Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Schprockie Balboa

Which is that culture that believes your dead ancestors look down upon you and, through subtle means, guide you and impart their wisdom? Is it Native American? Or is there more than one culture that believes in that? Anyway, consider that at any given moment, your grandfather or great-grandfather or great-aunt on your mother’s side might be looking down at you — say, right now, for instance. Weird, huh? What I mainly want to know is, who the hell is charge of me, and is he or she really doing the job? Because I’ve done a lot of boneheaded things in my life, far too many for a supernatural agency not to notice. Where was, say, great-uncle Hjalmar when I bought that lemon-yellow Chevy Vega back in 1977, the one that kept breaking down and never ran right? I knew it was supposed to be a crappy car, but I went ahead and bought it anyway. If Uncle Hjalmar had just once told me, in a thin voice barely heard above the breeze, “No, Schprockie, no — Consumer Reports says Vegas suck,” that would have stopped me. I wouldn’t have bought that car. Of course, Uncle Hjalmar only spoke Swedish, which I don’t understand, and Uncle Hjalmar probably was never interested in Consumer Reports, even in heaven, but still, a little help, you know? Come on, ancestors, I’m dying here! And don’t just say it’s my “destiny” every time things go awry either. I’m wise to that.

Wouldn’t you like to have what Luke Skywalker had with Obi Wan Kenobi? When things start going wrong and panic sets in, right there at that critical moment a tiny, bearded, monkish specter with a shimmery, sparkly aura appears and calmly reminds you to use the Force. Of course! How stupid of me! The Force! That’s just what the situation needs! Or how about a guardian angel? A minature, white-robed, winged fellow foreseeing trouble and helping you avoid it 24/7 with no coffee break? Wouldn’t that be great?

This is who I want for my spirit guide: Mick from Rocky. Just at the moment I start to do something stupid, I want a little, wizened old guy with a hearing aid jammed into his cauliflower ear to yell out in a gravelly voice: “Schprock, you bum! Your wife don’t want no bowling ball. Get her roses, for crissake!” Or: “Goddammit, Schprock, that’s the dessert fork, not the salad fork, and you don’t drink no wine outta no straw!” Or, if he was there with me on that fateful day in 1977: “Whaddaya you think that car’s painted yeller for, Schprock? Huh? Now get over there and talk to that guy about the ’73 Pacer instead.” Boy, Mick could have sure helped me out.

Question du jour: if you had your choice, whose spirit would you like to guide you?


Blogger Kathleen said...

I don't care who it is as long as they're smarter than me and can keep me on the straight and narrow - although not too straight and narrow. I don't need a boring life.

9:04 AM  
Blogger trinamick said...

Dorothy Parker? A duo of Phyllis Diller & Peter Boyle? Ho.Lee.Crap.

Not Helen Keller, that's for sure. Or Fran Drescher.

9:43 AM  
Blogger Ben O. said...

Actually, it's a little known fact that they do have coffee breaks in the Star Wars afterlife. I hear Obi Wan really enjoys his Cinnamon Dolce Lattes something fierce.

I would like a little bald guy with three toes on each foot that could float on a cloud of air and would always remind me to turn the oven off before I leave the apartment.

Ben O.

9:54 AM  
Blogger mr. schprock said...

"I don't need a boring life."

So not Calvin Coolidge, for instance?

"Not Helen Keller, that's for sure."

But she'd be so good at heavenly signs.

"Actually, it's a little known fact that they do have coffee breaks in the Star Wars afterlife. I hear Obi Wan really enjoys his Cinnamon Dolce Lattes something fierce."

Yoda goes for double mocha latte expresso french roast vanilla cappuccinos. With sprinkles.

10:54 AM  
Blogger Beth said...

Wow, a spirit guide. I just don't have a clue. Someone wise, someone who's been there, done that. I just have no clue who that would be though. I mean, I'd love to say Maya Angelou, but she's living. =/ OK, Eleanor Roosevelt. Yeah, that's the one.

5:20 PM  
Blogger rennratt said...

My current 'spirit guides' consist of Marge Schott and 3 (nameless/faceless) stand up comedians. I call them The Roundtable - and they live in my head.

They aren't so great with guidance, but are a riot with the random dialogue!

6:30 PM  
Blogger Scott said...

I'd have to go with Doc Holiday. But the one from Tombstone played by Val Kilmer. If I had to deal with Dennis Quaid's version, I'd have to consult an exorcist.

I've read half of Big John Mooney. The other half today. How do you come up with this stuff?

5:09 AM  
Blogger LL said...

Who would mine be? Hmmm... I'm going to have to say, Mr. Schprock. Unfortunately that means you're going to have to die first, so I'm not going to hold you to it immediately, but here in about 50 years when you do succumb, make sure you don't let me buy a '73 Vega no matter how badly I beg.

7:02 AM  
Blogger Farrago said...

Jonathan Winters.

...he is dead, right?

7:34 PM  
Blogger Cravey said...

I just had this conversation with a friend of mine and he said he'd chose Jimi Hendrix some years ago.. since Jimi's busy, I'm at a loss on who to pick.

11:20 AM  
Blogger tiff said...

Because Trina already picked Dorothy P, I'll have to go with Truman Capote.

Or Oscar Wilde.

Or maybe Fannie Farmer. You know, once she's dead and all.

1:36 PM  
Blogger NYPinTA said...

Not Jim Morrison. Oh wait, he isn't really dead.

Would I be a complete dork if I picked DaVinci? And Boadicea? I'd need both, because I'm sure she still has a bit of a chip on her shoulder so DaVinci could balance that out.

BTW, Henry's voice of reason would probably come from Oscar the Grouch although I'm sure he'd say that Oscar was mine.

8:01 PM  

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