Shake up the holidays! Instead of Grandma's this year, why not take an exploratory trip in cultural diversity, and celebrate your family holiday at the home of a single guy? Of course there will be some differences, but that's what makes holidays interesting. To prepare you, I've put together a few things you might expect.
1) Decorations.
Single guys decorate. They just do it in their own way.
Single guys are always happy to blend in with the neighborhood theme.
Don't get too close! That wreath is made from unwashed boxer shorts.
Remember, Jesus was born in a humble setting.
Duct tape makes great ornaments for the tree.
And what could be more angelic than neon for a tree topper?
2) Food
Don't worry, you won't starve at a single guy's house.
Beer nuts are festive; they're even wearing tiny winter sweaters.
Pizza has little red dots, just to make the season jolly.
The beer is green! And it comes from Europe which I'm told is a very Christmasy place.
Just see the holiday joy in your host's eyes.
3) Activities
Get ready for a loaded day of jolly fun.
5 AM - Noon. Sleep in! See who can snore most like Santa!
12:30 - 3:45. The traditional Christmas basketball game!
3:46 - 4:14. Dinner, presents, and family crap. Paper plates make it all go faster.
4:15 - Midnight. Mediocre college football bowls!
Finally, the traditional Christmas couch stupor! (Starting time optional.)
4) Gift Giving
Single guys never lose their child-like gift wrapping style
They try to use up all the paper.
So they can have sword fights with the cardboard tubes
Oh my goodness - look what he got you!
And a single guy never forgets the children!
So go knock on Weird Uncle Frank's door this holiday, and immerse yourself in the wonder of male singledom. It's a holiday you'll never forget.
And to all my readers, here's a fantastic Doug Rice photo of Christmas in Winston-Salem.
Merry (burp) Christmas from your single guy blog writer, Headley.
Excerpt from the only good version of A Christmas Carol.
You’ve
navigated to an excerpt from Dirk Destroyer’s Less Destructive
Brother. If you haven’t been following the previous posts, I don’t
think I can help you. Just hang on and see if any of this makes
sense.
Chapter Six
Transition
Usually when a story is told, it comes in three parts. You have the
set up, the body, and the conclusion. When you move from one to the
other, you have a transition. Transitions are typically the hardest
things to describe in a story, and frequently the story teller has to
resort to bad grammar in the process.
For example.
“Anyway, that’s when we…”
Or
“So like after all that…”
Professional story-tellers have imaginative ways of accomplishing
transitions, but I’m just the seven or eight thousand and
something-year-old brother of a planetary pariah, and curiously,
making a smooth transition in story-telling is not one of the skills
you pick us if you live long enough.
That being said (typical amateur transition phrase,) I will move on
to the next morning when the members of our quest consisting of
Lustavious, Mage-e-not, Ono with Swampy firmly attached to her
shoulder, Lip Ton Tease, and the Jonma Claim incarnation of Uriculous
Wisehind gathered in the director’s lab prior to leaving the
ministry in search of Dirk Destroyer (who’s real last name was
McFarland, by the way.)
Chapter 6
Fellowship of the Bring
“Ah HA,” said Lustavious with relish and a musical lilt. “Now
we seek out the great criminal of our times… and several other
times as well. Let us step lively now, my comrades!”
“One moment,” said Youtickubus Akwar who while not in the room
previously, nor invited, appeared seemingly out of nowhere. This
surprised me less than when she appeared among the mops in the
janitor’s closet – which despite my seeming calmness at the time,
had been a reoccurring theme in my nightmares the previous evening.
At least she was near the doorway, and not standing behind me. She
motioned in a tall gangly, stiff looking creature that may or may not
have been alive.
“I found this Jonma,” said Akwar, “and I think he will be
helpful to our director with his little control problem.”
“Youtickubus,” said Jonma Claim in a harsh whisper, “We agreed
not to mention my little problem in front of the other members of the
quest.”
“But this Jonma will help you.”
“Huh?” said Ono, “can one ghoul plink and plop into two Jonma
Claims?”
“It can’t,” said Akwar, “but this creature is not a Jonma
Claim; he is a Jonma Carry.”
“Call me Jon,” said the stooped, but statue-like Jonma.
“I am not familiar with a Jonma Carry,” said Lip Ton Tease.
“Please call me Jon,” said the mask-like face of Jonma Carry.
