Blog #41

More award shows!  Oscar, Emmy, Grammy, Tony, Golden Globe, People’s Choice, Critic’s Choice, SAG.  It seems that every week there’s an extravaganza where societies of rich people give themselves awards.  Have you ever really looked at the audience at these award shows?  I certainly hope Nancy Pelosi and Elizabeth Warren are watching, because if they want to tax the rich, this is the place to be.  There’s no power in Puerto Rico, there are violence and poverty in every large American city. But what do we see at these award shows?  A bunch of Barbie dolls strutting around in their Versaces and Jimmy Choos, signing $20 million contracts for their next movies.  And a bunch of fat, male directors looking for aspiring starlets to jump on their casting couch.   And when they accept their awards for being rich and skinny, or their awards for being ruthless and powerful, they always take the opportunity to tell us how to live our boring and normal lives.  They wouldn’t know what a normal life was if they ran over one with their Maserati.   Where is the Occupy Oscars crowd?  Where is the outrage?  Is there anybody disgusted besides me?

And the funny thing is -- we really don’t care who wins the awards.  We only care about “who” they’re wearing.  It seems to me that all these starlets are either too skinny or too large, and they’re either wearing Bulimia Blass or Oscar de la Tenta.  Which brings up the following question: why do fat chance and slim chance mean the same thing?

Sorry, I had to get all that off my chest so I can relax and celebrate my 8^th birthday.  You see, it was eight years ago today that they brought me back to life with that most delicate and clever of medical tricks – massive electric shock.  I truly thought it was all over for me then, but I’m still here and the electric shock does not seem to have had any residual effects.  Except of course that when I cough, the garage door goes up.  But the fun part is that if I’m driving and want to honk the horn, all I have to do is rub a balloon on my hair.  And, of course, there are certain things I have to avoid, like vacuuming, cross-country skiing and having my picture taken while cupping a woman’s breasts.

And television.  I watch a little news, a little basketball, but the rest I try to avoid.  First, television is too noisy; I like quiet.  Second, I am an old-fashioned prude and I do not like how rough some of these programs are.  But, in truth, it was neither the noise nor the violence that made me stop watching television.

I can live with the noise – that is true

And the crudeness and violence too

But the first time this boy

Looked at Whoopi and Joy,

I simply could not stand The View.

Here’s one more thing I try to avoid -- driving on dark, rural roads at night.  To me it’s like playing Bambi Roulette.  So I always slow down and pay lots of attention.  At any time, a deer could run in front of me and the next thing you know, I’m up in Heaven with a twelve-point rack up my you-know-what.  No electric shock is going to bring me back from that!  And I can just imagine what God would say – MICHAEL, I TRIED TO KILL YOU EIGHT YEARS AGO AND THAT DIDN’T WORK.  THIS TIME I SENT RUDOLPH.

My wife and I went to a play.  At the end, as the standing ovation waned, she said to me, “I’m missing a shoe.”  I bent down and looked under my seat.  There was a shoe, and I picked it up and handed it to her.  “That’s not my shoe.”  What?  Am I at a play or a sale at Nordstrom’s?  She quickly found hers and I was left holding a red shoe.   What was I going to do with a red shoe?  Soon, of course, the shoe was claimed by a woman who I’m certain suffered from athlete’s foot, toe fungus, planters fasciitis and warts.  And probably gout.  I gave the red shoe to the woman with a pleasant reminder that, “There’s no place like home.”  Then I drove home as fast as I could (Bambi be damned) and scrubbed my hands in turpentine.  Why does it seem so disgusting to touch someone else’s shoes?

Or take pills prescribed for a dog?  I was having some arthritis a while back and my daughter Jennifer said she had some arthritis pills she got for her dogs.   The canines didn’t like the pills, so she offered them to me.  Of course I refused such silliness, but I went to the internet anyway to see what these doggy-pills were all about.  It’s really amazing how many canine illnesses there are.  You knew there was a list coming, didn’t you?  I love lists.  Here are some doggy diseases:

Ulcerative Collie-itis – Barkinson’s – Dysenterrier

Restless Tail Syndrome -- Itchy Pomeranian -- Rin Tin Tinnitus

Mastiff Neck – Aarfritis --  Irritable Bow-Wow Syndrome

I like dogs.  I like to talk to them and have them around.  But I don’t want one.  I don’t want anybody messing up my house and breaking things and pooping.  Except for my grandchildren.  And besides, I have a wife.  She’s like a high-strung yappy little poodle with curly black hair and skinny legs.  Except I don’t have to walk her.  I just have to take her shopping and drop her at the door of the store and make sure she never gets rained on.

And never allow her to become miserable.  When my wife mentions the word “miserable”, something had better change!  And that means now!  Like the Holiday Party we went to recently.  After about an hour, I could see that she wanted to leave more than a CNN reporter wants to leave a Trump rally.  You can always tell when she wants to leave.  She starts to make comments like, “Do you think your car door opener will work from here?”  Or, “Do you remember where you parked?”  Or the ever-popular, “What’s a nine-letter word starting with “m” that means if you don’t get me out of here in the next 30 seconds, I will stick a fork in your eye?”  That nine-letter word, of course, is “miserable”.   It works every time.

     

Christmas is a few days away.  If you celebrate, my Christmas Carol and I wish you a wonderful, safe and warm holiday.  If you don’t celebrate Christmas, you can still enjoy the lights and the music and the movies.  It’s a Wonderful Life is my favorite.  Also Miracle on 34^th Street.  Some people think Die Hard is a Christmas movie because it takes place at a Christmas party.

Whatever your favorite movie, please stay well over the Holidays and watch out for those deer.  And come back next week so we can wind up the year with a bang.  I’ll do my best.  See you then.

Michael                          Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com