Tennessee Williams New Orleans Literary Festival 2012 As a boy, having two older sisters was the equivalent of having three mothers; but, one thing about them shaped my life and the person that I have become: they taught me to read and in doing so made reading one of my lifelong obsessions and passions. When I was too young to go to school and they weren’t, my sisters would come home and play ‘school’ on me. This was when the most electronically advanced units in our house were a Motorola radio and a Westinghouse toaster. They would come home from school, busybodies the two of them and they would sit me down and teach me what they had been taught that day. By the time I got to go to school I was already ahead of the class in reading and was easily bored with the lessons. I was labeled “daydreamer” and a kid that could do better “if only he would apply himself”. Growing up I learned that in the world of literature, music and art there are no boundaries and something new and wondrous is forever able to happen and with any luck at all, does. I also learned that in those areas there are craftspersons that will forever be of time as well as timeless; I have learned to cherish those people. Take Tennessee Williams. I came upon Mr. Williams later in life and have never since ceased to be amazed at the originality and sheer power of his works; as a platform dedicated to his craft and influence we have The Tennessee Williams New Orleans Literary Festival (TWNOLF) March 21-25 As per tradition, the twenty-sixth TWNOLF will be chock full of panel discussions, master classes, theatrical performances (including the not to be missed Streetcar Named Desire), music and food events and the infamous Tennessee Williams walking tour. The days start early, end late and there is hardly time to catch a breath before the ending of one event propels you into a new event’s beginning. On the website www.tennesseewilliams.net there’s twenty-eight pages of programs and all aspects scream “DON”T MISS ME!!!” like the ‘Talking Tennessee’ conversation with Amanda Plummer and Piper Laurie; The Breakfast Book Club; Home is where The Heart Is (with Chef John Besh) or the fabulous annual “STELLA!!!” (and STANLEY!!!!”) shouting contests. You’ll travel from the Hotel Monteleone to Muriel’s on Jackson Square, The Williams Research Center, The Historic New Orleans Collection, Palm Court and Southern Rep Theater. You may want to pack a lunch or at least get real with a server at one of our fine local eating establishments letting them know that you’re on a mission to the next presentation and need your food and check without hesitation (tip well to give TWNOLF a good name) Here’s our writers pick, a must see in our opinion worth the trip out of the Quarter: FRIDAY, MARCH 23, 8 FRIDAY, MARCH 23, 8 P.M. LITERARY LATE NIGHT: LAFCADIO HEARN Café Istanbul, New Orleans Healing Center, 2372 St. Claude Avenue, $15. Think you know New Orleans? Explore the city of yore through a variety show that brings to life the works of Lafcadio Hearn, who in the late 1800s gave New Orleans its provocative reputation for Voodoo mystery, exotic cuisine, and a fecund underbelly. In this choreographed evening of readings, music, and dance, the People Say Project present artists from the burgeoning Bywater/Marigny theater and performance scene in the heart of the St. Claude arts district. Experience the city's resilient literary culture while looking back at a figure who left an indelible mark on the world's image of New Orleans. I’m taking time off from work to be there and I’ll see you, huh?

