“Everything is going to be fine in the end. If it’s not fine, it’s not the end,”
Oscar Wilde
I think old Oscar would’ve loved growing up inside this time. After all, it’s the end of the world every single day, with an addendum attached that foregoes last rite status until such time as all current liens are settled, with marble caked interest. To a pen as sick with irony as his, Wilde would attest to our hubris whilst wondering whatever happened to the humble pie of Lincoln. He’d challenge political heavyweights to televised swordfights. He’d regenerate tired old Reaganisms in next gen form to piss off Republicans and Democrats alike. He would ask aloud how satire became the province of reality show stars and brand mavens whose sole purpose is to vaporize our brain cells, after which he would remark that alcohol was a much better idea.
He’d write for the New Yorker whilst doing side jobs with the Coen Brothers and being a regular on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. And then of course he would opine on the political ramifications of our upcoming national election by hosting a PPV event at Radio City; which he would bill as “Extraordinary Rubbish And Entirely True!”.
Ignominious tidings would follow, with daily mentions of his debauchery that would stun and titillate the masses. From snapchatting irreverent haikus with the Pope to crashing White House galas to bedding J. Lo. And A-Rod. Both. Of course.
And to it all he would shrug, all tethered to his Cohiba with ready made anecdotes for every single one of the sordid revelations. The masses would adore and condemn him, the media would be much too afraid to cast harsh judgement on account of all the inside dope he possessed on them. And a little town in Iowa would rename itself “Wilde” in honor of the “. . . greatest American who wasn’t. . .” . Among the ceremonial attendees would be John Waters, Dave Chapelle and Cher.
Once the smoke cleared- which means to say, before Oscar could be relegated to a syndicated curiosity, he’d retire to Key West and write a book while threatening to run away to Cuba for irony’s sake. And then he would negotiate a deal with CNN to broadcast live from the hull of his “last unearthly home” on the condition that he could drink Martinis on the air. And CNN would agree, because Oscar’s slur is better than most talking heads very best stuff.
He’d have a sixty foot Clipper made of red cedar from Washington State; replete with a mahogany wet bar below deck and a pinball machine signed by Pete Townshend. From a turntable, Toscanini, Verdi, Bach and Tupac would pitch fastballs as Wilde punched at the moon to steal his latest tale. His two adoring pit bulls- Hendrix and Patton- taking their nightly spots at bow and stern, respectively.
Strangers from every kind of place would sneak inside the sleepy marina from time to time, just to get a peak at the madness. If they’re lucky, they get to see Oscar treating the kids to some Dulce de Leche or chorizo with Manuka honey as he sips on a liquid solution. When he retreats, he writes about Creole gangsters and Jacobin cultists, while deliberating on how faded denim jackets should’ve been a sign that the Russians were going to win.
This journey into relative solitude would come about as the result of his unwillingness to end up a spent cog in a pinwheel. Adopting the examples of Ali and Picasso, he would bob and weave through colorful stages because he is a man who does not wish to be immortalized for having burned out when he can reinvent his heavyweight paintbrush to a more circuitous advantage.
He would ponder extravagantly as to why it is that humanity can be so connected and yet, so very much alone. There would be moments where he ponders a disappearing act in the vein of Elvis and D.B. Cooper. His senses- common or otherwise- thinking better of it since he figures the world is too damned interesting to leave behind when he has Bill Murray’s cell phone number.
I can imagine old Oscar standing on deck as his thoughts scream the stars to life and rile the tides. And then he calls Hendrix and Patton to dinner and reads them poetry by candlelight. His tongue draws out the love affair between a maiden and a shepherd as salt air heaves its blanket to cover them for a restless journey into day.
Like a prayer, everlasting.
Nice
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Thank you LA
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Not surprisingly…I think you nailed ole Oscar. Right down to current writing gigs. Stephen Colbert would be even more of a national treasure.
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Monika,
He would have been right at home inside this crazy day and age we got going on. No doubt about it . . .
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He’d be a fun follow that’s for sure. 😊
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Right?
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Oscar would be a hit. Great post, Pilgrim.
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He’d love it, Boss. Thank you.
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😁
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I appreciate it
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Wow, what a tribute to the great man – and to you. Like the idea of his ready-made anecdotes for any occasion. He’d have us all wrapped round his finger. Cheers my man.
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Thanks PM. Yeah he would definitely know how to take all of this in.
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Oscar in today’s world? Oh boy https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gSWInYFVksg
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That would be perfect, Cincy. 😉
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PS: Break up the Bengals. Led wire-to-wire against a one-loss team.
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Look at them! And Joe, he really is impressive.
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Joe B is the real deal. O-line still needs much help. Interesting, due to injuries and illnesses, no regular starters were in the lineup – plus no Mixon. Bye week next – then the Steelers.
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First game this season where Joe wasn’t sacked.
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Yep … One guy picked up as free agent on Thursday … Played entire game except for first series
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Wonderful! Your creativity and ability to connect disparate dots across the ages in a way that makes the head nod “Yes, of course!” astounds. Well done!
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Haha! It would be nothing if not fascinating, to see how Oscar brought his unique narrative to our world.
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Letting your genius out for a run again, I see. I love every bit of it! A man of his time, but would have been very happily mired in ours.
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Had to. It was Oscar’s fault, though.
