296. Acting

“Well then there now,” C.W. said and I groaned. He was in his “James Dean” mode and you know what that means.

Oh, you don’t?

It happens every time he watches Giant or Rebel Without a Cause. He walks around all day in a red windbreaker and mumbles lines from movies of the 1950s. On this day, I had about one nerve left and it was waiting for him to get on it. It was raining and we had been locked up with him for more than 48 hours. My wife had chased him out of the kitchen with a knife, so he escaped to where I was trying to read.

“Can I have some dirt too?”

“Why don’t you read a book?”

“You are the boss.”

“Yes.”

“You know it too, don’t you?”

“C.W., you are not James Dean. He was an actor, and he is dead. You are an alien. Why don’t you come back to earth?”

“I’m rich, Big Dope,” he said. “I’m richer than all you sons of b…”

“Do you want to go outside in the rain and play? You have the whole farm.”

“Someday I might just put a fence around it,” he said. “and call it Little Reata.”

With that, the James Dean, or Jett Rink, or whatever, persona, left him and he sat. “Tell me,” he said, “what is thing your species has with actors?”

I looked up. “What thing?”

“The way you worship them and all.”

“What do you mean worship them?”

“You hang on their every word,” he said. “Even when they aren’t acting.”

“They are popular,” I said.

“Some of them are incredibly dumb, too,” he said, “when they aren’t on script. Have you ever heard one during a meeting or conversation in which a writer or reporter asks questions of a person from whom material is sought for a story?”

“They are about as good at interviews as political candidates,” I said, not knowing why I would choose to defend either politicians or actors.

“What about Mrs. Big Dope?”

This got my attention. “What about my wife, and don’t let her hear you call her that.”

“She worships them too.”

“Who?”

“Actors, at least one of them.”

“What makes you think that?”

“When you’re not here,” he said, “she puts a framed photograph of that actor ‘Matthew what’s his name’ on the counter while she cooks.”

“Maybe his picture makes her think of me.”

“And who does that picture of Big Bang’s Penny on your desktop remind you of?”

I changed the subject. “We just appreciate actors for their talent, that’s all.”

“So why does Mrs. Big Dope want us to become actors?”

This took me by surprise. “What makes you think she wants us to be actors?”

Now this fellow would turn a straight
 man gay in a New York second. - C.W.

“How many times have I heard her tell you to try and act your age?”

“Well …”

“To act like you’ve got some (expletive deleted) sense?”

“Uh …”

“To at least act like you care.”

“I …”

“To act like an adult.”

“Well what about you?”

“Haven’t you heard her ask me to act like I fell off a space ship instead of a watermelon truck?”

“Oh yeah,” I said.

“But do you want to guess what the most confusing one is?”

“No.”

“It’s when she tells you to stop acting like a damned alien.”

“Come on,” I said. “It’s quit raining. Let’s go ‘Jett RinkWalking’ around the farm. You like doing that. And if we’re lucky, a deer hunter won’t shoot us.”

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Act of War

Friends:
Found Big Dope napping today with this on his computer. Thought you might like it.
Your Friend,
C.W.

Ask The Alien: Revenge

Dear Ask the Alien:
During Happy Hour the other evening, my wife revealed to me that there were some events in her life that she had never shared with me. This bothers me quite a bit for we have been married for what seems like a thousand years. And ... it makes me more convinced than ever that she threw away my "Slim Whitman" album years ago and it wasn't really the only item taken during a burglary like she claimed.
My question is this. Should I retaliate? She has a ZZ Top CD that she is extremely fond of.
Signed,
Vengeful

Dear Vengeful:
No, I kinda like her ZZ ... uh ... oh ... I mean from the way you put it, she is a person of great patience and ability to plan long-term. If you ever intend to sleep all night again, I would counsel restraint. Of course you could buy a Jennifer Hudson CD and begin playing it at top volume, but I doubt if any jury would convict someone of murder as a means of avoiding such screeching. Best learn to appreciate "Gimme All Your Lovin'"
Yours,
The Alien C.W.

295. Clarity

His name is Furlough Thompson—Mayor Furlough Thompson. He was born in November of 1943 while his dad was in the United States Army, which may explain the unusual first name. He governs the small town of Potluck, Arkansas (population 1,236) and he delights in comforting me when I am afflicted and afflicting me when I am comfortable, as they say.

Actually, “he” is the Alien C.W. in one of his favorite shapes. He remains fascinated by the thought of my profession as an urban planner and delights in showing up as the Mayor on occasion to torment me, or as he terms it, “To hep yuh better understand thangs of an urban nature.”

At least that’s the way he explained his sudden appearance this week. When I questioned his assumption that a Mayor of a city of less than 2,000 souls was the place to start understanding urban issues, he had a quick response.

“Assumptions,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He is a tall man in his 70s, still maintaining a full head of brown hair. He ran a hand through it and repeated, “Assumptions,” he said. “Now you just take the first three letters of that word and think of Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter.”

“Beyoncé?” I began to mouth the letters he had specified.

“As in, some are better’n others,” he said.

I stopped and didn’t say anything more.

“Now,” he said, “You have to understand that, as we say in in Potluck, ‘If a hound dog couldn’t howl, he might as well be a pig.’”

What could I say to that? You are correct, so I just listened.

“If you’re fixing to (editor’s note: i.e. if you plan to) be a consultant on urban thangs in the South, you’re a gonna have to work on your u-fer-isms.”

 

“My what?”

“Your u-fer-isms. Your,” here his expression changed, “use of a mild or indirect word or expression substituted for one considered to be too harsh or blunt when referring to something unpleasant or embarrassing.”

That stumped me for a minute. Then understanding settled on me like peace on an Arkansas family that had just enjoyed a good “bate” of turnip greens.

“Do you mean euphemisms?”

“Ain’t that what I said?’

“Okay,” I said. “So give me an example.”

“You can’t keep telling folks they can’t have this or that ‘cause they don’t have the money and they might have to raise taxes.”

I just stared.

“You remember what happened last time?”

“Getaway cars are nice,” I said.

I simply love the way that your so-called
conservatives explain economics. - C.W.

“Revenue neutral,” he said. “That’s what you tell them. It has to be revenue neutral. That’s what your Governor says when he proposes something that the state can’t pay for and he won’t say you have to raise taxes to have it.”

“Revenue neutral. And that means?” I asked.

“That they can’t have it, somebody’s ox is fixin’ to get gored, or somebody's gonna have to crap money.”

“Hush,” I said. “My wife is in the next room.”

“And,” he said, “you can’t keep telling folks that their city won’t grow because their schools have too many n…”

“Stop it,” I said. “We don’t use that word here.”

“Non-whites attending classes,” he said, ignoring me again.

“So what must I say?”

“That it is a necessity these days to have a ‘good school system’ in order to grow your population.”

“A good school system,” I repeated.

“Yep,” he said. “Everybody knows what that means. And,” he said, “drop terms like neighborhood of concentrated sociological problems.”

“For what?”

“Inner city. They’ll understand, and know who you’re talkin’ about.”

“What about white flight?”

“Forced busing,” he said.
 

“Income inequality?”

“Takers and givers.”

“Ambivalence toward urban problems?”

“States’ rights.”

“Vestiges of past slavery?”

“Benefits of our national guest worker programs.”

I laid a trap. “Undocumented aliens?”

“I have papers,” he said. “Want to see them?”

I gave up. “I’ll bet,” I said, “you could find a term for child and spousal abuse.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Do you mean a return to traditional family values?”

 

 

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Testing

Friends: Your religion confuses me.