Blog #375                                         May 16, 2024

 

I have read a lot of books, over a thousand by now, and of all those books, there are four that keep calling me back.  Every year, I read one of them, and I hope to be able to read them many more times.  The books are:

 

·        Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez, a book as beautiful and quirky as the love affair it describes.

·        Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry, the consummate epic adventure of the 20^th Century.

·        Catch 22 by Joseph Heller, an irresistible amalgam of outrageous humor and unbearable sadness.

·        Moby Dick (of course) by Herman Melville, the monumental battle between inherent evil and maniacal revenge.

 

I am not suggesting that you read them.  As Jose Saramago said, “No two paradises are alike,” and I would not expect you to like the same things I do.  2024 is my year to read Love in the Time of Cholera.  I just started and am already once more in love with it.  So nice to have a good book!

 

And so nice to have you here to chat with.  Hi there and welcome back.  Do you watch the news?  Of course you do, and so do I.  The other day, I turned on Lester Holt, and what was the top news item?  Was it the campus riots, where crowds of screaming, maniacal students accompanied by hired thugs continue to terrorize college campuses to show their support for the people who attacked Israel and threw Jewish babies into ovens and cooked them to death?  No, that wasn’t the top story.  Was it the seemingly constant nationwide barrage of catastrophic weather featuring floods and hail and tornados and widespread death and destruction?  Nope, that wasn’t the top story either.  No, the top story wasn’t about hate-storms or thunderstorms; it was about Stormy.  People, I’m not sure we have our priorities straight.

 

And that weather!  It seems like there are severe everything warnings for the whole day, every day.  Rain, lightning, tornados, baseball-sized hail.  It always seems to me that baseball- or grapefruit-sized hail would kill everyone instantly.  The only thing they didn’t predict was the Wicked Witch of the West and flying monkeys.  And poor Shakespeare is afraid of the thunder and the warning sirens.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  And thou, all-shaking thunder, smite flat the thick rotundity o’ the world (King Lear).  The noises really frighten me, but I know where to go to feel safe:

 

The siren had raised the alarm

And I thought I was coming to harm

Then the thunder went Boom

And I ran to Pops’ room

And schnuggled up under his arm.

 

Pops always keeps me safe and warm.  I think he does the same for the wife, but she doesn’t purr.  Purr!

 

I received a package from Amazon a few days ago, a big plastic bag.  I wasn’t expecting anything, but the bag had my name on it and who am I to argue with Amazon.  Amazon is the world’s delivery system.  It could deliver astronauts to the moon.  It could, and has, delivered tents to every college campus in America.  It might deliver Donald Trump to prison.  Seriously, if you had to trust me or Amazon, who would you choose?  I chose Amazon and opened the bag.  Inside was a box that contained a large cylinder – about 18 inches tall and three or four inches in diameter.  It was light-weight and looked like a hair roller for Big Foot.  It turned out to be an automobile air filter.  And I knew that because I am an expert on cars?  Of course not; you know better than that.  Books are my bailiwick, not cars.  I wouldn’t know an air filter from a kangaroo.  But the box read, in big letters, AIR FILTER, so I went with that.

 

I called Amazon and explained my confusion.  They were speedy, pleasant and definitive and apologized for their error.  Should I send it back, I asked?  No, they said, just keep it.  Keep it?  I get to keep it, free of charge, no questions asked?  What a boon!  What a serendipitous bonanza!  I felt as lucky as a Palestinian flag salesman in New York.  I could have tried to sell it on eBay or something, but I had a better idea and drove to the repair station that takes care of my cars where I gave it to the owner.  I’m sure he will find some use for it. 

 

Weekly Word:  Bailiwick means the domain in which someone has superior knowledge or authority.  Books are my bailiwick.  Comedy is Jerry Seinfeld’s bailiwick.  Sleaze is Stormy Daniel’s bailiwick.

 

 

 

What else can we talk about?  I’m not ready to let you go yet.  I’ve recently read a book about the future of genetics. It says that within 25 years, doctors will be able to make human egg cells and human sperm cells out of normal blood or skin cells.  And it doesn’t matter whether those cells come from a male or a female.  In other words, a human egg cell can be made from a woman’s skin cell and a human sperm cell can be made from another woman’s skin cell.  Throw the two cells into a test-tube, turn down the lights and play a little Johnny Mathis and pretty soon you have a viable embryo.  You know what that means, girls?  It means you won’t need men any more.  And you know what that means?  No more episodes of The Bachelor.  What would you do without men?  Who would forget to make the bed?  Who would keep you awake with his snoring?  Who would leave the toilet-seat up and expect you to cook for him and do his laundry?  On the other hand, who would drop you at the front door of the restaurant.  And who would buy you candy for your birthday or tell you how beautiful you look in that new blouse or compliment your hair?  And who would love you without regret or exception for the rest of his life?

Ok, now, with those thoughts, I will leave you.  You’ve made it through another blog.  I’m proud of you.   Stay well, count your blessings and come back next Thursday.  And remember what Winston Churchill said:  I’d rather argue against a hundred idiots than have one agree with me

Michael                                             Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com