Creative absolution

 

You may have noticed the unpopular thing I recently put out into the world. I wrote it and there it is, for all to see and comment on. 

 

I have heard your complaints and taken them seriously. My partner is intimidated, my assistant is inundated, and my intern is medicated. But that’s normal for a creative type outpacing civilization.  

The trick to dealing with criticism is taking credit for the essence of a good idea and passing blame when things go awry. You see, this thing had potential for genius had I been given total control. I wasn’t given total control. So what you are seeing is a poor imitation of a potentially great work, watered down by those who don’t know any better. 

Here’s the point. I’m not at fault. It was someone else. Not me. Now, if in a few years, the tide turns and people start to like this thing again. Then I will happily and loudly take full individual credit, writing off those who played a miniscule part in this human drama.

Sweet Lieu

 

In lieu of a personality, I have a closet full of expensive trucker hats for every mood, day of the week, and lunar phase. 

In lieu of intelligence, I have a bookcase of important tomes I have never read.

In lieu of an appetite, I have a fridge lined with health foods from every continent. That includes a tray of ice pops from the good people at McMurdo Station.

In lieu of friends, I have a collection of mint condition figurines. 

In lieu of arguments, I have a list of things you aren’t allowed to say to me. 

In lieu of salad dressings, I have a tub of ice-cold blue cheese. 

In lieu of pants, I have plenty of overly steam-cleaned rugs.

In lieu of water, I have sparkling water.

In lieu of principles, I have maniacal obsessions. 

In lieu of pillows, I have an emoji-only relationship with Mike Lindell.  

Bragging Rights

 

Some people do things to be noticed. Like counting money in line for the movies, a time-honored practice of flaunting your own liquidity. But as cash dwindles and cinema sputters, it may be time to find a new venue for self-promotion.

From a large desk and a wide chair, many professionals spend their working days seeing what sticks. Their largest, open wall is generally speaking the first test case. If it can’t stick there, between diplomas and family photos, it doesn’t stand much of a chance in the public. 

To make something stick, you need to be creative. You can’t simply throw anything against the wall and assume it will find miraculous adhesion. What will happen is routine. It will slide down the wall and settle into the carpet, unless your own small trash bin happens to be aligned with the initial toss. 

There are ways of making things stick. You could try Vermont’s own maple syrup. Or helps your honeyed individual. If you’re looking for something a bit more substantial, peanut butter or Nutella can do the trick. But what a mess you’ve now left for the overworked janitorial staff. One could argue that removing breakfast spreads is superior to toiling in sewers. Fair enough. But it’s not like what’s on the wall constitutes a meal substitute. I’d argue it’s worse, since the once proud confection taunts you, much like the lights of San Francisco menaced the inmates of Alcatraz all those years ago.  

Bring a broom or hire a clean-up crew. You never know what you'll need. 

Perp Walks

Getting indicted isn’t glamorous, though it can and should be. Those in the chattering classes complaining that gratuitous perp walks violate one’s fourth amendment rights can’t see the big picture, ignoring the value of these flashbulb ambles. America is about spectacles and getting arrested should be a highlight of one’s life. 

There are different ways. There’s the cowering doofus, raincoat obscuring any facial features as throngs of journalist salivate at the glimpse of the accused. If you don’t have a handy poncho, many opt for their own hands as sufficient covering. This doesn’t always work, given the correlation between puny palms and criminal misconduct. At least I think I read that somewhere. I prefer the John Gotti method, where the perp springs from the backseat of a limo without any concern or shame. This is how it’s done. Usually, this act of courage is inversely proportional to one’s guilt. The more you claim innocence in a public display of grandeur, the more likely you’re guiltier than sin. 

Then there’s how you dress. Again, Gotti opted for tailored Italian suits. But as we’ve seen on the bench of NBA games, the ubiquity of formal attire is waning. Would you want you grandkids watching as you’re moved up the courthouse steps in yoga pants and a visor you received with a free magazine subscription?  

Who's to say you can't perp walk and talk? The people are listening and this certainly a time when you have their attention. Make the most of it. Take each step slowly, savoring every foothold. Days like this don't happen every day. I worry about remote work and how that will eliminate the romance of perp walks. Will there be a time when house arrest is the norm? I suppose we're all doing time in a way. For many people, this the closest they will every get to a fashion show runway. So make it count. 

