by
Robert LaFrance
Every once in a while, when I can’t
find anything decent to watch on TV, I like to think. Considering my latest
look at the TV guide, I had better start thinking right soon. A quick scan of
what’s on channels 300 to 583 reveals that there is absolutely nothing on, at
least nothing I would want to watch. ‘Power Boat TV’ is tempting, but I
think I’ll pass.
So I have no choice; I’ll have to
think. Usually when I’m stuck in this bind I think about all the people in the
world – or mostly who are no longer in the world – whom I would like to have
met. You may infer that I haven’t met them, because that’s what I have implied.
(I included that sentence for my friend
Flug, who just cannot remember the difference between the words ‘infer’ and
‘imply’.)
ALBERT EINSTEIN. I can picture
Albert and me as we go fishing in Trout Brook up in Birch Ridge where I used to
live. Back there in the early 1980s I would come home from work in Perth, then
go over to the brook and catch half a dozen trout for my supper. See if you can
picture Albert and me standing near a nice fishing hole and trying for some
speckled trout. Imagine the conversation:
“How’d it go in the lab today, Al?
You figure out any more Theories of Relatives?”
“Ha-ha, no Bob, LOL. I have decided
to concentrate my thoughts on catching the elusive brook trout – salvelinus
fontinalis – and ascertaining through scientific method - an analysis of its
feeding and nesting styles - when the optimum time occurs for transferring it
from the brook to my fish hook.”
“Al, do you think you might be
overanalysing this a bit? We’re just out here to catch supper. Want a can of
Moosehead?”
“You could be right about that, Bob.
I’ll just fish without the complications. Yeah, better crack me one a them
brewskis.”
HENRY DAVID THOREAU – I wouldn’t
bother going fishing with Thoreau. He probably knew more about that sport than
I know about...well, anything. Instead, I think I would take Thoreau to a
hockey game and see what his reaction would be to the mindless violence one
would find there, and also to the way the players on the ice fight too. I can
picture it now – Thoreau, the non-violent philosopher and I watching some
hockey ‘enforcer’ (translation: thug) pound away at an opposing player who had
just come to play.
Thoreau: “Look how that number 37 is
being manhandled by the other side’s number 21! I think it’s because number 27
isn’t able to skate away fast enough. I always say: If a man does not keep pace
with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let
him march to the music that he hears, however measured or far away.”
“Hank, the only drumming I see is
that thug drumming his fists off the other guy’s skull.”
“Bob, I have always been in favour
of non-violence, or civil disobedience,” he might say, his eyes gleaming, “but
I must say, seeing such a display certainly makes the blood course through my
veins. I myself want to be out there and trading punches. Perhaps my whole life
has been a lie! I’m not really non-violent; I just never played hockey!”
SISTER TERESA – I’m thinking that
the nun who became world famous because of her helping the poor of Calcutta, or
Kolkata, as it is now called, should learn to relax. How about in a biker bar?
Just the place. I would take her to the headquarters of the Scotch Colony’s own
Aberdeen Crushers. Picture Big Eddie, the gang leader who just finished serving
eight years in Renous pen for murdering a few people and a moose. (Probation
for killing the people, eight years for the moose.)
“Well there, chickie,” Moose would
probably say. “What say you and me go for a ride and…”
As you may know, Sister Teresa had a black belt in
karate. You would too if you lived in the slums of Calcutta. I believe Big
Eddie would have also changed his name after his brawl with Sister Teresa.
Maybe to Jerry Falwell.
LADY GODIVA – I would have liked to
have met her, back there in the 11th century, because it is said
that in protest of high taxes, she rode naked through the streets of Coventry,
England on a white horse. They say her hair was so long it covered up her bod,
but there’s a lot of wind up here on the hill. Maybe one could get a glimpse of
the original Lady Gaga. Just a hint, the history books say the word ‘Godiva’ is
Old English for ‘God’s Gift’, if you know what I mean.
-end-
No comments:
Post a Comment