A Stranger In My Own Home

I have a beef today, as well as an interesting principle about coming back from the dead. Or being away a long time, like Tom Sawyer. Didn't he walk in on his own funeral?

I have my routine in the morning. Sitting doing meditation and considering spiritual lit, including the Bible and various things on yoga, Sri Aurobindo, etc. Then it's time to take Roughage (my dog) out. Then breakfast. It's a clean, good, effortless routine. God forbid it change!

Today it changed. Thanks to an inopportune phone call plus my Cousin Deb visiting from Missouri. She's been here a couple weeks, sleeping in all those mornings, then getting up and seeing how I do it here. Today, though, I got an urgent call from a guy I've known for 40+ years, Melvin, who parks by the water tower and has his own taxi service, one car.

My time of meditation was just coming to a close when Melvin called. His key was locked in the car, do I still have the extra key? In the last five or six years he hasn't needed it at all. But it's been in my bedroom with a full layer of dust on it. Could I bring it to him?

Cousin Deb was getting up and around. I told her what I had to do, that it'd take 10-12 minutes, Roughage is in the crate, she'll be OK till I get back. Then we'll make breakfast, etc.

I got downtown right away, Melvin had his hand out, I rolled down the window and gave him the key and sped home. Now, what has Cousin been doing in the meantime? Wellllll, Roughage whined a little bit with me gone, so she let her out to do her business. Leaving enough time to start the breakfast, get the plates out, etc., and push my meditation books up against some other crap at the edge of the table. Page crunch. And she was busying around.

I was a little pissed off, but didn't spill it with the full force, just some gentle, "I said I'd take care of the dog when I got back. And there was no hurry on the breakfast; I was gone 10-12 minutes, there's nothing I need to do this morning, it was fine." Well, like she said, Roughage was whining, and there was no reason to wait on breakfast, apparently, because I was gone. I was barely gone, but the whole world had to change!

That's something worth considering. If you can be gone 10-12 minutes and everything has to change, imagine you went somewhere near the ends of the world for a half hour! She'd change the locks, paint the house, and maybe donate my freezer of bacon to the poor. "It's not good for you anyway." Oh! But it's good enough for the poor, I see! And that's just a half hour! A whole hour and they'd be reading my will...

What if I were suddenly called to Center City for a whole day? Not only would the bacon be gone, the dog wouldn't recognize me. The crate would be gone, she'd be sleeping in my bed, and growling when I crawled in to sleep. Possession is 9/10s of the law, they say, you abandoned the bed, you're outta here!

Multiply it out. You're gone a week? A week is like a thousand years. Your house was condemned, the high rise apartment complex in its place was planned and contracted out in four days, and when they decided you weren't coming back they built it. And that freezer was getting old anyway. The bacon had the accumulated frost damage of a whole seven days!

The interesting principle is, You can be a stranger in your own home within minutes. You gave your last wishes -- keep the dog in and don't start the bacon -- but if you've been gone 10 minutes all bets are off! In short, if you can't depend on your life maintaining its stability for 10-12 minutes, don't be gone any longer. Life is quicksand. Time waits for no man, as they say, but you'd think it'd take at least a month to fully rear its ugly encroaching head... You're gone a couple hours, though, you're not coming back.

Sheesh! That's Earl, brother!

Nudine The Fortune-Telling Stripper

 

This post contains information I did not personally witness. I got it from a guy I know who goes to see strippers and freely admits it. I myself would never admit it. Because he's so truthful in that respect, I vouch for everything he says as absolutely true. Plus, he's my agent for car insurance.

According to this guy, one of the clubs has a particularly vivacious stripper named Nudine. The interesting thing about her is that she's so vivacious she's even known for telling guys their fortunes. That's the part that made my ears perk up and made me listen. And the weird thing is Nudine herself appears completely passive in how it works.

It goes like this. A guy wonders about some choice he has to make, then looks at her, then immediately, or in some cases later, knows what to do. Why there would an immediate answer or a delay seems to have something to do with the particular individual. But we think it also has something to do with Nudine's power, how strong or depleted it is.

Of course I asked for examples. At first he didn't want to say. It was like he was afraid the walls had ears, know what I mean? But I pressed him until he waved me outside, beyond walls, beyond doors, beyond ears. We were over by some very bare bushes, denuded by winter and obviously not hiding any electronic surveillance equipment. I could only try my best to remember whatever he would tell me, lest I forget.

