Before we proceed on to the Rajah's timely message, I (that being the Bill Cope who writes a column for Boise Weekly and not the Bill Cope who is the acting Rajah of the Society For Making People Better) would like to address those nice people who wrote me nice letters (or nice e-letters) over the course of 2011 and received nothing back for their efforts.
Particularly to those who contacted me expressing a wish to meet over coffee and discuss things, please believe me when I say my unresponsiveness has nothing to do with you. I'm pretty sure I can guess the sort of things you want to discuss. You wouldn't be trying to get hold of me if you wanted to talk about your collection of oddly shaped potatoes, right?
No, I imagine that you imagine I might be a good partner in a conversation about some weighty subject. Politics, perhaps. Or religion. Well, my nice friends, I must tell you I no longer have any desire to discuss stuff, over coffee or under any other circumstances. I am totally discussion-ed out. After a lifetime of talking things over with I-can't-even-guess-how-many different people, I feel like I have said all I want to say and heard all I want to hear.
What's more, I know all the people my normal routine will allow me to know at this time. If I let you into my life, I'll have to kick another acquaintance out. Perhaps a brother or an old school chum. See what I mean? But listen, I'll put you on my back-up list should a friend or a family member die or for any other reason become unavailable.
However, there are a couple of letters I should not have ignored. One came from a woman who wondered why I would give a column dealing with Tom Luna's reforms the title "Ed Rush." Her name is Mrs. Rush and she's married to a fellow named Ed.
So sorry, Mrs. Rush, if I offended. I have a tendency to be overly punny with my titles. My intention was to imply that Luna's reforms to education (hence, the abbreviation "Ed.") were being "rushed" through the Legislature, all while alluding to a phenomenon known to old hippies as a "head rush." Believe me, I did not mean to malign your husband, whom I've never met but I'm sure is a fine man.
I also heard from a Jeb Card, a "visiting scholar" at the Center for Archeological Investigations at a university in Illinois. He thanked me for providing him material for his "Cthulhu Cthursday" blog. What he referred to actually came from another blog, where Mulletboy told of his adventures in relaying the discovery of an ancient and monstrous conspiracy to Glenn Beck.
I have no response to Card, other than to say that I would love to have coffee with a visiting scholar with whom I could discuss Cthulhu. And if I have to, I am willing to drop a brother or an old school chum from my routine to make the time.
Now, on to the Rajah's timely message.
Your Rajah hoists a tankard of Festivus nog and delivers onto you a message of hope this holiday season:
My Dearest SFMPBers,
Quite the year, quite the year, yes? And not much evidence that people are getting better, is there? In fact, there is every indication that our arch nemesis, the noxious and crappy Society For Making People Worse, has turned up its activities to full boil.
Now, I promise, your Rajah has no intention of letting this last Flutter of the year be anything but merry and joyishy, perfectly in tune with the spirit of the season. Yet to those members who may be oozeful with dread over the spewings from the Mordor sector of American politics, I offer a quick bit of reassurance.
You see, I see this frantic gnashing of gums currently occupying the negative axis of the human community--namely within these United States of America and even more namely within the cadaverous remains of the Republican Party--as the continuing convulsions of a species of primates who refuse to absorb the reality that they can no longer consider themselves superior beings. Which is precisely the threat our fine president, Barack Obama, presents these malcontents, that not only is there a man leading our nation who is unlike them in every way, but that he is so obviously a superlative example of everything they are not.
They cannot accept what is before their eyes without also accepting that they are, at best, average fruits from average family trees, none of whom will ever produce any individual capable of reaching any grandeur beyond being named Employee of the Month at a discount outlet or the political equivalent: to become a GOP presidential candidate.
In other words, we might look at Newt Gingrich, Mitt Romney ... Donald Trump, for sure ... as viscous wads of sputum, hacked up by a dying breed that insists on taking it all with them when they go. But we know that's impossible, don't we? We know you can't take it with you, don't we? Does this ring a bell? ... "Tis easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a 1 Percenter to get into Nirvana."
So in time, all the sputum wads--Newt, Mitt, The Donald--will slide back down the esophagus of history and be forgotten. Or converted into intestinal gas and blown out history's backside and be forgotten. Or something.
There now, don't you feel reassured?
One last musing from your Rajah:
"People are like ginger bread men--we are all the same, except for the ones that come out different."