Thursday, October 18, 2012


…be mine, that my talents at painting and writing, my savoir faire and cosmopolitan outlook, erudition and all-around cool demeanor would carry the day, that I would be surrounded by my minions like a magnet is surrounded by iron filings, but, ah, a funny thing happened on the way to the forum…actually not that funny but justice nonetheless at every turn, just another step on the well-worn path to obscurity; like Marlon Brando, “…I coulda been a contendah…” but I was busy doing nothing much except floundering in the twilight of a mediocre career.

…I haffta laff from this vantage point although 30 years ago when I was still in the running but could see the way things were going I wouldn’t have been quite so sanguine…hmmmm...sanguine is that the right word…hmmm…ah, here it is: sanguine, confident. No that won’t do, I have little confidence and have ever been thus. If you live on the streets covered with lice and sleeping with rats as I once did for waaay too long, your confidence tends to wane and never came back in my case.

…with a huge yeasty eructation burp – we are talking explosive - Doug, who had been called on to give the opening toast at this prestigious gathering of Lander’s aristocracy, such as it was, but who had gotten a little drunk first said, instead of his prepared speech, ‘Let the drinking, belching and fun begin!’ as Joann, his mortified wife, tried to go invisible…


…is not much of a stretch; youth was over in a heartbeat and old age drags interminably along, well, not quite…when you’re young you think old is some ethereal & distant abstraction but when you’re old and frothing-at-the-mouth while groaning, and trying not to tremble with fear at the gaping maw of Mother Earth lying in wait for (us)me, well, I ask you Dear Reader, is it – alone and palely loitering all by itself – enough reason to drink? Ergo, to quote The Bard, I shall partake of the demon alcohol ‘…til sense and sorrow both are drowned…’ Ahh yes, much better…like Nation’s, the place to be, or not to be dependent on your beliefs.

…I thought so, well then, let us(me) open this here bottle of Cooks’ Sparkling Champagne – and for you My Dear, spare no expense Love, nothing for you but the best, top of the line bubbly, $6.99 a bottle, Lass, please, please My Dear don’t thank me, was/is a pleasure, o and while you’re up Lass, mayhap a couple glasses…after which the reality of your (my) indispensability is rendered moot. Where once all lay ahead in wait, now lies behind in ruins. Who knew?

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