Surviving The Big One Part I
In my case the hurricane taught me to keep a lot of tuna fish around the house, to cope with warm beer, and to loot the large appliance stores early before all the cool electronic stuff has already been stolen.
Reliving The Sixties
Yeah, that big pile of tie-dyed shirts was mine.
No, I'm not regressing back to the sixties. I honestly thought they would look good on me. I soon realized, though, that I'm not as svelte as I used to be. Put another way, when I tried one on I looked like a giant half-orange, half-lime Fruit Cake from Sesame Street. In other words, instead of looking cool I looked like a giant stuffed parrot. One guy derisively called me "Moby Grape."
We walked in together. "Oh, Hi! Everyone . . . what a surprise," she said, yet we could also see the trembling lower lip.
"We need to talk to you," I said sternly.
"About what?" she replied weakly.
"Your problem," I said gently, my hand on her lap. Karen burst into tears. "I can't help it!" she wailed through a flood of tears. "You think I want to live like this? You think I enjoy this? I can't help myself!" she sobbed, head in hands.
We gathered around her, holding her, kissing her, reassuring her. The first step is to admit it, and she had.
"Karen, look me in the eyes. Karen, please don't take this personally, but we need to say it aloud." We did so in unison.
"Karen, you don't drink enough."
God Hears All Sinners
Consider any given Sunday morning. People are draped over altar rails all over the world, weeping and praying. "Help me, Jesus," "Save me Lord," "Hear my prayer," "One more chance, Jesus, please, just one more," "Oh Lord, give me the money back I lost on the Super Bowl before my wife notices it is missing" – umm, let's forget that one – and so on. But Jesus isn't hearing the desperate pleas of the sinners.
"Do you hear something, Peter?" he'll ask.
"A bunch of gnats."
"Man, they are really buzzing this morning!"
"We should get some spray!"
Then, having marginalized every sinner in the universe with a two-minute conversation, Jesus turns his attention to what REALLY matters.
"Hey Pete, wanna play some golf?
Family Surfaces in U.S.
Disgraced former Libyan dictator Muammar Gaddafi's family has surfaced – in an illegal basement apartment in Springs. Gaddafi's seven sons and about a dozen relatives settled into the one-room basement, using crude handmade wiring to hook up a stove. Mattresses, some touching the gas heater, line the floor. In other words, Gaddafi said, "It like luxury hotel in Libya!"
There is even a hose "with real water, not poopy water," the dictator exclaimed. He intends to place several relatives in Springs School including his son Muhammad, age 33. "He make second grade for sure," Gaddafi said proudly.
The family is living on welfare and food stamps. "They better than oil!" the dictator said. He said he hopes to tour the area shortly, and wants to visit a food pantry. He recently signed up for Meals On Wheels. "I tell them more pita bread and hummus but no goat!"
Surviving The Big One Part II
God forbid a real crisis ever befalls us. The online "newspapers" just couldn't resist reporting on the Big One.
First, the facts: There was a moderate sized earthquake in Virginia. Tremors were apparently felt up in this neck of the woods, though I was walking on the street and didn't feel a thing. Still within an hour it was as if a catastrophe occurred. One woman felt "shaken," another "traumatized," the newspapers reported with due gravity. A man felt he was having a heart attack. One woman claimed she was "queasy for 30 minutes" after the two-second mini-ripple. One said there was a "ripple" in her tea – jeez, that must have been a harrowing moment.
The Express wrote, "As Sag Harbor citizens return to their daily activities, many are returning to their normal activities." Oh. The tremor took two seconds. Did they really have enough time to go somewhere and return again? Are their daily activities different from their normal activities? Do they get credit for somehow finding the strength to go on in the aftermath of the treacherous earthquake? Should we hold a benefit for ourselves at Bay Street Theatre? (And isn't theatre spelled t-h-e-a-t-e-r?)
The best recounting of The Day The Big One Hit (And I Lived To Tell About It) was the lady on Patch who said the "pendulum on her grandfather's clock was swaying back and forth." How very odd.
We kid because we love. Or something like that. Rick's Place will be back in two weeks. Merry Christmas everyone!