11,816. RUDIMENTS, pt. 708

RUDIMENTS, pt. 708

(you want something to laugh at?)

When I was a kid, and when

anyone ever brought up that

old 'kids' thing' about the genie

and the magic lantern that you

rub, and three wishes  -  I must

have heard that shtick about

300 hundred times  -  it was

always the same. Some fool

would want a thousand candy

bars and a new car and a big

house to live in. Another kid

would want to be a baseball star,

live in Hawaii, and marry some

bombshell wife. You get the idea.

I used to sit there and just shake

my head wondering how they

could miss the point of the entire

exercise: Ask for whatever stupid

slob things you wanted, for the

first two, if you must, but when

you get to the third, just continue 

to ask, each time, for ten more

wishes, or a hundred, or a

thousand. Or, heck, just forget

the idea of three at all and just

go ahead and ask right out for

unlimited wishes. According

to the story, you'd get them.

It was all up  to the 'asker' at

that point; the third wish being

the key. I determined; but I guess

no one ever saw it that way, or they

were too engrossed in the gamer

aspects of the entire premise.

-

It's laughable, in light of society

and all the fights over religion

and philosophy and atheism and

ethics, and all that 'God is Dead'

stuff, that when you come right

down to it, Holy Saturday is

really the only full day the

Nietszcheans and Christians

can both agree that 'God is

dead'. I read that once somewhere

and thought that was pretty good;

even if it only lasts a little over

24 hours  -  that agreement.

When you lift that big, black,

judgmental cloud off the world,

it can almost be seen as not so

bad a place. For a few hours also.

Every wish was sort of a church

in itself  -  without doctrine and

rules, and certainly nothing you

could drag into St. Andrew's for

cathechism and not get your head

handed to you by some visiting

nurse...I mean, Nun.

-

Ah, whatever. I always tried

to leave a cushion for failure

around  me, a sort of psychological

soft pad for the crash. The best way

of doing that  -  besides simply

remaining correct  -  was to remain

aloof. Some of the Studio School

people were like that too, but for

them it came from the other direction.

They could remain aloof because

they had no needs, and everything

was already in order. I was like that

Linus kid or whoever it was in

Charley Brown who always had

some sort of blanket or something

that he held to, for security; security

being nothing but a reference from

which the messed-up person can

draw the needed stability and

centeredness.

-

It's funny for me to see a Charley

Brown reference, and one used by

me. (I always figured I was more

the Pig Pen type, that cartoon kid

with dirt always flying off around

him). It's difficult to imagine now,

so many things have changed, but

back in the late 60's that Charles

Schulz guy and his Charley Brown

(or was it 'Charlie'  -  yes it was),

comics were a really big and steady

thing. Seemed as if they were

everywhere, symbols of product,

references, daily comics. People

you'd never expect put a lot of

daily effort into keeping up each

morning with the day's strip,

somewhere, wherever they got it.

I had one friend who was sunk

into it, the whole routine  -  Linus,

the girl there, whatever her name

was, the dog, and all those routines.

I myself never liked it  -  like the

Disney stuff, I found it to be trite,

misleading, too happy, off-key,

and accident of any of the real

issues of the day. Maybe if

Staff Sergeant C. Brown was

portrayed returning from Vietnam,

with one eye, and an arm blown off,

perhaps then I'd have paid him and

it some mind. Otherwise, it was

all just prattle. I never knew why

people had to make characters and

make light of everything all the

time. The world was, for the most

part, a miserable place, and it 

seemed to me that the most

deserving thing you could do 

would be to face that off, for 

real, and not play stupid cartoon 

games. Like Bill Cosby too, and

all his Fat Albert crap. Look where

it got him. The Wizard of Oz,

behind Cosby's curtain, was a

God-awful creep.

-

We grow up  -  everyone does  -

with stuff like that crawling all

around us. The same kind of Gulf

Of Tonkin lying political BS that

killed your brother or you uncle.

And you want something to 

laugh at, still?
-
One time some guy on the
train came at me because I'd
motioned for him to pipe down
a little. He was really loud and
obnoxious  -  not a ghetto guy or
any of that. He was muscular, short,
taut, dressed OK casual, like some
office clerk type. He jumped up, came
right at me, followed me off the train,
haranguing me and then taking
that same harangue to another guy
who come over to the scene and added
his two cents against this guy's
noise and behavior. I admit, I
was frightened, because the guy
was off the deep end, cranked up
on something, and liable to do
anything  -  and he kept challenging
us to make a move. Inexplicably,
he was calling the other guy, (bigger,
taller) out for being a white bastard.
He'd already called me a long-haired 
faggot about three times. "And what are 
you gonna' do about it mother-fuckers?
Nothing. I thought so. I'm a cop, so I
can do whatever I want and you can't
do a thing about it. I don't care about 
any rules, they don't apply to me. I 
can do whatever I want, and I do. I 
make my  money protecting scum
bastards like you. I'm a fucking cop,
if you want I can ruin your day, for 
two hours or five, your choice, I'll 
pile you with paperwork, let's go 
right now; which do you want?
another word and I'll pull you both
in, let's go, c'mon let's go." He was
belligerent for sure, and we were
in the middle of a real problem. (I
found out long ago that NJTransit
'Quiet Car' designations are an
unenforced crock); the other guy
said: "You're not a cop, a cop
wouldn't act this way. I've got time,
 OK, let's go." The fake cop guy
walked off, huffy, loud, and still
hot. It was a tripwire scene, and
had it gone just a hair off-kilter,
anything could have happened.
It seemed like, back to that magic
lantern thing, that somehow this
one had produced, in error, a
surely evil genie.