“A Jonma Carry,” said Akwar, slapping the hand of the creepy tall
creature before it could ask us to call it Jon again, “is not
inhabited like a Jonma Claim, as a matter of fact, it does not even
start out profoundly stupid – merely below average.”
“Then how does it become a Jonma,” asked someone, but I don’t
remember who.
“A Jonma Carry is developed through brain-abusive behavior like
excessive tanning, overexposure to tomato-based condiments, and the
injection of poisons into the skin to make all facial muscles
immobile.”
“That sounds pretty stupid to me,” said Mage-e-not who, getting a
hard stare from Akwar, disappeared from the neck up.
“Perhaps,” said Akwar.
“So how will the grotesque creature be of help to us?” asked
Lustavious.
“Please call me Jon,” said Jonma Carry.
“A Jonma Carry,” said Akwar, “helps prevent the original
personality of a Jonma Claim from filibustering.”
“What’s filibustering?” I wanted to ask, but Akwar kept talking
about something unrelated so I couldn’t get my question heard.
“Big group,” said Swampy after Akwar finally shut up, “Too big.
Too many names.”
“I’ll leave,” said the invisible face of Mage-e-not.
“No,” said Jonma Claim. “You are all essential. I will need
your considerable powers Mage-e-not to assist Lustavious.”
“No more pork chops,” said Swampy.
“Then I volunteer to remain here,” said Akwar, “unless any of
you feel you want me along.”
I’d never noticed that they had crickets in the ministry building
before, but sure enough, I could hear them chirping. Swampy flew off
from Ono’s shoulder leaving a trail of defecation on Lustavious’
bandage.
Swampy liked crickets for breakfast.
Akwar looked up expectantly at Lustavious, who stared down at his
crappy bandage. Then she looked down at the Jonma Claim, who looked
almost as blank-faced as the first time I’d seen him. She started
to back out of the room, attempting to establish eye contact with
every member of the party. Even the Jonma Carry looked away.
A half hour latter, the invisible head of Mage-e-not asked, “Is it
safe?”
“She’s gone,” said Swampy flying back into the room, crapping
on Lustavious, and landing on Ono’s shoulder once again.
“Then let us venture forth,” said Lustavious in an
uncharacteristically low voice.
Without uttering another word, or looking anywhere but forward, we
left the ministry and walked three miles north.
“All right,” said Mage-e-not, “somebody tell me why we’re
walking north.”
“Weren’t you leading?”
“I wasn’t leading, I thought Jonma Claim was leading.”
“I wasn’t leading,” said Jonma Claim, “I thought Lustavious
was leading.”
“I’ll lead,” said Jonma Carry.
“Shut up, Jonma.”
“Call me Jon.”
“North is the path to Celestial enlightenment,” said Lip Ton
Tease.
“Is that what we’re looking for?”
“No,” sputtered Jonma Claim. “We’re looking for Dirk
Destroyer.”
“Where is he?”
Suddenly everyone was looking at me. “Look,” I said. “I’m a
go-along, get-along type of guy, but you’re asking me to find my
brother so the rest of you can cast him and me into oblivion forever.
Do you think I want to help you do that?”
“Ah!” said Lustavious energetically, while keeping a wary eye on
Swampy. “Of course we understand your feelings, but the time for
selfishness is past. It’s time to think of the greater good! The
whole planet is in trouble. People are starving. The sheep are
annoyed. We need your help. We need it now!”
There it was again, that empty-headed-feeling I had experienced
before. I knew there were obvious fallacies in what Lustavious was
saying, but my mind couldn’t catch one of them, much less wrestle
it to the ground, master it, and put it into words.
“He enjoys carving caricatures in the wool of sheep,” I offered.
“So we need to find sheep!” said Jonma Claim.
“Look around you,” said Mage-e-not.
He was right. There were sheep everywhere – dozens of little
groupings across the landscape, mostly gathered around grassy places
that were getting harder and harder to find.
“Not very helpful, Comrade,” said Lustavious, “but I know you
can do better,” which he sang rather than said. “You can lead us
to where we need to go.”
He hit a high note on go that was truly impressive. I couldn’t
remember any male older than thirteen hitting a note that high.
“And he likes smoking…”
“Look,” said Mage-e-not, “smoke!”