April in Paradise

Po Boy Views By Phil LaMancusa Dancing In The Street Or Do It In The Road Dear Abby: It’s April in New Orleans and I just don’t know what to do with myself; any suggestions? Signed: Without a Clue in the Crescent City. Dear Clueless: pick up a copy of Where Y’at, seek counseling, buy a vowel, file your taxes and go get a life. Well, Cats and Hats, you’ve gotten the first part (a copy of Where Y’at) and I’m here to give you the second part. At the end of this discourse I’ll sell you a vowel; I promise. First of all, if you pick up this entertainment magazine in a timely manner (and I hope that you do) you will have already participated in a singular amazing event; to wit: The Tennessee Williams New Orleans Literary Festival (TWNOLF) March 21-25, you would have read last month’s article and said: “Hey!…. put yer cheaters on Ethel, we goin’ t’get some culcha”. If you didn’t, well, it ain’t my fault. Then, coming on the heels of that fantabulous event, you now pick up this issue; and, surprise, surprise: mucho many much more monkeyshines (!): “Ethel! Are you awake?” So, now it’s half past The Easter Passover Parade, your bonnet, chocolate bunnies and them damn colored egg salad leftovers and all; and so you want to know what’s next? Well, I’ll tell you: French Quarter Festival. Then comes the Angola Rodeo, hot sauce, strawberry, and crawfish festivals and then FLEET (“hello, Sailor”) WEEK!!! Then, cruise on into The Jazz And Heritage Festival; you’re off and running. But, one Fest at a time. Let’s take French Quarter Festival… please. April 12-14. Remember last year you said it was so much fun that this year you were going to rent a hotel room and spend the whole weekend in the Quarter? Do it now. And, welcome back to the quarter, you’ll find some of your favorite shops still here, some have moved and some have bit the dust; good, honest, hardworking people all. The economic turndown has hit in the form of the evaporation of our visitors disposable income, and, the shops that are left are running on shoestrings with smiling faces and tightened belts; it’s been a tough year. Some advice to you-- unless you want to come back next year to a Disney like FQ – spread some bread in some locally owned shops. I know, food and drink takes a chomp from your wallet but, hey, put some aside for the natives; I’m not talking shoeshine punks and tap dancers, and, get a bag, a bag from the shop that serviced you. Nothing is more disheartening for a shop owner than to look out into a sea of strolling citizens and see not one shopping bag. The rule of thumb here is; no bags, no shoppers-- CIMB--- (cry in my beer):>( French Quarter Festival. There’ll be music and fine weather and strolling characters; runaway princesses; puppets; pirates; paupers; poets and pickpockets. Pawns and Kings and you will be the guests of honor to the greatest, still free of charge, celebration on the face of the planet. Explore other parts of the Quarter; the side streets of Ursuline, St. Philip and Dumaine. Eat all the street food that your stomachs can handle and then take a break and have more great food in one (or more) of our local restaurants. I expect you to tip like you mean it. Watch for the intimidation of street hustlers, loose women and stay away from alcoholic drinks that come in colors not found in nature. Try to be aware of traffic flow and permit pedestrians free passage. Be suspect of strangers blocking the sidewalk wanting to engage in casual conversation or “bet I can tell you where you got your shoes.” Unaccompanied minors have a curfew here, the indigents have no call to be obnoxious and the parking is no longer free, cheap or easy. The parking Nazis will do their best to ticket you and it’s now okay for them to boot your vehicle for minor infractions. Also, the local cop station has a phone number 504-821-2222; go by the tenet as we do here: ‘if you see something, say something’. Now for the bad news; there is no bad news. April and May are glorious times in Louisiana for festivals and unless you’re chained to a wall, in a dungeon, you should catch as many as you can. Work is highly over-rated and life is fleeting. As the bard will tell you; “If not you…who? If not now…when?” One more favor to the local merchants: buy your toy soldiers at the Toy Soldier Shop; your bread at a bakery; jewelry at a jewelry shop; art at galleries; books at bookshops; souvenirs, antiques, wine, posters, pints and po-boys….same thing. The Quarter is still ate up with charming places to visit, folks to talk to, things to see and people to do. The shop owners and workers here are the friendliest, personable and most accommodating as you’ll find anywhere. If you see something that you want and don’t wish to schlep it about; the majority of shops will hold, ship and in some cases deliver purchases to your hotel (you did make that reservation, didn’t you?). We know that we have a lot of locals that come here for this festival and many visitors as well; we’re proud that you’ve come here to celebrate with us and you can count on us to do you right on many levels. Now about that vowel: one dollar (make you holler). A? (means that you can’t hear me); Eee!! (means you’ve probably seen one of our smaller local mammals); I, I (suggests that you are a seafarer); O? (you’re surprised?) U (you know who U R); which one would you like?

Salim McGundy in New Orleans

Po Boy Views
By
Phil LaMancusa
Banana Oil
Or
Another Man Done Gone
Salim McGundy, aka ‘Shorty’, went out; not with a bang as he had imagined he would in his younger days but with a whimper and his last earthly thought was: “that’s it?” There was no pain except a slight feeling akin to when a younger brother punches you in the chest and then it was over. Somehow he knew that he had died. He looked down on his body which gave a spasm, a final sigh and was still. “That’s it?” he repeated to himself.
