June 20: Simulated Earthling Habitat, Zoos, Wishful Thinking

Billy was displayed there in the zoo in a simulated Earthling habitat.  Most of the furnishings had been stolen from the Sears Roebuck warehouse in Iowa City, Iowa.  There was a color television set and a couch that could be converted into a bed.  There were end tables with lamps and ashtrays on them by the couch.  There was a home bar and two stools.  There was a little pool table.  There was wall-to-wall carpeting in federal gold, except in the kitchen and bathroom areas and over the iron manhole cover in the center of the floor.  There were magazines arranged in a fan on the coffee table in front of the couch.

There was a stereophonic phonograph.  The phonograph worked.  The television didn't. There was a picture of one cowboy killing another one pasted to the television tube.  So it goes.

There were no walls in the dome, no place for Billy to hide.  The mint green bathroom fixtures were right out in the open.  Billy got off his lounge chair now, went into the bathroom and took a leak.  The crowd went wild.

A weird little section.  Billy as an exhibit.  Homo sapiens, relaxing, listening to music, pretending to watch TV, going to the bathroom.  Vonnegut is making a point here, I think.  He is satirizing our habit of capturing wild animals and turning them into entertainment.  Zoos.  Circuses.  Safaris.

I will admit that I like going to zoos.  One of my favorite things to do as a child was visit the Detroit Zoo.  We would spend an entire day there.  I could spend a couple hours just in the penguin habitat.  I loved going into the place where the tigers were in cages until one of the big cats actually lifted a leg and pissed on me when I was five or six.  Yes, I have been soaked in tiger urine.

I wonder what a Tralfamadorian exhibit for me would include.  A laptop computer, probably.  Journals and pens and a desk.  A television and DVD player with all of my favorite films, heavy on Christmas and River Phoenix flicks.  Books.  Lots of books.  Pictures of my wife and kids.  Those would be the essential things, if they were really trying to capture my essence.

I've never really thought about the things that really represent who I am.  Strange.  If I walked into a gorilla habitat, I would expect lots of tropical trees and fruits and rain, places to hide.  If I visited an elephant habitat, it would include a grassy savanna, maybe a mud hole to wallow in, and a river.  That's what I would expect.

How do I want to be described on my zoo plaque?  Good father.  Loving husband.  Loyal brother and son and friend.  Passionate.  Artistic.  Talented.  I wouldn't mind being called a genius, but that's probably pushing it.  Great writer.  Voracious reader.  Poet extraordinaire. 

Okay, I need to stop.  I'm venturing into wishful thinking.  If you want to see me in my natural habitat, stop by my house tonight.  I'll make us some popcorn, read you a poem or two, and pop Stand By Me into the DVD player.

Saint Marty is thankful tonight for the zoo of his life.

November 11: Early Summer Days, Wishful Thinking, Praying for the End of Snow

Early summer days are a jubilee time for birds.  In the fields, around the house, in the barn, in the woods, in the swamp--everywhere love and songs and nests and eggs...

I love those two sentences.  It makes me think of those spring mornings when there's a riot of bird song in the air.  When everything is green buds and blossoms.

Especially today, when the world is a riot of snow, I miss that jubilee time for birds.  I have spent exactly twenty hours shoveling and snowblowing today.  OK, I'm exaggerating, but, at 5 a.m. this morning, trying to dig my car out, I was ready to set my house on fire and buy a ticket to Aruba.  Or Phoenix.  Or Dayton.  Wherever snow is nonexistent.

There's about two feet of white piled in various locations on my property.   And it's still coming down.  I'm going to have to drag my ass out of bed at 5 a.m. again to contend with the damage the snow plows are going to inflict upon my driveway.  This morning, it was about two feet, thick and heavy.  I expect the same tomorrow morning.

This evening, I am praying for an end to this damn snow storm.  Twenty-four inches of snow at the beginning of November is too much.  A dusting, yes.  A light coating, maybe.  But two feet?!!!

Forgive Saint Marty.  He's feeling a little like Ralphie's old man from A Christmas Story.  Except his obscenities this evening went something like this:  "I hate f%$#ing winter!  I hate f *#$ing cold!  I hate f@$&ing people!"

Get the glue!!!

October 26: My Son, Classic Saint Marty, New Cartoon

Some of you may be wondering how my son is doing on his new medication.  He started taking it on Friday morning, so it's been three days.

I don't know if it's my imagination or wishful thinking or incredible guilt, but I really think I notice an improvement in his behavior.  This weekend, he didn't have a single violent outburst.  In fact, he handled every little disappointment or trouble with a maturity I've never seen before in him.  Tonight, when I told him it was time to leave grandma's house and go home, he didn't even complain.  He got his shoes on and walked out to the car.  Usually, Sundays nights are a battle, from bath time to bed time.  I think my mouth literally dropped to my chest.

Again, I'm not sure if it's the medication.  It could just be that he had a really good weekend.  I think the real test is going to come in the next couple of weeks on the school playground.  That's the place where he's been running into difficulties.  And when I say "running into difficulties," I mean his fist has been running into people's faces.  If he remains detention-free until mid-November, I may start to believe we made the right decision regarding this medicine.

Until then, I will continue to second guess myself.  I may even throw in a trip to the confessional and a few bad dreams.  Why not make use of the Catholic guilt?

Today's episode of Classic Saint Marty first aired two years ago, when Honey Boo Boo was a rising star and Ebola was a plot device not a news story.

October 26, 2012:  To His Father's Side, Loved the Child, School Visit

He sat very close to his father's side upon his little stool.  Bob held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, and wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him.

Bob Cratchit loves Tiny Tim.  One of the most moving moments in A Christmas Carol is the deathbed scene of Tim.  We see Bob sitting by his son's bed, mourning.  When Dickens performed this scene at his public readings, the audience would weep.  There is something about Tiny Tim and Bob that touches a deep chord in the readers' minds and hearts.

I love my son.  I took the day off work to spend time with my son at his school.  I sat in chairs the size of mushrooms.  I ate cheese cubes and English muffin sandwiches.  I read books to a swarm of three- and four-year-olds.  My son took me by the hand and led me around the classroom, proudly showing me everything.  At the end of the morning, as my son was climbing on the bus, he looked at me and said, "You come to school tomorrow?"  "Tomorrow" for my son could mean in the afternoon, in a day, in a week, in a month, or in a year.  "Tomorrow" is the future, and my son wanted me to go to school with him tomorrow.

It made me feel great to know my son was excited to be with me, wanted to be with me.  He didn't want to let go of my hand.

And Saint Marty didn't want to let go of his son's hand.

My Tiny Tim

Confessions of Saint Marty