I Swear It Was Him

So, when the missus and I run out of coffee, we jump on the bikes and head over to our local beanery. Those are some of the perks of the Wasteland: pleasant weather, beach-side bicycle paths, and coffee bean roasters a jaunt down the way.

We rode to the spot and then turned left, heading into the crowded neighborhood that separates the fancy shopping drag with the sand and ocean. The road was one-way and dense. The ride lazy.

As we went along a man was heading to his car, saying something to his passenger. He looked over to me and the missus, gave a weird smile and said Heya or Hiya. Howdy, I called back with a smile. Maybe he thought we recognized him. The missus asked after we turned right down another one of the tight streets, Do we know that guy?

It was totally Steven Spielberg. I swear.

The car was dark and sleekly unassuming, like one of the suppository Benz's. The pair were kind of in a rush to get in the car and get going, but not frazzled by any means. The clothes this Spielberg doppelganger wore were the kind that look like a nice pair of jeans and nice sport coat, but on closer inspection you can tell that the jeans were probably five hundred bucks, and the coat three times that. The man was the right size and had the same facial features, the same look in his eye, the same hair and facial hair (but he had shaved recently) as the famed director. Who's to say that Spielberg couldn't know somebody who lives in that particular expensive neighborhood? Our little berg has its charms...

They way he said Heya or Hiya with his weird smirk led me to the conclusion that he felt we recognized him. At least the way both the missus and I responded to him--pleasantries in kind--made us the cool ones that afternoon.

We're all just so friendly down here in the Wasteland.

Literally: Part 1

"April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain."

Lines 1-4.

I like the irony anger that's right on and under the surface in calling "April the cruellest month", especially followed with the "breeding/Lilacs out of the dead land." That just smacks of horror imagery, and following it with "mixing/Memory and desire" sounds like the clarion call of the embittered.

Bitter zombie lilacs coming to bring cruel and chilly sunshine mixed with rain. Seeing April and the coming spring as cruel can only come from someone who is dead, or dying, or angry and bitter at all the life, and this is reinforced by the title of this section, "I. The Burial of the Dead".

I'm not a professional critic, but I like to play with things and let my imagination run wild, so let's see where else it goes. For me, Chef Gonzo, "stirring/Dull roots with spring rain." is like a commentary on family. Family--your "roots"--dull and boring, is only barely moved by the cruel machinations of the annual rebirth.

Bringing of life is annoying and cruel, but only when you're dead, or in a state that today we call "depressed."