Monday, June 19, 2006

A day late and seven hundred and twenty-five dollars short

Another Father's Day gone and looking back on my yesterday, I'm still not certain why my mood was surly, bearish, beligerent.

Maybe it was my having to take my kids to the circus - I hate the circus, always have. For whatever reason, ever since I was knee high to a mutant grasshopper, I imagined that the gut wrenching stench beneath the bigtop was a combination of elephant shit, grease paint, kid puke, sweat, and some lurid B.O. residing beneath tights resulting from unspeakable (and vaguely criminal) act. About all I can recall from childhood circus memories is holding my breath for two hours. Well, that's not quite true; the last time I went to the circus when I was 11-years old, just come from getting a series of shots and innoculations for my dad's assignment to Taiwan, the typhus innoculation kicking in it's bug just in time for the show. Feverish hallucinations and projectile vomiting made my last sentence under the Big Top memorable enough to never get dragged there again.

The distance of thirty-some years didn't soften my opinion of the circus despite all the hi-tech geegaws The Greatest Show on Earth has integrated itself into today's modern a go-go circus (laser lights, giant screen projections, rock music - a Vegas-style extravaganza, of course) and reminders that all the animals are happy, healthy, and well-treated. Several reminders, constant reminders, reminders from start to finish and whenever they could fit it in between that they weren't abusing animals.

Yeh munchkins, nonetheless, loved what they saw, eyes sunk into the floor. Zeke loved motorcycles in a cage and the girls, of course, loved everyone in tights - and the lephants.

As far as my own shittiness: I was fired for reasons I won't discuss (although any of my former clients would bitch bitch bitch), it's all I can say to report that, short of this seven and hundred and twenty five dollars, my children and I will be living in a tent. Or a car, Until dad gets a real job, like picking up dirty plates or selling crap-ass time-shares on the phone, whatever it takes to keep them from camping along the stupid stream we all call, the homeless stream, the stream where I whack everyone for touching my kids.

Don'y wany anyone to to touch my kids but that's the place I've landed at. Happy Father's Day.

4 comments:

landismom said...

Oh, Jim, that totally sucks. I hope you find a better job soon.

vicki said...

The job situation is terrible. So are the circus elephants. Did you HAVE to go? I have a little elephant linkage for you today.Thinking of you...

vicki said...

Blue Jim. Poor elephants. Yes, this is a sad post, indeed. I didn't know people still went to the circus anymore, except maybe Cirque. I thought Ringling Bros had fallen on hard times as well. You do have those lovely giraffes near you at the Mountain Zoo. Please don't uncover any PETA dirt on that place- I couldn't take it.

Feel better soon, enjoy the widgets.

Eileen said...

I've never liked the circus either. But I was always the sort of child who looked past the wide and lurid painted grin on the clown and saw the distracted gaze of someone who would rather be anyplace else but here making balloon animals. I also noticed that the guy who was just in the motorcycle cage was now hawking popcorn in the stands and would be seen later shoveling elephant poop.

You and I, ever the children who insist on peeking behind the wizard's curtain.