Tuesday, December 26, 2006
The Land of Cockayne
The Land of Cockayne.
No, that's not some Antique Belgian that's had a snort--more like an antique Belgian who's had too much Christmas fare, and like me, is all logey and very hard to light.
Cockayne, the sense of being stuffed too full. People want you to do things, Sing Carols, play guitar, make love.
But you can hardly go through the motions. You are stuffed too fulll, and like the man on the old Johnny Carson show who invented a one-wheel motorcycle, kick-starting the machine again and again, to no avail. There are days when you just can't get your "Wheelie" to work.
Uh. You seem to get on top all right. But the shift lever mechanism somehow fails to work. And good thing too: It's somebody else's wife!
It is difficult enough, along with Montaigne, to square the circle while perched atop your wife.
But Boolean algebra, while perched atop somebody else's wife is nigh on to impossible--especially if you plan to blog about it later, like a tattle- tale, and you hadn't yet switched to beta.
.Mathematicians do it more elegantly?
Hey, Einstein was a pretty handsome and cool dude. Riffed the Immanuel Kant off his sister-in-law.
You've got to admit that that Pieter Brueghel the Elder was some sort of cookie monster too.(I spell it Brueghel, since there are at least four versions of the spelling. What do I know? I learned my first alphabet in Polish and in fact got the "Polish" mark at Trinity College. Sixty-three in Classics. That's because I was a dummy and where students of Dr. French's class were asked to only answer Dr. French's question, I answered Dr. Golberg's as well. Why did I do that? Pre-test jitters, I suppose..
Or maybe I was smart, knew I had cut too many classes with Dr. French and would have better luck with Dr. Goldberg. I can shoot the bull with amazing facility, even elegantly and falsely footnoted , if provoked.
Only a sharp Hindu or a Cartesian Frenchman can cut through my web of bull roar. That or a smart redhead, and I don't mean Platonic pursuits.
But I digress.
It is Boxing Day.
Christmas Night is all but over.
I must go to the Mall (Need those boxing gloves for sure) and exchange a couple of things.
But I am still in a Land -of -Cockayne.
Ferdinand the Bull at the mall. The Bargain Yahoos will walk all over me.
Clerks, seeing my bulbous nose and red face from the drinking will become overly obsequious: "Good morning, Sir. Are you all right, Sir? Doing fine, Sir?"
I am tempted to offer an explanation:
So maybe I won't go to the Mall.
I am still in the land of Cockayne.
Anybody out there in the Land of Cockayne as well?
Can't get your Wheelie to work?
Cant even discuss going to work?
I fear I am in the Land of Cockayne, and try as The Man did over the Holiday, the devil has me by the lights.