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People never have to leave home now. They can be home-birthed, home-schooled and work from home. They can have meals and groceries home-delivered.

If they get sick – homeopathy.

All their friends – homies.

All their hits – homers.

They can even visit the Great Outdoors by sitting on their ovens where they’re Home, Home on the Range.

Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.

1. New England Damn Chowder – Favorite soup of Tourette sufferers
2. Cyrillic Alphabet Soup – It’s Greek to me
3. Split Bee – It hear it gives you a buzz
4. Chicken Poodle Soup – Made only from poodles who were euthanized
5. Vicious-soise – A stone cold soup made from really mean potatoes
6. Gaznacho – Another cold soup of congealed cheese and tomato
7. Maxistrone – When minestrone just isn’t enough
8. Italian Wedding Soup/Italian Divorce Soup – These soups have you coming and going
9. Dense Onion Soup – It’s a French Onion Soup, you just can’t get through to
10. Me So Soup – This soup is all about you. Also called Narcissisoup.
11. No Alarm Chili – Chili for white folk
12. Lobster Disc – A hard shell, hard drive programmable bisque

1. Walla Walla, Washington now Stuttgart Stuttgart, Washington
2. Shakespeare’s birthplace now Stuttgart-upon-Avon
3. Muslims would now make their annual pilgrimage to Stuttgart.
4. Plane ticketing would be very tricky, but at least you’d never land in the wrong city
5. More conversations would sound like this:

Where you from?

Stuttgart.

Really! Me too.

5. Truth or Consequences, NM now Stuttgart or Stuttgarts, NM
6. Bombay, India now Mumstuttgart, India
7. The Sinatra hit New York, New York now New Stuttgart, New Stuttgart
8. Conversation:

So where have you lived?

Well I was born in Stuttgart, but I was an Army brat so we pretty much moved from Stuttgart to Stuttgart

9. Conversation:

We honeymooned in Stuttgart Falls.

Oh, it’s beautiful there. That’s near Stuttgart isn’t it?

No, you’re thinking of the one on the Canadian side.

     10. A Gambler’s Complaint:

I’m so pissed off about the World Series. I can’t believe Stuttgart beat Stuttgart. I mean Stuttgart had all the players and yet Stuttgart still won. I hate Stuttgart.

      11. Reworked city of Rome phrases:

Well, Stuttgart wasn’t built in a day

When in Stuttgart do as the Stuttgartans do

All roads lead to Stuttgart

       12. And finally, Fairbanks, Alaska would still be a miserably cold place to live in

As they say, “There’s a lot to unpack here.” But my stuff will never get unpacked. How can it? I have way too much baggage. You too? I thought so. I’m not worried though and neither should you, because eventually it all gets put in its place. Fraught, little David may experience pangs of free floating anxiety at his mountains of baggage to be dealt with, but serene, knowing David is completely equanimous about his barrage of baggage. More baggage, I might add, than can be found on Carousel 8 at LAX International Terminal after an Airbus 380 unloads its baggage hold for its 525 passengers. That’s a lot of baggage and a lot to unpack. So let’s start.

 

You may wonder how you produced so much baggage to begin with. I mean you were just going for one lifetime on planet earth. It was advertised as a 28,000 day, 27,999 night, no expense paid trip to the 3^rd rock from the sun, but somehow you managed to pack enough for 3 lifetimes. And now you’re stuck with all this baggage. And because of the profligate manner in which you spent your onboard ship credits (Free Will), you managed to produce a whole other lifetime of karmic baggage. You forgot rule number one: when you’re in a hole, stop digging. Well at least you were smart enough to avoid the Time Share sales pitch. You were smart enough to avoid that right? Don’t tell me you’re going to do a 2-hour Time Share sales pitch – well, more baggage for you. I just think you could’ve invested your time more wisely.  

 

This idea of “stop digging” is akin to the doctor’s creed of “First do no harm.” And as this pertains to the traveler’s journey here on earth the creed should be, “First, just bring what you need – which is nothing. Well nothing but an open heart and a closed mouth. And stop producing more baggage. Jesus Christ! Can’t your stuck mind be a little more flexible?” We wish it was that easy. But who among us isn’t guilty of trying to shape our world to suit us and consequently produce more baggage than Samsonite does in a year.