So, if
you’re keeping score, we have a caricature of a pol from the R
party and one from the D party. For proper symmetry, we need an
independent (with R tendencies,) for our next post. After that,
symmetry will go out the window, (though in a balanced, even-handed
fashion before it hits the messy scrapheap of chaotic satire.)
Speaking of smoke, here’s a clip of a moment from the Beverly Hillbillies when Granny gets busted for drugs.
In last
Tuesday’s post I gave Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer a pass on my
list of failed paragons. Not content to leave a tradition unbashed,
I decided to return to this claymation classic, and provide a brief
sequel.
Bumble
Starts a Tradition
by
Headley Hauser
Since meeting Rudolph and Hermey, Bumble had a problem. Sure, it was
fun to put the star on the top of the Christmas tree, and he enjoyed
cheers and clapping he got for it, but Bumble couldn’t shake the
impression that he was being applauded by a roomful of delicious
steaks and roasts.
When an abominable snowman wants to make a day special, he (or she,)
eats something special. For Bumble, nothing gave him that warm
feeling of the holidays quite so much as a pair of elves or reindeer
roasting on an open fire. Standing there in the workshop surrounded
by his new, edible companions, Bumble started drooling. Drooling for
a creature his size, and a member of his species was embarrassing
and, as he was a frozen creature, dangerous. Bumble quickly wiped
his mouth, knocking down a four-foot saliva icicle, which narrowly
missed Mrs. Claus’ punch bowl and still peppered the elfin choir
with ice shards as it shattered.
“Ewww,” said Noresta, a plump elf that Bumble thought looked
particularly delicious, “we almost got frozen monster drool in our
punch!”
“You know,” said Hermey, Bumble’s oldest friend, having known
him for two days without gnawing on him, “saliva serves a number of
useful purposes. It says so here in my Dentistry for Dummies book.”
“What this fellow needs,” said Yukon Cornelius, “is a new food
source to drool over, and the quicker the better!”
“There’s that walrus outside,” said Rumbo the formerly misfit
toy elephant in a clear case of tusk-envy.
“No-ho-ho!” said Santa, “We can’t have Bumble eating animals
that can talk, and blow-ho-ho. He’s already eaten too many a buck
and doe-ho-ho. We need to find him the perfect food and tie it with
a bow-ho-ho. Otherwise, our Bumble will have to go-ho-ho.”
“Hey Santa,” said Rumbo, who was a bit of a wisenheimer for a
stuffed animal, “what was that writer’s name, Edgar Allan…?”
“Poe-ho-ho!” said Santa.
“That’s what I thought,” said Rumbo.
“But Santa,” said Hermey, “we can’t kick Bumble out.”
Hermey was quite sympathetic for an elf that wanted to pull out
people’s teeth, root and all. Bumble thought that Hermey looked
particularly appetizing when he was sympathetic.
“Then feed him some chow-ho-ho.”
“Now Santa,” said Mrs. Claus. “Chow doesn’t rhyme with
ho-ho.”
“Give him food to grow-ho-ho!”
“To grow?” said Rumbo. “We’re already in danger of being
beheaded by his toe nails!”
“Nap time, Santa,” said Mrs. Clause. “You always start
stretching your ho-ho rhymes when you’re overtired.”
shameless product placement
“Ho-hos!” said Rudolph, as Santa obediently schlepped his
bowl-full-of-jelly to the bedroom. “Ho-hos are sweet and
delicious. Everybody likes ho-hos. I bet Bumble would like them.”
“Tried that,” said Hermey, “in spite of my better judgment
regarding tooth decay. We also tried cookies, candies, sugarplums,
and an asphalt shingle that fell off the roof.”
“Asphalt chewy,” said Bumble.
“But bad for your teeth,” scolded Hermey.
“Besides,” said Mrs. Claus, “we can’t have Bumble eating us
out of house and home.”
“Better than eating us and home,” said Rumbo.
“But Bumble preferring the shingle to traditional treats gives us a
lead,” said Yukon Cornelius. “We’ve been offering Bumble
things that we like to eat, but monsters are different from us.
After all, we don’t want to eat each other.”
obligatory Trump slam
There was a snort from the crowd that may have come from Horno, the
elf. Horno shook his head and pointed to the Hispanic elf next to him.
“So what you’re saying,” said Hermey “is that we need to find
something that there’s a lot of, and that isn’t alive, and that
nobody likes at all.”
