Good Morning Denizens of Chutzpah,
Ah it must be Christmas…. astonishingly our very own Bagwan seeks mystic radiance in Cleveland each year. His particular ‘Holy Land’ and as evidence of his love for us the unwashed, he has allowed us a rare glimpse into the workings of Bagwan’s spiritual embodiment. So without further adieu please enjoy further ‘Truth and Light’ as anointed by the Bagwan:
It’s time for my annual trip to Cleveland to see the grandkids. Before you start all the Cleveland jokes let me tell you that it is not that bad. It has its own charm and I have never yet met anyone living there who wished they lived in Los Angeles.
The charm comes from the fact that it is something of a time capsule. When you don’t have a huge influx of people moving in from other parts of the country you simply keep doing it the way you always have. When I go to my grandsons’ basketball games at Catholic schools I am transported back into the ‘50’s when I was in grade school. Same architecture, same brick, same tiles and somewhere around the corner is the same nun (Sister Mary Paphneushous) waiting to rap me on the knuckles.
No question my appreciation of Cleveland is enhanced by the fact that I get to see three of my grandkids. Being a grandparent is by far the most satisfying role I have ever played in my life. I’ll bet that even Zuki’s grandparents liked him. I won’t bet a lot and I would need some odds.
I should admit that my trip doesn’t technically take me to Cleveland but rather to Avon Lake which is a suburb of Cleveland. Calling it a suburb doesn’t do it justice because it is really more of a small town which just happens to be close to Cleveland. It has its own personality and character and if you live there you really don’t ever have to go to Cleveland proper. If you get sick they even have their own branch of the Cleveland Clinic.
Probably not surprising that my favorite part of Avon Lake is that it has more than a few good neighborhood dive bars. Great places where everyone knows each other and each other’s business. After several years of attending and observing I have been accepted in a Jane Goodall kind of way. I have become such a regular in a couple of those places that I even get some votes in the local “Town Drunk” competition – no doubt embarrassing for the grandchildren.
This year in an effort to minimize my time in the local saloons I was going to come up with a project. I decided I was going write a musical. If that sounds strange let me tell you that you have no idea how strange. I hate musicals. I like music and I like stories but I don’t want to start to get involved in the plot only to have fucking Fred Astaire jump up on a table and start singing and dancing.
Anyways, the fact that it was difficult made it all the more tempting for me. I have never actually sat through a musical, either play or movie, so I didn’t know where to start. JJ is an aficionado of musical theatre and is often heard humming show tunes at the bar at Blondie’s – which has increased the diversity of the clientele there.
I lured him over to the bar at the South so I could get some of his undivided attention. When he is at Blondie’s he is distracted by all the unwashed groveling, asking his advice and trying to touch his garment. We had a good talk and after hearing about his favorite production I decided to do a fun parody that I was going to call “Hitler on the Roof.” Imagine my despair when I got home and Googled only to find that it had already been done.
I wonder if anyone has done “Saturday Night Fuhrer?”