Robert (gurdonark) wrote,

bringing up baby

During my childhood, a barbecue place called Humpy's served wonderful barbecue. Its owners aspired to "go national", becoming the next national franchise. All the local people agreed that the sauce was divine, and that is high praise indeed from people who knew exactly the taste of divine barbecue sauce.

Humpy's in fact never opened its nation-wide set of outlets. Its local outlet ultimately closed, making way for a grand catfish restaurant called "The Hush Puppy". The "Hush Puppy" site now holds an empty foundation, after its latest successor burned. Humpy's sauce was later served from a small metallic portable building, known only to a few locals. In the long run, the recipe was licensed to a company that released it in a bottle. Soon it went nationwide. I don't know if it's available now.

Sometimes ambition seems to me to be the leopard which Katherine Hepburn jauntily dragged around, to Cary Grant's chagrin. In some ways, it seems an essential way to drive the plot of this screwball comedy I call life. In other ways, it's one more wildebeest serving as a prop for the rather mannered performance of living.

My wife tells me that in Madagascar, they've found a new lemur the size of a mouse. I do not believe that anything I will ever do will match finding a lemur the size of a mouse. I think that may be the problem, though. What if I am indeed as ordinary as I believe myself to be? What if my penchant for personal metaphor should be focusing less on the dinosaur bones falling all over everywhere. What if all my metaphors are more workaday, and my aims and means entirely mundane? What if the past is prologue only to the coda?

Last night an on line acquintance asked for a musical contribution by Gurdonark to a compilation CD. The extended joke thus reverberates in a new direction, giving rise to the need for a new recording of 5 to 7 minutes in length. But no amount of screwball comedy dialogue will convince me that it's more than another bit of witty repartee, another irrelevance. I love Tolstoi's "Resurrection". How do you write a novel when you no longer believe in writing fiction? Maybe I need to get more plastic plants, and set up that guppy tank again after all. An aquarium is something tangible, touch-able. I am all about obsessing less about my shortcomings, and focusing more on getting a few small things done this week.

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