I assure you that President Saddam Hussein has not been captured by the American soldiers. These crooks have glued a moustache to a farmer and told the world a great lie. Do not believe them!
Someone around here has been barbecuing again. It’s not steak, or chicken, or veggie burgers. It’s my town - as in the town is on fire. For the second time in as many days, the air smells of smoke from a fresh brush fire. Last month, I sat on the porch and watched the hills burn about four miles away. Yesterday, the smoke poured thick from a fire about two miles from home. Today, if the fire had crossed the freeway offramp two blocks away, I’d be in trouble. Tomorrow, I’m putting a change of clothes in the car and calling about renter’s insurance.
It’s really an odd panicky feeling when friends come up to you out of nowhere and invite you to stay at their house. Yesterday my aunt called me at work to invite me to come over if I couldn’t get home. Both times, I had been completely unaware that the place was ablaze. Both times I got nervous, then I just sat and thought about it. There was nothing else I could do. I’m not a firefighter, nor do I seem to have any telekinetic power of any kind over the weather (though not for lack of will). Fire is one of those things that is about as manageable as it wants to be. A strong fire with plenty of fuel and favorable weather conditions is basically unstoppable.
Fire is probably the greatest thing that ever happened to humankind. Fire is probably the number one reason why humans were able to thrive in many parts of the world. Fire allowed us to stay warm, to cook food, to keep predators away, and to bend to our will the Earth’s minerals. As responsible as it was for many of humankind’s greatest advancements, so did it destroy many. Several fires in the great library at Alexandria annihilated perhaps the greatest store of ancient history and literature ever. The term “prehistoric” would apply to a much earlier time than it does now, if we still had the writings once kept in the library’s great stores. Fire has also claimed our homes many times before. Notable examples are the city of London in 1666, and Chicago in 1871.
It is in times like these when we see how much more awesome nature is than anything we seem to be able to manage. She teases us with an illusion that we run the show with our candles and umbrellas - those little things that make us feel in control of the classical elements (earth, fire, air, water). But every once in a while we’re all forced to remember who’s boss. The Earth has its ways of letting us know that it’s going to be alright with us or without us.
Anyway, I have one more thing to say about smoke and fire. Black boogers.
Bye for now.
It takes a certain rare ability to be recognized as being especially talented by others. Famous athletes are normally those who excel spectacularly relative to their peers (with the strange exception of Anna Kournikova). Famous musicians play the most beautiful notes, and most original arrangements. Famous writers are those who manage to touch us in a special way through their use of the written word. The names of these people linger on our lips long after death has stolen them from our sight.
I think we would all agree that there is an unparalleled genius that marks one as being a true master of one’s craft. So too must there be a brand of genius in being the worst at something. As an example, I present to you the late William Topaz McGonagall of Edinburgh, Scotland (1825-1902). Though 100 years dead, McGonagall is still honored by many as the absolute worst poet in the history of the English language. Having read his works, I can find no reason to disagree.
Though mocked by his contemporaries, the quixotic McGonagall still fancied himself an accomplished poet and tragedian. He gave on-demand recitals of his work regularly for people who gathered only to make fun. From time to time he received letters from “admirers” which always turned out to be jokes at his expense. He was once awarded the title of Knight of the White Elephant in a letter from one “King Theebaw of Burmah”. Oblivious to the trickery, McGonagall embraced the bogus honorific until his death. He also received several invitations to visit aristocrats across Britain and overseas. He made several of these trips only to find on arrival, that he had been mislead. McGonagall even followed his dreams to New York with only eight shillings in his pocket. He was unable to sell a single poem, and was able to book passage back home due only to the generosity of a sympathetic patron from Dundee. He later died penniless and was buried in a pauper’s grave in his native Edinburgh.
Sad story isn’t it? Or is it? At 47 years of age, William McGonagall the textile worker had a dream of becoming a famous poet. He did not allow lack of money, or lack of ability to stop him. He was a laughing-stock, but his indomitable spirit endeared him to others. He traveled places he never would have gone in the textile industry. There are worse ways to die than in pursuing one’s life’s dream.
Explore your weaknesses. If you can’t be a celebrity doing something well, why not settle for the next best thing? People might remember. People remember Willie McGonagall. They’re going to put up a memorial beside the river Tay - the setting of his most popular poem.
So, what do you really suck at? Get to work! We’re all here waiting to laugh at you.
Bye for now.
Born Oct 9, 1944 - Chiswick, England
Died Jun 27, 2002 - Las Vegas, NV USA
“The Ox” dead at 57… Damn.