“Fruitcake!” said too many people to list in this story.
“I have one here,” said Mrs. Claus, “but I don’t have
anything to cut it with.”
“Don’t ruin a perfectly good knife trying to cut fruitcake,”
said Yukon Cornelius. “It’s already bite-sized for our little
friend.
“Catch, Bumble!” Yukon Cornelius threw the disgusting fruitcake
into the air, and Bumble caught it in his mouth.
“He’ll probably lose half his incisors biting it,” said Hermey.
There was no rain of broken teeth as the giant monster chewed, and
then swallowed. “Uutecake good!” said Bumble, “Better even
that broiled elf.”
He probably would have gotten more of a cheer if he’d left out that
last part.
So Bumble the abominable snowman began a new holiday tradition by
eating a mound of fruitcake the size of Santa’s sleigh…
Unfortunately, his new tradition was short-lived as he got a job with
the EPA eating hazardous waste sites. The sites generally tasted
better than fruitcake, and, according to Hermey, were better for his
teeth.
What's that your say? There's no walrus in Rudolph? Alright, I cheated. Here's the 1986 claymation short the walrus comes from.
Friday, December 11, 2015
Dirk Destroyer Part 11 Chapter 5 Part 2
This is the
middle of a chapter that is about a quarter of the way through a
novel that became obsolete before it could be published because
Donald Trump is not mentioned.
For those of
you still reading - my apologies.
“You’ve heard of Jonma.” said Akwar, somewhere between a
question and a statement.
“Necromancy,” I said. “You find a Same, and the Same channels
the thoughts of a dead person. But the Same retains his or her
personality and thoughts; you’re never really sure when a Same is
telling the truth. Even if you’ve dug up old Uriculous from his
hellish vapors, that’s a pretty unreliable way of running your
ministry. That’s why people don’t use Jonma much anymore.”
“That would be true,” said Akwar, who was suddenly no longer
behind me, but standing in front of a door at the end of the hall,
“if we used a Same.” She opened the door into a laboratory.
Wires, tubes, and busy photons festooned the lab-like furnishings.
Facing the door was a round-faced little man with a blank expression.
Three clear tubes sprang out of his largely bald head. Each tube
had a different color liquid running through it, blue and red liquids
flowed in, brown sludgy liquid flowed out.
Suddenly, the face animated. The unfamiliar features took on a
familiar expression. I shook my head in unbelief. “You found a
Claim?” I asked.
“That’s right,” said Akwar. “Meet our Jonma Claim, but you
may call him Director of MOIST, High Priest of the Thirty-Seven
Really Good Ideas, Uriculous the Great!”
“Hello Elmer,” said Jonma Claim with just a hint of a lisp. “I’m
happy you’ll be here for the end.”
“The end of what?” I asked, stupidly.
“The end,” said the Jonma, but before he could complete his
sentence his face spasmed. A second expression, you might see on a
frequently angry person of low intellect momentarily took over the
visage.
“Too shmuch money in shpoliticsch!” he sputtered, throwing a gob
of spittle onto Lustavious’ bandage. “No sHouse or Shenate
member can do sche right shing with sho musch temptaschion!”
“One moment,” said Akwar, adjusting tubes. “Even a Claim
sometimes fights back.”
Claims were people of sub-human intelligence. I wasn’t surprised
that the Claim said something political; that’s where they were
most often found.
Uriculous’ expression reclaimed Jonma Claim, though his eyes looked
a little wild, like he’d just been thrown from horse he’d been
told was safe and now found himself back in the saddle.
“Don’t think my little… interruptions are going to save you and
your Brother, Elmer,” he said. “I’ve had a lot of time to
realize my mistake. Now I have a chance to remove the Destroyer
curse forever, and in Light Bringer Lustavious Brachenhun, I have
just the tool to do it.”
Brachenhun smiled his wide smile. Some people enjoy being called a
tool.
“The problem all along,” said Jonma Claim, “was you.”
“Me? I don’t make any trouble.”
“You bring your brother back,” Uriculous’ host sputtered,
reliably finding Lustavious’ bandage once again.
“I don’t do a thing!” I protested. “I have no idea how Light
Bringers send Dirk into oblivion, or how he comes back. Most of the
time I don’t even know he’s back until I run into another Light
Bringer.”