 

Devil May Not Care

Satan, not to be confused with Santa, has been in the news lately. Many political prognosticators were taken aback by Sam Smith’s performance decked out in deviled red. Now, I don’t know who Sam Smith is, what he looks like, what he sounds like, or who he appeals to. For a brief moment, I thought he was Stan Smith, the tennis player of footwear fame. But alas, some things are too good to be true.

But many Christian commentators remarked on the eerie hallmarks of Smith, he was wearing red, after all. This was a clear sign of possessing a luciferian fashion sense. Maybe. Or maybe he was going to wear a suit before having his limo driver stop at Party City. 

Let’s play this out. If I were the devil, would I dress exactly like the devil? Give me a little more credit than that. We’re talking about a fallen angel, yes, but surely an endlessly creative one. I’m no expert in the dark arts, but doesn’t it make sense that if El Diablo would dare to show his face on earth he might opt for something with a bluish hue? Red is expected and overdone. One thing you can say about the devil is, he loves surprises. But does he love the Grammys? That I find difficult to believe. 

He might not even be in America, given everything else in the world. Those many unapologetic exceptionalists shudder at the thought of Satan residing somewhere outside the continental United States. 

Good luck finding him. Try reading the news. Or if you're in New Jersey, attend a hockey game. The playoffs are about to start. 

Russell Re-Brand

I used to be a decent actor, an okay comedian, and an exceptional addict. But I’m a changed man. I went from making jokes to making mantras. From globetrotting to podcast pontificating. Because now, I’m a self-styled guru who makes his living sitting on the floor in linen, silk, or nothing at all.

I own lots of pillows, scented candles and doors are a thing of the past. I’ve opted for beaded entrances only. I’m a conspiracy monger, artisanal cheese monger, you name it, I’m here to hawk it. 

It’s been a smart career move. I am lucky I wasn’t born during the heyday of Monty Python or Billy Connolly. Peter Sellers, I am not. I went from making some people laugh to making more people cry. It's just emotions.

You’re not supposed to take me seriously, but I sure do. Enough for the both of us. Don’t you worry. When you're a celebrity you can be half as smart and twice as rich. That equation has sure worked out well for me. While I couldn't get into any decent college, but I could start one quite easily. 

What’s amazing is that during this transformation it never occurred to me to shave.

 

Shohei Ohtani Is Better Than…

 

Much has been written in the last week since Shohei Ohtani struck out Mike Trout in some sort of exhibition called the “World Baseball Classic.” Many have decided that Mr. Ohtani is now comfortably ahead of Mr. George Herman “Babe” Ruth as the greatest player of all time. Despite having played only 5 seasons and leading the league in two categories (triples and the prestigious caught stealing), it’s time we put him in the pantheon. Induct him now into Cooperstown – why wait? But since he’s already put away his baseball competition on ice, why not go a step further? I would say the man can hold his own against anyone who’s ever lived. 

I can’t recall Albert Einstein throwing a baseball over 100 MPH despite hedging with his theory of relativity.

Mozart never hit a 400-foot home run. Beethoven lacked opposite field power. And Bach wasn’t known for his plate coverage. 

I’m pretty sure Galileo couldn’t speak Japanese.

Is there a record of Euclid wearing a fitted cap? I doubt it. 

When did Jesus throw a wicked curveball? 

There’s nothing I can find about Napoleon beating out an infield hit. 

Many compare him to unicorns, as if the comparison is fair to the mythical beasts. But where are all the unicorns batting cleanup? And don’t tell me their horn is a bat. I’d like to see them try and bunt with that thing. Good luck.

While he’s better than people, like any hero, he happens to be better than places and things as well.

The printing press was a nice addition to civilization, but it couldn’t paint the corners, could it?

Everyone raves about Tulum as a vacation destination, yet I haven’t heard anything about the holiday getaway ever lacing a homer into the upper deck. 

So if you’re getting married and you’re looking for a best man, I think he’s playing for the Angels. Though maybe “playing” isn’t the accurate verb. More like perfecting.