Safety First

What we need in this country is a good Civil Defense.  I'm not saying the current organization is not doing its job, but we all need to get behind them.  Where would this country be without a good Civil Defense?  It is our first line of protection against all sorts of mayhem and violence.  I myself have ordered the CD helmet.

Men, women, weak and strong--this country needs everyone to be ON THE ALERT.

I woke yesterday morning feeling terrible with lack of sleep and too much solitary partying knowing that I still had to get my tax information together.  Bleary minded, I sat down to my task with loathing.  I could find none of the documents I had put away some months ago with nothing but the best intentions of getting my house in order.  I did find a stack of Amex statements that I use to keep track of my tax deductible things (I'm an artist, remember, so EVERYTHING is a write off), but it was not complete.  I did what I could and went to my accountant in fear of a dress down.  I am a child, he told me.  Worse.  I am without redemption.  Still, did I want to come to dinner one night?  We could talk about how to get me thinking correctly about my future.  He wants me to read a book--"The Millionaire Mind", or something like that.  Give me the ten points, I said.  He looked at me as if I had special needs.  There are about one hundred and twenty, he said.  No good, I retorted.  Ten Commandments.  Can you imagine the One Hundred and Twenty Commandments?  They tried it in "The Life of Brian," I think.  It didn't work.  Simplify.  Listen, I told him, who do you think you're talking to?  He gave up.

Then to the bank that holds my mortgage.  I need my 2010. . . uh, uh. . . thing. . . you know, for the IRS.  Hey, said the fellow dressed in the not quite Brooks Brothers suit, I know you.  You go to the Y. Oh, I thought, I wonder what atrocities he has seen me commit.  Small town.  Since I've become a recluse, I forget.  Yea, I said, uh-huh, as if I remembered seeing him there, too.  He asked for my drivers license and pulled up the info on his computer.  Hey, he said, you are paying too much interest on your mortgage.  We can fix that with a YMCA mortgage.  O.K.  He didn't say "YMCA" but the acronym meant less that that.  He could have said HUAC. I don't know.  Great, I said.  Let me make an appointment with you, but right now. . . . Sure, great, he said handing me a stack of business cards.

Next stop--the bank that holds my money.  Hello, sir, what can I do for you.  Weeelll, I said, I need my 2010 thing, you know, the IRS form that tells how much money I earned from my accounts.  Oh, yes sir.  May I see your driver's license?  Oh!  You know, we can set you up in a better account where you can make more money.  That's all I heard, of course, because the rest was acronyms.  Sure, I said, let me get back with you.  But right now. . . .

And no shit.  I got it all.  I take it to the accountant today.  Oh.  Don't picture a fancy high rise and corporation.  I go to his house.  We sit in a converted garage.  He works for the mafia.  I may have made that up.  But he is Italian, and he handles mostly people in "the entertainment business."

I went to work after that for a bit, but the world was on acid, bending and warping, and all I wanted to do. . . so I left.  Mid-afternoon, I went for an exercise run (you know--fitness--pushups, pull ups, sit ups, dips) and wasted myself.  Home.  Gatorade.  A shower.  The grocery store.  Wine and a simple dinner.

Then "Boardwalk Empire."  I recorded it from last night.  It is so good.  Trust me.  And the show ended with this song by Regina Spektor.

Billy Holliday does the definitive version of this, I think, but--oh--this is good.  And listen, I have very eclectic tastes in music.  It just has to be clever.  This is, I think.

I go out of town for a couple of days now.  I will try to post.  And take some pictures that will interest those of you who have long ago lost interest in brothel workers shot on Polaroid.  I'll try.  Right now, I think anything would please you more.

But the song--"My Man"--could be a soundtrack for "Loneseomville."  Maybe.  I'm drinking and writing and dreaming, so I might be wrong.  But enjoy it all.

And join in with Old Joe in protecting your nation.  Wear the helmet and the armband proudly. And always remember--SAFETY FIRST.