Life is a Carnivale
Dedicated to S.F. Chronicle’s Jon ‘odd sock’ Carroll
So, news reached us that one can actually die from a broken heart.
Also, you should never - ever - ask Barry Gibb to organize a house-warming party.
What’s more… ; but no, enough already.
Yes, each day comes with enough trouble to keep Pandora smiling like Schrödinger’s box (or some such.)
Still, there are many reasons to be cheerful too. It’s spring in the Northern hemisphere and soon all those cute little lambs will be cute little lamb chops.
Right now, even the old are young and foolish at heart:
With old ape pensioners pigging out on birthday cakes - and other golden oldies taking out mortgages as if death had lost its sting for real - what’s to worry for the rest of us?
Even Frankenstein’s monster is having a giggle: some nitwit is having another go at its creator!
Then, just when a fistful of gloom-mongers are discussing a Who’s Who of currently famous writers who will be forgotten in a few years’ time, a modern loon with some real serious shit for brains comes and digs (up) Wordsworth.
And a dead (drunk) Picasso can still be sent over the top of the wall.
Verily, we live in strange but happy moments.
So, no reason really to get upset with people who go out of their way to win next year’s Darwin award - and others who very sadly don’t. Life’s too short - and full of wonderfully weird stuff anyway.
So, Jon and Cheetah, please step forward and open this spring ball for us, with a Bojangles flourish or a Pacino tang - and let us all pray to saint Neil and ask the old Baron:
Laissez les bon temps rouler!
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