For as far back as I can remember I’ve always quite thoroughly enjoyed only warm weather. There’s most certainly something quite exceptionally enchanting about the early days of autumn too though, with all the colorful changes in temperature and the colors of the leaves. Even autumn, though, especially Thanksgiving in North Tonawanda, New York, can be pure torture if it’s cold. Unfortunately I honestly believe that I have quite an extremely nasty time coping with cold weather, especially when there’s precipitation along with it. Throughout my lifetime I’ve always lived in either Queens, Long Island or northeastern Pennsylvania. In each of these places winter is quite notorious for being nightmarishly long and bitter cold with a significant amount of rain, ice and snow. Especially when all that endless weather trouble is combined with an early sunset, it drives me inevitably to extreme frustration. Because of my always having been such a bookworm, and a literature major, I tend spontaneously to see things in terms of symbolism. All that cold, dampness and darkness invariably remind me of unbearable desperation and desolation. It’s the perfect symbol of pain, unhappiness and evil in general. The dreary appearance and mood, combined with horrible road and traffic conditions, and the lack of foliage on deciduous plants, always get me frustrated and resentful. As I’ve quite frequently said before, by the time March gets here, I simply can’t even try to wait any longer for nice weather. I’ve often referred to my nasty reaction to March’s tendency to hold back on the warmth and other nice weather conditions that are supposed to accompany the arrival of spring. That’s a lot like what life in general is like. Evil and pain never like to let go. Bad habits have a nasty tendency to remain. In the vocabulary of philosophy, the concept of time is divided into time and duration. Objective time is always the same but the way people react to it in a subjective sense, its duration, is what varies. March always takes the same relatively short length of time each year, the same as many other months, but its association with spring’s nice warm weather
, combined with its tendency to keep on torturing and tormenting us with bitter cold and precipitation, always drags me down. It appears absolutely never to end. Besides all the increased risk to people’s physical health and safety it’s an unbearable strain on the emotions and nerves too.
The only thing I can remember having specifically said, when I was a kid, that I wanted to wanted to be when I grew up, was a priest. There were all sorts of other things I was interested in during those days. There may have been other things that came up, that I expressed an interest in doing, but I’ve appeared to have plum forgotten them all. Back in the 1990’s I got a chance to see if I should become a diocesan priest or a professed religious but I didn’t end up becoming one. I was always quite a very studious intelligent young fellow so I knew there was most certainly no problem with intellectual aptitude or conscientiousness. Not everyone is cut out for life in that world. The people in charge have to be extra exceptionally careful whom they accept. There are all kinds of psychological and emotional requirements that must come into play. Especially because of all the trouble with the liberals’ attempt to discredit and to destroy irrevocably the Church, and the scandals they’ve been exploiting, everyone has to be wary of any kind of trouble that may ensue if a diocese or religious community were to accept the wrong man for that kind of vocation.
There are very many things I should hope no one, even a Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter, ever so much as dares to ask me. If she insists on asking anyway, though, here are three that will most certainly not lead to the kinds of answers that will make me terribly popular:
1.) Don’t even so much as think about asking about abortion. Now that we’ve gotten to the point that the liberals have convinced us that for a mother to torture her little children to death is entirely within her absolute rights, and that at the same time to be a liberal is to be the ultimate peacenik, I can’t even so much as presume to begin to tell you how sick that is.
2.) Don’t even think of asking about homosexuality. It’s no big secret, available only to the college educated, that homosexual conduct is at its most prevalent in insanely narcissistic cultures. It’s not permissible and I’m not going to change my mind, nor am I going to tell you what you want to hear.
3.) Don’t even think of asking about racism. The Nazis and Klan, Jim Crow and slavery are all gone. We are now in the era of it’s-not-what-he-said-it’s-how-he-said-it accusations of supposed crypto-racism. People who always cry racism at the slightest provocation appear never to have heard the story of the boy who cried wolf. Liberals try to keep accusing people like me of racism because it foments fear and resentment. A major part of the entire point of the liberal mentality in the first place is to keep people constantly afraid and resentful of each other.
If I should have ever had the ability to be only one part man and two parts something else, I should have wanted to be two parts coffee. Just think of all the exceptionally interesting possibilities of such a lovely arrangement. It’s always been quite a very favorite thing of mine anyway. For one thing everyone so thoroughly enjoys its aroma that I could save quite an exceptionally large sum of money that would otherwise have been squandered on deodorant, toothpaste, soap and cologne. People could ask : “Hey what smells so nice?” and then realize that : “Hey it’s good old Coffee Larry!”. Up until now one of my most significant nicknames has always been B.L.T. If I were part coffee people could call be B.L.T. and coffee. That might provoke quite an awful lot of confusion at restaurants though. A waitress would walk over to someone’s table and ask him innocently: “Sir, would you like our specialty today, a B.L.T. with coffee?” and there would be lots of hurt feelings if I couldn’t show up.
