Sure I was. That was me. Sure. CBS. Didja miss it? I was the murder victim whose race car blew up. It blew up because he was an asshole. That’s me isn’t it? Of course it is . . . in caricature . . . I mean, it was me, wasn’t it? After all, the clown had four fifths of my first name. And the commercial! “I don’t mind when people cut me off . . .”MAKE TODAY FAMOUS
Ha-ha. Of course not. I don’t mind being cut off in traffic. Not at all. Unless the morning paper has a brief article about some Rita working at a homeless shelter killed by a vet who didn’t want to have counseling . . . It seems after he killed her he committed suicide by cop . . . and no, that ain’t me, in case you were wondering. I have other plans . . .
And that was me leaving the hospital, chief suspect in the crime in that CBS televised drama . . . What’d she say? “If you’re gonna try and kill me, don’t miss . . . Something like that. And there I was as the letter writer . . . foaming at the mouth, only I don’t write things like ”you will,” no no, instead I prefer phrases along the lines of “I would like to” - a subtle, but important distinction. Ambiguity - an abhorrent, but rather useful necessity . . .
The letter writer . . . ah yes. And the local CBS news affiliate advertised a rehash of that subject of my most recent, written, vitriol, the debate over lowering the drinking age. And here I had thought I had scuttled that debate by pointing out the appearance of political machinations involving the Governor and UVM - among other things. Unless it is a done deal and nothing anyone says at this point will make a difference. Ah well. I have only one voice, one vote. We already seem to engage in a wide array of human sacrifice as it is, what’s one more? Whatever. I didn’t watch the news item, I switched channels. Yes I did. I switched channels on the assumption that someone was just trying to piss me off . . . and do you know? There was nothing on that subject on the other station . . .
But if you missed me on that drama maybe you saw me on the other one, the one that aired earlier. I was the knife wielding luny, who, once finally ensconced in prison, found his daddy in the queue for dinner, and stuck him with a knife in the belly so many times . . . And as he did I watched, laughing hysterically, screaming yes, YES! dreaming of Ed . . .
Caricatures . . .
It seems rather odd to find myself - or at least, to find so many portions of my behavior, and/or my aspirations, even a significant part of my own name, echoing from my tv . . . after all, I’m not all that special, am I? I don’t have legions of paparazzi following me all over town, no no. There are, on occasion, networks of nitwits who simply can’t seem to get enough of my company, but that certainly doesn’t make me famous, or the focus of political cartoon . . .
From that I must conclude that it is simply that the behavior is, itself, so wide spread today that it becomes easy fodder for caricaturization. Never mind the exceptions . . .
I do have a small suggestion on that point, that is, if it proves that the behavior really is that widespread; maybe we should simply dispense with neural linguistics altogether . . .
Well. So much for tv. If you missed me there perhaps you may catch me in the window at the mall. Yes indeed. It seems I’m there too. But before I get to that . . . Last week I was downtown, there was a bit of theater . . . nothing too overwhelming mind you; in fact, it was so underwhelming that I’ve forgotten most of it. Yeas. Most of it. Except that last bit. I remembered that one piece, it was ed-u-cational . . .
Quite often the little theater really tends to piss me off. It’s just so irritating . . . and walking through the mall, someone asked “Well, what do you want to do now . . . “ They were standing next to a sign in a window that read:
Just a suggestion of course. One that makes me wonder: How many killing sprees have commenced on some similar note, the finale to some extravagant composition that few can truly appreciate because so few can hear the music . . .
Anyway, that was last week. Yesterday, in a different window, there was a cheese filled meat ball . . . That’s me, isn’t it? Aren’t I a meat ball? Cheese, cheddar, the choice of rats . . . That’s me too, isn’t it? Aren’t I, after all, a rat? Sure I am. I must be. After all, I’ve broken both rules of fight club. If you don’t know what that is, well. Don’t bother watching the movie. It’s allegorical anyway and really won’t make a lot of sense. Although, on the face of it, it may appear to make more sense than I . . .
and so on that score I really must leave you all to your own de-vices . . .
ha-ha-ha . . .
© D. Winter
February 12, 2010