Friday/Saturday? February/March? The incredibly depressing year 2014. The day/night of the sacrificial spring dance? Satanic “coming of age” high school prom ritual… whatever… I was in protest. Yes. I was not happy about letting Syrah go to another party so soon after the last rompus… the “rager of the year”… which she had thrown for herself the one night we were… Lisa, Jasper and I… away seeking medical council.
Come on, folks. Have some sympathy for me here. Yes. She, Syrah, was “the new kid in town”… baahh-baahh… and “social acceptance” was important at her… inordinately tender young age of fifteen… Sure.
Juliet. O Juliet…
Acceptance, acknowledgement, recognition… is important at whatever age. At my present age for example, sixty-three!! Acceptance as an intelligent father, well-meaning son, accountable married partner. Acknowledgement as an accomplished digital artist, photographer. Recognition as a creative, entertaining, hilarious… uxorious writer!
But, really. Do I have to have my picture taken standing next to my one and only daughter in her costly ballroom gown/pin up doll costume?! With her dubious foreign exchange student partner in crime?! And the next ridiculous young fop in a long line of pretenders… who is hoping for his moment of glory… or a quick blow job behind the bleachers… standing stiffly, stoned and obvious… in his rental powder blue monkey suit with costly last-minute corsage?!
JUST SAY NO, right?
Oh no. They insist! These “memorable moments”… they beg to be recorded for posterity!! They primp and cajole!! They record themselves. These “kodak kodachrome moments”… these “preposterous polaroid moments”… these insidious, insightful “instamatic” flashes of… snapshot madness… these maniacal moments that litter back shelves… fill up cardboard boxes in storage units… clutter the sagging bottoms of… the drawers of our lives… and landfills worldwide
Really? O yes. O yes—
Really? O yes. O yes—
Somewhere on a long forgotten, abandoned iPhone. At the bottom of a mountainous heap of iPhones in outback Shandong. At the foot of Mount Tai—
Religious worship of Mount Tai has a tradition dating back 3,000 years, from the time of the Shang (c. 1600–1046 bc) to the Qing Dynasty (1644–1912). Over time, this worship evolved into an official imperial rite and Mount Tai became one of the principal places where the emperor would pay homage to heaven (on the summit) and earth (at the foot of the mountain) in the Feng (Chinese: 封; pinyin: Fēng) and Shan (Chinese: 禪; pinyin: Shàn) sacrifices respectively. The two sacrifices are often referred to together as the Fengshan sacrifices (Chinese: 封禪; pinyin: Fēngshàn). Carving of an inscription as part of the sacrifices marked the attainment of the "great peace".[6]
By the time of the Zhou Dynasty (c. 1046–256 bc) sacrifices at Mount Tai had become highly ritualized ceremonies in which a local feudal lord would travel there to make sacrifices of food and jade ritual items. These would then be arranged in a ritually correct pattern before being buried on the mountain. In the Spring and Autumn period (771–476 bc) the vassal states of Qi and Lu bordered Mount Tai to the north and south respectively, from where their feudal lords both made independent sacrifices on Mount Tai. According to Zhou ritual belief, the spirit of Mount Tai would only accept sacrifices offered by a feudal lord, leading Confucius (in his Analects 3.6) to criticize the ministers who offered state sacrifices here after usurping power.[7] In the ensuing Warring States period (475–221 bc), to protect itself against invasion, the State of Qi erected a 500 kilometres (310 mi) wall, the ruins of which are still present today. The name Tai'an of the neighboring city is attributed to the saying "If Mount Tai is stable, so is the entire country" (both characters of Tai'an, "泰" and "安", have the independent meaning of "peace").
In 219 bc, Qin Shi Huang, the first Emperor of China, held a ceremony on the summit and proclaimed the unity of his empire in a well-known inscription. During the Han Dynasty (206 bc–220 ad), the Feng and Shan sacrifices were considered the highest of all sacrifice
By the time of the Zhou Dynasty (c. 1046–256 bc) sacrifices at Mount Tai had become highly ritualized ceremonies in which a local feudal lord would travel there to make sacrifices of food and jade ritual items. These would then be arranged in a ritually correct pattern before being buried on the mountain. In the Spring and Autumn period (771–476 bc) the vassal states of Qi and Lu bordered Mount Tai to the north and south respectively, from where their feudal lords both made independent sacrifices on Mount Tai. According to Zhou ritual belief, the spirit of Mount Tai would only accept sacrifices offered by a feudal lord, leading Confucius (in his Analects 3.6) to criticize the ministers who offered state sacrifices here after usurping power.[7] In the ensuing Warring States period (475–221 bc), to protect itself against invasion, the State of Qi erected a 500 kilometres (310 mi) wall, the ruins of which are still present today. The name Tai'an of the neighboring city is attributed to the saying "If Mount Tai is stable, so is the entire country" (both characters of Tai'an, "泰" and "安", have the independent meaning of "peace").
