A wise man in a long, flowing robe (dressed in this manner more due to laziness than as an indicator of social or historical stature) once mused that if one were to simultaneously play the Beatles’ “I Am The Walrus” backwards while playing anything by Parliament/Funkadelic forwards, they might be empowered with the ability to alter the past.
They also would undoubtedly be in possession of one hell of a nice stereo system.
Sidestepping the temptation to launch an audiophile rant, I will focus on my all-too-frequent thoughts about what I would do with the gift of time travel. I’d certainly follow my conscience (and satisfy Stephen King) by showing up in Dealey Plaza. I’d get my ass to the Lorraine Hotel in Memphis and outside the Dakota in New York City, too. I’d try to enlist help, but as I am of ample size and have two decades of police experience, I’m confident that my supernatural journey to these places would result in the desired outcomes.
I would also make sure that my friend Richie Aceto, and over 3000 other folks, would live to see September 12, 2001.
What I would do with that bulky, damp bag of terrorist heads is a problem I’d give just about anything to have.
After stops in Oklahoma City, the Ambassador Hotel in L.A. and some other areas of rectification, I might have a little time to myself. That would be when I’d address some extraordinarily lesser items of personal significance.
I’d try and uncover whomever it was that started ending sentences with the word “AT”. I’d do whatever it took to discover where he, or she, was “AT”. I initially thought this phenomenon began on the TV show “Cops”. I have yet to see an episode whereby a shirtless criminal hasn’t ended a sentence, and usually his freedom, with a preposition. In 40% of the episodes, the cops do it too. Hey, I’m often guilty of the preposition crime myself – just not with the word “AT”.
I’d go back and find my dear parents, who I lost in childhood. After some hugs, I’d ask them to please befriend somebody in the publishing world, so that in my future I’d have an easier path to getting in print (while “print” still exists) – you know, like Stephen King’s kid. Then I could also help the friends I have who are brimming with talent but low on the connection pole. I know some incredible geniuses who drive trains and police cars, bang nails all day, teach and so on, but they have no connections. If these types of people were part of the In-Crowd, then Snooki would not have published a novel and “Hot Tub Time Machine” would have never littered a movie screen.
I might do what I could to put an end to Mp3 and e-publishing before they ever got started. I love the internet, but I also loved music stores, bookshops and mom & pop video stores. I’m not a fan of the faceless society of hand-held everything instruments. We are becoming ALL THE SAME.
Trying to rein in my rambling now – please don’t judge my writing based solely on this blog. I don’t do much in the way of editing or second drafts – this is just a stream-of-consciousness blog. Don’t believe me? Read on.
I could never decide on a clear favorite Darren on “Bewitched” – if you younger types don’t know what I mean by that, please Google it, or if you are involved in time travel yourself, and will be lurking in the BG era (Before Google) – BGE for you non-religious types – you can phone that friend who knows all the trivia. Remember them? There’s a talent that has gone the way of the passenger pigeon. I wonder where all those fantastic trivia wizards are currently “AT”?
I was more of an Uncle Arthur fan.
Well, I just want you all ( if there are any of “you”) to think about something, please. Envision the majesty of Buckingham Palace or the beauty of the Vatican. Picture the East Wing of the White House or the top floor executive offices at Microsoft. Each and every one of those places has someone who cleans the toilets.
And I bet they have a special security badge that says so.
*There really aren’t parts 1 and 2 to this blog, it’s just that I have been listening to a lot of Isley Brothers.
Tags: Beatles, Funk, History, Stephen King
