May Day Or Mayday

no-cigar

For the Want of a Cuban Cigar

Although a day late, nonetheless close but with no cigar, May Day in the Northern Hemisphere is a time for celebration and thanksgiving, announcing rebirth and the fruits of springtime, flowers, greenery, warmth, sunshine, merriment, romance and dancing around the maypole.

Speaking of cigars, when is the trade embargo with Cuba going to be repealed? After the president visited Havana, great hope loomed in my direction that a good Cuban cigar would be available at the local smoke shop, instead of requiring my driving to Canada and savoring a few while there. Amazon.com would probably sell them if they were legal.

Cigar aficionados say so succinctly that Central and South American tobaccos surpass Cuba’s blends.

That could be so, but handling a decent, Cuban stogie makes me feel like Ernest Hemingway after a few, too many martinis at his neighborhood bar in an artsy part of Havana, wearing a flowered shirt, fedora hat and sitting at the corner table in a smoke-filled room with his back to the wall and a pen in his other hand, scrawling the next chapter of a killer novel in an unruly, leather-bound notebook.

Aside from pagan origins and ritualistic significance, May Day can be construed as “mayday,” which is an international radio-telephone signal word used as a distress call,  heard usually from a sinking ship at sea or a plane falling from the sky.

The word mayday derived actually from the French term m’aider, a shortened version of  venez m’aider, meaning “come and help me,” coined in London as an easily identifiable emergency call.

The traditional maypole dance is not widely popular in the US. Certain, regional localities observe the festivities. The last time it was done in Philadelphia, people got tied up with the post ribbons and robbed. None of the victims were shouting “Mayday,” however. Perhaps they should have (just joking, of course).

The political landscape presently in the United States is starting to look like a battlefield after days of torrential rain, knee-deep with mud, all the ready for slinging at the enemy.

If I had to be in a war, I’d rather sling mud than artillery, that’s for damn sure; but unfortunately, that’s not how it works in the grand scheme of things.

WW-WordlessWednesday32

The ongoing presidential campaigns are the most outrageous show of tomfoolery ever seen in America. What exciting times we live in. Enjoy them now while we can, because after November, we’re doomed no matter what. I’m joking again, maybe; or should I say, “Mayday”?

Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you (Woo, woo, woo). Heaven holds a place for those who pray (Hey, hey, hey…, hey, hey, hey). That’s taken from “Mrs. Robinson,” a tune by Paul Simon, who also wrote about hitchhiking down the New Jersey Turnpike to look for America.

 

The 2016 Democratic National Convention is being held within hitchhiking distance for me, although I’d rather hop on SEPTA to get there, but no way will I be going. I wasn’t invited.

The Wells Fargo Center in South Philly, our venue for concerts, hockey, the circus and other follies, will so appropriately host the gathering of delegates in late July to pick that party’s presidential candidate.

I’d be willing to bet it will be a wild extravaganza. Will the delegates be tailgating in the parking lot before the daily and nightly events?

That’s all for now. I’d like to think of this week’s journal entry as sort of a Seinfeld episode about really nothing, but nonetheless amusing. Thanks for stopping by to read my nonsense, and as always, for your support.

By the way, as a follow up to last week’s post, I got together with my old pal Rie Waits ; and we did a bitter-sweet cover together that should bring you back to the late ’70s. The tune, written by Neil Diamond primarily, was made into a single by him and Barbara Streisand.

In the first part of our project, I accompanied her vocals with mine and played the instruments.

Part two will feature a video of Rie’s singing and playing the piano part in the key of “G,” directly from Japan, instead of the key of “C,”  as in the embedded version below.

In the upcoming clip, I’ll be accompanying her vocals and piano-playing while fingering the bass from beautiful Andalusia, PA. Please look forward to it. Thanks, again.

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About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at Lulu.com.
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