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Thursday, March 5, 2009
Tears of a Clown
While spending time with my mother during her last few days at the curiously named "Crosslands" nursing facility, I found myself thinking about how tricksters are mediators between life and death, boundary crossers, gods of the crossroads, and the significance of being human and somehow not entirely human in a situation where death is close at hand. I found myself pondering the need for deathbed humor, and wishing I could come by more of it. I found myself thinking about how tricksters are not always so hilarious.
The trickster experience is the human experience, the navigation of dealing with uncertainty in an often scary universe, of trying to make some sort of sense of the seeming entropy of our existence. What good can come of this terrible thing that is in front of me?
Well, at her funeral, there was laughter..... talk of her leaving the car running all through church, memories of her pedaling across town on an undersized bike trying to rescue my sister on the back of my dad's car in her fuzzy carpet slippers, and dropping one on the way, images of her -- at 78 -- sledding down a snow covered hill and laughing.... her stories, her smiles... This is the emergent phenomenon, the tricksterly outgrowth of release from pain.
But I also know that tricksters must cry.
The trickster experience is the human experience, the navigation of dealing with uncertainty in an often scary universe, of trying to make some sort of sense of the seeming entropy of our existence. What good can come of this terrible thing that is in front of me?
Well, at her funeral, there was laughter..... talk of her leaving the car running all through church, memories of her pedaling across town on an undersized bike trying to rescue my sister on the back of my dad's car in her fuzzy carpet slippers, and dropping one on the way, images of her -- at 78 -- sledding down a snow covered hill and laughing.... her stories, her smiles... This is the emergent phenomenon, the tricksterly outgrowth of release from pain.
But I also know that tricksters must cry.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Riding at the Crossroads
While doing some post-holiday mall slumming, I found myself at the food court, which happens to be paired here with an odd assortment of what I call "mall rides." The pale simulacra of amusement park offerings for the pre-K set has often puzzled and amazed me. They are now a feature of most mall settings, but I remember them from my childhood as discount store phenomena, and you may still see them at WalMart or KMart. My memories settle around Gibson's, which in the Laramie of the 70s was a precursor to the box stores.
I know this dates me, but I can actually remember when the horse there only required a nickle. And my mother was always reluctant to give that for the brief jiggle in store. I could never admit to her that, deep down, even I was a little disappointed in the brevity of the actual "ride." I really expected to be somehow transported to the mythical West in which I was supposedly living. This week I watched as adoring parent after adoring parent poured quarters upon quarters into the various shimmying, noisesome contraptions. I don't think this means people are more casual with their money, just that they've been better persuaded that spoiling their kids is the thing to do.
This is when it occurred to me that the whole mall ride industry was an ingenius trickster scam. Somebody somewhere is making a gruntload of money off of parents inability to resist the giggle of a 2 year old who is being bumped about by a motorcycle mock up. While it is true that this age group is easily amused, the fact of the matter is that they are just as easily amused by an empty cereal box, for free. But the scam has worked magnificently. It is noteworthy, however, that now these rides come with a slippery trickster disclaimer: "Parent's do not leave your child unattended." So like them to cover their legal behinds.
I must admit, a part of me still wants to ride that horse, on the off chance the ride's become better through the years. I want to believe.
I know this dates me, but I can actually remember when the horse there only required a nickle. And my mother was always reluctant to give that for the brief jiggle in store. I could never admit to her that, deep down, even I was a little disappointed in the brevity of the actual "ride." I really expected to be somehow transported to the mythical West in which I was supposedly living. This week I watched as adoring parent after adoring parent poured quarters upon quarters into the various shimmying, noisesome contraptions. I don't think this means people are more casual with their money, just that they've been better persuaded that spoiling their kids is the thing to do.
This is when it occurred to me that the whole mall ride industry was an ingenius trickster scam. Somebody somewhere is making a gruntload of money off of parents inability to resist the giggle of a 2 year old who is being bumped about by a motorcycle mock up. While it is true that this age group is easily amused, the fact of the matter is that they are just as easily amused by an empty cereal box, for free. But the scam has worked magnificently. It is noteworthy, however, that now these rides come with a slippery trickster disclaimer: "Parent's do not leave your child unattended." So like them to cover their legal behinds.
I must admit, a part of me still wants to ride that horse, on the off chance the ride's become better through the years. I want to believe.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
WalMart - The Trickster's Gateway to Hell
I came to a profound conclusion a short time ago. All WalMarts (especially the super ones) are actually connected. There are many portals in a host of communities, and each portal has a different perspectival aspect, but it is really all the same store somehow linked through a temporal/spatial wormhole of some sort.... there really is only one WalMart. The more I thought about it, the more I realized this is actually some secret level of Hell, which - when you move therein - sucks upon your life force, evaporating time, money, energy..... I think there may be a black hole connected to the wormhole. It's all very indistinct....
Then I imagined trickster looking for his wife/girlfriend here, as he is called upon to do in many trickster tales. He cannot find her in the women's intimates, but is dazzled by the simultaneous horror of their crassness and appeal. He seeks her through aisle upon aisle of packaged food and kitsch paraphernalia, as a manager passes by, asking a subordinate, "Were you not listening during my meeting?" He passes two large women who are lazily pushing their wobbling carts as one says to the other, "If you can't find it at WalMart, you just don't need it." He finds her in the movie section, but has a hard time dragging her away from the flatscreens, and just before he makes it to the door, he can't help looking over his shoulder at the big display of beef jerky options. Arg!
Yes, WalMart is the post-modern hell of endless mediocrity and optimally abased consumerism. So why, I keep asking myself, do I end up spending so much time there.....?
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