“That’s true,” said Jonma Claim. “You are stupid…”
Again the Jonma Claim’s face sputtered and spasmed. “Schtupid, I
say! I hardly knew Charles Keeting! We shared an elevator once –
that’sch it! I didn’t take any money! I didn’t fall into
temptation!” This was followed by a screeching caterwaul
punctuated by intermittent hisses. It sounded like two cats were
fighting inside the Jonma Claim. Akwar was busy working tubes.
Lustavious was trying to remove spittle from his bandage using glass
cleaner and a rag.
Jonma Claims are, by definition, among the stupidest humanoids that
walk upright. There was only one reason that Uriculous’ ghost was
having trouble controlling his Jonma Claim – it was that he wasn’t
too bright either.
This came as no shock to me. I knew Uriculous Wisehind. Dirk used
to torment the man mercilessly, and Uriculous’ only response was
the use of governmental power. When people are too stupid to think
for themselves, they gravitate to large punitive collectives like
government to make them feel smart and relevant. Maybe Akwar and
Lustavious were those kind of people as well, because I was the only
person in that room that seemed to be comfortable with the empirical
evidence that Uriculous the Great was actually Uriculous the Dim.
Who else would retranslate a whimsical “don’t bugger the sheep,”
into a planet ruining, “don’t bug the sheep?”
“The transplant is incomplete,” said the restored Uriculous as if
he knew what I was thinking. “Millennia of death spread my
consciousness across the planet. Soon, I will be complete, and in
complete control of this body. Then I will go with you and the Light
Bringer’s party myself and make certain that this time – not only
will Dirk Destroyer be cast into oblivion for all time… but you
will be as well!”
Maybe I was as dim as Uriculous, but I hadn’t seen it coming. All
this time doing everything I could to stay out of trouble and now I
was to be cursed with eternal oblivion?
And what about Dirk? If I was the reason he was able to return from
his torment, was it fair to take that away? Dirk wasn’t a bad guy.
He was kind of fun. Sure, he didn’t have a lot of respect for
Uriculous and others who abused power, but that didn’t seem to be a
crime worthy of eternal oblivion.
Oh no,
trouble for our protagonist! ‘Oh no,’ said my publisher, ‘it
took you this long to create trouble for your protagonist!’ So
much of life is perspective. What’s that? You don’t see it that
way?
Now that
we’ve introduced our first true character-caricature of an active
politician, they’ll start coming faster. If you’re having
trouble identifying these ne’er-do-wells, you can email me at
gfreads@yahoo.com, or you can start a group to read the excerpts
together and discuss it among yourselves.
Then your
friends can buy Trouble in Taos link and Volition Man link.
As we’re now well into the holidays, I thought I might pay tribute
to those paragons who inspire us all with the ideals of the season.
What would Christmas be without these animated and clay-mation
stalwarts of holiday goodness? They serve to inspire us to be the
kind of folk that makes Christmas last 365 days a year.
Or maybe they’re just total frauds.
Let’s have a closer look as these perennial icons of December prime
time.
Santa Claus:
The man lives so far north that no sane adults live near him. He
forces a diminutive ethnic minority to labor 364 days a year creating
products that he takes credit for on the one day a year he get’s
off his overfed be-hind and works. Eight “tiny” indigenous
creatures are forced out of their natural habitat to propel an
uninspected flying vehicle from icy rooftop to icy rooftop, contrary
to several OSHA regulations.
Santa a paragon? Only if you’re searching for an archetype of the
American corporate CEO.
Frosty the Snowman:
A dead pipe smoker is brought to life by a magical item he doesn’t
own. In spite of his revival, he continues to smoke like a chimney,
and refuses to return the magician’s property. While Frosty whiles
away his short, unproductive life, he portrays the victimized
magician as the bad guy.
Frosty a paragon? Not unless you admire beltway lobbyists
The Grinch:
A man living high above all others, and thinking himself superior,
decides to steal everyone’s property for the holidays. He then
returns some of the property (minus the inefficiencies of sled
travel,) and helps himself and his employee to a generous portion of
the people’s holiday feast. For this act, he accepts accolades as
a kind-hearted hero.
The Grinch a paragon? I suppose we could make him the patron saint
of political office-holders.
Charlie Brown:
A boy is tasked by his peers with obtaining the best quality
Christmas tree he can. He intentionally chooses the worst tree, has
a religious service, and convinces his peers that they see qualities
in the tree that aren’t there.
