It’s time again to check up on The Intrepid World Traveler, Joelini Aspercremey. Initialized and read backwards, his label spells out T.W.I.T., but there is a strong chance that I am projecting again, i.e., I am the twit. He is a regular character in my blog due to the fact that he is a regular feature in my daily coffee shop ritual. Just like Catholics dip their fingers in holy water and bless themselves upon entering church, so too do I salute Joel reverently each morning at the Java Point, where desperate lives intersect with chaos theory. It’s every man for himself in the effort to avoid that universal evil effort commonly known as WORK.
As the faithful among us know, WORK was a curse given to mankind due to the premature harvesting of one special apple. We were forever condemned thereafter to orchard working and redundancy, tree by tree, row by row, like migrant fruit pickers on Groundhog Day. Endless repetition, repeating endlessly for eternity or a long time, whichever comes first. Imagine if you can, E.L.O.’s Evil Woman song on a loop for ever….
You made a fool of me, but them broken dreams have got to end.
Hey woman, you got the blues, cos’ you ain’t got no one else to use.
There’s an open road that leads nowhere, so just make some miles
between here and there.
There’s a hole in my head where the rain comes in,
You took my apple and played to win,
Ha Ha woman it’s a crying shame,
But you ain’t got no one else to blame.
[Bad grammar, bad poetry, just bad. Blame Dems. (D.J. Trump, POTUS)]
And the entire time instead of rolling a boulder uphill like Sisyphus we are condemned to pluck Gala, Granny Smith, Red Delicious and York apples by the tonnage. That’s work, my friends. Thank you, Eve. Eeeeeevil Woman.
My intro is intentionally random today because Joel had the audacity
to comment on the appropriateness and restrained quality of my last post. He even moved his crisp summer straw hat off the chair opposite him for me to sit down. I will not tolerate such obsequiousness, plus I just wanted to use that word. The root word, “sequins” refers to shiny circles used on feminine articles of clothing to accentuate female features and to create a state of alluring shimmeriness, implying divinity. Thus, by derivation, obsequiousness is the state or quality of not being that way, i.e., servile.
I knew he was on his way to Reykjavik, Iceland soon for another bucket list adventure. No river boat excursions this year since he is still recovering from his Blue Danube hostage experience last year in the Czech Republic. Instead, Joelini plans to take hot baths with as many Reykjavikians as he can during the summer solstice celebration while eating dried codfish sandwiches. It’s a Nordic thing.
The Nords were a well dressed people from the North who founded Nordstrom’s after Global Chilling killed off the Vikings in the sixth century A.D. when the oceans froze solid for fifty years. It was during this time that the Nords literally walked across the frozen waves to what is now Iceland. Because of the geological equivalent of irritable bowel syndrome, Iceland remained unfrozen during this little Ice Age. Legend says that the Norse gods Thor and Woden battled hotly below the surface of Iceland. Thus it only made sense for the Nords to migrate there to thaw. What they thaw along the thea became their thagas and legends.
Raw power and bold courage
still attract world travelers to the capital of Iceland. The raw thermal power fuels the Icelandic economy without any pollution beyond chalky steam. Courage drips down Icelanders boldly like baseball size beads of sweat. They don’t use deodorant; instead they take pages of dark, existential philosophy and wipe their armpits out with such discouragement twice daily. It is this sort of psychic hygiene that prevents them from invading Norway or Russia.
This is where Joelini comes in, I suppose. Like Jared Kushner, Joelini is multi-talented in law, real estate, college and bank management, coffee shop story telling, and unorthodox self defense. He is a universal solution in search of problems worthy of his skill set. If not the most interesting man in the world, he at least has the highest interest rates. He can’t talk openly about it, but I believe Joelini is working with the Icelandic government on all of the above issues.
Just one story should seal the deal, and trust me, Joelini knows stuff, way more than this tale. In a bankers conference a week ago in Charleston, S.C., he and his fellow bank lords were breakfasting at an expensive strip of real estate in the historic section of Charleston. I believe Joelini had eggs benedict and two strips of bacon with fresh fruit and a five grain bagel. Nearby a local thief was busy robbing the Gucci store of an armload of expensive accessories.
As Joelini retold the story, “I heard the store owner yell ‘THIEF” and saw the young man sprinting toward us like a gazelle. I was standing next to a high-backed armchair, envying my banker friend’s french toast with whipped cream and raspberries. I saw the thief sprinting toward us as he looked over his shoulder to spy on the short, fat shop owner’s progress. I went into action immediately. I was in the Army Reserve as you recall during Nam. I kicked the armchair out as the thief passed by us a mere three feet away. He tripped and fell face down onto his stolen articles, trapping his hands beneath his stomach. I jumped onto his back and held his neck immobile as I directed Big Vick, who describes himself as ‘a biscuit shy of 300 pounds’, to sit on the thief’s legs. Together we made a Hell of a Swat team.”
“In one minute the local police showed up and smiled admiringly at our precision take down techniques.”
All of us gasped. “Such raw power and bold courage, Joelini. What happened next?”
“The chief of police, Gunnar Gustafson, stepped forward with a copy of Sartre’s Nausea; tore out page 163 and wiped down Vick and then me. He gave us each an aluminum badge with the words Wreck Ya, Vick on them and pronounced us honorary Icelanders. It was the pinnacle of my life’s work. The owner of the Gucci store kissed us on the cheeks as I heard Tom Petty singing on the harbor breeze…
“you wreck me, baby
You break me in two
But you move me, honey
Yes you do”
“Wow”, we all gasped. “How very tenuous and yet tantalizingly tedious.”