And That's The Way It Is

Posted By:	The Boneman
Posted On:	Tue Aug 4th, 2009

I think we're on the threshold of an era when just about every day someone famous is going to die. Now that the advent of television (in every home) is 50 years old (give or take) there are plenty of TV celebrities getting awfully long in the tooth. Within days of Michael Jackson two of the most beloved American television personalities have also passed. Men who coined two of the most recognizable catch phrases in history. How about, "Heeeeeeeeeeere's Johnny," that's as big a piece of Americana as there is. And speaking of America, we also lost perhaps the most trusted and honorable man ever to grace our living rooms via television. Walter Cronkite's avuncular trademark "And that's the way it is," calmed the fears of more Americans than any other public figure since FDR.

There's an old axiom among comedians, and comedy writers that goes "Tragedy + Time = Comedy." When the doomed dirigible "the Hindenburg" went down in flames, for example, the news correspondent covering the disaster repeatedly uttered the memorable lament "Oh the humanity." I suppose the requisite amount of time has elapsed, because I hear that line used by everyone from Jimmy Kimmel to Hannah Montana. I actually like Mel Brooks' equation better "Tragedy is when I get a paper cut, Comedy is when you fall down a manhole." Whichever rule applies it's definitely too early to make any jokes about Michael Jackson. His death will remain off limits for all but the most crude and dark-hearted comedians. We'll know when the green light has officially been given when Letterman and Conan (et.al) take off the kid-gloves – so to speak. Sorry, that was an accident. Still, as is the case with most rules of conduct, there are always exceptions. Let's see if I might illustrate. Let's say per chance there happened to be some kind of freak traffic accident involving a couple speeding semis hauling produce. In a deadly turn of circumstance a watermelon is vaulted aloft at a lethal velocity, and fatally strikes an innocent bystander. A little bit funny, but mostly tragic, right? However, should the unfortunate bystander turn out to be, say . . . Gallagher. See then, then the rules fly right out the window. You'd be lucky to find a paramedic who could keep a straight face. I don't even think they'd spot poor old Gallagher a day before the mallets came out swinging. Tragedy + Irony + Fruit = Gallagher + Time = Brokeback Mountain. And that's the way it is.

As far as my dubious brand of humor is concerned, it seems that now that I've made it known that I'm a "straighty," a lot of people seem to be confused or maybe even a little put off by it. I get the feeling that maybe some people figured because I've made a few jokes about the church, and have at times written about my former status as the consummate jack-Mormon, that I was all anti-Mormon or whatever. I guess I can see where someone who'd made that assumption might be a bit disconcerted to learn that I've become a Temple card-carrying Latter Day dude. I guess I always figured humor was just another of God's creations and just because a person might be funny as hell doesn't necessarily mean that's where they're going to end up.

It would certainly give me pause to suppose that anyone imagined me to be in league with the dark side. Obviously the whole "Mormon" thing can be a divisive issue, but however much I might sense that I've somehow let some of my readers down, I'll never apologize for my Mo-ness. It's where the "happy" is. Not that I'm going to lie and claim that I didn't have a lot of fun during my years as a partier. The truth is I had plenty of fun; but no matter how many kicks I might have racked-up, I always knew that the happiness derived from all my carousing, revelry, merry-making and/or whoopee-making was the hollow kind that doesn't leave you with anything any more tangible and worthwhile than a spiritual hangover. I've been a Latter Day all my life, and though I haven't always been too good at it, I've always believed in it.

I won't belabor the point, because it's really pretty simple I think - if you're already a Christian you really only have to believe "one" thing and then everything else is subsumed and falls into place beneath it like dominoes of logic. "One thing." We'll call it the "Boneman challenge." It'll take you maybe 5 to 10 minutes tops - and if you still don't believe, then at least you'll have yourself a good reason not to. Here's the challenge: Next time you get a moment or two to yourself, (a little down time maybe wait until you're feeling a little introspective). Get down on your knees, and with an open mind and sincere heart ask the Lord if it's all for real. Go for it, why not? If you think it's a bunch of baloney, ask the big Guy. Ask him in earnest prayer if Joseph Smith was on the level? Was he a modern day prophet chosen to translate the book of Mormon? Were there really gold plates as he claimed containing the ancient records of lost civilizations? Ask. Did Joseph in fact restore Christ's true Priesthood, Church and Gospel to the earth - or was it all just the clever sham of a charlatan? You've got nothing to lose and what you do with the answer is up to you. And if you're thinking that you're too far off the tracks to ever right the train and get it chugging back uphill, just remember I managed to pull it off. And there was a day when I'd not only run off the tracks, but I wasn't even in the train anymore. I think I'd wandered off looking for another party and was lost somewhere in the Blair Woods when I finally saw the light.

Speaking of getting off the tracks - I really didn't mean to turn this into a Fireside, I started off merely intending to make the point that I'm pretty much the same old Bone I've always been (minus the party favors and most of the colorful lingo). I did lose my Christ-like hair-do, but it wasn't at the behest of the Church or anything, I just started to look too much like that evil wizard Saron from Lord of the Rings. Not a good look for a father. It was getting to the point where my children refused to be seen with me. It's weird though, even with most of the hair sheared, I certainly don't look like I belong on a ten speed with a companion. I don't exactly know what it is about the way I look, but I do have sort of a shady if not downright sinister look about me. I guess it's the devil-y looking Van Dyke beard I wear. I'd love to be able to shave it off, but sadly I was born without a chin and once I discovered that I could grow a beard into the shape of one - forgetaboutit - I never looked back. Then when you throw in the dark sidestripes (which create the illusion of a jaw line) Bada Bing. I'm grateful for the good fortune of a good faux-chin, even if I do look like I might be violating parole.

