23rd-Aug-2008 01:49 am - rule of three

. . . and here we go again!

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Okay, J_, you may think I've flipped my wig, but just hear me out for a second.

I was sitting there ruminating and chewing over all the black thoughts in my brain (which spilled out in the preceding e-mail) when all of a sudden it hit me: the American Dream.

The Statue of Liberty ain't no Old World Marie Antoinette hoity toity bitch from hell. She's a girl of the streets, and that torch in her hand? That's a Bic being flicked aloft at a rock 'n roll show. That's punk. That's the beauty of it. It's American alchemy. We turn shit into gold. Do you understand the profundity of this statement? SHIT INTO GOLD. The Midas Touch. NOTHING can stop us. 9/11? Ha! We didn't need those fucking towers anyway. We'll melt 'em down and build a new one, with King Kong on top holding a giant flyswatter to whack any scummy little assholes who dare fuck with us. If they're smart enough they'll see the great beast from a few miles away and take a detour to Ellis Island (Lady Liberty again, see where I'm going here?) and get their citizenship papers, and before you know it, boom, they've got a corner store, and mom and pop are working hard, and the kids go to school and learn how to smoke and swear and drink and fuck. And before you know it the whole damn thing re-cycles itself. Maybe there is no end to history. It's like when you count off a song. "A-one. A-two. A-one-two-three GO!" Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Sometimes it takes three tries to get your car started. Once you've got it going, it's on, pedal to the metal. (Incidentally I am only just now beginning to appreciate just what a gearhead my grandfather Waldman, Papa Ben, was. More on this later.) 1776, 1865, 1954. Declaration, rednecks hanged, and Elvis's pelvic thrust. And it keeps going. The wheel in the sky. The sun and the moon are together and it's glorious.

Woo-hoo. Wowza. Jesus, give me a goldstar sticker or a hug or somethin' for that one, woulja? Ha!

JW