Friday, June 21, 2013

Smashing Day


 I started this post early in the morning, and then had to leave for the day, working. I was planning on saying something about the difference between Tony Soprano and James Gandolfini - especially this thing about everybody checking out his stool sample - but then I ran across The Idiotic Cleanse Craze and the Modern Theology of Juice Fasts and - struck dumb - I thought, what more is there to say, huh? 

 Can't a guy just die?

   

 No, of course he can't. Because everybody else is scared to die. Can't just live either. Paula Dean (is that her name?) got asked a direct question, gave a direct answer, and now she's gone from the fucking Food Network. Crazy.

What country do these people think we live in? She's supposed to get her own reality show.

   

 One thing about living in America, as opposed to other countries I've visited, it is a cauldron. Like, try as I might to avoid even thinking about race (because I know it's unimportance) I can't escape everybody else thinking about it, acting on it, whether pro or con. So there's an unavoidable undertow, no matter what I think. The numbers, who aren't here yet, are too vast. If you're Huck Finn and all the rubes are in class, what does that leave for you to deal with today? Hall monitors and thugs. 

 And a lot of strip mawls if you make it out.

   

 So nothing's surprising. Looking at things now, from my marriage falling apart to the Republicans running Romney, I'm STILL feeling (a little) like Bugs Bunny when he "stepped" out of that falling house, defying gravity as it's smashed to pieces. That's supposed to be our heritage - and instinct. 

You want to play this game? Go on, play it. Over there.

There's enough of everything to keep you busy.

   

But "Bugs" would outsmart 'em and "Tony" wouldn't do it.

  So get beat up if you want to (said the man with a stab wound in his back) I like it as it is:

TMR tip of my evening beer to "the pursuit of happiness,..."