What a difference 3 years makes! When I originally posted this piece (back in 2007) Michael Jackson was alive, Paula Abdul was a judge on American Idol (and Simon wasn’t leaving), Barry Bonds was relevant … and Barack Obama was a relatively unknown brown man with peculiar ears running for President. Anyway, I’ve corrected some of the broken links and left the outdated, but active, ones in.
Imagine my surprise when, upon the opening of the door, I realized I was at the home of the notorious Simon Cowell. (You know, the brutally-honest-bad-boy of American Idol fame?) Anyway, he said: “Come on in …”
I’m pretty sure it was a dream, but —
… and as soon as I started crossing the threshold, he critiqued the way I walked, the look of my shoes, and even asked if, being from North Carolina, I was inbred.
“No sir,” I replied, “but I am a little flat footed and, thanks to a bit of scoliosis …”
“Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!” he interjected. “You are not auditioning! You’re here, I presume, to bless my abode: Show me what you got.”
“Okay, where should we start?” I asked. “On the kitchen table?”
Simon: “That would be fine.”
Lo and behold, Randy Jackson was in there eating a big ol’ turkey with both hands.
“Goodness, Randy!” Simon said. “Would you like a shovel?”
Randy saw me and said something like: “Wab bub dug?” (Which translates, of course — minus the bird — to “How are YOU doing?”)
I nodded, sat my priest’s “doc kit” down on the table, and began setting things up for the house blessing. Simon, in a fit of rage, with one swift motion of his $480 t-shirt clad arm, swept all the food off the table and sat beside Randy. I couldn’t help but think that all they needed was Paula Abdul and … as all dreams invariably do … there she was! (Oops! I mean, HERE she is.) She was already crying. She said house blessings always got to her. Anyway …
Mr Potato Head George Bush — whoops! (dream, remember?) — George Bush walked in and sat down at the table with them. I surmised he was the guest judge. That’s when it really got weird … I guess I thought of Hillary Clinton when in walked none other than Mr Potato Head Barack Obama …
” … I guarantee … you try my vacuum cleaner for 14 days …”
“Scuze me,” said Randy, “had sump’m stuck in my th’oat.”
“What are you going to do for us today?” asked Simon.
“Well,” I said, “the House Blessing begins with the Trisagion, ending with the Our Father.”
“Mister, can you spare a pence?”
FrJ: “Oh … well … I was going to use ‘trespasses’ …
Simon: “Very well then: Trespassers!”
“Was the Earth really created in only six days?”
Sue-Sue-Sue de ooo! SUE SUE SUE DEE OHH, OHOOOO!
FrJ: “What the …?”
Simon: “Phil Collins …. You know, Genesis.”
Any way, dear and patient reader, we finally got around to blessing the house. It was a pretty big spread and I could have done without Paula’s imitation of Barbara Eden. (Whoops! Here ya go.) Randy had to take a few breaks, stopping at the Starbucks and McDonald’s — which were, bizarre enough, all found in Simon’s bathroom.
Yet, it was during the singing of “God grant you many years” that things got really weird.
Simon interrupted me, saying: “You hit me with water. I think that rather rude and totally uncalled for.”
Paula started crying cuz her make-up was now running …
And Randy (you know how dreams are) had morphed into a familiar version of another Jackson.
Okay, so maybe 5 pieces of cheesecake, 7 cups of coffee, in addition to three full meals and bits of baklava, chocolates, etc, throughout the day plays havoc on the noggin? Maybe it’s just Pop Culture in general — or the fact that I [was] reading James Joyce at [that] moment …
House Blessings. 8 or so down; 70 more to go. Goodnight.