Out of the Blue
Women never really faint, villains always blink their eyes, and laws exist to express their violation. Losers fashion winners and up is achieved by not being down. Our distinctions are too often misused, as when the genetic distance between dinner and human offspring is popularly understood to be minimal, though we usually go out of our way to serve kids by protecting and teaching them, rather than consider an appropriate sauce or gravy. Nature makes no mistakes and our human qualities are defined by differences and not similarities. Toward distinction, responding to my biotic obligation beyond food-chain participation, I admit to being bored with affiliations based upon skin color, sexual habits, religious games, political alignment, economic background, or other gross groups who tick their numbers with faux pop traits. Henceforth, light absorption and reflection will determine my loyalties. From out of the blue, I have found my way. [Note: I briefly considered developing a unique odor, but decided I didn’t want to stand out that much.]
That’s right, if it's blue it’s on my side. Though today’s babies are born with an inherent financial debt and expectations to shop exclusively at the company store, they continue the grand tradition of being without sin, cute as Brueghel buttons, and having blue eyes. Melanin production in the iris kicks in shortly after birth and most babies develop the usual shades before long. I will always appreciate blue-eyed babies (including, perhaps, older babes with a different eye-color). And, it goes with out saying, Siberian huskies, certain Siamese cats, and that ol’ blue-eyed Italian guy from Hoboken get special mentions as well.
My fondness of techno tunes from the 1980s aside, I’ve always made room for the blues. As if I had a choice! Maybe it’s a Chicago thing, homesickness, or never knowing when to clap during jazz sessions, but the blues seem to resonate in my gut like watching someone buy your gal a cold beer on a hot day when all you've got is change in your pocket. It ain’t anger; anyone can go there and leave when they want. It’s an ache that won’t go away.
won't take no
for an answer
Argonauts and sailors, astronauts and pilots, chemonauts and addicts all travel the blue way (perhaps checking the CDC “Blue Sheet” before beginning). Following melancholia from Elizabethan blue bloods to Marlene and a bottle of liebfraumilch is easy, but it gets a little tricky connecting the old blue movies (which I’ve never seen) to these new porn websites (which I’ve never been to) where you type in your credit-card number and little movies appear on-screen. Some see cyber as digitalized ice, white light with streaks of electric blue. It's probably a surer guess that most folks are just used to a blue Windows® desktop color. Many follow the blue way, though few were properly asked.
Once in a blue moon is often enough for things like, say, watching Blue Velvet all the way through and not just fast-forwarding to the good parts, while visiting with the blue hairs should be done with frequent regularity. Though I never exploited the hometown connection of Hill Street Blues, as those years were for the most part enjoyed away from television, I’ll likely flop from seldom to never when it comes to watching the next season of NYPD Blue. I used to find myself breaking out in a cold sweat when I watched bald, fat Det. Andy Sipowicz doing the two-backed beast with yummy Sharon Lawrence, and now that he’s sleeping with Charlotte Ross, the current blonde on Blue, I’m way uncomfortable with the message being sent to the bald, fat guy community. We live in blue times.
The current administration plays global golf with red, white, and blue balls (unlike the previous, which among other things, was known for its red, white, and blue eyes, high regard for the Blue Room, and that messy matter with the blue dress). Our forty-third president enjoys a quick game, though his foreign policy seems mired in side-bets. One of the forty-first president’s games became a UN Blue Book and his son seems ready to detour from the 19th hole and go looking for a Blue Fairy in Baghdad, while putting around with the nation’s bluesky economic future. Never trust a man who doesn’t drink.
Though it’s been a while since I’ve slammed a Pabst, it would require an earnest effort at downing a megaliter of the swill to fully appreciate the importance of the Blue Ribbon campaign to a country like Iceland. Free speech in Reykjavik has been protected by the mysterious Iceland Defense Force since 1951, but that may soon change. With the country’s genetic history available, it remains for Saddam and Saad to grow Islamakazi gholas and take over the island nation. Perhaps the Libertarians could suggest an encryption program which could ensure free speech in Iceland, however it may already be too late, as they’ve recently bought whale blubber and meat from Norway, are planning to begin hunting whales again with or without international approval, and if the clones don’t attack, I’m sure the Greens will. The horrible jest of nuking the whales may now be realized against countries which dare to hunt whales. No, wait; we've already nuked Japan. I wonder if Al Qaeda is active in Norway.
I continue to order the blue plate special, sometimes to save a buck, but often to gamble on my current resistence to e. coli, staph and strep. Oh, there’s a tug toward sacre bleu, but less pumpernickel and more the “butter and crème fraîche” of the current Marianne. The Hunger, the hunger...
“My my, hey hey,” as the song goes, imagines an audition for the Black and Blue Man Group as inevitable for most. The blue ruin, like liquid light, absorbs some of this and reflects some of that. Blue; it’s not just a color, it’s a way of life.
hoping the spice