In 219 bc, Qin Shi Huang, the first Emperor of China, held a ceremony on the summit and proclaimed the unity of his empire in a well-known inscription. During the Han Dynasty (206 bc–220 ad), the Feng and Shan sacrifices were considered the highest of all sacrifice
Deep in the silent digital entrails… record halls of infinity… in that monstrous NSA storage facility in Utah… in the Book of Mormon… in the Akashic Records
“Somewhere over the rainbow”… I’m standing there in the front hallway in my father’s house on Kelly Ave in Mckinleyville, CA… by the shining Big-Sea-Waters… beside the door flap to my wigwam, then
I’m standing uncomfortably… glaring… looking away from the camera. Standing in protest! That’s right. Protest against… having my soul stolen by another one of these deceitful ballerina, dancing-shoe moments! These decisively indecisive moments of weakness and surrender that tend to fill up the dust bins of our well-worn lives.
Yeah, whatever… you rotten punks… have a blast at your satanic spring sacrificial ballroom bash. But. Don’t imagine for a moment that I don’t know just what you are really up to… you no good pubescent pirates… thespian teen thieves of the lime light—
And Lisa there. Pruning the gardenias… sharing the moment… if not running the show. Calling all around to try to find a florist with a last-minute corsage for the boy. Being so kind and positive and enthusiastic and supportive. Playing up… The Good Step-Mom… role for the cameras. Enjoying the… Snap! snap… snapchat deep link! And Jasper… The Good Dog… being the emotional support super-star that he is
Aaaah, lovely. Don’t you wish you were tweet fifteen again and had it all to do over?
You do!?!
Then, may the Great Holy Mother Goddess Kali Kalamitous help you.
Next! Next! Next! Next such wonderful, memorable… Apple iPhone… moment that I remember is/was…
Being rudely awakened in bed by another phone ringing. A bedside phone sounding its wretched programmable alarm in the middle of the night is… never encouraging. But. On that special prom night…
Lisa rolls over and answers it. It’s her iPhone 4. I’m not taking any calls. I’m in protest… remember? Lisa looks worried, concerned… uh-ooooh
Apparently, my dear one and only daughter, Syrah, is not exactly at the prom… She is at the host house of the dubious foreign exchange student. The same ineffectual hosts who allowed themselves to be tricked into a party bash for three hundred strangers… “the rager of the year” (2014)… at our house… my father’s house on Kelly in Mckinleyville, Ca… the night we were away seeking medical council. (See: The Smell, above in Confessions)
“Ok Ok… yes, yes… Ok… I’ll be there right away. Yes, I have it.”
Apparently, Syrah, my dear one and only fifteen-year-old daughter, is having a massive asthma attack! That’s what the ineffectual host couple is gibbering timidly on the phone… And. Syrah has forgotten to bring her inhaler with her! It appears “life threatening” according to the utterly ineffectual host couple. They are about to call the ambulance!!
Wait! Wait!! Lisa to the rescue!!
Yes yes… she has found it! Lisa will bring the magic inhaler. In her pajamas. ASAP. Hold on. Help is on the way!
I roll over in disgust. I am in protest. I decidedly… never gave my approval for any of this. Disaster. I don’t believe in the satanic spring ritual dance… romanesque orgy a la Fellini… the blood-letting of the bull… the virgin martyr toss into the well… whatever the hell it is
Off goes Saint Lisa… savior of the eleventh hour… into the darkest night… in the speedy six-cylinder Honda Odyssey van with a hundred-and-sixty-seven-thousand-something-something miles on it!
Ah. Peace. Finally, me and my beleaguered dream shadow… no, Jasper, the white ninety-pound “shedding-machine” labradoodle… Lisa’s emotional support super-star canine… can get some rest.
