Sit Down Comedy …March 29th, 2019

Jonathots Daily Blog

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I, too, have no collusion with rushin’.

Slow down

That’s what I say.

Slow-cooked chicken. Give the bird a chance to reflect on its journey before you dip it in the gravy.

I like the slow lane on the freeway, just in case, on a whim, I decide to exit.

I’m the guy you honk at because I’m going the speed limit

And for some goddamn reason this has ruined your life.

I had to quit football because there was running. I loved the blocking. I loved the tackling. Looked pretty good in the uniform. I could not convince my coach that running was unnecessary. He explained that the other team would have people carrying the ball, and we must chase them, and stop them. I suggested we surround them and move in slowly for the kill. He didn’t agree.

I was at a department store yesterday, entering the door, when two ladies in front of us stopped to chat with a friend. It blocked the entrance. I was happy. For a few moments I didn’t have to move.

The lady right in front of me, turned and peered at me, hoping to get support for how stupid it was for these two women to be talking to another human, blocking her progress. She move her cart around them, but there was no room. Finally the two women who were having the delightful conversation realized they were being assaulted from the rear and stepped aside.

The lady zoomed by, disgusted.

She’s fast.

I’m not. All my turtles win by a “hare.”

So you can imagine how ill-suited I am for a season in which how speedily things are accomplished is more important than the quality of what is produced. I dare to say that’s the entire problem in our nation.

We have the evangelical church, which is racing around looking for signs of Armageddon and the Second Coming of Christ, while young people are testing the temperature and depth of the oceans, convinced we’re all in hot water, preparing to cook like lobsters.

Here I am, slowing down

We have picked our past four Presidents because they were like fast cars and we were acting like teenagers.

Bill Clinton was not ready to be President. He and his wife had not yet made their peace about his flirtations and womanizing.

George W. Bush should never have been President. We should have put him in charge of CIA Black Ops, and he could have murdered Saddam Hussein, which would have saved tens of thousands of lives and about a trillion dollars.

Barack Obama was also ill-prepared for the transition. Although a pleasant man, he did not understand the futility that had to be overcome to lead the country and fell victim to cunning minds.

And Donald Trump was doing extraordinarily well working with buildings and an “Apprentice” here and there, without being given a job which cannot always be negotiated through “The Art of the Deal.”

It was all too fast

And because of that, we are in the midst of an ongoing “clean-up on Aisle 3,” with mistakes being made which don’t seem to mop up.

So not being in a hurry to give my opinion, and allowing myself a space of time to think, I will tell you…

(to be continued)

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UNTOTALED: Stepping 7–Tackling Laziness (September 4th, 1965) … March 22, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog  

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(Transcript)

Starting the seventh grade scared the crap out of me.

Actually, that particular cliché doesn’t fit very well because when you’re entering junior high school in a new building, the idea of any sound or bodily fluid coming out of your being is completely terrifying.

You want to simultaneously be invisible and also appreciated, which of course, is not only socially impossible, but scientifically implausible.

I had spent the week before school began begging my mother to allow me to go out for the football team. She was afraid I would get injured. This was a maternal prophetic sensation, long before the recent onslaught of concussions and head injuries. What was comical, though, about this assertion on her part was that I was nearly six feet tall and weighed three hundred pounds. The coach joked with her, when trying to solicit her support, that it would be more likely that I would hurt other children.

I whined, cajoled, pleaded, promised, praised, complimented and cleaned my room up enough to get her to agree to allow me to try out for the team.

So September 4th, 1965, was not just the first day of horror in the new junior high school. It was also my first day to go out after school and practice with the football team.

The trials continued when they were unable to find a pair of football pants to fit me.  (This was the era when men’s sizes stopped at extra-large, and anyone who needed anything bigger must order it from the sheep herders of Tibet.) So I wore a pair of tennis shoes and blue Dickey work pants to work out with the other guys, who were in suitable apparel. (They did find a helmet that fit my head, since the term fat-head is merely an urban legend.)

It became obvious to me immediately, on that small practice field, what I liked and what I didn’t.

• I loved the game.
• I loved tackling.
• I loved thinking about what was going to happen next.

On the other hand, I hated exercise in all of its contorted, convoluted and fastidiously constructed forms. After all, every exercise program is really geared to skinny people–even the ones which insist they are trying to appeal to the obese. Their speculations always exceed our limitations.

I hated sprints, calisthenics, too much running of any type, and all the drills which they insisted were essential for becoming a great football player.

I endured the sport for three years, but finally my laziness regarding exercise overtook my love of the gridiron.

Maybe if I’d had the right kick in the pants from an authority figure, or perhaps mercy at the right moments and toughness at others, I might have continued playing the game. I don’t know.

But because I didn’t tackle laziness on the football field, it took me too many years to overcome that gooey, drippy vice that drags one down, draining off potential.

So the next time you run across a kid who has ability, but not much drive, please don’t assume that you should leave him alone.

I was left alone. And fascinatingly enough–it was just lonely.

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