It happened in the middle of the night in his small section eight apartment in the Faubourg Marigny; he was standing in front of his refrigerator in his boxers, scratching his behind and reaching for a defrosted bean and cheese burrito and a Schlitz tall boy. They found him face down in a pool of melted ice cream with the tall boy in one hand and the other still digging in his butt. The only witnesses were Jukebox Jack who was at that time the WWOZ deejay spinning music on his early Tuesday morning show and the stuffed catfish on the dingy wall that he had named “Kitty”.
Shorty had liked his ‘getting up in the middle of the night for a beer snack’ routine; a brief wake up, and then back to nap on his single bed with the rumpled covers and infrequently washed bedclothes. Shorty didn’t clean that much: and the nicotine stained walls, bare light bulb illumination and castoff furnishings didn’t bother him much. Thrift store wardrobe, cheap beer and Drum cigarette tobacco were his M.O. and he was kinda proud of his image; he saw himself as a devil-may-care kinda guy. He loved his faded Cardinals baseball cap and high top Chuck Taylors and didn’t care who knew it. But, now he was dead, he told himself, so what the fuck.
By nature a curious person, Shorty’s spirit stuck around awhile to see just what was gonna happen next; it took him a minute wondering who that old man on the floor was before he realized that it was him. He watched the ice cream and ice cubes melting around the open refrigerator and cursed himself for not having opened, what would have been, his last beer.
He listened to the radio for a spell and heard the telephone messages coming in to his great amusement. “Shorty, it’s Frank. What the fuck is goin’ on? I get in today and the bar’s still a mess and you ain’t nowhere around! You better get your bony ass down here and clean up before Virginia gets here; you know how she is-- if you don’t show up pretty damn quick-- she’ll use your balls for bookends!”
“SHORTY! you pick up that phone RIGHT NOW!!; this is Gloria and you promised me that you’d help me turn these mattresses; Shorty? SHORTY!!! Oh what the fuck…….”
“Yo, Shorts; we goin uptown tonight or what? We can catch a ride with Jimmy and watch the pool tournament at Miss Mae’s; that blonde’s playin’, you know, the one who slides that cue stick right between’er tits? Gimme a call at the shop”.
“Uh, hello…. This message is for Shorty? Well, uh, I got your number from Frank down at the bar and he told me you might be looking to pick up some extra cash for workin’. Anyway, I got a shed that needs cleanin’ out and some stuff to take to the dump. Gimme a call at 555-8384 if you’re available this weekend.”
“ Well, I guess I’m NOT available, Sucker, and I ain’t gonna be available any time soon” Shorty said/thought from his perch on the ceiling fan. He kinda liked this weightlessness and freedom from feeling. He kinda felt….”aloof… whatever that means”. He thought that he knew what it meant and decided that IF he didn’t know what it meant then well he would just call whatever he wasn’t feeling…. “Aloof. Shit, I can call it whatever I want to; I’m dead ain’t I and the dead gets cut slack, right?
He drifted down to his chair and looked out the window. The view was to the back of the Laundromat but he didn’t care. He watched the dawns light filter in and then the noon light and night light and then he watched them again. And again. He looked up at the crack and water stained ceiling and the floor that he never had swept and thought: “what the fuck.”
He glanced around and saw his pain meds, Zippo lighter and tobacco on the counter along with the unopened mail; his disability check, some bills and junk mail addressed to ‘occupant’. He watched the light through the window passing through another day. “Shit”, he thought “this ain’t half bad; I ain’t cold, hot, hungry…nuthin’… that plate in my head and the ringing in my ears…poof! It’s kinda cool.”
He heard the banging on the door and eventually his landlady opening his door with a couple of cops; they held their noses and one cop (one that he had previous run-ins with) turned to the other and said: “Poor fuck; better call the meat wagon”, and they left. He watched his scumbag neighbor sneak in and steal his Skilsaw, boom box and guitar.
“Well, I guess that’s it for me.” Shorty mused, and wondered if this was being dead. Wasn’t he supposed to disappear or something? What about that ‘great hereafter’ he’d been hearing about?
He wandered down Frenchmen Street, pleased with his anonymity; and sat by the river and watched the ebb and flow of life the universe and everything. There he sits to this day; “Shit, If I’da known, I woulda been dead sooner”.
Shorty found peace at last.