That’s what you thought, right? Wrong!!
Dingalingalingaling… the house phone now. The intrepid AT&T landline!
DINGALINGALINGALING!!!!
Not going away.
Time for a nice steaming cup of dragonwell tea… That’s what you’re thinking, dearest cyber-reader. I know. I know—
But. That’s not going to happen. Sorry. The phone is still ringing btw.
What was life like in the dark, deadly silent ages before telephones? Are there landlines, air phones, or iPhones in heaven? Is the whole heavenly choir talking on cell phones while shooting selfies these days? I wonder if Saint Peter has put me on eternal ethernet hold?
“OK OK… wtf?!
“You’re in the ambulance with Syrah now… heading to Mad River Hospital… it’s not the inhaler… not the asthma
“OK OK… I’m getting dressed now. Yes, yes… I’ll meet you there… ok”
2014 was a really bad year. And you thought 2007 was a bad year?
Cheer up, folks. It gets much worse. As my friend, Jay Einbender, likes to say, “The best is yet to come.” I think he stole that from Frankie Blue Eyes?
So. Where were we?
An appointment with destiny… the emergency room at Mad River Hospital at midnight!! Some time in February, early March 201…
Friday night at the horror movies, friends!
And there she is… the debutante of the witching hour… star of her own iPhone debacle! My one and only fifteen year old daughter, Syrah… swinging roundhouse punches at three scrappy nurses and an overweight hospital orderly… cursing like a drunken sailor on shore leave in Hong Kong… ripping out her drip lines… tearing at her wide open hospital
gown… passing out one moment… snoring, laughing, muttering to herself like Babayaga… erupting into violent, decisive action the next… for several heart-warming hours… in the blaring, bright fluorescent lights… in close quarters… next to someone moaning aloud… on the other side of the thin, quavering emergency room curtains… suffering from anaphylactic shock
Ho hum.
Where is the pumpkin carriage… and the mice… you may ask? We’re well past midnight after all. And, Prince Charming? Where the hell is the bewildered pimply guy with the one glass slipper and the wilted last-minute corsage?! The erroneous supporting actor… the dude in the romantic lead
Nowhere to be seen. Apparently, he went to the satanic ritual ball sacrifice without our dearest Cinderella
And someone… a kindly stranger with cozy sympathy… in the glaring fluorescents… is saying something…
Is it twice, or, thrice the blood alcohol limit for an adult… and some traces of marijuana… floating around in the blood system of my underage… barely one-hundred-pound teeny-tiny teen daughter?
“No big deal”… they are saying… “we see it all the time”… yadda-yadda
Oh really? I remark. Must be a busy night… what with the spring satanic ritual dance and all… How many other kids are in here tonight… getting an intravenous drip for a lark? A packed house, I imagine
Well. None so far… the anonymous, kindly “they” admit sheepishly.
Ah, just Cinderella Syrah. My beloved teen iPhone movie star. Maybe I’m the lead supporting actor? The hidden director? The screenplay ghost writer? Certainly no prince
Maybe I’m the lead cause… this is blowback for—
Nice karma. Nice kitty… don’t scratch me… don’t bite, please
And then I notice. A peculiar looking gentleman… lurking behind the… flimsy emergency room curtains… almost off stage to the right… hovering close to the anaphylactic shock victim who is moaning on and on… to
Did I say, I have a drinking problem?
A gentleman who looks rather like Tom Waits in the highly imaginative… Imaginarium of Dr. Parnasus… gotta love Terry Gilliam!
Oh. He looks very sympathetic… this, formally attired in black… with the black bowler and the pencil-thin moustache
You were saying?
A drinking problem. Yes, padre. St. Augustine’s cult, or, the Undertaker is it?
You may call me… whatever, whomever you wish.
Right. And how many wishes do I get? Or rather. How many wishes do I have left?
Oh, you misunderstand me, sir. A long, heart-felt, sympathetic pause—
I’m not the bloke who grants the three wishes. That’s Steve Jobs.
I’m here to collect all my little lost lambies.
Ah. The good shepherd.
That’s right, pal.
I didn’t recognize you without the scythe and the designer black hoodie.
I’ll let her go this time.
You will?
Yes.
And. How many more late night trips to the emergency room do I win… hidden behind the curtain where… Carol Merrill is…
Moaning?
Oh. Never mind. I don’t want to know.
