Monday, August 27, 2007
Garrison Keillor Did Not Write This
Although it could be.
By Karrison Geillor, The Moldy Scout
It was around the time that I instructed my Current Chef to fire up the grill for my dinner - some New York Strips stuffed with baby duck, baby potatoes and baby peas ready to be washed down with a classic, aged Merlot - that I sensed some degree of indignation from him. I gently reminded him that I am his Current Employer and with one phone call to Immigration he could well be on his involuntary way back to Bagoganeekistan. He made his way to the patio performing the culinary skills that I require of him while implicitly acknowledging that I am his Exalted Potentate.
With my current editions of Harper's, The New Yorker, Le Monde diplomatique and Teen Beat in hand, I made my way to the Current Masseuse who is in my employ. As I flipped through the pages of my varied reading material, she melted and kneaded away the knots in my neck and upper back, the knots that so frequently form as side effects from all of my internal rage and hatred for those of political and societal discourse that differs even slightly from mine.
My magazines fell from the massage table to the floor as the Current Masseuse exerted her reflexology into my old, aging, flabby, pasty-white and wrinkled body. My momentary state of pleasure, just as I found myself beginning to drool, was interrupted. "Meesta Garry, Meesta Garry, man for you at door." Good help is hard to find these days, that is, economical - nee, cheap - good help is hard to find. Try as I might, I am unable to elicit better grammar from Mruthawaganeesh the Current Houseboy. His real name is supposedly Hector Gonzalez, but I figure since I purchased him some twenty years ago, when he was only 8-years old, I can pretty much name and call him what I want. Proper English escapes him despite my years of instructing and teaching him. Some are meant to rise no higher than those of menial and domestic servitude who attend the needs of people like me and this is a good thing.
"Meesta Gary, man at door," he repeated. I dismiss the Current Masseuse, I think her birth name is Yomiko, but I refer to her as Tokyo Rose in my social circles. Doing so is always good for a chuckle or an icebreaker prior to an academic and cerebral conversation about the Egyptian Pharaoh Cheops. I slipped into my imported, all silk, Italian robe, Mruthawaganeesh ahead of me on the way to the man at the door. "Man at door Meesta Gary," - yes, yes, I know, man at door - "we hurry."
At the door was Pablo the PBS Courier holding a large, cardboard envelope. "For you Meester Geeleeyorr, you sign," he said, holding up the little electronic signature machine that acknowledges that I received the communique. It was a hot and humid day, but when Pablo asked if he could have a glass of water because he was thirsty, I told him we were fresh out and closed the door in his face. I know darn well he earns above the minimum wage. He can afford bottled water.
I instructed the Current Houseboy to bring a mint julep - light on the mint - to me in my study. At my desk, I retrieved the gold-plated, diamond encrusted letter opener given to me by film director Robert Altman three days before he died. "Use this to open all your letters," he said. Those were his last words to me. The mint julep was delivered by the CH all too heavy on the mint...yet again. I berated him and caned the flesh of his bare back until the lacerations bled heavily into the white carpet fibers. "Now clean up that blood," I barked.
I recognized the Public Television logo, of course, and I suspected I knew what was in the envelope without even opening it. But for someone like me who so identifies with Nero, some of the best and simplest joys come from the hard work of others while I reap the rewards. I opened the envelope, reached in and grabbed the contents.
"Meesta Gary," sobbed the CH, appearing in the doorway, "Chef say deeener ready." I dismissed him away with a waive. Inside the envelope was yet another check, made payable to me. I finished my julep and endorsed the check "For Deposit Only". Life is good thanks to the Taxpayers, or as I like to call them, the Current Gravy Train On Which I Ride. Who will be my Gravy Train of The Future?
H/T: S.T. Miller for Contributing
Labels: gary keillor
if in fact(i only listen to all things considered with any regularity, so i am no expert)PBS is broadcasting a tilt to the liberal side, that is wrong to do so with both taxpayer money as well as the airwaves.
this is not unlike the fairness doctrine getting canned. the country is fairly evenly divided and about 90 percent of radio anyway, is far right broadcasting. and gee, those are public airwaves.
if one were to listen only to talk radio, one would wonder how the election of 2000 ever got so close.
but the argument has always been, let the marketplace dominate.
it worked so well with telephones, electricity, cable, aviation that we all pay more now thanks to the competition the marketplace gave us.(*snort*)
some regulation would be a good thing but alas, the problem is who does the regulating?
this turns back to gary. you know the thing i hate most is posers. well along with gary, who likes to look liberal, but is not at all, add to that all those who say they want a free marketplace but actually that is the last thing they want.
start with ATT and the list will roll into our polluted, needle-ridden oceans.
now that i have slipped into a funk and brought you with me, the good things:
gary is a major story teller of the highest order, and he is a riot when he dumps an agenda and goes for the funny bone. sometimes he even tells the truth from a liberal view and does it in a way that both disarms as well as provides no room for rebuttal.
i wish he were a true liberal, i wish he had a heart for the common man, not just an awareness of, and i wish there were more voices like that on our airwaves.
in other words, a balance coupled with a civility and respect for opposing views.
if anything gary sadly reminds me that we used to have that, we used to care about our world, we used to be proud of our life's work.
we must have lost it just like gary, out there somewhere in the prairie.
I think he glommed onto a good schtick, realized he could get paid both from the free market and PBS and carved himself a piece of that pie.
Of course who among us wouldn't want this lifestyle and economic windfall, to some degree or another?
You are a wiseman among us, Rev.
amen, if i could get either his gig or time warners cable at a competitive price i would jump on it.
ah, that said, they do have a competitive cable market in the tampa bay area market, but i am allergic to strong winds and drowning.
Gary needs to - he won't but he needs to - resume acting like a human being instead of the offish, snobbish, Ivory Tower Potentate that he foolishly considers himself. Chances are, this won't happen. I'd have more respect for him if he did, and if he declined taxpayer money for his shtick, which - like almost all of PBS & NRP programming - can pay for itself with commercial sponsorship and voluntary donations.
Take care Rev, and thanks for visiting - as always.
Yeah, it's nice of Gary to acknowledge the "little people", eh? What a ordinary average guy he is!
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