New Orleans St. Patrick

Po Boy Views
By
Phil LaMancusa
Faith and Begorrah
Or
Pity The Poor Irish
Per custom, on the seventeenth of March, we will all celebrate being Irish in fact or fiction without having the least idea who these people are and what they stand for. We have profiled them as clannish caricatures; dull witted by drink and ready to quarrel mainly because they are immune to pain in that condition. They spend their hours in pubs achieving levels of romantic domestic misery unparalleled in other cultures. They’ll be the first to tell you that they’re trying to drown their self inflicted sorrows and that it takes hard work and dedication to do so.
That’s not them entirely. Poets, musicians, dancers, great lovers and redheads in general also come to mind. The reason why we all celebrate this Irish holiday is the fact that somewhere in all of our pasts lurks an Irish ancestor; the Irish are a democratic lot and fall in love at the drop of a shamrock. The world is full of Irish; enough to impact many societies. It is said that ‘when you’re in love the whole world is Irish’, or is that Italian? Jewish? Cajun? Delusional?
A person who says “kiss me: I’m Irish”, for some reason, expects to be kissed. That has never worked for me; although I also have a bit of the Irish blood in me, I’m not Irish enough. You can well imagine anyone’s response if I was to say “kiss me: I’m delusional” or “kiss me: I’m drunk, horny, far from home with clean underwear and walking a Labrador retriever”.
New Orleans will turn out for Saint Patrick’s Day with drinking green beer and eating corn beef and cabbage, two things that no one from the Emerald Isle ever does. We will also celebrate with parades. There aren’t enough Irishmen to form a proper parade of their own so the Italians graciously agree to team up with them. You’ll know the Irish from the Italians because the Italians will be wearing buttons that say “Kiss Me: I’m Italian”. Go figure.
Saint Patrick, not to be confused with Pat O’Brien, was credited with driving nonexistent snakes from Ireland. Pat O’Brien is credited for getting people to see those same nonexistent snakes. Patrick is also credited with converting the country from Pagan to Catholic, which some say was not a really great move. The same is said about Pat except conversely.
Weird thing is that we celebrate Patrick’s day on the anniversary of his death, not his birth. Funny thing is that the seventeenth of March coincides with the Druid celebration called Ostara, a spring festival celebrating the rebirth of nature; does that sound fishy to you?”
The Irish in their homeland have rain almost constantly which is why the place is so green. They also have great national calamities that send them scattering to other climes and, starting with little, they rise like cream to become pub owners, politicians, poets, policemen and house painters. They land in droves, work when they can, drink when it suits them, fight like banshees and breed like, well… Irishmen.
We celebrate a great many saint’s days here but none other, that I know of, with the exception of our Saints football team, is primarily celebrated in drinking establishments. And, we don’t have a big Irish population here; although we do have a plethora of Irish pubs: Fahy’s; Kerry; Ryan’s; Parasols; Molly’s; McNulty’s; Finn McCool’s; Chart Room and Irish House to name a few.
Not that we haven’t had a lot of Irish here. As part of New Orleans history (and here’s a fact), in the 1830s, rich New Orleanian businessmen used Irishmen (and Germans) to dig The New Basin Canal by hand; they died by the tens of thousands like dogs from Yellow Fever and were buried where they fell like so much landfill. They worked and died for a dollar a day and were used primarily because those same rich white folks valued their African slaves above that fate. (They tried that with the Italians also, but the Italians didn’t play that, moved instead across the river and grew crops, eventually monopolizing the city’s produce supply at the French Market.)
The Irish exemplify the stuff that life is made of from the sailor at sea braving gale winds to the priest in the ghetto helping the crippled newsboy get a decent break; the cop walking the beat, keeping the peace; the friendly bartender that listens a drunk’s woes; the old mother scrubbing floors to put her kid through college, the writer through a shot glass pouring out her heart to a public she may never see and that young man singing “Sunday, bloody Sunday”. Who’s to argue that the typical Irish wake includes dancing, drinking, fighting and groping? Being invited to an Irish wake is something to be approached with trepidation, humility and the knowledge that your stamina will be tested. Getting “in the bag”, so to speak, is no big deal; staying in the bag for extended periods of time is definitely Irish.
The fun of it is that nothing that I’ve just said would be offensive to an Irishman (or woman). The Irish are a fierce family of realists, who wear their hearts on their sleeves and search for some nebulous solace and comfort that continually eludes them; the luck of the Irish is nothing more than a consistent eleventh hour reprieve that follow them like a maudlin wraith and with which they cope, with the most powerful antidotes that there are to any maddening malaise: humor; imagination; empathy and love.
