Tuesday, May 23, 2017
subterranean mystery blues
...playing on tablet, from You Tube (commercial-free! Very good!) as I got-ready-for-work today: a doctor was stabbed to death by his (current) wife, and detectives trying to figure out if it was self-defense or -- ehrm -- Husband Removal: as I'm spritzing conditioner on my hair, the 48 Hours narrator says in the backstory that the doctor decided to change his practice from
------------------ Instantly in my mind, a question laced with sarcasm pinged: "Pain Management? Is that 'French' for drug dealer?"
And then I thought, (looking left, right, then up) -- Wow, where did that come from? Am I becoming some kind of uncharitable person, filled to the brim with suspicion for my fellow human beings? (Parents used to say to children, "I'm surprised at you!" if they didn't like something. I guess I was surprised "at me"...)
Thought, What am I turning into? Maybe I'll stop the 48 Hours, and click back on the basic screen of tablet and type in some church. Or at least some Rolling Stones.
Then onscreen in the next sentence, sure enough, the narrator tells us about large amounts of "narcotics" prescribed by aforementioned doctor for people who -- paid up front.... omgy ("oh-my-gosh-yikes") I was right! (Does that make it better?) I don't know, Idon'tknow....
Watch enough installments of 48 Hours Mystery, and you start to feel like, OK, to stay alive -- Don't live in California, Florida, or Ohio.
Or Illinois or Nevada or Utah. Or upstate New York.
Don't fall in love, don't get married, don't buy life insurance, don't drop out of school, don't go to school, don't join a cult, don't live out in the country,
don't live in town;
have a gun, don't have a gun, don't have any knives, don't cook, don't eat, don't talk to people you don't know, don't talk to people you do know, don't stand near the edge of a high cliff, don't be poor, don't have money, don't let anyone know you have money, and don't sleep.
"Don't follow leaders, watch the parking meters," Bob Dylan would add.