Charlie Brown a paragon? You could make that argument. If inspiring
evangelists and Amway enthusiasts around the world by proving that
you can sell anything with religion is a virtue.
Rudolph:
Hmmm. Victimized, sorry for himself, whiny, he runs away and
chances on some people that end up helping themselves. The real hero is an elven dentist.
Rudolf a paragon? I guess he’s not evil. I’ll give the little ruminant a pass, but notice he’s the only four-legged herbivore on
this list.
Little Drummer Boy:
An undisciplined child wanders into an otherwise adults-only baby
shower. In spite of the infant’s sensitive ears, he pounds out an
elongated drum solo. He then congratulates himself because the
infant in a fit of gas forms his lips into a smile.
The Little Drummer Boy a paragon? You tell me next time you
volunteer to organize a pageant and some nine-year-old demands the
lead because he/she is so special.
The Tick!:
While not ordinarily associated with the holidays, The Tick is
selfless and dedicated to the betterment of… non-evil stuff.
The Tick a paragon? Absolutely! That’s why evil corporate big
shots cancelled both his animated and live-action shows, and you
never see his Christmas special!
For those of
you wondering, the novel is just about to get moving, but first we
have to spend time in a broom closet. Don’t all adventure require
some closet time? I’d promise that after this session there’d be
no more closet time, but I don’t like breaking promises.
Chapter 5
The Uriculous Jonma Claim
I found myself alone with Lustavious, and if I’d planned my day
carefully, I don’t think I would have scheduled that.
“You got a medical office?”
“There’s a sink in the janitor’s closet.”
The janitor’s closet? I didn’t ask him why he preferred a closet
full of dirty mops to a medical office or even the men’s room.
“I think you’re supposed to hold your arm up and apply pressure.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“I dunno,” I said, “I’ve been alive for thousands of years, I
probably heard it several hundred places. After a while it sinks
in.”
He nodded and smiled. For a confident man like Lustavious, being
gouged by a rat-bird’s beak had to be a surprise – even
unsettling. Lustavious’ confidence was starting to return, and I
wanted him washed and bandaged before his bull-dozer charm returned.
“So that bird,” he said. “Does he belong to you?”
“He belongs to himself, I guess, but he hangs around me all the
time.” It occurred to me that Swampy was not hanging around me at
the moment. He was with Ono. Did that mean I’d been replaced?
Why did I feel jealous? Really, why did I feel jealous? Was
I jealous that Swampy had left me, or that he got to spend time with
Ono?
That’s when I realized I was attracted to the young wizard woman.
I usually have to be around a woman four or five decades before I
feel any attraction, and they are usually pretty close to dead by
then, so there hadn’t been a lot of long-term relationships in my
life.
Of course by my standards a long-term relationship would require at
least five or six hundred years.
“So,” said Lustavious, “does this bird act like that all the
time?”
“You mean gouging muscle tissue out of your arm?”
“Yes.”
“Only with people he likes. It’s a mating thing. He must have
found you charming.”
“But he’s a boy bird.”
“Swampy’s gay.”
I had no idea of Swampy’s sexual orientation, but Lustavious was
quiet for a while. Maybe he was wondering why I’d spent the last
few millennia with a gay bird – and what that might mean about my
intentions regarding his medical care. What ever shut Lustavious
down was fine with me. It wasn’t until we had the gauze wrapped
and pinned down that he asked, “Do you think it was my singing?”
“Singing?”
“That got the bird so…” Lustavious pointed to the bandage with
his non-mutilated appendage, “amorous.”
“I never sing to Swampy,” I said with a tone of unspecified
innuendo.
Lustavious nodded nervously – then jerked as Akwar came out from
behind the mops.
I just raised my eyebrow – sure Akwar’s sudden appearance was
jarring, but if staying calm increased Lustavious’ insecurity… I
guess I’ve covered that. “So, what now?” I asked as if I had
been expecting her.
“The director’s lab,” said Akwar. I looked out the door of the
cleaning closet and down the largely plain hallway and tried to
figure out how Akwar had approached without me noticing.
Then I became aware of her words. The director’s lab? Nearly
every occasion when I’d been summoned to the MOIST ministry,
there’d been a Light Bringer, or retired Light Bringer in charge.
