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September 23, 1998
Volume 19: The Lady is a Tramp
Here's to the boys I've kissed
And to complete the list
Here's to the boys who said "No"
-- Harold Arlen-Leo Rubin
Here's the plan. You go buy the plane tickets, call me, and tell me where we're going. I'll get my passport in order and take the dozen shots against malaria and strychnine and incontinent buffalo. Clearly some kind of drastic action is necessary to shake this ridiculous control-freaky paranoia humourlessness that has this decade in a kung-fu grip, even with Auntie howling outside the window like a demented Catherine snowstorm.
I'm utterly serious, gentle readers. You know who you are. Chances are I've said to you personally, "Hey, let's steal a Datsun and drive it into the Gulf of Mexico," and you've smiled and said, "Oh, yes, that would be lovely, but I have a project due next week and then there's a high school reunion and I want to see the new Robert de Niro movie." But even if I haven't, you're still invited. We're not prejudiced over at the Church of the Last Stand.
To hell with your nonsense! Throw it all up in the air! Stick your head out the window and yell, "...and I'm not going to take it anymore!" Then get your credit card, book us two tickets to somewhere you're not, and let me know when to be at the airport. Auntie is amusing company even when she's in a bad mood and can long-lash her way past those she can't out-talk.
Tell your bosses and loved ones that your computer wrote letters of fire telling you to go. Tithe plane tickets to the Church of the Last Stand. Our tenets are "it don't mean a thing if you aren't in possession of the ability to swing," and "l'audace, l'audace, toujours l'audace". Auntie already has a hat, so all she needs is a whistle . We'll say we're missionaries and teach everyone the position.
I got Galahad as far as pricing tickets to Casablanca before he remembered he had to proofread a hundred pages of scripts before a 9am meeting the next morning. JayJay at least considered how satisfying it'd be to brutalize his rental car by driving it to Quito. Oh, gentlemen, I love you both dearly, but you have far too much money and not enough to do with it. JayJay was complaining to me how screwy his life is, and told me he had money in his bank account, to which Auntie exclaimed, "What is your problem, man! You could live in Argentina for a year on that! And take me with you!"
"But, but..."
"Look, all you have to do is drive, and stand there and look pretty. I'll take care of the lost ten tribes."
"But, but, but Auntie, what if..."
"That's why God made foreign embassies!"
"But Auntie..."
"Oh, bullshit."
Sure, there've been lots and lots and lots of possibilities that Auntie's grappled with both hands and which have tossed her lightly to the mat. But so what? Get an apple with a worm in it? Pick another one off the tree. The wicked witch made apples for a reason.
Now go from your computer, find a world map and a dart, put on a blindfold, pitch the thing at the map, take off the blindfold, and book some plane tickets on it. Then call me and say, "Auntie, we're leaving. Get some shots and get the elephant gun back from JayJay."
If there are no crawdads, we'll eat sand.
Of course, we can't leave until I'm done working for the local NDP candidate, writing a few more episodes of the serial Galahad contracted me for, writing some articles for a Montreal ezine, doing some more web design and... And getting the hell kicked out of me by Auntie for deviating from the path of truth. Forgive me, Auntie. I'll get a laptop and a cell modem. In fact, somebody tithe Saint Dynamite a laptop and a cell modem. She'll promise top billing in the afterlife of your choice.
Posted by cd at September 23, 1998 12:06 AM
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