Edinburgh, Friday the 13th, Maggie the Pig


Ian among the scottish
Ian among the scottish dead.

Greetings, fellow agents. Yesterday was Friday the 13th all over the world, except for Greece, where it was Friday the 10th. Tomorrow is Greek Friday the 13th, except that makes it Sunday. Damn Gregorian calendar! As usual, the Greek custom on Friday the 13th is to get in your car and drive as fast as possible, being sure that you shout constantly and forget to shave, especially females. Wait a mo’, that’s what they do every day here!

As you may gather from that introduction, I am in Greece now. I have been here for a while, having returned from Edinburgh where my wife Athena particpated in the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. I could report on the goings on there, except I spent the whole 2 weeks carting my 2 year old son Ian around. It was a pleasure. Many days we could be found in a cemetery where the little tyke played on the picturesque headstones, kicked over by picturesque scottish lager louts. I told him, in fatherly Addams Family style that we were amongst the dead. “Deh…” he solemnly repeated. “Now play, my son!” I urged him, and so he did. Then it was off to the local petting zoo, Gorgie Farm, where he made the acquaintance of Maggie, an enormous “Stone-age pig” the size of a small car, aptly named after the former Prime Minister Ms. T. “Pee-K” he would say, and I would reward him by giving him a day off from his scripture lessons and having him translate only one page of Latin. After a great deal of strolling around in his enormous (and HEAVY) stroller, it was off to the lawn of St. Mary’s Cathedral where we would peruse the many pictures of “Jeezy” which I assured him was the name of that renowned Israeli beatnik water skier. Then we would retire to the enormous lawn of that cathedral, which he had decided was an appropriate place for infant defecation. “Good boy” I would say. And then I would photograph his donation to the Scottish ecosystem. How smart he looked in his new infant leash, one manacle on his wrist and one on his father’s. He laughed, knowing that he was leading.

Ah, youth! As Oscar Meyer said, it is wasted on the young. They are too damned stupid and broke to take advantage of it. Of course, by the time they get their hands on some money, they are too old to enjoy it. And the cycle starts again. Yet, I don’t regret a single day of my life. Well, maybe one. All right, a lot of them. Most of them, in fact. But that’s water under the hedge, so don’t go counting your chickens before you eat your cake. There’ll be time enough for countin’ when the dealin’s done.

Before I get carried away (they are here to repossess my knees) I should tell you about a couple of the events coming up for uncle Guido here at Harpoon Investigations. (Me, in case I grow too cryptic). First, I return to Italy where we will perform the ever-popular “Isaia l’Irreducibile” September 22 a Roma and September 24 and 25 in Napoli. Then I return to Athens. On November 8 and 9, my friend Coti K. and I will perform “Uneasy Listening” at the newly-refurbished AN Club in Exarchia. Uneasy Listening is a bit of what I call ‘surreal cabaret’ in which we do gibe and gambol in the wave (sic) using many found objects, coti’s adroit manipulation of his many fine musical computing devices and my ham handed readings of computer-generated and guido-generated texts. I am also hammering away at multi-media this time. I intend to bring a bit of the old Mundoblaineo style into the light of day.

If all goes well, I shall webcast this extravagance. I intend to stream forth with live video and audio, live chat with Uncle Blaine from the stage, and some kind of free something or other for members of this list. I don’t know what yet, but it’s gonna be BIG, ladies and germs, bigger than anything in this paragraph.

That said, I conclude with a couple of little stories I have gleaned from the web, working on an idea called “100 new ways to die” which I will turn into a song, or at least a JPEG file.

yours in turpitude