I was standing with the Light Bringer, and we both were being
summoned to – not an office, but a director’s lab.
Lustavious saw the expression on my face and laughed. “He doesn’t
know.”
“We’ve kept it a secret,” said Akwar.
“What secret?”
Lustavious enjoying the turn in our battle of nerves, gestured for me
to precede him out of the closet and down the hallway.
“You know who the first director of MOIST was, don’t you?”
asked Akwar.
“Of course,” I said, “Uriculous Wisehind. I knew him.”
“I know him too,” said Akwar, “so do half the people in this
building.”
Was it possible that one person might have lived on Two all those
millennia without me knowing? Was it possible that half the people
in the building had? That didn’t sound right. Even I wasn’t
that obtuse. “I don’t understand,” I said.
Lustavious laughed. “We’ve got a little secret for you,” he
sang. The man’s smug confidence was back. Where was Swampy when I
needed him?
So now
you’ve met most of the main characters except for Dirk, and two
others. I don’t much care for one the two others. Come meet him
next Friday.
Am I unfair to bureaucrats? Maybe. It could be worse.
The Burlington Mall
opened when I was ten. It was part of the first wave of indoor
shopping malls across the country and quite the novelty in the
western Boston suburbs. Burlington was three towns away from our
house, but that seemed like nothing as our whole family loaded into
the woody station wagon to see this great wonder. The parking lot
held more cars than I thought existed.
We found a spot a hundred
yards away from the nearest door, and I ran those yards like Jim
Nance through the Miami Dolphin secondary. Finally (after I waited
for the adults to catch up,) we entered.
I thought I was in heaven.
It was the Christmas
shopping season and the elaborate decorations in the entry hall made
downtown Maynard’s decorations look pathetic by comparison.
Christmas music politely cuddled our ears as made our way down the
magical hallway until we came to the mall proper.
"The hallway is
as wide as Main Street," murmured a bemused patron behind me,
and I had to agree. But unlike Main Street with its poorly parked
Studebakers and ice water-filled potholes, the Burlington Mall was a
wonder of orchestrated festivity. They had a full-sized North Pole, and colorful carolers tastefully accenting (in both music and
costume,) the walkway.
Above me twinkled electronic stars that were
so authentic that I thought for a moment I was outside.
I wandered in
amazement. There was no hurry. Sure, I had presents to buy, but I
felt like I was in Disneyland (Disneyworld wasn't open yet.)
The place was
packed, but there were places to sit and stay out of the hustle. I
chose the fountain with the wooden bridge. The flocking, icicles and
an animatronic deer made it feel like a real outdoor winter scene -
at seven-two degrees Fahrenheit.
After that trip, Mom
never had a problem getting us out to the car whenever she announced
a return to this capitalistic Shangri-la.
Sigh...
I went to the mall
today. It wasn't the Burlington Mall; it was one close to where I
live now. I traveled a quarter of the distance we had forty-six
years ago, and I begrudged every kilometer. I could have parked by
the door, but chose a place less likely to get my car keyed.
I
entered into a narrow hallway that was poorly lit. The only
attractions in this particular stretch were two bathrooms. Though
the men's was clearly marked, wads of adhesive from a long-lost sign
indicated the women's bathroom. Once into the mall proper, there
were stores alternating with darkened fronts, and scores of tiny
kiosks littering the once-broad thoroughfares.
"Sir, can I ask
you a question?" said a man at a kiosk as I passed.
"You already
did," I replied and I kept walking. Yes, I was rude, and I was
ripping off an old Vaudeville line, but the scent of desperation
wafting from commission sales clerks kept me moving. Unfamiliar
music blared from the poorly balanced music system. A bored teenager
clicked her polished nails on a smart phone. She sat at a kiosk that
had the bottom half of several mannequins protruding upside down from
its counter. I had no idea what she was selling and wondered if she
did. Though I was moving quickly, a pack of senior citizens passed
me. One of them wore a tee shirt that said on the back, "If you
can read this, you're being left behind."
And I felt behind.
I felt that the wonder of indoor shopping was dead and buried in an
unmarked grave somewhere in my past.
I didn’t even know it was sick.
And so I find myself
wondering. Is the contrast due to degradation in mall-hood, or am I
viewing the past through sugarplum tinted glasses?
Has the age of the mall passed, or
have I passed the age for malls? Even Buddy senses the magic is gone.
