Friday, February 17, 2012

Id's Night Out.

I think I might be reaching the age where I am cognizant of the fact that I may be losing my marbles, but haven’t lost enough of them yet to be unappreciative of the beauty of insanity. There is a wonderful freedom in letting your mind run free and allowing it to play with all the other caged up thoughts in your head.

Case in point; through most of today, I have found my thoughts drifting to Mister Peanut, the iconic spokesperson for Planter’s Nuts. For those of you overseas who read this blog and aren’t familiar with Mister ‘P’, he is a dapper sort of peanut in a shell, with a big, friendly smile like my Uncle Tootie used to have whenever he was making homemade sausage. I don’t think anything made good ole Uncle ‘T’ happier than when he was shoving ground up pig parts into a sausage casing. Not even Aunt Chickie made him that happy, which is why their marriage didn’t last. Uncle ‘T’s sausage habit may also be the reason Aunt Chickie disappeared mysteriously shortly before their annual Labor Day Barbeque, though it was never proven.    

 Unlike my Uncle Tootie however, Mister Peanut wears a top hat, which he always appears to be about to doff (to a beautiful lady no doubt.), a monocle (how cool is that?), white gloves and spats. He carries a walking stick in his left hand and seems to be wearing an all black jumpsuit under his shell. In short, he looks like the peanut version of Fred Astaire. “Heaven...I’m in heaven... and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak...” 

All day, I’ve imagined him in any number of professions, such as a bus driver, an accountant, Congressnut, and yes, even my gynecologist. Of course, I also imagined that I was able to afford health insurance so that I actually could see a gynecologist in reality before I die. But for now, I’ll have to do with the gentle hands and warmed instruments, as Dr. Peanut tells me to “scooch down” a little in his creamy-smooth peanut butter voice.

It’s not like I have a crush on him, for God’s sake. He’s a peanut! And he isn’t even real!
But ya know what? I wouldn’t mind keeping company with him in my home. I think he’d be good for me, actually, because ever since my cat Booger passed away a few weeks ago, I seem to be talking more and more to my appliances and that can’t be good. To be honest, it has been suggested to me on more than one occasion by various friends and mental health professionals that perhaps it might be time to replace her. What better substitute for loneliness than a three foot plastic statuette/lamp of this superstar legume! It’s just what the team of doctors ordered! There is no commitment, I don’t have to worry about him dying, and he’s a great listener. Take that, Dr. Thorazine!

 By the way, the peanut is not really a nut; it is actually a bean. So, by rights he should be referred to as Mister Peabean, or since he is French, Monsieur Pois Bean.

Oh I can see it now! A cold, snowy night; the wind howls outside, while the soft strains of the latest John Tesh CD are playing on the Bose Wave radio. There’s a roaring fire in the wood burning stove in the rumpus room of my palatial estate and it’s casting a soft, undulating orange glow all over the room.  I am wrapped  all snugly cozy in my souvenir of Niagara Falls afghan. I don’t care  what’s going on in the world, because I know that all will be right at that moment. And as I glance up toward the bar, there,  just below the zebra skin wall hanging sits Mister Peanut, or as I like to call him, Joey. He’s smiling that silly little smile of his, and he is ever ready to tip his top hat to me. Such a gentleman! No, they just don’t make ‘em like that anymore.

“Joey”, I’d start out softly, “it says here in this article by Janice Wood that antidepressant use has increased over 400 percent in the last twenty years. What makes it even scarier is that 11 percent of us over the age of 12 take them. What’s wrong with us anyway? What are we so depressed about? Joey? Hon? I’m waiting...

You’re awfully quiet tonight, aren’t you? Is everything okay? Rough day at work? Wait; did I do something to upset you? No? Oh good. Well then, you just sit up there and listen, okay?

You know, it just seems to me that something very odd is happening to Americans. We never used to seem depressed in the past, but now... well now I could name you five people in my immediate circle of friends who are on these things. And it really bothers me. What’s that? What do I think the problem is? Aww...You’re so sweet. I love that you want to hear my opinions. Okay, I’ll tell you what I think is going on.

First of all, no one talks to anyone anymore. It used to be that you could walk outside and be in a neighborhood. Everybody knew each other, and for the most part, looked out for each other, being especially watchful over the neighborhood kids. Now, God forbid, if you yell at someone else’s kid for tying your dachshund in knots, the next thing you know, some nut is doing a drive-by past your house, BAM! Well your family can just cancel your newspaper subscription right there and then... or wait until the next day to clip the story out of the paper.

Second, everyone is forced to hold their anger in these days. It used to be, if you got mad at someone, you told them right to THEIR STINKIN’ FACES and BAM! It was over just like that. The next day, everything was fine again. No wonder people are depressed. Holding all that junk inside is like being constipated; it just makes you all grumpy and depressed. Yelling a little once in a while is like Ex-Lax for the soul, right Joey?  I thought you’d agree with that one.     

All these pills! My goodness! It’s like that song from 1969 by Zager and does it go again? Oh yes...”
In the year 3535, ain’t gonna need to tell the truth
Tell no lies
Anything you think, do, or say
Is in the pill that you took to day

“What Mister P, you love my singing? Aww. But you see my point, right? All these drugs change your brain. And they were singing about the year 3535. That’s another 1523 years from now! Imagine what people will be like then? We’ll all have frozen pupils and won’t be able to blink or cry. God I hope I’m not around to see that!

I think that most depression comes from lonlieness, don’t you? I mean, I get sad just thinking about the people in the world that have no one to talk with, or sleep next to, or just love. When you can’t pick up the phone and call the ones you love, boy, that is just enough to drive you so deep that you might never come back, you know, Joey? I’m glad I don’t have that problem.

Oh, you’re getting sleepy and you want me to turn off the lamp in your stomach? Sure.

There ya go. Is that better? Good. You sleep now, and we’ll talk some more in the morning. What’s that? Did the kids call today? No, not today. How long has it been? Let’s see... well, it’s been over ten years now. Yes, I miss them too...more than you can ever imagine... but it is what it is, ya know Joe? People tell me that one day they may reach out to me, but I don’t think so. It’s okay, really, because they are happy and healthy, and that’s really all that matters, isn’t it? Still... hope springs eternal, doesn’t it?

Whew, that just jinked me all up inside. Who knows, maybe I’ll get a call or an email tomorrow.

Anyway, I ‘m all wired from this conversation. I think I’ll just take a sleeping pill and try to rest. Good night, my little nut.”

That’s it. I’m done bitching. Everybody hug, everybody eat! Abbondanza!

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