It’s raining here in Southern California, which is good, but it’s chilly and wet and gloomy and we’re just not used to it.
Of course, back east it’s already frosty cold and in Alaska last week, the earth shook violently for over a minute causing widespread damage, so what’s wrong with 58 degrees and rainy? Relatively speaking. But it still sucks! This is LA! Sun! Beaches! Warmth! And… sun! Did I say that already?
It’s Wednesday, hence Blog Day, and because it’s gloomy nothing is coming to me. Also, today President George H.W. Bush was mourned by the nation. It’s a cold day in D.C. And all the Presidents were out, and sitting in the front row and now they’re analyzing it and who gives a damn who said what to whom or shook hands or not or whatever. The point is, he served his country for a very long time and even if you didn’t like his presidency, he seemed like a decent guy, and let’s face it, all former presidents, including Nixon, are looking much better these days, relatively speaking. At least that’s what a lot of people say.
I wasn’t going to write about the Bush funeral or the presidents or any of that, but when 41’s casket was taken to the air field to be flown back to Texas and his entire family boarded Air Force 1, it occurred to me that no one had any luggage. Not that you’d bring luggage to a funeral mind you, but you don’t usually go from the funeral to Air Force 1. Then it dawned on me: these people don’t need luggage like us commoners. We painstakingly figure out what we need on a trip and stuff it into a suitcase that might just fit in the overhead. These folks, bless their hearts, have a place to stay everywhere and clothes in all those places. You think the Trumps pack for the weekend in that weirdly garish country club/mansion in Florida? Well neither do the Bushes. Or the Clintons. Or the big celebrities like Oprah or Kanye, or the Royal Family. They go from one house with all their stuff to another house with all their stuff. For all we know, they might have EXACTLY THE SAME STUFF IN EACH HOUSE!
That’s what I was thinking about. Oh, and that George W. gave one of the best speeches of his life in remembering his father. Then go to the airport in your suit. No bag. Maybe a cell phone. The car drives you to the plane. I’m not talking private jet here, I know people fly in those, but a 747, and you just go up the stairs and sit wherever you like. Home in Texas in 3.5 hours. No one I know, even those who are pretty well off can relate to this kind of circumstance.
A similar thought came up a couple of years ago when Trump was elected and I pictured a scene where Hillary calls the Bushes and Carters to see if they’re going to the inaugural and realizes that, yes, they are all going and so she can’t get out of it. Okay that might not have happened, but it could have. That’s not the kind of phone call the rest of us make, to two former presidents to see if we’re going to the inaugural. And no, it’s not the same as attending the party in honor of the asshole who got the big promotion over you. It’s not the awkwardness, but the actual circumstances, that most can’t relate to. You can think of an analogous situation to your reality, but it just ain’t the same.
All of this thinking about relativity made me think about what I think about. Because of, well, writing, I try to write down notes to remember story ideas, or more usually jokes that come to me during the day or even while asleep. But sometimes I can’t remember what the notes mean. For example, last night we were out watching our friend’s jazz quartet and I said something really funny to Kiki and thought, text that to yourself to remember, so I do. And then I forget about it until this afternoon when on my phone is a text… from me. And it says, “Went meeny miney mo.”
Hilarious right? Went meeny miney mo! HAHAHAHAHA!
I could not remember, not even a little, what that meant. Kiki couldn’t either. All she remembered was that it was really funny. So, even following the time-honored habit of successful creative people everywhere, if you have a great idea, write it down, is not all that reliable. If anyone has a set up for that punchline, IM me.
Other things I think about:
– With zoos and circuses closing down to protect animals from mistreatment (a good thing), it will be more and more difficult for regular people, and kids, to see some of these wild animals. Of course, when we were kids we could see a polar bear in Manhattan, but ultimately it was sad as the bear would swim around in the same circle for hours at a time. He clearly was out of his mind. And we had “game farms” which were zoos with fences instead of cages, and they’d sell you food to feed to the deer and goats and whatever. In any event, the only way to see animals will be in nature. Most of us don’t go that deep into nature. So the only people who will see a lot of these animals, the deer and the moose and the rest, will be hunters who go out into the woods to shoot them.
Of course, at this point, deer hunting is considered “harvesting,” as they don’t have any natural predators in most areas, and so the deer population explodes, they run out of food, and they spread disease through ticks. So deer are now basically just really cute, giant rats. My feeling: you kill it, you eat it.
– Emu oil. People eat emu, a large flightless bird like an ostrich with a shorter neck. I’ve eaten emu. Tastes like venison crossed with turkey. Kidding. I can’t remember what it tasted like. Can you get it Animal Style at In ‘n Out? No, but they do have hot chocolate now. I digress.
There’s a product that is “emu oil” that is used for dry skin and other conditions. Where does this emu oil come from? Do they just put the entire emu in a giant press like olives? Is it oil from a gland of the emu? Fat of the emu? Where is this oil from within this emu? I tried to research this a few years back but couldn’t really find out. Then, it occurred to me that not only did I really not want to know, it was far more fun trying to guess.
– I have a sweatshirt. It’s one of those sweatshirts that’s really comfy and looks like it’s inside-out. Even when it isn’t. Which is brilliant because if you think of it, this shirt is reversible AND it can also be sold as two different shirts! Anyway, one day I thought I’d be a rebel and wear my inside-out-looking sweatshirt… inside out! Nobody noticed.
For 414 pages of the stuff I think about, all in a row, please consider purchasing my novel, Smoking In Bed: dreams of love, sex and terrorism.
Have a great week, and Godspeed, President Bush. We didn’t always like your policies, but you seemed to genuinely want to serve, and we liked watching your grow old with your family and jumping out of planes in your 80’s and stuff.