And this is it, some of it: There was a guy who had a hard time deciding how he wanted his eggs fixed. The club has a fry cook in those early morning hours as the guys are being entertained. One day, this guy being perplexed, he glanced over at Nudine in dance, as she faced him, and came at once to a decision, sunny side up. Then it happened again another time; Nudine was on her belly doing a "rug act," and he knew he'd have them over easy. Uncanny but true...

And that's just one guy. Others have testified of receiving lottery numbers, psychiatric treatment, spiritual counsel, and even career advice after watching Nudine, as beautiful as she is and so lost in reverie. At this point I was a little skeptical. But my friend led me further on, till we reached a bush with even less foliage. Here he spilled his entire guts. He was the guy who'd received career advice from her. She was over against the east wall of the club, rubbing up against a hanging shag carpet for a prolonged time.

Suddenly he felt compelled to drive east. To make a long story short, he stopped in a coffee shop to think over the situation. He sat in a booth for a prolonged time. He struck up a conversation with a guy with shaggy hair, who turned out to be the regional rep for a major car insurance company. Who told my friend they had some great openings as agents. They hit it off so well -- the rep also likes strippers -- he was appointed an agent right on the spot. All thanks, once again, to Nudine.

But what about the lottery numbers, psychiatric treatment, and spiritual counsel? We left every bush behind, and now being in a vacant field -- nothing there at all but fresh snow, not a single track -- he raised his hand and swore it was all a fact. Indeed, I had to believe it, Nudine does it all!

Dr. Momus Of The Museum Of Art

Dr. Momus of the Museum of Art likes to vary his habits. One habit involves going out for breakfast, which he usually does unless there's something else afoot to prevent him, such as an important meeting or another responsibility. Like schmoozing a rich museum patron who's already eaten.

His habit, as I said, is going out for breakfast, but I also said he likes to vary it, which is just a roundabout way of saying he doesn't go to the same place every time. He spreads the wealth. He supports most of the restaurants in town, not in any regular way, but going wherever strikes his fancy on a given day. You can be sure, though, that his fancy is not to go to the same place over and over without varying it. OK?

There's some good to this scheme of doing things. "Variety is the spice of life" is what the old saw says. Who wants to have the same old bagel and coffee at one place if you can have it somewhere else? At least occasionally. I definitely know what he's thinking: It's a drag going to the same old places all the time. But I've been going out for breakfast so much that I've also worn out the new places.

Then, and this is where Dr. Momus' role at the Museum of Art comes into play, who knows what he might find of an artistic nature if he varies his eating habits? Because restaurants sometimes have artwork on their walls for sale. Seriously! If you go to McDonald's all the time, of course you're not going to see it. (Dr. Momus actually does go to McDonald's once in a while, but not that much.)

Anyway, here's what we're getting to. One day I went to a particular cafe for breakfast, a place I'd never been before. I saw some rudimentary artwork on the walls that tickled my funny bone (I'm trying to be merciful here.) I was like, "Look at that one!," while making disparaging remarks about it.

PERSONAL INTERLUDE: Over a year ago I bought a canvas and some paint. I haven't used them at all. Because I don't have any idea how to paint, but I know what I like. My excuse for not painting on this canvas is that it's too small; I need a bigger canvas. My small canvas isn't even out of the plastic yet. The only reason I don't buy a bigger canvas is that I haven't used the small one yet! But not everyone is as reluctant as I to get going on the thing...

The painting I'm pointing to, in my opinion, is no good. It sucks. It's a house and a tree, both very elementary, both very primitive. So imagine my surprise when I'm sitting there right when Dr. Momus (Dr. EFFEN Momus of the EFFEN Museum of EFFEN Art!) comes in, immediately espies this crappy painting, and declares it a work of genius, even going so far as to describe it as a lost Van Gogh! (He says Gogh like he's clearing his throat, so it has to be right. The only other name I know like this is Bach. If you had an expert talking about Van Gogh and Bach in the same breath, you'd need a spittoon!)

I'm like, "You can't be serious, you crazy ninny!"

"Serious? I'm as serious as a heart attack. This is a lost Van Gogh, priced at only 20 bucks, I'll take it!"