A delicious concoction of tasty morsels of thought, epiphany and general anger management

 
You Cannot Love All The People All The Time

Those of you that know and follow my work, follow me or just know of the depth of my talent in all arenas of my life know that I am full of love for all creatures. My Mammalia Mayhem Volumes certainly exhibit this. However, even the most talented, most good looking, most well hung people in the world are not appreciated by some people. Even nearly perfect people, such as myself, have someone they do not get along with. For instance, novelist and long time Wolinetz confidante Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. has a long running feud with Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. I mean no offense to Kurt Vonnegut, Jr Kurt Vonnegut, Jr is a dear friend of mine. Back in the grass roots days of the 1960s, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. and I were idealists, heavy handed in our criticism of drug dealers for not supplying the most potent of their stock. We would wonder the Negro streets of Schenectady, NY looking for an angry fix. When we found it, we'd wonder the Oriental streets of Utica, NY looking for an angry Chinese guy. Early in the morning, we'd watch the sun rise over the mighty Hudson River, coming down off our unwaivering high. We'd watch the toliers make their way to the textile mills and the steel factories. The steam whistle would scream out loud, calling all from miles around to report to their posts. We'd make our way slowly to the gates and scream, "And the sign says anybody caught trespassing will be shot on sight!" I digress.

However, while Kurt Vonnegut, Jr and Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. fought over the use of "Jr." in their names, my conflict with my long time nemesis is much more deeply rooted. This is a long running fued, one which neither face to face meeting nor apologies could ever resolve. I have long denied the existence of this highly publicized feud. Here now the breaking point that pushed this relationship beyond the point of reconciliation. Here now, the transcript from a phone call with the Columbia House Music Club on March 14, 1997:

"Wolinetz: Hello?
Columbia House Music Club: Good afternoon, sir. May I speak with Geoff Wolinetz?
W: Speaking.
CHMC: Hello, Mr. Wolinetz. First, may I say it's an honor to be speaking with someone of your stature.
W. That's correct.
CHMC: The reason for this call today is to remind you that you have an outstanding balance of $172.31 that is 3 months past due.
W: I see. And what is the source of this alleged outstanding balance?
CHMC: Well, sir, it appears that you ordered fifteen copies of "Middle of Nowhere" by Hanson.
W: They are very talented young men.
CHMC: (awkward pause) Yes, they are.
W: I enjoy the song "MMMBop" most.
CHMC: I'm sure you do, sir.
W: (singing) "MMMBop..."
CHMC: Sir?
W: (singing) "MMMBop..."
CHMC: SIR?
W: (singing) "MMMBop..."
CHMC: MR. WOLINETZ!!!
W: Well, there's no need to get hostile.
CHMC: Sir, you owe us $172.31.
W: That is patently ridiculous. I have settled my debt with you, and my debt to society, I might add.
CHMC: Sir, you owe us $172.31. You need to pay us $172.31.
W: Now listen here, young man. I have paid this money. No one will take Hanson from me, do you read me? I will fight you tooth and nail. I will fight you to the death. These boys have worked too hard to have some lackey from the processing department ruin it for them and their friends. Now, I suggest that you hang up this phone before I have Cuban Bob urinate on your shrubs.
CHMC: This is not over, Wolinetz. (hangs up)"

We haven't spoken since, though I do receive a letter in the form of an invoice from them periodically. I suspect it may be them reaching out to me. I can not reciprocate. The wounds just run too deep.

posted by G.Wo at 1:48 PM

 
Letter Of Resignation

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep/But I've got promises to keep/And miles to go before I sleep/And miles to go before I sleep." -- Robert Frost

It is not easy bidding adieu to the major media company for which I spent the better part of my adult life toiling endlessly, with very frequent breaks. The atmosphere here makes Afghanistan look like Ed Begley's place in Zuma Beach. I mean no offense to Ed Begley . Ed Begley is a dear friend of mine. In the halcyon days of the filming of St. Elsewhere, Ed Begley and I would steal the hypodermic needles from the set and play darts on/with Howie Mandel's ass. Ed Begley and I would whisk away to Arizona at a moment's notice and run 4-on-4 with the Phoenix Suns and then run 2-on-1 with the Phoenix Suns' cheerleaders. In the hazy aftermath of unmitigated sexual congress, the cheerleaders would dip Ed Begley's hand into a dish of warm water and watch him urinate in his pants. It would provide hours of entertainment for both myself and the young women who comprised the most limber of professional basektball's cheerleading squads. I digress.

There are many to thank, far too many to name in this passage. Yet, I would be remiss if I did not dispense some thank yous and some good wishes. As such, I prostrate myself before you and beg your forgiveness, if I do leave you out of this list.

To my friends at NASCAR.com -- Gentlemen, I bid you extremely good luck. Your efforts to bring sweaty men making 800 left turns over the course of 4 hours to the masses are both noble and not unnoticed. Perhaps, one day, this sport will rise from the ashes of the trailer parks and become the Phoenix of a major professional American sport. On the other hand, the cogniscenti of this great land may relegate you to the gin mills and sweat pits of the South. I leave it to you to decide which is more likely.

To Shah, my friend who runs the convenience store downstairs -- I am most sad about saying goodbye to you, dear friend. You have provided me with endless granola and candy bars, cans of tasty beverages and Lotto tickets, all at relatively reasonable prices, well within the budgetary constraints of the worker bees of this company and building as a whole. You are a gentle and kind man. I will miss you dear friend.

To my boss -- Our disagreements number many. Upon my departure, let me say this: I dislike you intensely, with the fire of a thousand suns. I believe that to be an understatement. Your supervisory skills are of the worst kind, your management level exceeds "mircomanagement" and you are not a handsome gentleman. If management skills were state size, you would be Rhode Island. I bid you good day, sir.

Finally, I know you all to be aware of my genius, it is difficult not to be. My ex-wife Jayne Mansfield used to say the same thing. "Wolinetz, your writing alone makes life worth living. I love every inch of your rippling physique and generous package." Though she was my ex-wife at the time, I wept over her death. I'll never forget the last thing she said to me. "Wolinetz, love them. They love you."

I love you, dear friends. Keep in touch.

Humbly,
Geoffrey Aloysius Wolinetz
gwolinetz@yahoo.com

posted by G.Wo at 1:48 PM