It’s All Jen’s Fault

Really!

You see, I’m a deeply serious individual. It's true. I was actually born without a normal, socially appropriate sense of humor. I have a sense of humor but it's a bit skewed. I mean, all those brain tumors? They've totally forced out my ability to color (i.e., laugh and joke) within the lines. It's a tragedy. I'm tellin' ya.

You know what this means, don’t you? Yep, Firesign Theatre, Monty Python, and The Smother’s Brothers went a long ways toward shaping my humor.

Why’s this come up now? I had an interesting exchange on Facebook with a couple of guys I went to high school with but only met recently in this deeply strange, online world of ours. (FYI – names have been changed to protect these poor sods who put up with me)
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Max: So, last Monday I was doing what I usually do on Monday evenings and if you can tell me what that is I'd appreciate it. However, in the midst of doing whatever it was that I was doing I fell. 

Our man Max is now in a skilled nursing facility for a few weeks undergoing intense physical therapy. He’s learning how to walk again along with all the other happy horseshit that yurs truly has been going through over the past five years. Mondo fun!

Me: Dude, falling is NOT fun! Learning to walk again? Even less of a good time. Also too, it gets boring after awhile. Just FYI and shit. 

Now, as for what you can usually be found doing on Mondays, contrary to what Rob said, I know for a fact that you have a standing gig down in Encino at the Starlite Lounge. It’s you and Dinah Washington singing standards with McCoy Tyner on keys. Of course this MIGHT only be in my alt universe where Ella Fitzgerald and Freddie Mercury scat the Beastie Boys’ catalogue whilst performing hot yoga. They’d kill it. You KNOW it!

….ummmm, in bocca al lupo?

What had Rob claimed as Max’s usual Monday habit?

Rob: Max, for some reason, I am remembering you saying that you had reserved Mondays for perfecting your recreation of Evel Knievel’s famous motorcycle jump over the Caesar’s Palace fountain. I know that balance played a critical role in that event. Please PLEASE mend yourself quickly and thoroughly! And, just perhaps, take a few photos of those wildly colored bruises. It’s been quite a while since anyone has inspired a new organically-influenced modern art trend! Be well, my friend!

Rob responded to my counterclaim.

Rob: Donna, I stand corrected… I think. You know what that means? I will have to go back to Max’s very first post ever, and then read through ALL of them to find out exactly what it was that he said about recreating Evel Knievel’s jump over the Caesar’s Palace fountain. Oh my…

Me: Ya know Rob, and please correct me if I’m wrong, but I felt certain that our man Max had previously injured himself while attempting to recreate Evel’s lesser known, but also brilliantly talented, sister Eva’s skateboarding leap over Niagara Falls.

I could be getting this mixed up with that time Max went hillwalking during a land war in Asia (something I’ve been told, on reliable authority, to avoid).

In any case, rereading his wild tales of derring-do is a grand way to spend the day!

Max: Rob, I still want to know which of my posts you've read 30 or 40 times.

Rob: A good way to spend a day??? Clearly, you have forgotten just how often this guy posts… I do, and I am now thinking that I can just kiss my intended activities for my retirement years goodbye. 

Oh… to Mark: ONE of your posts that I read 30-40 times was this one:

“I spent a good chunk of today sitting on a lawn chair with a cold drink and my dog, watching the flowers in my garden grow. No, really! Several of them grew roughly two inches while I watched. But, it was only the pink ones. The yellow ones didn’t do shit. Who understands this gardening stuff? I sure do not! 

At one point, the dog snarled really loudly and jumped down to chase the FedEx guy who was only trying to deliver my parcel of the day. The dog nearly spilled my drink, and I nearly soiled myself! It’s a good thing that I have an incredible rock-solid sense of balance! So, I didn’t end up face-down in the garden. 

Again. I suppose I should go and retrieve the dog’s teeth from FedEx’s thigh so he can get on about his business. He’ll probably just want to spend the rest of the day sitting on my lap and whimpering to get attention. And, the dog… will probably go back in the house for a nap.”

Not sure why I read that one so many times…

Me: Now Rob, once you’ve finished reading Max’s back catalogue you can always get right back to your recreation of Botticelli's Birth of Venus (done a la Jack Kirby with Ellen Ripley as Venus, of course and, goddamn, I can’t wait to see it!). Art requires deep thoughts which inevitably arise whilst reading the booze soaked Facebook posts of our peers and heroes.

Related, this post of Max’s you’ve quoted – THIS is exactly the sort of writing Hunter S. Thompson would be doing now had he survived into his retirement years. Max is helping us travel into a creative universe we’d never otherwise know!

Another of Max’s friends writes:

Karl: Sorry to learn of your injury. After two back surgeries within 30 months, I know how you feel. 

Me: Karl, we should all form a club. I had 2 spine surgeries between '20 and '21. Oh, but wait, maybe we already have? The first rule of Fucked Up Back Club is we do NOT talk about Fucked Up Back Club. 

Max: Shut up, you're jinxing us!
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I love Max. He totally get me.

How is me cracking wise at otherwise serious times Jen’s fault? Emmm, she laughs at my attempts at wit? Does she know that she’s only encouraging my inappropriate, antisocial humor? 

I would, like totally, be a somber, sober credit to my upright, upstate New York forebears if not for Jen. Truly!