In order to be as fair as possible, I should very much like to have a switch built into me so that I could change over from regular to decaffeinated in case I’m ever in the company of someone who doesn’t get to sleep very much. Everyone knows what a big problem that is. Lately I’ve been going to the Coffee Nut Cafe a lot so maybe I could take advantage of some ideas I’ve gotten from them. I could have all different kinds of flavors and serving sizes. I could have a switch for flavors from places like Italy, Costa Rica, Ireland, Peru and even Queens. People would gasp upon tasting it an exclaim: “O Wow!! This Queens flavor is something else!! It makes me feel as if I’m right over in Jackson Heights!!” A lot of people enjoy their coffee black but a lot of people like milk or some other flavoring. I’d be happy to provide all sorts of things like that. I’d be determined to have all sorts of whipped cream,cappuccino chocolate and anything else that could keep things as interesting as possible. It would even be a good idea to pack a supply of Jameson’s, anise and other alcoholic drinks in case anyone might enjoy some Irish coffee, espresso or anything else with a bit of a kick. It’s too bad I can’t be coffee. I’d truly be welcome everywhere.
Were I ever to take a walk down Lincoln Boulevard one day and to stumble upon something very valuable on the beach, I should probably try to do something in order to find its legitimate owner. At first, knowing me, I should most probably be so desperately tempted to keep it without telling anyone. My imagination would wander around in many different directions. If I found either an exceptionally large sum of money, a significantly expensive piece of jewelry, or some other major thing, I’d go quite a bit overboard with all sorts of mixed emotions. Imagine all the bills that could be paid. If it’s an extremely significant sum there would be enough left over to be quite self indulgent too. I could splurge on a lot of luxuries. Who could possibly be expected to pass up such a nice deal? It would take me quite a terribly long time to make the final irrevocable decision to do the entirely honorable thing. Of course if it’s cash, or merchandise without any serial number or other identifying marks, as far as I know it would be entirely fair to assume that no one could prove ownership anyway. Unfortunately, though, there’s also quite a seriously intense part of me that eventually would have to end up reporting it to the policemen over at the local precinct. It’s always so very much better to do the right thing than to take a chance by doing something that might sooner or later backfire and do more harm than good anyway. If after the official waiting period has expired, it still hasn’t been claimed, I should then be quite willing to keep it. Then I could be so very happy without having to be bothered with all those nasty obnoxious voices, in my head, constantly whining at me.
A few years ago my cousins Gary and Mark, and I, were talking one day. I presumed to attempt to make a contribution to a certain topic of conversation, when Mark claimed that because I’m a theology and philosophy major-I’m not. I majored in literature- he wondered how could I possibly have had any idea of what I was talking about. A while after that I got into a debate with one of Mary Anne’s three kids, my nephew Michael. When I provided a rebuttal for something he said, he complained that it sounded as if it were something I’d mooched from a philosophy lecture and that for as far back as he could remember my approach to life has always boiled down, as far as he could recognize, to philosophy, theology and the Beatles.
Ever since my middle twenties I’ve always been quite smitten with theology and philosophy. Unlike other academic disciplines, as far as I’m concerned, those are the only two that an individual can, by necessity, count on having a need for over the course of his entire everyday life outside the classroom, one hundred per cent of the time. They’re all about human nature. The Beatles have been my very favorites literally throughout my entire lifetime. Their decade, the infamous legendary 1960’s, provide my sense of style and imagery. I’ve always always had quite an exceptionally intense sense of humor, and a hyperactive imagination, that can be referred to as a bit on the lopsided side. If my last name were ever to be used as an eponymous adjective, it would refer to a world where the things that must be taken very seriously would always undeniably be understood from an entirely conservative point of view. I very long ago recognized that liberalism is the custodian of all things evil and destructive. The left, in both secular and religious sources, dating back to the days of the Old Testament as well as Virgil and Homer, has always been associated with the forces of evil. Of course, in order to add an unavoidably necessary touch of levity to things, that would have to be combined with all my hippie flower power imagery and quite a nice wholesome dose of silliness. My lifelong infatuation with the past is most certainly not restricted to the 1960’s. Life in my world could send someone to places ranging from Regency England to ancient Macedonia.
To refer to something as Trasciatti.esque would be to evoke a world that somehow combines the intellectual and serious with the silly and lopsided, a world where everyone can be pretty much counted upon to behave reasonably well, but in which everything ends in suffixes ranging from -in to -agogo.
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