Be Sure and Catch the Matinée

As a young man I had multiple people with kind and good intentions advise me to “Get out of my shell.”  This needed advice never seemed to include how precisely it was to be done. At that stage in my life I was drawn to undercover fictional types--people who did not wear their assets on their sleeves. Miss Marple was a favorite.  Arrogant criminals would come to regret their facile dismissal of a “delicate and elderly little old village lady.”  I mentioned the other day that as surely as Lincoln freed the blacks, the blacks freed  me—this applies especially to those I now know and have known personally.  

But let’s face it, at a certain “young and restless” age we guys want to at least in our own minds fancy that we exude our share of testosterone radioactivity, a hint of dangerous risk taking, and--despite all this--a brash but sweet dose of empathy.  A man’s-man quarterback when I was as youth was Joe Namath. In advertisements he sold men’s aftershave--for men who wanted to be more like (closer to) him.  In other words guys, no-nonsense marketing statisticians understand that males can have the hots for males--at least subliminally we have to admit that football tights make one hell of a statement as we lesser guys sit shoulder to shoulder (and a little too pudgy) in our man-cave.  It is my speculation that due to the importance of mirroring in character maintenance and development, nature adds a touch of virtual hormonal sealant to ensure a memorable piggy-back transference of more abstract but vital ideation.  

If you’ve visited a number of my blogs, you understand my male idol is/was Eddie Murphy.  I find his creative comic riffs masterful, his exorbitant passions solidly fixed upon mutual love of caring people, and his roles in the movies I’ve seen (a thousand times) profoundly ethical in totally non-priggish ways.

Carl Jordan, who gave me the “Little Joke” schematic made sure I saw three films with him while I sat in an adjacent theater seat--Jesus of Nazareth, Beverly Hills Cop I, and The Golden Child. 

I wish to address here The Golden Child--a movie planted within my ken well before its time of usefulness to me.  When originally seeing it with Carl, I didn't like it at all--and I’m sure he knew I wouldn’t because of soupy and cloying incense scenes. (I read where Murphy considered it "shitty" but not as to abundant box office revenue.)  But today I find the movie and its lessons remarkably relevant.  If God helps fully ignite my run for the presidency, then while doing interviews I’m to focus on the Main Thing--individuals hurting in America--and to not be complicit in Ego Spit-Shine salons of self-involved public pretty boy chatter-boxes.


Further, I am to understand a few rules are made to be broken.  Most certainly Americans will have nothing of a Twilight Zone robotic president however deific because that precludes essential human community--a golden characteristic of America culture. God will intentionally induce uncertainty by the way of tests--that is, I am to understand some rules are made to be broken and that only a heart of authentic love will recognize which ones.  The example that comes to mind is God’s command that Abraham slay his son on an altar of sacrifice.  It is my contention that though Abraham raised the knife above his son, there is no way that Abraham could have gone further and thrust the knife into the vital engine of his life.  As mentioned in a previous blog, if God chose to command each and every one of us to lobotomize our children before serving ham and eggs tomorrow morning; only those dry shells of a parent with no knowledge whatever of love would do so. So though your President is chosen to help end cruel suffering in the land, he of necessity can never glide through on autopilot because the America people are the Real Deal and form a jury not to be fooled by hipster hype.  







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