Pfunksfoolosophy

Good people… I work very near Madison Square Garden. There are generally a ton of people milling about at nearly every hour, every ding dong daddy day. Today was no exception. To make matters even more pathetically vivid, it was like 1,000,000 degrees CELSIUS. Yep, I was hallucinating that there were dancing freezer pops doing the funky chicken across 8th Avenue…then, natch some tourist type had to stop me in the blazing sun to ask me where Madison Square Garden was located. Okay, you know what? I’ve been that guy. It’s hot, you feel like you might be lost and then…nope, I’ve never heard this when I’ve asked for directions:  “Umm, turn around and look straight ahead”

YEAH. Homeslice was standing facing uptown whilst asking the by now toasted and roasted,unfriendly in her aviator sunglasses, six foot tall black woman directions. I tried my best to glower at him, but I felt something akin to pity as I pointed past his little shoulder and said those words that turned his face crimson. It didn’t help matters that he had but a tenuous grip on the English language. I don’t know what language it was…it sounded a bit like Dutch–I’ve been studying it with Before You Know It software. (free and easy) Still, I couldn’t be sure. The look on his face was worth the price of admission.

He turned around and shook his head. I shrugged my shoulders and feigned a smile. “It happens. Have fun” I said and turned to walk away. You know, what with all the hub bub on the street, I’m not sure but I think I heard him say, ‘Bitch’.

Eh, there it is.

My Marmy (as I call her) turns 68 today. It’s hard for me to think of my mother as being a senior citizen. She’s not an old lady, but she’s an old lady, you know? To me, she’ll always be the silly, funny, insightful, warm person who likes to imitate Long Duk Dong from ‘Sixteen Candles’. That’s right. My mom will say, ‘automobeeeeeeel?’ every now and again. She’ll say, ‘No more yankee my wankee, the Donguh needs FOOD!’ Yep, she’s a senior, but she’s also my best friend.

I remember when I first moved to California and I was broke, disgusted and feeling sorrier for myself than I ever thought I could. I remarked to her that I even felt bad for her because she had such  a loser for a kid. She sighed and said, ‘Have I ever compared you to anyone else? Have I ever wanted you to conform to society’s standards? NO. I have only wanted you to be happy and productive as a human being.’

That made me think. You know, most of her friends have married kids who are in the rat race, who may be materially wealthy, but aren’t necessarily happy individuals. I don’t think that poverty makes you happy, or that the wealthy are going to hell in a handbasket but I got what Mom was trying to tell me. She’s always wanted my happiness to come first. She’s always supported my dreams.  She gave me roots and wings and never got in the way. Mom would let me stay up to watch old movies and let me go to school late because I had a ‘Doris  Day/Rock Hudson’ hangover. We watched ‘Imitiation of Life’ and cried together even though we’d seen that movie hundreds of times.

Even today, my Marmy still calls me ‘Dirtybird’ or ‘Poopie’. I’m no spring chicken. I’m still her baby and she’s still my Marmy. I love her more than space.

I know that she knows that. I’m joyous that I can celebrate my mom’s 68 years on this rock. A lot of those years have been superfantastic and a lot of ‘em have been filled with pain, but she’s still here and I am blessed.

Happy birthday, Marmy!

this is a test of the emergency blog system.

 Angie is helping me.  Get over it.