“And chicken strips,” Cakes explains to her. They both seem surprised to hear I’m not made of money. “Who doesn’t love chicken strips!” I yell. “Then we’ll go to that little beach bar you like, the one that serves the chicken strips.” And we’ll go to the playground, you and I, and we’ll swing on the swings and giggle in the grass.” “Cakes, it’s a long life,” I begin again. Then I summoned my 20-month-old granddaughter, the only person alive who really gets me (credit that too-big stuffed bear I dropped off). I shrugged and summoned Carole Lombard: no answer. With that, Buffett vanished in a fantasy cloud. “Come Monday, I’ll be holdin’ you tight …” “Come Monday, I will be all right,” I sang. I said: “Jimmy, remember that night in Montana when we said there’d be no room for doubt?” Ever watch “I Dream of Jeannie” with Barbara Eden? Like that. I mean, Buffett wasn’t actually there - I just pretended. So on Wednesday, I decided to have a beer with Jimmy Buffett. In mid-January, “even the moon shines with only half a heart,” as Jane Kenyon put it (read her if you get the chance). This kind of weather just sort of jails you. Point is, I’ve lived in the Midwest in the worst of winters, and the South in the worst of springs. I show up at church now mostly for memorials and bake sales. “Those are the cardinal sins, Dad,” my son Smartacus said. I’ve already broken eight of the 127: sloth, gluttony, wrath, greed, envy, lust, etc. Stuck inside, I now fear for my many New Year’s resolutions. And maybe they’ll revive the old magnolia out front.īy the way, ever had a bad case of cabin fever? The symptoms: Small aggravations become big aggravations. They’ll help California farmers feed the world. I say bring on more bomb cyclones and gushing atmospheric rivers. From the outside, it looks like a blacksmith shop. What choice do we have but to heat our soggy homes? The best trait about my tight little house is that the windows fog in stormy weather. Times, reports that eggs have reached $7 a dozen and that natural gas prices are soaring. Meanwhile, I see dollar signs every time I crack an egg. That counter-affirmation messes with their cave man minds, upsets their concept of a mean, alpha universe. As in, “Well done, good sir! Thanks for almost killing us!” In fact, one pal insists the best way to handle drivers who cut you off on the 405 is to give them a hearty thumbs up. So, starting now, I vow to meet every affront - rude drivers, jerks at the bakery - with a smile and a sense of disarming kindness. (Psst, a little aside about major newsrooms: A lot of co-workers don’t even work.) Thing is, snark and cynicism never really worked for me, certainly not in a major American newsroom, where I was just another sarcastic and dark-minded man out to bust deadlines and crush my co-workers. We’ll see where that gets me, right? Probably last a week, this being L.A. My new guiding principle: a disarming kindness.
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