 

Oh, d-d-dear. What’s to be done about all this unbidden baggage? It feels like there are 1200 separate Pandora’s Boxes in my head. Who would want to open them, let alone unpack them? Let’s examine quickly the schemes and plans I’ve hatched to rid myself of unwanted baggage: Maybe Goodwill will take it. Maybe if I ignore it, it will just go away. Maybe if I get rich enough I can distract myself for an entire lifetime so I don’t really notice my challenges while I focus on fun stuff like writing clever little essays or choosing just the right tone for my spray tan or binge-watching Real Housewives of Cell Block H – Yuk! In all cases, never underestimate the power of distraction.    Read the rest of this entry »

1. Imaginary Friends Support Group – It’s not who you know, but who you think you know
2. Massagynist Anonymous – Support group for men who rub women the wrong way
3. Leaf Blower Awareness Association – Just in case you weren’t aware enough
4. Alcoholics Specifically Named – Life is too short for anonymity. Go public or go home.
5. American Fart Association – This group stinks. However it’s very popular with 6-year olds
6. The Why Are We Always 6^th on the List Support Group – So predictable
7. The Because We’re 7^th On the List Support Group – So after the fact
8. PTSD – Pre Traumatic Stress Disorder support group for worriers who are traumatized by things that haven’t happened yet
9. 9¾-Step Recovery Program – For people who simply don’t have the time for a 12-step recovery program or just really like Harry Potter
10. Agoraphobic Hermits LTD – This group pretty much keeps to itself. No meetings, no roster, no nothing. “Minding our own business” is their rallying cry.
11. The Useless Thoughts and Prayers Support Group – This group really tries to be sincere
12. Dealing with Real Depression – A self-help group for people who live below sea level
13. The Club for Trying to Read the Tattoos on Black People – I think they’re getting ripped off. Maybe artists should use white ink
14. Adventurers Who Plan to Conquer the North and South Pole – It’s the new bipolar
15. Polar Bears Who Go Both Ways – It’s the even newer bipolar
16. LGBTQ? with ADHD – Support group for people of letters – many letters
17. Undereaters Anonymous – Not an organized group, but comprises about 25% of the world nonetheless
18. The Alliance to Prevent Total Eclipses of the Heart – Only Bonnie Tyler is eligible

Drawing from their rich tradition of shunning modernity while embracing simplicity the Amish community has opened a 666-acre family fun park called The Amish Amusement Barn. Hoping to win converts to their joy of sober merriments, Church Elders say they raised this Barn as an analog antidote to today’s digital distress. Church Youngers say it puts the “fun” back in fundamentalism. Contrary to the generally positive inhouse reviews, Church traditionalists lament, “We have visited this so-called Amusement Barn – and we are not amused.”

For purposes of writing a review (full disclosure: This review was underwritten by Famous Aimish Chocolate Chip Cookies – a division of Mennonite Industries) yours truly visited this proper paean to God-given fun. And in keeping with the sentiments of the Amish community, this review is written by candlelight on a typewriter while sipping on some mead. I hereby submit the following review:

The Amusement Barn bespeaks good, clean fun the way God meant it to be pre-Garden of Eden – i.e., tempting, but not too tempting. And with a janitor to visitor ratio of 1:5 this Amusement Barn is a classic case of cleanliness being next to Godliness.

The park seems to be from a bygone era. But as wary visitors begin to participate in the Amusement Barn’s rides, games and reveries, they find themselves transformed from a nervous Nellie in digital distress to a serene Solomon in analog rapture as the yoke of modernity is lifted from their weary shoulders. That’s how I see it anyway. But maybe that’s just the mead talking.

Located deep in Mennonite country, where men are Mennonites and women are Womennonites, The Amish Amusement Barn begins to reorient their guests immediately upon arrival with visitors parking at a staging area about 1 mile from the Barn. From there they’re whisked away in an enchanting little horse and buggy driven by authentic Amish teamsters. As your stately open air conveyance gently jostles you on its journey to this Mecca of merriment, anxieties begin to melt away to the extent one hardly notices the 40 ton 18-wheelers rumbling by on the interstate at 70 mph, not 3 feet from the buggy.

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In a move piggybacking on the popularity of its Hall of Animatronic Presidents, the Disney Co. announced a new attraction – The Hall of Stationary Bowling Pins. Disney hailed the new exhibit as a great way for haggard park guests to hit the reset button – especially if someone has just knocked down all the pins. In a fickle world of short attention spans and immediate gratification, the Hall’s celebration of Zenlike joy in promoting the quiet veneration of stationary bowling pins seems a risky bet – especially when set against thrill-seeking clientele expecting the exhilarating sprays of Splash Mountain.

