve scrawled “Hi! Terry Jones.”

That’s what Chryseis Golden of Santa Rosa Beach, 17, got Jones to sign on the U.S. Army helmet she wore to the event. Golden, originally from Pensacola, works at Sundog. She wanted to make it clear she was not “from” Seaside — “This place is imaginary,” she said — and that the helmet was probably easier to write on than her first idea for a signable object.

“I was going to get him to sign my big toe,” she said.

Peace.