Can’t Say Enough About It

Can’t Say Enough About It

Isn't life essentially one long monologue with yourself. I mean, I'm just saying...

Isn’t life essentially one long monologue with yourself? I mean, I’m just saying…

It has been said by people smarter than me, that when you die, every building on the Registry of National Landmarks flashes before your eyes. Amazing! Who wouldn’t want to see all those historic erections just prior to expiring? Additionally, it’s been noted by people funnier than me that the Pope buys his special garments at the Vatican’s Big and Vain Shop. But enough talk about people who are smarter and funnier than me. After all, as many have said, there are so few. And yet this does have a lot to do with the price of tea in China because the unit price of Finely Cut Oolong Tea Leaves in Shanghai is set (through a process too complicated to explain here) by what people say about me. If you think that’s peculiar you should see how Madame du Barry prices blow jobs at the Chicken Ranch.

I Don’t Have to Work Blue

I can sense the whole gay marriage issue is becoming more accepted by the mainstream. For example the most popular coffee at Starbucks now is the Grande Homo ½ Caff. Husbands like it because it’s got a nice kick to it, and, more importantly, it goes down real easy. Wives like it because now they don’t have to. And it’s for ideas like this people say I’d make a great amnesia patient. For example, I always forget that when compared to any 30 second snippet of dialogue from 30 Rock, my writing is tepid at best. It’s important I forget that, otherwise none of this typing would see the light of day. I pour all this out in spite of my writing deficiencies being so easily eclipsed by others. And yet you’re still reading…eewww too self-conscious. Sorry. I’ll pick it up or as my father would say when he tried to contain his retro-giddy excitement about going someplace: “We go for a ride.”

On The Road

And while my current working epitaph is, “He Never Missed a Belt Loop,” I’d sure like it to be a little more expansive. Maybe, “He Took up the Space No One Else Wanted to Use.” Anyhoo what is death anyway but the irrevocable termination of life into an eternal black void. Scared? No. Where I’m going I’ll still have me. But some of you folks…sheesh. Take away your iPhone, Facebook and People magazine and you’re like wallpaper on a cruise ship. Of course I’m not referring to you specifically, but the other ones who aren’t you. No. You’re fine. It’s them. It’s always been them. You keep reading. It’s OK, just keep reading.   

I was just informed Margaret Thatcher died. The Iron Lady is no longer. Her epitaph – “I’d Like to See Meryl Streep Top This.” Although closely associated with conservatism, she did support Summer Camps to teach English children “Jazz Hands.” You think you know someone and then they surprise you with a loving reservoir of humanity. Like all the Republicans that support Gay Marriage. To a person they all had a beautiful son or daughter that was gay and therefore saw the punitive nature of discrimination against someone they loved so dearly. I call it virtuous hypocrisy.

I don’t know how to express the joy I experienced when I finally understood the joke: “At my age I don’t even buy green bananas anymore.” Quite an epiphany. If I could understand the many interlocking concepts associated with apprehending this green bananas joke, I could understand anything. And it was for this reason that in 1983 Nephews Magazine put me on their “Nephews to Watch in 1984” list. For whatever reason Homeland Security did the same for me this year.

It’s like I always say. I mean, Like I always say. I mean, I always say. I mean, I say. Anyway “If it’s salty and crunches, it’s made by Frito-Lay.” I’m beginning to think Homeland Security is right. If I worked there, I’d put me on a list too.

On A Serious Note

TS Eliot once remarked and I believe it is worth noting here that: “Hell is when things don’t connect.” And in a beautifully apposite example I give former Rolling Stones bassist Bill Wyman supreme credit for quitting the band in 1992 to pursue his unyoked life of personal freedom. Great liberating connection.

Back to the Show

I did it. I finally found the place where all the time goes. My mother used to refer to it when talking on the phone with her friends. She’d say “Shirley, I just don’t know where all the time goes.” And well, I got to thinking about it and made it my adolescent mission to find this chronocryptic Valhalla. And I did! I actually found the place. Rooms full of extravagant time, just yours for the asking. And in any denomination too – if you just needed a few seconds or a New York minute or a month of Sundays, even a blue moon – it was all there. You could even get an eternity (like when when you’re waiting on the phone for Tech Support). The sad thing is though, for the life of me, I can’t remember how to get there again and I don’t have the time now to figure it out. Oh where does all the time go?

Addressing the Title Resolution

And why is it that I Can’t Say Enough About It? Well it’s because I’ve already said too much.

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