And there I was. Ready to enjoy the first day of March Madness in the comfort of my sanctuary, my castle, surrounded by the finest cans of Dr. Pepper, a box of Black Pepper Triscuits, and a variety of the best cheeses that Safeway has to offer. Nothing and nobody was going to interrupt my day, not even Mother, who has a penchant for calling right in the middle of major sports events, especially the Super Bowl. God bless her though, she’s only doing what Mothers do best. Apart from watching Doc Martin and all the going-ons in Port Isaac, Cornwall, I don’t think she’s aware of too many big TV or sports events, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Supposedly though, I am the kooky one when it comes to liking the Doc Martin TV series. A lot of people do like the show and it has quite the following; however, for me I don’t get the silliness and the exaggerated characters. But hey, what do I know. The last time I checked it wasn’t much.
Now back to my post-modern self-indulgence and my post-modern addiction to Dr. Pepper. It would be my kryptonite if I were ever Superman, which of course I am not and won’t be any time soon. So, therefore, I declare the addiction to salubrious.
Even though I consider myself religious, I can’t help but notice that there is quite of bit of post-modernism thinking and behavior that slips into my life. The good news is I have eyes to see it when it’s happening and can take action to reverse the tide. But at this moment, I am expecting for little from myself. And because I am living in the moment of my prevailing passions I am feeling very authentic. Curse the truth! Curse reality! It’s all about desire and this makes me, on this particularly innocent day, both foolish and dangerous, a demon of disorder and destruction, which is another reason I figure it’s best to “shelter in place”.
By all that is good, I start to feel like I should be doing something around the house to make myself a useful and equal partner. So to be a contributor, I get up during commercial breaks and put the dishes in the dishwasher, put away some of my stuff in the living room, and to demonstrate my humanity throw a feeble handful of kibbles in the dogs’ dishes. And then when my wife-a living, breathing earth angel-sits down after doing our laundry and cooking our dinner, I announce all the things I did to help our around the house just in case she didn’t notice. That’s the last thing I need is to have her to harsh my mellow by going all ape on me for not doing my part around the house. Sheesh! Who needs that headache?
But the chores alone don’t soothe my conscience, my uneasy mind realizes I could be doing more and I know it. Why am I being bothered by this primordial backward guilt at this most inconvenient time? I couldn’t tell you but it vexes me for sure. But, all of the sudden I am realizing I could be doing more enduring things and strengthening worldwide brotherhood by going out and enjoying friends, or visiting family, or even better providing some type of service to my fellowman. I should be out visiting a senior home or Adult Care Center hanging out with some elderly man, named Bud, Red or Whitey, who doesn’t get many visits anymore. Talking for hours about his youth and about how he grew up on the farm, and how he spent a summer on a traveling team riding in one of those old uncomfortable and hot Greyhound buses. And all of that would be good, I think, as long as I have control of the TV remote and we watch March Madness while he is talking and I am listening facing the TV- with the volume down, of course. Alas! Take away this post-modernist creep from me.