Blog #352                                December 7, 2023

 

I just listened to somebody on The View interviewing a young Palestinian man who was one of the victims of the shooting in Vermont.  Funny, I didn’t see them interviewing a Jewish mother who was forced by Hamas butchers to watch her child roasted to death in an oven.  Oh, wait, they couldn’t interview her because Hamas shot her in the head after she watched her baby die.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I’m sorry to have exposed my anger and frustration to you, but that’s me, and I know you understand.  Besides, you’re my Thursday morning family and I can talk to you.  I hope you’re feeling well.  Let’s see what else we can talk about.  Maybe I can make you laugh.  Somehow, it seems harder to laugh nowadays, but I did make somebody laugh this week.  My bank no longer has tellers.  Instead, you visit a Personal Banking Assistant who sits behind a desk in a little office.  Mine was Charize, and while she was handling a deposit for me, I sneezed.  “I’m sorry,” I said sarcastically, “I must be allergic to all this money you have around here.”  She began to laugh so hysterically that I began to laugh as well.

 

I have not spoken to you since the morning of Thanksgiving, so I have not mentioned all my blessings.  Truly, it is unnecessary to tell you how much I have to be thankful for.  You already know that I have a wife precious beyond compare, three daughters as bright and lively as the stars, two sons-in-law as warm and loyal as long-time friends and eight grandchildren packed with beauty, smiles and love.  Like I said, it is unnecessary to tell you how much I have to be thankful for.  So I won’t.

 

And then there’s you, of course, and I am humbly thankful for a pack of loyal readers bored enough to listen to a silly old man’s musings.  I am often asked how I can come up with something to talk about every week.  Well, Rudyard Kipling said, “All the earth is full of tales to him who listens.”

 

Here’s a tale for you.  Carol and I went to the St. Louis Art Museum last week for an exhibition on Hip Hop and Contemporary Art.  Our Art Museum always does a superb job, and this was an extremely well-done exhibit.  But, let’s be honest, I know as much about Hip Hop as I do about hot-flashes.  And besides, with all that hipping and hopping, I had to be very careful.

 

Carol and I took a trip

To see how they hop and they hip

But this ancient old Pops

Must be careful of hops

If I hop and I hip, I could slip.

 

And if I slip, I could damage some of the artwork in the museum.  I could crease a Matisse, or smear a Vermeer, or squash a Bosch or wreck an El Greco.  And then the museum would sue me and I would lose a lot of Monet.

 

Hip Hop is the cultural expression of the Black and Hispanic communities that has influenced fashion and music and art since the 1970s.  Part of Hip Hop is rapping, which I know nothing about.  But my little buddy does.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  I saw her once hop forty paces through the public street (Antony and Cleopatra).

I’m the kitten who is rappin’ while I’m sittin’ on your lap ‘n you are nappin’.  Don’t forget I’m the pet you can bet is the best one yet.

So let this cat-nappin’, rappin-cat take a bow ‘cause I know how.  I’m leavin’ now.  Meow!

 

That’s enough caterwauling from the silly cat.  I guess we might as well use caterwauling as our Weekly Word.  It means a shrill howling or wailing noise like a cat would make.

 

My goodness, it’s December already, and all the radio stations are playing Christmas music.  That, in itself, is not surprising, but I happened to tune in to what is normally a political talk-show station and what did I hear?  Political Christmas songs!  Who would have thought of such a thing?  Me, of course.  Here they are:

 

·        I Saw Biden Kissing AOC

·        O Kamala Faithful

·        Trump’s Nuts Roasting On an Open Fire

·        Santos Isn’t Coming to Town

 

Hey, you guys out there.  Do you ever feel like a car?  Sometimes I feel that, to a woman, a husband is no more than a useful, easy to maintain appliance – like a car.  All she has to do is fill it up, keep it clean and it will take her anywhere she wants to go.  It will carry her packages, keep her warm and keep the rain off her head.  Sure, there are glitches here and there – a broken axle (hip replacement), a damaged fuel pump (bypass surgery), but she just takes it in for repairs and it’s fine.  The only difference is they don’t give her a loaner.  But that’s ok, I don’t mind.  I’m just glad she hasn’t traded me in for a shiny new model -- yet.  But I’m getting a little tired of being called Edsel.

 

Here’s something that’s not funny.  I went to a Breadco and placed an order to go.  The young girl who took the order asked for a name.  Michael, I said.  What did you want me to say, Edsel?  The order was ready quickly and the man who read the ticket called out the name Michelle.  Could that be Michael, I asked?  He showed me the ticket.  It read MIKELLL.  And you want to raise the minimum wage?  What exactly should we pay a 15-year-old who can’t spell the single most common name in the English-speaking world?  She probably thought Manual Labor was the President of Mexico and likely didn’t know what night Saturday Night Live was on.  Have you ever noticed that all the machines used to discover intelligent life are pointed away from Earth.

 

Ok, that’s it.  I’m through with you, and you’re happily through with me.  I will not lighten your spirits or tickle your brain for another week.  Today is Pearl Harbor Day and the beginning of Hanukkah.  Stay well, count your blessings and celebrate Hanukkah with a prayer in your heart for Israel and the hostages.  Can you do all that?  Multitask!  See you next week.

 

Edsel                                                 Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com