1994

Po Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Re-cognition

Or

1994

            Twenty-five years doesn’t seem like a lot of time for a bottle of fine wine or single malt scotch, but in real life a heck of a lot can change while many things can stay relatively parallel. In 1994 Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin and Nina Simone are alive; Richard Milhous Nixon dies, Kurt Cobain commits suicide, O. J. Simpson does or doesn’t kill his wife and Justin Bieber is born. The planet had about two billion less bipeds in 1994; and, I was a much younger man.

            In 1994 Joseph Heller wrote in John Yossarian’s voice: “A prick in the White House? It would not be the first time. Another oil tanker had broken up. There was radiation. Garbage. Pesticides, toxic waste and free enterprise. There were enemies of abortion who wished to inflict the death penalty on everyone that was not pro-life. There was mediocrity in government and self interest too. There was trouble in Israel. --- men earned millions producing nothing more substantial than change in ownership. The cold war was over and still there was no peace on earth--- People did things without knowing why and then tried to find out. Nothing made sense and neither did anything else.”

            In 1994 we watched Forrest Gump, The Shawshank Redemption, Pulp Fiction, Dumb & Dumber, and Natural Born Killers. Also in real time news the United States is sending military forces to the Persian Gulf; There are no new bombings this year although last year the World Trade center was bombed and Timothy McVeigh is probably planning next year’s bombing in Oklahoma. Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis dies all on her own of non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and congress enacts a ban on assault weapons.

In 1994 there is no intsagram, FaceBook, Youtube or Google; those are things of the future. The first smart phone appears and costs $1,100.00; texting was available the previous year with hardly anyone using it, DVD players were 3 years away and would start at around $600.00

25 years before that: Minimum wage was $1.60 adjusted for inflation to $10.90 Minimum wage in 1994 was $4.25 which when adjusted would have been worth $7.20; today $7.25 is adjusted to $7.25 which means in ‘olden times’ you were paid less but could buy more. How ‘bout them Granny Smiths?

“A Whole new World” from Aladdin wins best song while we watch both sides of the Irish lay down their guns; Nelson Mandela is elected President of South Africa and Israel signs accords with the Palestinians and a peace treaty with Jordan. ‘Friends’ and ‘ER’ debut on TV and Go For Gin wins the Kentucky Derby.

Schindler’s List gets it as best picture, as the world turns its attention to 800,000 in Rwanda being slaughtered by Hutu extremists in 100 days. Newt Gingrich becomes the house speaker as Bill Clinton almost goes down because of someone doing him a favor (an impeachable offense, it turns out). We also have armed conflict in Afghanistan, Chechnya, Iraq, Mali, Mexico, Somali, Bosnia, Croatia and Yemen. But, who cares? Michael Jackson is marrying Lisa Marie Presley; Anna Nicole Smith (26) is marrying ultra rich J. Howard Marshall (89), Bill Gates, Jerry Garcia and Celine Dion tie the knot (to other people not to each other); and, R. Kelly (25) weds Aaliah (15). In other news, (sadly) Billy Joel is getting a divorce from Christie Brinkley.

Twenty-five years ago the prospect of global warming has reared its ugly head; but we were too busy, distracted or just plain stupid to take it seriously. We had a chance to cut back on over packaging, under recycling and systemic wasting of our natural resources; we could have concentrated on quality education instead of pushing economically disadvantaged kids through our school systems into poverty wage, unskilled employment. We could have curbed mega companies from dictating policy to our elected politicians by dangling campaign contributions like a carrot on a stick at the expense of our environment and our welfare. We could have debated more and fought less. Shoulda woulda coulda… ain’t it a f**kin’ shame?

I don’t need to tell you what the world is like today; you either are aware or not. We no longer have security, faith or trust in our present or future and hope is in short supply. We know that everything that contributes to our quality of life comes with a price tag, and any small measure of normalcy can be snatched away faster than a speeding bullet.

I find in my inquiries that it’s not a case of paranoia, apathy or even ennui. We just have nothing that we can rely on in our lives and so rely upon nothing. Another shooting, out of control fires, flooding, corrupt governments, hostage, extremists, white nationalists and riots in the streets? Poverty, crime, crumbling infrastructure. Help! Murder! Police! Mesmerizing on television but what can be done? The world has already gone to hell in a hand basket; have some cheesecake, watch the Golden Girls, bring in the dog and put out the cat. Yakety Yak (don’t talk back).

So, as the Sun pulls away from the shore and our boat sinks slowly in the West, we’re greeted with another new year, full of assumed possibilities to get it right somehow; and I’m left with the only words that make any sense and these from a song Prince of Peace written and recorded in 1970 (that’s gonna be fifty years ago) by Leon Russell: “Try and judge me only by my time and changes and not mistaken words for I say many; listen only to my song and watch my eyes, there’s not much time to spill, there’s hardly any”.

