Sunday, March 15, 2009

June Preview From New Orleans

Po Boy Views
Phil LaMancusa
Retropression Regression
How About You?
I suffer to say that I’m getting weary trying to keep up with my recession depression sessions. Too true—I have to give myself pep talks just about every four hours to keep from blowing my cool.
I abide by my cool like Little David abides by his sheep; but, like Killer D, (his rapper name) I get called out to smite the giant. The giant in this case is the gathered collective details of my life that are tending to overwhelm me.
I know that it’s June and I should be thinking moon, spoon, croon and bloom like the song lyrics from another life; except that my attention is more than likely focused on the bills that need paying, the storm that is brewing and the responsibilities that I’ve been neglecting. The devil is in the details, they say, and I am bedeviled, bewitched, bothered and bewildered by life’s daily devilish details. Some things go away if you don’t pay attention and some things don’t.
It’s the simplicity of things that gives immediate and lasting joy. Stopping only to taste and not to analyze, enjoying a tender moment and not being self-conscious, sitting a spell and not being tempted to accomplish a task; is for me like the dream of strolling through the Bois de Boulogne’s lush sylvan hush composing poetry. The need to feel invisible, if you get my drift. A yearning. Are you yearning yet? For a good time call… and hang up… nobody’s home.
A placid, idyllic meadow with the quietude of a pause in the day’s occupation; better known as…. fat chance. I usually pass a day in the mental equivalent of ‘steppin’ and fetchin’ like yer pants are on fire and yer ass is ketchin’ mania.
No kidding, I get up early just so that I can go back to bed and get some rest. I work hard even in my dreams, dammit (Janet)! Last night I dreamed that I was learning to play the piano; do you have any idea how hard that is at my age?
Thank god that girlfriend remembers to set up the coffee at night. And for the alarm clock we have Little Rosie (The Wonder Dog! — retired) who wakes up faithfully at 6:45, coughs a few times (allergies) and ‘scrabbles’ (no other word for it) on the floor and if nobody budges barks with the sound like a concentrated version of nails on a chalkboard. And if still nobody budges, she has trained herself to pee on the rug… pretty smart, huh?
Needless to say that Rosie has us trained. If you ignore her, she will not go away. Financial responsibilities will not go away if you ignore them; love will go away if you ignore it. See how that works? The details of life fall into those two categories. Your drinking problem, that ‘little sound’ your car engine makes, that tooth that the filling fell out of and those words that you spoke in haste? Those few extra pounds that you decided to take care of by switching to Jack and diet? Yep, aint goin’ nowhere.
However, that ache in your shoulder where you worked out, the friend that you keep putting off calling, the ice in your drink and your change on the bar should you take too long in the John? Bye.
My friend Scrounge took too many hits of acid one time and thought that a parked ambulance was, as he put it, “a giant ert woim”. It took a while for that one to go away.
With the economy like it is (the OHMYGOD! economy), if you don’t hit the ground running with pedal to the metal where the rubber hits the road hitting on all eight cylinders and every other metaphor that you can think of: shoulder to the wheel, nose to the grindstone and driving it like you stole it with a lot on your plate toward the glass ceiling, at the end of the day you’ll be out of the loop, your ass will be grass and, Bud, life as you know it, will be the lawnmower.
What do you do? What can you do? You can only chop wood and carry water for so long. You can only run on faith for so long. I say that it’s time for God to kick in. How about it Big Guy?
This is your June prayer since you never had the nerve to ask.
Dear God, whomever you may be. Don’t you think that as your creations that have been groveling before you for millennia asking for justice and mercy and the smiting of our enemies, that it is far past time that you stop the ass kicking that you’ve been giving us and let us catch a !@#$%%^&* BREAK?
Yes Lord, it does seem that you’ve been having us hard and dry up against a tree for centuries; how about starting by reopening the Department of Happy Endings? How about putting some peace, love and understanding on this physical plane? I realize that, by all accounts, I am supposed to wait until I’m DEAD to get my reward… but… consider me a trifle impatient. It’s not like we’ve been receiving word from the afterlife. How about working with me, say… NOW? Throw me something Mister Big Stuff!
And hey, if we are really made in your image: why the defects? Why do you make it attractive for people to do stupid and hurtful stuff? Have you considered counseling? Do you have issues?
I admit that you are good at some things, I’ve seen some of your sunsets, your work on cute bunnies and the way you gave us barbecue… those are keepers; but tell me, are you really that pissed at humans that you gotta screw with them the way that you do? How come you do us like you do, do, do? We really do think that it is time for you to let up on the busting of our--- expectations. Amen.
P.S. Oh, that idea of using a waffle iron for grilling vegetables? Thanks.

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