The Best Revenge

Confession: About a year after my wife died, I said, “God, please send me a world-weary lounge singer — a sexy chanteuse — with a smoky voice and nothing to lose.”

He sent me Bittner. Am I lucky or what?

Speaking of love, I came across an old Barry Alan Pinkus TV special the other night, the singer still young…some 40 facelifts ago. You probably know him better as Barry Manilow. 

Obviously, the guy can pen a torch song. His best hits are world-weary, heartbreaking, melodramatic, needy. 

I like that in a song!!!

Speaking of music, my buddy Doug calls me the other night. He’d dusted off his old turntable, purchased an amp and was drinking wine and listening to old vinyl, the delicious snap, crackle and hiss of it, prompting the surprise phone call from 2,000 miles away. 

FYI, the longer the distance, the better the phone call.

Anyway, Doug tells me he is really enjoying the old Chicago albums on the turntable. As you probably know, old vinyl has a richness to it that is almost lurid.

Me, I like a little lurid. In moderation, of course. 

You know, sometimes life comes down to “achieving grace in the face of trauma,” in the words of writer Colum McCann. 

Sometimes life is just about getting out of bed in the morning. One cold step, then another, on the way to the coffee maker, which is my daily defibrillator.

Clear! Jolt-jolt-jolt! He’s alive!

Well, mostly.

Colum McCann also said: “I think the real bravery comes with those who … look at the world in all its grime and torment, and still find something of value, no matter how small.”

Look, sometimes life is about lining up the mundane stuff we all face — taxes, moving, jury duty — knocking them out one after the other, like bowling pins, proving to yourself that you can knock things out, even when your level of disinterest is only slightly less than your sense of obligation.

Sometimes life is jelly beans.

Sometimes life is avocado toast, crispy on the bottom, soft on top.

Sometimes life is that burrito you drive all the way across town for, so fat and wonderful. 

Treat yourself, OK? To be honest, you seem a little tired. Should I send God over? Or maybe Bittner? Or even Searles?

My pal Steve Searles tells me that the Paiutes insist that tribal members pray for themselves before they pray for others. Why? Because you can’t help someone else till you have yourself in order.

Sometimes life is about amusing others in order to amuse yourself. 

I firmly believe that when you help others, you are helping yourself.

This is the best excuse I know for charity, generosity, fellowship, laughter, song, long-distance phone calls.

Making others laugh helps the heart. Best cardiologist I ever knew? My son, Dr. Smartacus, who continues to lighten my heart as only sons can.

He’s like a human bypass, this kid.

See, I’m Irish by blood, Yiddish by temperament. 

So, basically, I’m double-doomed. I whistle past funeral homes, I sing past cemeteries. I’m prone to optimism, even denial, which is a helluva way to go through life, trust me.

I’m also hobbled by the deep belief that laughter is the best medicine — no prescription necessary. You can take it on an empty stomach, with alcohol. You can’t overdose on laughter. You can only have too little.

Guy goes into a bar. “Barkeep, gimme 12 beers,” he says. 

Bartender opens 12 bottles and places them on the bar. The customer proceeds to pound down the beers one after the other, boom-boom-boom-boom.…

The bartender says, “Why the rush?”

Customer says, “You had what I have, you’d drink like this too.”

Bartender says, “Sorry. What do you have?”

“Twelve cents,” says the customer.

Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom….

When it comes to life, subtext is everything. Character counts. Humor is the secret sauce.

Comedy is the dapper bank president walking to work, pausing to step gingerly over the rain puddle in his expensive shoes, then plunging down an open manhole.

Meanwhile, what do you call a camel with three humps? 

Pregnant.

Thank you. I’ll be here all week. 

Coming Saturday: Why none of my heroes wear neckties.

One last plea for the Erskine Family Compassion Fund, which honors my late wife and son. The donations help struggling families across Los Angeles, providing everything from blankets to financial support. Any amount helps. Click here to donate.  If you prefer to send a check, please make it out to LCPC Parent Ed, and send to LCPC Parent Ed, 626 Foothill Boulevard, La Canada, CA 91011. Thank you in advance. If you have any problems with the donation site, please email me at letters@ChrisErskineLA.com