In the Name of The Father, The Son and Lek Walensa
It’s like, uh, I missed the strike. In a feat of brilliant timing, worthy of FEMA, my ass was on a plane bound for Chicago the morning of the official shut down. I arrived safely at Midway airport while my fellow NYC commuters walked to work. "Tow that barge, lift that bale!" Nestled in the stinky suburban armpit that is Oak Lawn, IL, I sipped hot tea and watched CNN, MSNBC and any other news-ish programming that featured the MTA striketastrophy.
Scene:
SHANNON blows on gigantic mug of black tea, strokes the fat, white furry ball of the Ennis family’s 90 year-old cat, Dixie. SHANNON sympathetically tilts her head and says, “Damn. Sucks to be them.”
My Mom asked me what I would do if I was in NYC during all of the hullabaloo. You see, Chicago, though quite metropolitan, it’s still the Midwest, people. She might have said ruckus or shenanigans. Frankly, I can’t remember on account of the tea that was filled with the spirit of Advent. It was steeped with love and care in anticipation of baby Jesus’ arrival, holy and chock full of good will toward men. Anyway, I have no fucking idea what I would have done. The cold stroll across the bridge? Not a problem. Getting up early so I get to work on time? Shitty, but also no problem. The snag is this: I have no concept of where I live. Show me a map and I’ll show you my tragic flaw. The lay of any land, whether it be your land, my land, is a mystery to me. From California to the New York island, I am fucking lost. Walking to Manhattan would surely require a sherpa or one of those Brat Camp wilderness counselors to help me carry my heavy ipod and spank me should I tarry. Shit, I used to think North was always directly in front of me b/c that was where the compass was supposed to point. (I don’t think I’ve ever held a compass.) But judge not lest ye realize ye’s roots are blond, too.
Back to Mom's query, what would I do? With warmth in my heart, I looked at all the presents under our fake tree, at the Pink Panther ornament that was my father's and another ornament with a photo of my little brother cira 1981 on it. I thought about the cash I blew on shoddy gifts and whether or not "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" would stand the test of time and become a holiday classic like "White Christmas." My resentment toward Santa b/c he never got me the drum set I asked him for year after year after year sprung to mind as well. Then it hit me, and I asked myself the question I used as a punchline. What would Jesus do? Walk to Manhattan on the waters of the Hudson? Come up with a handy Parable? Do some trick involving loaves of bread and a bunch of fish that appear out of thin air? Well, I don’t have any Son of God–given powers, so I figured that my actions should mirror the Golden Rule, “Do unto others as you would have done unto you.” Hmm...I’d stay the hell home. I'd squat in my cosy Brooklyn brownstone in the event that “the man” would expect me to go to work during the walkout. I’d take a stand in solidarity with my WTU brothers and sisters. I’d watch 'ELLEN' and nap. Wahoo! Divine intervention rocks! How could I possibly support their cause if I was to simply hoof it to the office? That ain’t right. They were trying to show those stingy, arrogant MTA ass faces how devastated this city would be without them. Message relayed! I ain’t walkin’ til “the man” starts talkin’.
Hot Tip From Auntie Shan:
Used wisely, Christian principles combined with a healthy dose of white liberal guilt can get you out of a jam. Do whatever you want as long as you insist that God told you to.
posted by Shannon E. Ennis at
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Scene:
SHANNON blows on gigantic mug of black tea, strokes the fat, white furry ball of the Ennis family’s 90 year-old cat, Dixie. SHANNON sympathetically tilts her head and says, “Damn. Sucks to be them.”
My Mom asked me what I would do if I was in NYC during all of the hullabaloo. You see, Chicago, though quite metropolitan, it’s still the Midwest, people. She might have said ruckus or shenanigans. Frankly, I can’t remember on account of the tea that was filled with the spirit of Advent. It was steeped with love and care in anticipation of baby Jesus’ arrival, holy and chock full of good will toward men. Anyway, I have no fucking idea what I would have done. The cold stroll across the bridge? Not a problem. Getting up early so I get to work on time? Shitty, but also no problem. The snag is this: I have no concept of where I live. Show me a map and I’ll show you my tragic flaw. The lay of any land, whether it be your land, my land, is a mystery to me. From California to the New York island, I am fucking lost. Walking to Manhattan would surely require a sherpa or one of those Brat Camp wilderness counselors to help me carry my heavy ipod and spank me should I tarry. Shit, I used to think North was always directly in front of me b/c that was where the compass was supposed to point. (I don’t think I’ve ever held a compass.) But judge not lest ye realize ye’s roots are blond, too.
Back to Mom's query, what would I do? With warmth in my heart, I looked at all the presents under our fake tree, at the Pink Panther ornament that was my father's and another ornament with a photo of my little brother cira 1981 on it. I thought about the cash I blew on shoddy gifts and whether or not "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" would stand the test of time and become a holiday classic like "White Christmas." My resentment toward Santa b/c he never got me the drum set I asked him for year after year after year sprung to mind as well. Then it hit me, and I asked myself the question I used as a punchline. What would Jesus do? Walk to Manhattan on the waters of the Hudson? Come up with a handy Parable? Do some trick involving loaves of bread and a bunch of fish that appear out of thin air? Well, I don’t have any Son of God–given powers, so I figured that my actions should mirror the Golden Rule, “Do unto others as you would have done unto you.” Hmm...I’d stay the hell home. I'd squat in my cosy Brooklyn brownstone in the event that “the man” would expect me to go to work during the walkout. I’d take a stand in solidarity with my WTU brothers and sisters. I’d watch 'ELLEN' and nap. Wahoo! Divine intervention rocks! How could I possibly support their cause if I was to simply hoof it to the office? That ain’t right. They were trying to show those stingy, arrogant MTA ass faces how devastated this city would be without them. Message relayed! I ain’t walkin’ til “the man” starts talkin’.
Hot Tip From Auntie Shan:
Used wisely, Christian principles combined with a healthy dose of white liberal guilt can get you out of a jam. Do whatever you want as long as you insist that God told you to.
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