Food poisoning. A paper cut. Tree sap on my fingers, in my hair, on my clothes. Any Bee Gees albums. Sent to the principal's office. A draft notice. Excedrin headache #39. Pine needles under my fingernails. A phone call from someone trying to reach the Hopewell Fish Market. Inkstained hands. Bloodstained hands. Psoriasis. Slightly irregular men's briefs.
A cell phone bill. A cell phone. A visit from the King (either/or). A call from an autodialer associated with any major political party. Irritable bowel syndrome. Improperly prepared fugu. Stranded, branded or remanded.
A phone call, telegram, txt msg, e-mail or any other communique announcing that someone I know has died. A mandate on behalf of any presidential candidate. More lackadaisical. Bent. Lost. Used. Taken for a ride, to the cleaners, or for a fool. Inured to anything. An ugly sweater. An infestation of termites. Or gnats. Or howler monkeys. A hangover. A knock on the door at 2:18 am from a uniformed St. Louis Police officer responding to our call when we were, in fact, all asleep. Gum on my shoe.
Rhythm. A bottle of Clamato. Cooties. An apology from Jamie Lynn. Thicker, fuller, more luxuriant hair. Too much sleep. Fruitcake. Stuck in a dead-end job with a company locked in a death spiral. That cool mint sensation. Flowbee or Roomba. Busy dyin'. A whammy.
You anything (sorry).
Smart. Burn-resistant bacon. An in the skin tomato twaddler. Popeil's Pocket Fisherman. Remorse. Regrets. A case of the Shouldas. A case of synthetic motor oil. The Star Wars Christmas Special. Back to where I once belonged. Back in time. Back, honkycat. (woo!)
A picture of myself in the White House being deputized by Richard Nixon. A haircut. A real job. The hell outta Dodge. Disenfranchised. An artificially inflated sense of self-worth. Revealed as the last humanoid Cylon. In line. In the swing of things. My ya-yas out. My rocks off. My head examined.
To third base on a throwing error by de Felice. A free spin. Big claw hands! A box of chocolates. Defenestrated. Dehydrated. Discouraged. Foreclosed. Evicted. Shot. Stabbed. Raped. Abused. Victimized. Neglected. Hungry. Desperate.
Coney Dog flavored potato chips. Government cheese. Out of jail free. A tan. Enough pencils donated to warrant a personal phone call from Michael Hogan. Caught up in any of those funky kicks going down in the city. A second interview.
A Yule log. A cheese log. A plain, seamless cambric shirt. A migraine. Hiccups. A triple word score when I played 'KUMQUAT." The Carpenters' Christmas album, not that anybody bothered to inquire about my taste in holiday music. Visions of sugar plums.
A pear tree, with or without a partridge in it.
There are so many things I didn't get, and life is all the sweeter for not having them. I didn't always get what I wanted this year, but in faith and retrospect, I know I got what I needed.
Though...hoy, Alex! If you're a gazillionaire this morning, doll, give me a ring, mmmkay?
If the media is the eye on the world, Russ Carr is the finger in that eye. Tune in each month to see him dispersing the smoke and smashing the mirrors of modern mass communication. The world lost Russ on 2/7/12, but he lives on.
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12.26.07 @ 11:12a
I thought Elvis died in a hotel room on a toliet with whasserface, the blonde, in the bedroom nearby?
12.26.07 @ 3:00p
It was in the bathroom, but at home at Graceland. And whasserface was in the bedroom nearby I believe. That information, sadly, was not outlined in the Graceland tour.
12.26.07 @ 8:29p
Linda Thomas? Thompson? Something like that.
12.26.07 @ 9:08p
Oooookay. Next Christmas, I'm going to just write about Elvis.
12.26.07 @ 11:01p
Russ, I didn't become a gazillionaire. Alas, against my wishes, I dealt with my nutball roommate's tabloid life. Fwoo. (But, I got a sword!)
12.27.07 @ 9:09a
I got food poisoning one year for Christmas! The good news was, I got a couple days off work, so it wasn't all bad.
Merry merry to all.
12.27.07 @ 10:04p
In fairness, he WAS asked REPEATEDLY what he would like for Christmas. (He might make that list as his birthday will be here before he knows it). He later found that he HAS Christmas music by the Carpenters already. Though he did not get them, he did get some things that he enjoys.....and some things I enjoy...and some that both of us enjoy. It's more fun to watch the kids anyway, but as he would say, more work this year. He had to blow up and fill a bop bag.