A Load of Hooey (8 page)

“
Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe
. But that might just be me being stupid.”

—Albert Einstein

FREE SPEECH FOR ALL!

Below is a FREE speech that you can use for ALMOST ANY EVENT. Please give me credit for it if anyone asks, but I'm not going to charge you anything…it's on me!

Just STEP UP TO THE MIC AND BEGIN:

W
ell, they said it couldn't be done. But look, just look at all of you! Heroes. A roomful of heroes. You're all astronauts, right? I was told I would be speaking to a roomful of astronauts today. Okay, that's fine, I'll still talk to you people. You look enough like astronauts. My main point is this: they said it couldn't be done! They did. But look at all of us, right here, right now. It's being done.

That's not all they said, though. They also said, “Why try?” And: “Don't bother!” Also: “There's no point!” They called it “a waste of energy, time, and planning!” Naysayers! One person even said, “Nay”! What's his deal? Does he think this is the Middle Ages? Forget that guy!

Oh, but they said other things as well. One guy said, “I think it can be done but I won't help. I'm too busy—I've got to pick up laundry and yadda yadda yadda.” I didn't hear the last part of what he said—I had headphones on. The point is, that guy is NOT HERE right now. Screw him.

One lady said, “I think it can be done, but I don't want to clean up afterwards!” That lady IS here today…ma'am, will you stand up? Where is she? I can't see her. You cowardly witch! Lady, you don't have to clean up because we'll
all
clean up! Right, everyone? No…Okay, I got a better idea, let's just not make a mess, then NO ONE has to clean up. Sound good? Good. Now shaddup, lady!

Now, let me address the guy who brazenly told me that he knew it could be done because—and this took some real cojones—because he'd
already done it
! No. I don't think so, pal. I don't think you already did it, because then it would be done and what would be the point? There would be no point. But there is a point and it is this: It can be done. We can do it. We're doing it.

But I'll go one step further. I think it can be done in
record time
. Today. Starting…now! So thank you for being here, thank you for believing, screw the naysayers, and LET'S GET THIS OVER WITH!

A HAZY CHRISTMAS MEMORY

S
weet Christmas!

As I entered Momma's kitchen I smelled the sharp whiff of crushed pine needles swaddled in strains of cinnamon, the aroma of baking cookies—cinnamon cookies!

Wait, no, hold the phone, there were no cookies. We couldn't afford cookies that year.

But there were almonds! Yes, I recall a whiff of almond, as aperitifs were distributed amongst the becalmed adults.

Scratch that—it was BEER! Almond-scented beer. That's why we couldn't afford the cookies—we needed to buy the Christmas beers!

On third thought, there
was
no almond scent! The beer smelled like beer. In fact, the beer smelled like
old
beer. The adults were drinking (and spilling) beer! That's what I smelled—I'm almost sure of it!

Maybe someone was eating almonds. That must be what it was—almonds and beer. No, wait, nuts and beer. Or a nut mix—that had almonds in it. Yes, I can stand by that—beer and beer nuts were the smells that wafted about my excited nasal receptors.

Blessed Christmas!

We didn't have a real tree—so nix that pine smell. PINE-SOL! Yes, that's what it was, the dagger-sharp scent of Pine-Sol
emanating from the bathroom. This was on a Wednesday…or possibly Thursday. It was definitely one of the days of the week, that I can say with some degree of certainty, and Christmas was nearby, or in the recent past.

Oh, Christmas.

I'll be honest, I don't remember stuff very well. Except for regrets. I've got a photographic memory for regrets, which it turns out is unnecessary and burdensome. Still, for your amusement, I will keep digging…

The sounds of Christmas! Such sounds!

A cacophony of voices! Seven children jostling and fumbling through a mound of winter clothes, shouting plans for a busy snow day. “That's my glove!” “That's my boot!” “Give me some room, I'm try'n to get dressed here!” “Somebody just kicked me in the teeth!” A police siren, somewhere in the distance. Or possibly in the driveway—my godfather was a cop who liked to drink and “play” his siren.

But oh, it was cold out! Bitter! Or maybe not so bad. It might have been warm. Let's go with “lukewarm.” It was a fine, Christmastime lukewarm outside, so us kids didn't spend too much time getting dressed, and there wasn't any snow. I know for a fact that we did fight a lot. Or maybe we didn't. Maybe we weren't fighting at all—maybe we were caroling. Yes, that's what it was, the sounds of children caroling. Sounded like a bag of cats.

The family, always the family, at Christmas!

Each of us took on a special task. I was assigned to spend the day with my aunt Frank on a search for a Christmas staple—mint chocolate candies to be frozen to a cold crisp.

My aunt Frank, who smelled of tea and cement, wore saggy jeans and a tattered Chicago Bears knit cap with the logo half-fallen off. She was either a man or a lady of such wizened age that one didn't publicly comment on her sex. She lived alone, or with another old man-woman, downtown, in a neighborhood that had once been ethnic but was slowly becoming…less ethnic.

finders, beepers!

As Aunt Frank and I traversed the town we would munch on warm egg-salad sandwiches. She would chew and chew and describe her latest visit to the doctor and I would watch her jaws roil, frothing with bits of white and yellow and pickle. Damn you for making me remember this! Anyway, I think she was a man in the end.

Off we would go on our appointed rounds. We would drive around town in circles, searching for these waxy chocolates that had somehow, by accident perhaps, become a custom in our house (along with the beer-drinking I mentioned). Eventually we would find the damn things and bring them home to a gentle chorus of baffled burps.

Holy Christmas!

And if I'm not mistaken, there was a story told each year, a fairy tale about someone named “Jeebus.” I'm getting his name wrong, I'm sure. Josey. Jesus. Jesus H. Chriminy! That's it. What a strange name. He lived long ago, and he spent his life trying to find the brightest star in the sky. He made the first zombie! And
though he was a man full of joy and love, at the same time, this man—whom I never met—was deeply disappointed in me on a very personal level. Yes, this
Jesau
fella had something against me. Which makes no sense, I know, so I can't be remembering it right.

Anyway, Christmas…was that really what we called it? Bottom line: there was a lot of disco music, a tree got knocked over, and there was a naked man dancing barefoot in the snow. That's all I'm sure of right now.