Happy New Year.

Bah Humbug

Po Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Bah Humbug

Or

Wiesmann Wisdom

When you’re raised Catholic, one thing you take as gospel is that sooner or later you will leave the church; it’s just too damn much work. Another thing that is realized is that as you get older and have more time on your hands, you’ll be back.

In the interim you’ll remember all of the prayers that were beaten into your head, all the rituals and responses and especially all the ways that you were conditioned to celebrate holidays: the Easter bonnets and baskets; the giving up of things for lent; not eating meat on Fridays; dressing up for All Soul’s Day (Halloween) and saying grace before dinner. None are more demanding, competitive, and frustrating as the rituals I remember concerning Christmas.

First there’s the sending of the cards; remembering all those sent you last year that you owe reciprocation, those that you forgot, and to hell with those that sent you none. Pick out the cards, address, stamp and get them out in time enough to find out who’s else is keeping up this postal media blitz.

Next: that little 25 days until Christmas thingy where you open one window a day and see those wonderful things that you’ll never get; sending ‘Santa’ your wish list; remembering the stanzas to The Twelve Days of Christmas; the unearthing of the nativity scene that you so carefully wrapped up last year as well as the unraveling of the strings of twinkle lights that you swore should have unwound in an orderly fashion but certainly will not. The tree ornaments that each hold a special meaning and all the tinsel, sparkle and glitter that you also saved; and then there’s the contorted (from being folded in a box for a year) yellowed Angel that gets put atop that misfit mutant pine tree—last—as a kind of benediction. The anticipation of the midnight mass that you’re always too young, tired or drunk to attend. There’s the money put aside or granted you to purchase gifts that no one wants but are obligated to ooh and ahh over, the wrapping, labeling and hiding. The paranoia that you’re gonna screw this one up big time and Santa’s gonna leave bupkis for you.  

Then there’s the Christmas dinner menu. Turkey? No, we had that for Thanksgiving. Lamb? No, that’s for Easter. Goose? Who eats goose? Well I guess it’s ham again this year. You mean that unnaturally pink ham that you cut squares in the fat before cooking, place a clove in each square and have pineapple rings and maraschino cherries for the garnish, baked with brown sugar and nothing is finer served with sweet potatoes? That ham? Yeppers.

In my family we stressed from Thanksgiving until New Years Eve when all the adults got drunk and celebrated making it through another holiday season; congratulations, you’ve psychically damaged your kids for life.

My step father stole a tree every year on Christmas Eve, they invited Mr. Mendellcorn from next door over to help trim (for a Jewish guy, he had quite an eye). We enticed him over with a bottle of scotch, and we always woke up to a well dressed tree and an empty bottle of Cutty Sark. We never got what we truly wanted, as was threatened for the weeks leading up to ‘the day’; one year I really did get coal in my stocking.

When I was growing up the holiday season was filled with excessive drinking, arguments, questions on how we could afford to pull it off again, endless platters of deviled eggs and fist fights between relatives that got along fine the rest of the year.

I never got what I asked for: a pool table; a Sherman Tank; a sharkskin suit or a one way ticket anywhere away from these maniacs that called themselves my family. The food was good, I admit; but was it any wonder that I was a nervous skinny kid who chewed his nails, ran away from home often, was sent to a shrink, escaped to the Navy as soon as I turned seventeen, had voices in my head and an ulcer?

Nowadays it’s simpler: all I want to do is hit the lottery and buy myself a Wiesmann GT MF4 sports car or maybe three (over a hundred grand each). This, of course (red, I want a red one) is after I altruistically open an animal sanctuary, purchase an estate for all my friends to retire to, open the swankiest vegan restaurant/Jazz club this planet could ever hope to see, create a spa for the homeless and give Greta Thunberg enough money to save the planet.

“Christmas is for the kids” I often hear people say; I say “Bah Humbug!” Christmas creates competitiveness, greed, envy and insecurity in children: “will I get what I want? Have I been GOOD enough? Will Santa come down the chimney if I don’t have one and will he eat the cookies that I left? Is a Sherman Tank asking too much?  What will the neighbor’s kids get?” And all the while the greed suppliers-- big toy, cards, stamps, booze, decorations and even agribusiness companies reap huge profits using cheap materials and labor. Marketing profits alone could give clean water to Flint.

It’s not that I dislike all holidays; I put up my share of Christmas decorations, in fact, every year my house looks like a landing strip for UFOs, but basically I hide on Halloween, I come out for Thanksgiving and then hibernate until Valentines days. I admit it, Scrooge has nothing on me except, I’m not afraid of ghosts; however, just so that I don’t poop your party and in the Christmas spirit, don’t you think it best to give me my winning lottery tickets and send me on my way in one of my three Wiesmann? The red one preferably.