1,2,3... HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I know a guy who can replicate, precisely, the distinct sound of a dove looking for a mate.

His realistic “coo” can get any wholesale warehouse shopper to look up and squint inquisitively at the rafters of the ceiling. His hollowly sweet song can have pale-wristed, avion-scat-a-phobics* on the sidewalk ducking under large parked trucks and pulling juvenile weekly newspapers over their shower-capped heads.

Not only can he also do this in Spanish (“cu-curru-cu-cú”!), but he can dove purr in any language and, most exceptionally, he can impersonate these white winged peace icons ON COMMAND!

…I also know a guy who can theatrically burp on command, and a friend who can consistently produce an obscure and hilarious new vocabulary word on command.

So…, for example.., if these three were sleeping, you could jab them all in the derriere with a pinecone, require them to immediately perform and, without even a grunt or an eye-rub, you would hear:

“Cooo-ooo! Cooo!”
“buuuurp!”
“ah.., f*ck this uxorial, crapulent imbroglio!”

and, then they would all roll back over and sleep as if nothing had happened.

So…, why am I writing about this?

Well…, I guess it’s because I’m jealous.

I have never had, as far as I know, a talent for performing an audience-pleasing action ON COMMAND.

Whenever someone asks me to “tell a joke” or “be funny”, I immediately freeze up and can’t remember even a single nun pun…

If someone asks me point-blank to juggle or dance, my cheeks start to burn baby-butt pink, and I toss the balls as quickly as I can…

I hate it when people ask me to “speak another language” for their exotic pleasure, and I employ every quick, clever quip I can to get out of reinforcing stereotypes by “telling stories” of my international experiences in 40 second conversations…

Basically… (even though I love performing and making a donkey organ of myself at times), I don’t like ‘dancing’ on command. I prefer to dance when it comes naturally and in proper context.

I mean..., you wouldn’t ask a great sexual composer to create a masterpiece without foreplay, would you? And, what kind of interviewing reporter would ask for a life history without establishing an understanding and casual rapport first?

What I’m trying (albeit long-windedly) to get at is that being retrospective about the past and contemplative about the future is not something that happens ON COMMAND.

(...for me, at least.)

It’s not something to be done only during January of the New Year.

It’s something that is done year-round, on arbitrary Sundays when the wind is particularly awkward and on weird Wednesdays when your ordinary habits seem suddenly silly…

So, all I'm saying is: Forgive me for not observing the New Year in the seemingly accepted manner. Trust me, I've got enough resolutions to fill this month's void!

***By the way, if anyone know the correct word for the phobia that reflects a fear of falling bird shit, please let me know. You need help as much as I do.