 

The hushed museum quality of this static exhibit is as dialed down as they come. And yet, however counterintuitive it may be, this retro-move seems to have struck a nerve with parkgoers. And this strike has carried over to the bowling pins. For example, many visitors were overcome with emotion after viewing the shrine and commented how strange it was that something so very stationary, could also be so very moving. Go figure.

 

Visitors to this shrine can expect to swap out their shoes at the service desk in order to walk on the hallowed hardwood floors. And once inside the hall, patrons are asked to stay in their assigned lane and to keep their minds out of the gutter. Visitors are invited to commune with, and observe these proudly erect stationary pins. Some say they can even experience a pinsetters pride while gazing upon these 10 triangularly displayed pins in all their imperturbable glory.  

 

They’re all there: The kingpin, the 7-pin and that rascally 10-pin. See them all spotlighted one by one in their unpainted, undifferentiated and motionless glory – standing at attention and bathed in patriotic light. The bowling pins possess a Presidential eminence despite betraying no movement, no speech and just the thinnest personification beheld in these wooden monoliths. They’re a lot like Calvin Coolidge that way. Keglers sometimes spend the whole day here, buffing there balls and dining on chili dogs at the 11^th Frame Snack Bar.

 

Solemnly situated next to the stationary display is the venerated Tomb of the Unknown Bowling Pin. This orphaned and unidentified pin is resting fittingly in an old alley. As befits its status, the Tomb of the Unknown Bowling Pin is dutifully guarded 24/7 by an active-duty Pinsetter squatting at attention and resplendent in a crisp, camouflage bowling shirt. Rain or shine, the elaborate Changing of the Pinsetter ceremony is a well-attended, somber occasion played out every 2 hours or every 300 game – whichever comes first. They say whenever there’s a Changing of the Pinsetter at the Tomb of the Unknown Bowling Pin, you can hear a pin drop.  

 

After emerging from the exhibit, Marty Cliché remarked, “The Hall of Stationary Bowling Pins is right up my alley. The entire experience just bowled me over. It strikes me as a great place to spend spare time.”

 

The Hall has not been without controversy with some calling it a pagan idolization of inanimate objects. This anti-bowling group would like nothing other than to see this Mecca to False Idols knocked down and scattered to the winds while the PBA (Professional Bowlers Association) strenuously disagrees saying, “Whomever shall knock down these pins has gotta have balls.”

 

1. Fallen Apple: A Story of Utmost Gravity
2. The Thin-skinned Tomato: The Case of the Saucy Wench
3. When Bananas Go Black: “Dear God. Now My Only Future is Banana Bread.”
4. The Case of the Puckered Plum: He’s All Ready to Be Kissed, But Now He’s Too Old
5. Cherries in the Pits: Gasoline Alley is Their Redemption (yes, those pits)
6. When Oranges Get Moldy: How Their Death Gave the World Penicillin
7. When Peaches Go Soft: Another Way to Feel a Warm, Soft Fuzzy
8. Where Do We Find Mangoes? Wherever Wo’man goes’
9. I Don’t Give a Fig: Lack of Compassion in a Ficus carica tree Comes Back to Haunt It
10. I Know What the Dried-up, Deformed Lemon Behind the Refrigerator Did Last Summer
11. The Case of Barry Buried Because of Beri-Beri: Shoulda Eaten Berries
12. Sour Grapes: I Know I Could’ve Written a Much Funnier List, I Just Didn’t Want Too

Let it be known that when I become irretrievably incapacitated, or worse, unable to operate my iPhone, I choose to be euthanized and then cremated – in that order. I don’t want any surprise cremation until I’m good and flatlined. And this is not some morbid fascination with the great beyond. It’s all part of a grand strategy where I come out the other side of my death bigger, better and more magnificent than when I went in. My unorthodox plan for my cremation could become very popular and might suggest a societal trend. Then again it might suggest I’m a lunatic. It’s not a question for me to decide. I’ll leave that to my court-appointed conservator to resolve. In any event, I bequeath to posterity my cremation plan for a post-David life. And if posterity refuses my plan, I’ll bestow it upon a more ambitious and can-do heir capable of executing my wishes – listening Bezos or Musk.  

 

Revered astrophysicist Sir Stephen Hawking’s ashes are buried in Westminster Abbey between Isaac Newton’s body at rest and Charles Darwin’s non-evolving corpse. When you’re a genius it’s easy to keep good company. I don’t fit the genius category (except when it comes to my knowledge of Hogan’s Heroes) so for my final resting place I resolved to have my unknighted ashes scattered to the wind and leave it at that.

