Economic uncertainties have compelled me to take a hard look at the revenue I make from this column which revealed I am actually earning a mere pittance of the $3.7 million that was projected for 2011. Horrors! Therefore to slash costs there will be a 90 percent reduction in the truth, we’ll outsource editing (China) and no more spell check. I appreciate your patience during this tranzition/transition (sp?) and apologize in advance for any confusion.
They call this economic disaster an upset which is a mild term for an event so traumatic that last Tuesday while in Charlotte it moved a man to approach me in a manner that implied he had a revolver in his pocket.
There was a time I wanted to live in Charlotte, I thought it reflected sophistication to live in a big city until I realized that finding a parking space was like meeting your ex-wife at a gun show—real iffy and stressful. The man was waiting behind the 34 inch expandable waist section as I was shopping for blue jeans at a Wal-Mart. I thought the jeans made me look paunchy. I wanted a slim look and was thinking maybe I should cut out pasta or go organic or maybe plunge into a vegan life style. But then carrots don’t agree with me. And I hate cauliflower.
Anyway, this guy with a mousy face and gray ponytail appears out of a rack of denim and says, “Mister, your column saved my marriage. Beth almost left me when they sent my job to China, the bank repossessed our house, I had a bout with gum disease and now I’m facing a prison term for icing my banker. But every Sunday we read your column and we feel better about ourselves. You’re very talented and could you hand over a ten so I can buy my little girl an ice cream cone with sprinkles?”
Suddenly I had a memory. I shot a man in Reno just to see him die. He was a mousy faced publisher with a ponytail. I had written the perfect American novel and he said if we’d glue it together it would make the perfect American paper weight. His name was Bernie and he stayed tipsy on a drink he called the Seizure, which was made of gin, whiskey and vermouth and he kept company with a dark haired floozy in a tight black dress and red lipstick named Frankie who said “Mr. Bartender” a lot. Later I found she was a big fan of my writing.
So the man appeared to be fidgeting with a gun in his pocket brooding over the raw deal life had handed him. I gave him a ten and then he---wait, did I say Charlotte? No, I was in Miami and this was a Thursday—not Tuesday, my column is due on Friday—I got confused because I was thinking of reducing my writing time---ten minutes to write this column instead of the usual four hours (no kidding).
Why was I in Miami? That’s what I really wanted to tell you about. As the column goes through a transition I’ll need rest so I sent myself to Miami for a vacation. Is that cool or what?
So then Mr. Ponytail says, “I like your stories” and shuffled away. Right then I resolved to maintain my high standards of writing—it seems to bless people. I’ve also decided to remain humble.
And that my friend is what will get us through this economic mess---a work ethic and being true to yourself. So stay fokused-phocused---focused (sp?).
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