And when all else fails, they hoist a pint to better times and drink to the ones who’ve gone before us.

VFTROU 4 alphabet for lovers A-M

And now, just to see if you’re listening, I present a work in progress. A great thing about this frightening technology is that I’ll be able to update this entry at the click of a mouse; so, if you want, you can post suggestions and comments as we go along and we can run this together like Honey Badgers. Without further ado I present the answer to all romantic questions: The Alphabet For Lovers (A-M) Ahem. As a possible vehicle to your romantic education and awareness, I offer up a guide by alphabet, of all things. Of course you know that the basic ABC of love is Always Be Considerate; however, we are about to expand on that theme (hopefully together). Succinct will be the watchword that is, if I can achieve it; accentuating the positive and eliminating the negative. Perhaps we’ll get a book out of this and have it illustrated by Maira Kalman. Cheers. A. ATTRACTION: and you can take this as the Numero Uno Basic Axiom; if you want someone to be attracted TO YOU, you must be attractive TO THEM! Pretty simple idn’t it? Then comes ATTENTION: as with any endeavor the heart, the more attention you give; and I mean positive attention here, the more that person will be reassured of the validity of your AFFECTION. How you AFFECT them. ADVENTURE ADORATION AWARENESS B. BOUNDARIES: everybody’s got ‘em from ‘don’t interrupt when I’m reading’ to ‘when the bathroom door is closed it means that I want some privacy’ to ‘I don’t like it when you tickle me, mock me or touch me there’ to ‘that part of my life is not open to discussion’. You get my drift? No matter how intimate your relationships are, there are areas of privacy that need respected and that means not overstepping your boundaries. At the same time, it’s necessary to let your lover know that you also have places where no one should go… unless invited; you see, no one should in my opinion open the entire dam at one time; after COURTSHIP, after the floodgates of love have loosed that surge of alltogetherness, a little at a time comes the treasures that lie deeper in us, some tidbits of information that we don’t usually share on first dates, sleepovers and even going steady. Like this: I HATE the sound of a vacuum cleaner in the same room as me, I don’t like anyone sticking their fingers in my cooking and I don’t want to talk about the tattoo on my shoulder that is captioned ‘Mentirosa’. Also, do C. COURTESY, CONDIDERATION and CONCERN Consistency: Well how about that? Am I advocating ALRIGHT ALRIGHT!!!! Right about now someone is going to say “well what about MY personality? How about if the other person NEEDS to be subjected to my anger, angst and aggression? What if I like it a little rough? What if I can’t help losing my temper? Passion is not always polite, you’ve got to be cruel to be kind, right?” To that I say: “Kindness is NOT weakness; you can keep your violence and anger that you disguise as passion on the playing field where it belongs. If you want to be the pool bully, the sandbox tyrant, hockey enforcer, forward tackle and browbeater; observe how well that that works for you in your private life. Listen, WE ALL KNOW how hard the world is and what a struggle it is just to stay buoyant in our society; this DOES NOT mean that you have to bring your tough as nails attitude into your relationship with people that you should be cherishing and nurturing. This is a dictionary for lovers not for losers. It’s based on romance not on rudeness; and if it seems silly to you, your way of life, upbringing and/or role models… well… get your own dictionary.” D. Dancing: here’s a pretty concrete rule for you: couples who dance together-- stay together. Now, there ARE couples that don’t dance together that stay together and that itself may be all well and good. But dancing is better. And, I don’t know about you; but, I have yet to hear of a couple where one dances and the other does not that has a happy ending or a protracted ending, for that matter. Period. The same goes for Drinking, Dialog and Dependability. If half of the relationship has it and the other half doesn’t; how long do you think that they will put up with eachother? (Answer: only if and when there is something stronger to bind them, like sex; or in the old “for the good of the children” gambit which worked in the olden days, but I doubt there’s mileage in that except on sloth farms. E. Energy and Effort: I once knew a woman who, when she was younger (so she told me), had a boyfriend that would lay around the house all day strumming his guitar, smoking reefer and ignoring the cleaning products that she provided for him and their home. They slept on a mattress on the floor, she cooked for him and he let her. She worked as a waitress and would drive her old beat up car in to work in the morning leaving him lazing and pretty much, she would find him where she left him when she returned home. Dirty dishes and all. One day while driving to work, she was stopped at a light when a middle aged man