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The DC area is embroiled... scorching heat, complaints about the decibel levels from the race at RFK, reparations for slavery... and there's idiots out there firing needle-like darts from blowguns into crowds and traffic. For GOD's sake. It's hard to know whether to be amused or horrified. I'll go for "bemused." Laughter is a good antidote for uncontrollable events. Funny, the more civilized people consider themselves, the more barbaric and unchanged it appears from the outside. At least from where I'm looking. Long after the "coolness" wore off, I finally got around to seeing Gladiator, last night. Despite the slicing-and-dicing, the senseless, cruel acts of crowd amusement, the debauchery, the treachery of the politicians... it could have very well have been today. Just switch the togas to suits, mix the poisons a little differently, and the sex... well, I can't imagine that being so different... it's like mankind has got one foot nailed to the floor, and keeps doing the eternal circle dance. And too wrapped up in instant gratification to care about the difference. I should know better than to read the newspaper. Sure, I've had the need for being aware of current events riveted into my grey matter... a way of finding a path around the nonsense. But, the comics just keep looking better and better in comparison. Here's an illustration of my disaffection: After a steamy afternoon at the NoVA presentation of Reggae Sunsplash, a few years ago, we drove away to Warrenton to recharge. $3 bottles of water on a 100-degree day (and no outside containers allowed) left us with an unquenchable thirst. A dazed drive past the fast-food wasteland and the Rip Van Winkle Motel led us to Frost's Diner--not the pseudo-retro kind, but the aluminum-neon-jukeboxed MotherShip. Stumbled up the steps, right at the counter to the second booth next to the window. A couple in the first. Dug out quarters for the juke (I dont care where it is, or how awful the music selection... I am going to tweak the tunes), and stole a glance around Miss Jane... to look into Marion Barry's eyes. The disgraced Mayor. Post-"the bitch set me up." Post-separation from Effie and son. Post-blowjobs in the slammer. I thought about making some kind of gesture, or acknowledgement. Hizzonner aced me on that, though. He'd already had his way with the wallbox, shoving in his own coins, popped his own style. And, I couldn't have done better, myself. The selection? Aaron Neville's "Everybody Plays the Fool." Word to your Mother. Time to look for the beach "read," and make plans for exiting this little rut, for a while. |
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