 

 

 

But Sir Stephen Hawking’s genius gave me another idea on how to venerate and perhaps even invigorate my lifeless ashes. Instead of having them strewn piously in some verdant meadow or scattered ceremoniously into one of our fine, welcoming oceans, I’d have my ashes compressed into an infinite singularity. An infinite singularity –  like the mighty primordial singularity from which the Big Bang boomed and all of creation sprang forth. Sir Stephen discusses infinite singularities in his monumental work A Brief History of Time. He describes this infinite singularity with unclouded professorial surety, but also in a manner that is completely impenetrable: “In the moment before the Big Bang, the universe is thought to have had zero size and so to have been infinitely hot.” Huh?

 

Now I don’t know what any of that means, or why one would follow the other – that is, why would a zero size universe (whatever that is) should be infinitely hot. But I’ll take it on faith that Mr. Hawking is on to something Big. Really Big. Amazon Prime big. So hitching the success of my afterlife to Sir Stephen’s luminous star seems like a good bet. More specifically, combining my quantum calculus with Sir Stephen’s theories, I believe that if my carboniferous ashes were compressed into an infinite singularity, my cremains would achieve Hawking’s vaunted “zero size and infinite heat.”

 

And don’t think this is some pie-in-the-sky idea. It’s more of a pi in the circumference idea I’ve thought through very carefully. The plan is to have my cremains launched toward each other at the speed of light in the 17 mile circumference loop of the LHC (Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland). The result of this collision would be the hyper-concentration of my cremains into an infinite singularity and would set the stage for a 2^nd Big Bang. A 2^nd Big Bang based on my cremains, whereby I might become the universe and permeate this new Davidverse with the unmistakable tang of my being. This isn’t about notions of legacy or immortality. It’s about us God sparklers retaking our rightful place in the Cosmos. Not just for me, but for everyone.

 

This new Davidverse would be a divine and accessible place where everyone would be cleansed by meteor showers. Where we wouldn’t need Intimacy Coordinators because we’d know just what to touch and when to touch it. Where never was heard a discouraging word and the skies were not cloudy all day. In this less formal Daveverse; napkin rings, finger bowls and grapefruit spoons would be optional. Other than to say, “Don’t play with matches,” you wouldn’t have to tip people any more. It would be a place where 2 additional hours of daylight would be available for busy people who complain, “There just aren’t enough hours in the day.” Guilt and depression will be so last week – so will 7 days ago. In this 2^nd Big Bang universe, circumstances, predicaments and situations (which I believe are all about the same thing) will be replaced with a vitality of soul last seen when Bobby Sherman danced his way through an in-house milk commercial on Shindig. Bobby says not one word and exudes effortless energy drawn from some deep wellspring of joy we’d all do well to tap into.

 

I know. Becoming an infinite singularity is a Big Ask. Perhaps the biggest Ask ever. But what can I say? I’ve always been a big pain in the Ask.

 

THE END

 

 

Outtakes, Addenda and Bootleg Material from “A Brief History of My Cremation”

Now in the odd way I always have extra puzzle pieces leftover when I’m thru with a puzzle, I have extra material leftover from the above story A Brief History of My Creation. I’ll share this less cogent material with you below:

I don’t make the karmic laws, I just try to avoid them. 

Stephen Hawking’s son went into the underwear business and wrote a book called A Brief History of Briefs.

I’m sure in some parallel universe they’ll be a Stephen Hawking avatar who is an Astro-herbalist and writes a groundbreaking new book called A Brief History of Thyme.

Some people call it euthanasia because they want their suicide to feel more virtuous.

And don’t you find it odd that the pedestrian term “Big Bang” has been applied to something so mysteriously magnificent. I mean the transcendent ignition point to the universe – an event so ineffably awesome releasing untold energies and the beginning of time – and the best descriptive term scientists can apply to it is…”Well, it’s like a Big Bang.” One can only  imagine the Big Bang translated into other Languages:

1. 1. French: Le Grande Boom Boom
   2. Mexican: Habanero Supreme
   3. Ebonics: Boom Shaka Laka  
   4. Japanese: Boomzilla or Shibumi
   5. Esperanto:   Bam Bam Pebbles
   6. New Age: Cosmic Achoo
   7. Yiddish: Mazel Pop