Monday, April 09, 2012

The day Ivan took a job, any job, and found even his lovemaking mechanical




Life has a way of knocking you on your derriere when you come too close to the ring, and just as my website was succeeding into making me something of a local star, I ran out of money and was forced to take a job as a deliverer of auto parts.

The reception wasn't too bad. They all seemed to know me at Shanahan Ford around these parts, but after seeing me for the third time, head and feet sticking out from a load of mufflers and exhaust pipes, the thrill was gone. The same thing at 400 Auto Wreckers when I decided to take an asthma fit right outside the office because of leaks in my ancient delivery vehicle. Feeling Not so much like a gassed Kurd, but more like something of a turd, I soldiered on after the wreckers brought me to.

There is a line out of old Beverley Hillbillies that goes like: You're an artist, you have to suffer. Boy, are you going to suffer when you find out that the construction crew screwed up and dumped cement not at your poolside, but all over your new BMW.

Story of my life.

Just like MAD's version of "Prince Violent", I somehow always manage to "pick up bow, drop quiver, pick up quiver, drop chainmail pants."

John Cleese: For every success, there is a corresponding failure.

Hey, I'm not complaining.

Thanks partly to Jeff Mitchell's excellent writeup on me in the Era-Banner hereabouts, the name "Ivan Prokopchuk" shows up in a lot of GOOGLE places from here to New York City, where the new McLuhan, Douglas Rushkoff has reprinted a riff or two of mine.

Lots of stuff about old Ivan on other websites too. Again, Jeff Mitchell got me started, while an able son looked after the technical end.

Not bad for a scribbler who had hoped at one time to write some soft porn and get the Ukrainian vote too, though Ukies are really quite conservative. The title? Naked Came the Ukrainian. I still think it will sell....You publishers out there, will you take a used novel from this man?
And yet I still have to work for a living.

Having had too good a time in the Sixties, I am not too hot as an executive right now. Gaping psychedelic holes in my head; short attention span. At least I can deliver parts.
"You've got it all ass backwards," says my friend Jackie Playter as she watches me struggle with a stubborn GM Astro that had lost its tailpipe. Presumably, she means I should get back into writing or politics, where I belong.

Christ, have you ever tried politics, especially municipal politics. Some of the tree huggers and AIDS activists should try it when they're not so righteous about global warming and all that.
Municipal politics in Ontario? The Mafia will kick your ass and call you a ........cker
Which I probably why I am reduced to dropping off auto parts.

Yet there is something mildly grand about being a speedy mercurial figure, a Hermes or Mercury(sometimes indeed driving a Mercury) on winged Adidas feet, dropping parts all over the world, right hand extended to the heavens to display a NAPA symbol.

One day, at a NAPA party, I won a thirty-pound ham.

Knocked off my perch as a pro, yes, but was it ever nice to eat regular!

7 comments:

PhilipH said...

Be it ever so 'umble the labourer is worthy of his hire (or ire, if you like).
On the other hand, work is the curse of the drinking classes, init.
Alternatively, if work was so bleeding marvellous then the landed gentry would have snapped it all up years ago!
Again, as my favourite sitcom used to have it "Only Fools and 'Orses Work".
Good luck Ivan, whatever you do, (don't do, as the case may be).
Cheers, Phil

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Thanks Phil.

I have tried work many times.
It seemed always disastrous. :)

the walking man said...

Jaysus Ivan if Buk was still alive he could model his 42nd book of poetry around nothing but your life *in the bushes*.

I've handled, in a past life, many auto parts just don't fall ass fist on an exhaust extension pipe. The tax man will charge you a GST on that!

Fuck 'em old man what are they or anyone going to do put you in debtor's prison or back on the streets? If you have an option though go for the first, three hots and a cot and all the barracks humor you can stand.

Fight on he who does not struggle is buried a'ready.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Mark,

Right on, as always.

And now that I have stopped working,the fit has already hit the Shan.

That genius Brown, or whoever invented The Roadrunner and the Coyote. Over here, it's already "Eternus-famishus-famishus.

...But still trying to be Avis Supersonicus!

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