in a Bentley pulled up beside her, turned to her and winked. Guess what happens when you don’t put energy (and effort) behind your relationship? True story. F. Faith, Fun and Fantasy: Having faith in a person to follow their natural inclinations as far as thoughts, speech and actions are the benchmark of any relationship; however, we trust that the person that you’re attracted to wouldn’t think harmful thoughts; speak ill of any noun (person, place, and thing) and would not be tempted to act in a counterproductive manner. That’s a lot to ask of anyone who is not from another planet or century; but, you do the best that you can. Ask your feline if they approve of your choices; ask your friends; ask your family and then make up your own mind. Do you want someone who makes fun of those less fortunate, who would willfully harm without reason or who would find humor in another being hurt, humiliated or harmed? Hopefully not. You want someone who is Fun and who can tell riddles and rhymes, is ready for adventures and who can make you laugh. Remember FUN is the best way of having a good time and if the person that you’re with doesn’t laugh with you (not AT YOU) then keep on looking; don’t mistake shallow and stupid for strong and silent. Questions here: should a person set a standard for a relationship and not settle for less? Is there a future in BTNs (better than nothings)? G. Gentleness Generosity Gratitude We’re all products of our environment , education and upbringing; add to that our inclinations, expectations and attitudes. We all need the comfort of someone who loves us; who appreciates us and who will put us before themselves willingly and without strain. Usually we have to have kissed many frogs before we realize that. H. Honesty Humility Hygiene Humor Hugs HORNY I. Integrity Intelligence Identity J. JOY (joi) n. 1. The emotion of great delight caused by something good or satisfying; keen pleasure. Cook it up, serve, share and enjoy. JUNGLE BOOGIE; yes indeed! K. Kindness L. Loyalty M. Music

alphabet for lovers N-Z

N-Z (if you’ve been reading so far, you know what I mean)
N.
O.
P. Passion Patience
Q.
R.
S.
T.
U. Understanding
V.
W.
X.
Y.
Z

VFTROU part 3

Part 3
And now into that quagmire we drop the other shoe:
the “what about ME and why is it that my past and current lovers don’t measure up to my fantasy lover, my ideal, MY perfect model?”
And it’s not enough to hear:
“Ya know Sweetie, sometimes you just get what you deserve; you’re no piece of cake yourself.”
Should we say: (?)
“tough noogies; that’s what’s out there and that’s what you’re gonna have to go with!”
Or maybe:
“hey, we’re all human and have human frailties; why should I be any different?!”
And possibly:
“Hang in there, you’ll get used to disappointment; that’s just the way things are.”
Or
“It’s just not your time yet, have patience; good things comes to those who wait”
Does it seem like that there are more negative excuses as to why your love life goes through rough patches than optimistic positive reinforcement for better times? When someone says “Cheer up. Things could be worse!’ Are you suspicious that if, in fact, you DO cheer up; things will only get worse? Do you ponder the question--- that on promising to love someone ‘for better or for worse’ --- about just when, exactly when, the BETTER part starts? You shouldn’t have to, you say? Well, I for one, agree with you. Furthermore: when you’re ready, willing, able and available for love to enter your life; do you wonder where the hell it is? When you had it in your hand; how did it slip away? When you’re ready to go looking for it; where do you go?
I have many opinions and beliefs as you probably have noticed. One opinion that I have is that each one of us believes that they are perfect and that (A) it’s the other persons fault when things go awry; but, that we (B) have a tendency to blame ourselves when the shit really hits the fan. It’s like having a child misbehave and it’s their fault—when they run away from home it’s your fault. So, let’s not lose track of use the child as an illustration and metaphor here; for, aren’t we pretty much all children with, as they say, grownup pride? “Acting more like children than children”.
Here’s what we have so far: we’re not to blame for what goes wrong with love and our relationships but we all can take credit when things go well. If you listen to me: all love is temporary and doomed to failure; for when you capture it, something is sure to crop up to keep it from staying as in: “this IS NOT what I signed up or bargained for…WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THAT YOU WERE AN ALIEN???” If you listen to me: love comes from a temp agency and has to be paid for as you go and then never be trusted to show up for the next shift. And if you’re still listening to me, you’ll hear me say that all consensual non violent love is worth it; it’s worth the passion, time, energy, humility, patience, juice, understanding, dedication, honesty and hard work it takes to get it, keep it and make it stay. That goes for you, your children and your little dog too.