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I think Oscar would be dreaming (every damn day) about the wonderful past… 🙂 he lived in
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He would need good company and even better spirits . . .
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B,
I don’t know how you do this. I marvel when your pen and your wit and your amazing ability to put situations together produce these brilliant pieces. Your writing at its finest.
You’ve got me searching he internets (I’m illiterate, having never read him – yet I have seen two of the movies based on his writings) and having me nod my head at each phrase you’re written.
Would he live to be older than 46, do you think? Probably not…
I’m in awe of your plume…
Remind me what song you attached? Of course, we Canadians are too uncouth to follow along…
Q
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Q
Oscar Wilde is a favorite in many ways, not the least of which is the idea that he can fuse into so many different scenarios and be right at home. He made it look easy.
Haha! It’s one of the residual effects of an otherwise misspent youth. 😉
No, and he would have no regret about it either. Or ragret.
Plume? To the file!
Oh, Simon and Garfunkel . . they were talking about me and Julio down by the schoolyard.
B
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I have to read up more about him. Have you read any of his works?
I love that you do. No matter how it came about.
LOL! No ragrets for sure.
Oui, oui!
Oh yeah. Now I remember. Coz… heaven forbid the one you chose works for me. Sigh.
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He was/is a fascinating individual. Throwing caution to the wind was his daily promise, and he did it with such aplomb. He truly was a timeless being.
As long as it do, yanno?
He would definitely have gotten a hemp tat just for shits and giggles. Lying to his closest friends that it REALLY was permanent, and that he was going for a face tat next.
Jes! Jes!
I know . . fucking YouTube and all their rules. Do they consort with Netflix, ya think?
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Aplomb – to the file. And how you came to know of him? You dissed my question.
It more than do.
Haha! He probably would have.
Si! Si!
Fucking YouTube, Netflix, Prime. All of ’em. Goddammit.
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Done!
You asked what book of his turned me onto him? I missed that. Uh, The Importance of Being Earnest. Greatness. Unparalleled.
Thank you.
He would’ve really just fit right in.
Haha!
They’re in cahoots.
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Excellent.
I saw the movie and, of course, that is nothing compared to the book, of that I’ve zero doubt. Methinks I’ll have to add it to my huge pile.
My pleasure.
He would’ve, no doubt.
They are. All of ’em.
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The classics . . I was spoiled.
Nice
By fitting in, his was a force of nature that would have simply made himself at home, no matter what anyone thought of it.
They are!
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You were. But that is also a choice. Having gone to a French high school, I feel the lack of having been exposed to the classics. Which is why I took it upon myself to read some. Course, hadn’t yet made it to Wilde. Will be rectified. Hell, I just to my Vonnegut that I’ll be reading when I finish the one I am reading now!
You have to admire peeps like him. Not giving two fucks about it and going forth.
Bastids (to borrow your expression)
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I grabbed what was unpopular, so to speak. The Three Musketeers had never been taken out of my library until I took it out. So it became a habit.
While at the same time having couth and being clever enough to veil his “Fuck Off” rather than being a clownish boor.
It’s true!
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But that is great. And now, we, your readers, are the beneficiaries of your choices. And… really? Who’d a thunk? Three Musketeers was dissed…
Oh yes. It would have been done with a flourish.
Yes, they are.
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It was a treasure trove of discoveries, left to wither away because it wasn’t cool I guess. I don’t know. Good thing I didn’t care about being cool is all.
God, he is the one election results program I would have watched!
Yup
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You were too cool for school, that’s what.
No kidding! Worth staying up all night!
Did you just yup me?
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I was who I was, I guess.
I’m still not looking . . . even if I did happen to catch Biden 264 on my Yahoo home page . . when I wasn’t looking but couldn’t help but see it because it was plastered across the screen . .
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And that’s a pretty fine thing, I say. It’s not easy at certain ages to be their own person and not feel any pressure to be otherwise.
I know it. Every hour on the hour, my news comes on and gives me an update…
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I never felt that need. I’m guessing because I didn’t feel part of the construct, and thank goodness because it led me in more interesting directions.
I got 264. My pal Big Papi . . who is a Trump fan, has not called me today. THAT is a very good sign and that is all I have to say until tomorrow.
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That’s really great. Seriously.
Haha! Big Papi must be cursing in his chair..
‘Til tomorrow!
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It’s been a bad year for Big Papi. First the Cowboys go down in flames, and now this.
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Poor guy… Maybe you’ll have to buy a cheap six-pack and go console him…
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Why am I not feeling badly for him?
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Coz – fair play. He wouldn’t feel badly foe you, either
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No he wouldn’t. He didn’t in 2016.
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There ya go.
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Bastid
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Your friendly bastid
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Who still hasn’t called.
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Quelle surprise…
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Really
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There will be a period of depression as the reality of the loss sinks in (coz I’m optimistic(ish) )
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It’s gotta be decided by 2021. That much I know . . .
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I’m thinkin’ it’s gotta be decided before December 2020…
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And definitely before 2022 . . .
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FFS…. yeah!
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It’s getting close to being over
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That it is… just a coupla states to get their last counts in… and then starts the suing, the recounting and the…. oh wait, not that close yet …
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My God . . . Lincoln is shaking his head in disgust.
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With good reason.
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Sadly
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True.
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