The Adventures of Coolie Coolstein: Episode 23
Birthdays. Some people decide not to work. Why? Because they were born. Isn’t that true every day. Well, somebody is having a birthday today. He (okay this is not an obscurely gendered being) is very close to our favorite coolienta, almost one with him. And on this day, he is grateful. For many things: that he is alive (as opposed to dead) for one big thing; that he now has a shop, that is up and running – not running exactly, more like: yo baby, I’m taking my time but I’m here.
On the way over, the birthday boy stopped in to hear the Grateful Dead. Yes, they are still singing. Are they still alive? That’s in question. A word was being passed among the audience, row by row: beginning in a slurred whisper and ending in an articulated shout: LOXEN, LOXEN.
It was originally a hybrid (there I go again) of lox and oxen. Of course, this would come up in conversation frequently. But, as things happen in the ever so precious real world, words are imbued with other meanings. “Loxen” was now the shorthand chant of the new druggies – those brave few who were staking out the turf which had been plowed under in the dreary nineties and had a housing development built on it in the aught’s (I’ve never know what to call those years).
A big breath of cleansing wind was delivered by Commentatress, who was always a ready supplier of hot air, and this particular slice of Gaia became a magnetic force for all those who wanted to tweak their reality. It quickly got too messy (the drug-filled masses are not known for tidying up) and before you knew it, there was Sylvie with a dust-buster. Just what everyone needed.
Let’s take a pause here and ask a pressing question:
I saw a woman pushing a baby carriage with dog inside. Does that mean the dog is disabled or the “owner” thinks it’s a baby? Could be both.
Let’s take another pause so I can share some things I overheard:
(Twenty-something woman talking to her similarly aged friend). “Not in my backyard! You think if I were to some day marry some unknown person, I’m gonna get married in a fucking tent in the backyard? No fucking way.”
(This is me overhearing myself, talking to my constant partner. Re: ad in Playbill for a cruise with various prominent celebs.} “Well, it’s a big deal if you’re a starfucker.”
But seriously, aren’t we all a little?
And that brings me round to Coolie. He has unwittingly become a star of sorts. So, he’s taken to selling tee shirts in his shop that say: “Who is Coolie Coolstein?” $45 each.
(If you want one, just ask.)