So, let’s get back to the children. One theory is that this behavioral morass goes back further than white bread and is passed down through generations; although there are pockets of sane couples trying to raise sane children, frankly, the odds are against a revolution in consideration, logic and understanding is kind of like a snowball’s chance… Here you’re welcome to eliminate taking responsibility for your love life’s dysfunction and blame all of your shortcomings on your parents parents parents. Although, that would mean that you are admitting that someone has or had a problem; that somebody somewhere is or was damaged and are or was capable of passing that damage on. Consider that a breakthrough.
Damaged adults (your parents) may pretty much be a lost cause, the patterns are formed, the die has been cast, the counterproductive habits are too ingrained... We need to start with the children. You. You know that little selfish, spiteful mimic of adult lack of common sense. If you don’t feel an epiphany coming on; fine, you’ll just have to fake it, if only for the next generation; to get them to believe that being kind, caring, loving and good is normal, which, of course it should be.
In that vein and furthermore, I truly believe that you, at birth, were born with the ability to sniff out the inaccurate, the foolish, the dishonest and the completely untrustworthy in the people that inhabited your immediate environment; and then, as you grew, in the endeavor for self preservation, you found out what worked to get you what you wanted, whether it was good for you or not. All children are darling and cute and that keeps adults from wanting to harm them. Children from birth, are cute, cuddly. egocentric, manipulative,a pain in the ass, demanding and that’s their mechanisms for keeping and staying alive, entertained, comfortable, nourished and …”wah!’ As they grow, they see what it takes to influence others to get what they want; they watch examples of how it works (or not) by others in their environment and imitate that behavior into their adulthood. In a word it’s called ‘pushing buttons’: can I get an “AMEN” from you parents?
Picture a perfectly ridiculous scenario: The boss’ wife yells at the boss for no good reason; the boss yells at the worker; the worker goes home and has a fight with his wife; the wife berates the child; the child kicks the dog. The dog bites the cat; the cat pees in the shoe and the cheese stands alone. Question: what could have possibly pissed off the boss’ wife? I’ll tell you.
Years and years ago the boss’ wife, Tiffany (or Heather or Angela; Shanika; Kelly; Mary Jane or Little Sue), was told a story about Cinderella; Snow White; Tiana or Princess Grace. Everything that she was told as a little girl assured her—being she was sharp, pretty and talented—that she could / would / should marry (of course) a Prince Charming. And (of course) she did. BUT. But, over the course of the last few years the Prince is looking more like The Biggest Loser in more ways than one. There are none of the amenities (and you could name a few) that a princess is entitled to. There’s a husband that has lost his sparkle and appeal, kids that need all the attention and money anyone can come up with, there’s the trials and tribulations of everyday life and a sink of dirty dishes that is never empty no matter how often they’re tackled. Get up early; go to bed late; lust after the pool man; have a glass of wine, an antidepressant, a hair appointment, go shopping, lunch with the girls, that Pilates class…. Nothing helps get rid of the feeling of being ripped off by life and then the tub of lard comes out of the shower waving an erection and giving it his best Burt Reynolds. I’d be pissed too!
But what about him, you might say as you jump to his defense? He’s the one busting his ass out there keeping her and those brats in Honey O’s and trips to Appleby’s. He pays the mortgage, tuition, school uniforms and the tennis club dues. It’s him that drives the older car, makes sure that the lawn is mowed, the dentist paid, money put aside for college, vacations and therapists. He’s the one who eats lunch at fast food joints; belongs to a club but never gets to go; worries about their nest eggs and future and hasn’t had sex with his wife in eight months (his last birthday). He is forced to look outside of his home for conversation, affection, attention and peace of mind. He goes home to dirty laundry, quarreling kids, bills in the mail and a spouse that will not shut the f—k up with complaints about everything in her spoiled lazy self centered existence.
Together they’re raising three point five children and he thinks that he might bump up his wife’s meds this Thanksgiving and invite the boys over to watch some football to get even with her for yelling at him just because he wanted a little nookie.
And so the cycle continues.
Well, that’s enough background filler; let’s get on to part 4 to find some solutions, shall we?