All of which makes for some amusing little mix ups when I bump into old pals who have no idea that I'm among the meek and pure. Not long ago I was at a wedding attended by many of my cousins (several of which are close friends who regard me as the "life of the party" and always come prepared to go long and hard into the night). My cousin Cody - whom happens to be the salt of the earth, as well as a very rich and successful contractor - pulled me aside and gave me the old wink n' nod. Accompanied by coded information which, a few years ago, I would have jotted down or committed to memory. "Room 166, don't need to bring anything but as much money as you care to lose." Which translated means "Get your nasty backside over to the Holiday Inn room 166 ASAP. Limitless amounts of beer are on ice - YES including plenty of your beloved Miller Lite Tallboys." (Among men, this is an unmistakable gesture of love). And should I lose a sawbuck playing Texas Hold ‘em Que Sera Sera. We do it for the laughs and the bonds of family. All of which made my explanation all the more painful. I really didn't know what to say, I swear it was about like having to tell your wife you'd decided to become gay. So I just kind of blurted it out straight, "dude, I just got ordained an Elder and a few days ago I got my temple recommend." I guess he mistook my quick matter-of-fact reply for my trusty old dead-pan delivery because he started laughing so hard I thought he was going to soil somebody. He'd never heard anything so hilarious in his life. Hmm. When he finally recovered from his hysterics I tell ya - I barely had the heart to explain to him that it hadn't been a joke and that I wouldn't be coming to the motel room.

I guess it'd be about like if Barack Obama had an old college buddy who just snapped out of a 20 year coma and the Prez just happened to be close enough to pop up for a visit. "Lookee here, will you lookee here - Barack O-Bong-a – Old B.O. – in the flesh - you a sight for sore eyes – my brotha. Look atchoo - you look like you just got yourself dry-cleaned – I take it you aint playin' percussion for ‘Visine Vinnie and Skunkadelic' no more – level with a brotha - whatchoo been up to dawg? This dude would laugh even longer than my cousin. "President of the United States – you still got it B.O." Easy on a brotha though, you liable to put me right back in ‘at coma. President Obonga – that is rich. Let me guess, ‘Urkel' is Secretary of State?"

Just like Saul - who pulled such an abrupt about face on the way to Damascus – it takes a while for people to get used to a reformed sinner. And of all those who have doubted the sincerity of my new and improved sin-free self, I'd say the one that hurts the most is my Mom. I think she'd been so resigned to the old adage "2 out of 3 aint bad" (my brother and sister will certainly "be in that number when the Saints go marching in") that she can't wrap her mind around a trifecta. Three for three – must strike her as a little too good to be true. Even after I got my temple recommend she still comes around sniffing my drinks and poking around the kitchen looking for Blue's clues. True, there was a time years back when she might have caught wind of a little Vitamin B, but how long you gotta be dry before ya catch a pass? Sometimes I feel like saying, "Mom – it's milk. Y'see these, we call these cookies?" She be all "I was just making sure it wasn't sour." Even over the phone, when we're just having a catch-up chat I can tell that most of her attention is not on the conversation but on tell-tale background noises. The pop and fizz of a beverage can being opened, I don't know what-all else. About a week ago she called and I was in the kitchen and my dryer buzzed – which it does when the load is dry enough. Sure enough, Mom was like, "what was that noise?" I guess that was the camel straw because I heard myself snap. Right away I started playing like I'd been caught with my pants down. "What noise, I didn't hear anything? Maybe it's your phone running low probably." Of course this just fed her Motherly curiosity and so I played it to the hilt, going from furtive to guilt-ridden to desperate by degree as she followed the cheese through my maze certain that she was onto my deepest, darkest secret. After an Oscar-worthy lead-in I finally crack: "you wanna know what the buzz was, if it'll make you happy to humiliate me – fine. You know my webmaster, Wiz-kid Wilson? Right, right - anyway he hooked me up with this new techno gizmo thingy - called a love-bot, it's um, y'know a . . . simulator module. It's pretty realistic." At this point I didn't know if I'd fished her in, but she asked if my wife knew about it so I kept going. "Of course she doesn't know. Y'know, y'know that's just it. She comes off like Mother Theresa, but Mom she's mean as a snake, I'm tellin' ya. Why do you think I have to turn to a machine for affection? She's all but emasculated me. You know how some wives like to give a nickname to their husbands' y'know – business. Gunther, Big Mac, whatever? Guess what she calls mine, ma – "Wee Willy Winky." Not a real confidence builder y'know what I'm sayin'. But I wanna be a good sport, right – put the best paint job on it - so I tell her she should give it a rap name right. I figure I gotta get a better shake right - Big Mistake – Now sometimes she calls it ‘Li'l Nappy D.' I don't know what it means Mom, but it doesn't exactly sound flattering" -(About this time the dryer buzzes again) "Listen Mom, it makes that noise when it's been through it's pentium protocol – basically she's booted up – ready to rock and roll - let me call you back alright." – Click. Forgive me.