CRISPY MEDITATIONS ON THE SABBATH HOW I SPENT THE SABBATH, BUT JUST THIS ONE (images by Crispy Jr.)

Watching a crocodile trainer tapping a crocodile’s snout in a rhythmic pattern again and again. This was some sort of crocodile message, and the crocodile gave the trainer a knowing look, a kind of crocodily wink, and then, BINGO! chomped down and took the whole damn thing, I mean the arm, and changed the life of his trainer for pretty much ever. I think that the crocodile was experiencing that ‘basta’ feeling which is sort of ‘enough is enough’ and decided to mix things up a bit. I watched it two or three times just to make sure that the crocodile had actually done what I thought he did. Yep, he did. And then, somewhat surprisingly, he sort of flung the arm out into the audience. It seemed like an unnecessary flourish. Meanwhile, the trainer was screaming like a baby, real drama queen stuff, and saying ‘Please God’ or ‘Help me Lord Jesus’ or something. This bothered me, a lot, really, but I didn’t know why. So I watched the crocodile having his snout tapped and then the basta part and then the chomp and then the fling into the audience part ten or twelve times until I finally realized what bothered me so much.

My friends tell me that you can’t always play the victim. And that you can’t control what people, or things, do to you: you can only control how you react to what they do. And this trainer was nothing if not a person who really restricted by his victim-type lifestyle. He chose to live in that moment, and not move on, at least for as long as that movie lasted. I forget exactly how long that was, but it did seem to go on for a while. I do hope, for his own sake, that he has learned to move on since then. Because even though there aren’t that many crocodiles out there with your arms in their jaws of steel, crocodiles are really no different from people: everyone hates to have their noses tapped. And nobody likes a cry baby. And it seems like everyday one of my friends is biting somebody for something they did, sometimes on the arm but oftentimes in places even worse, and I personally think that they are right to do so. But when this happens, I think the best thing to do is move on. I know that, even as I watched that arm flying in the air, even before it touched down, I was no longer thinking about the pain or the loss or disability or anything else. “Think of it not as a problem,” my friends say, “but an opportunity.” Now you can wear a trench coat, like Pepe Le Moko, and smoke a cigarette. One sleeve remains tucked in, mysterious and continental. Now you can blow a kiss, in the French manner, and wave to your friends, all with the same hand. Now you can pray, in a new way, but in a funny way, a way that will make your friends laugh and remember the good times. Your enemies, too. But your prayers will take care of them. And your friends will smile and say thank you. You can still speak French, if you happen to know it already. And so can your enemies, right back at you.


all artwork, except likenesses of Lyndon B. Johnson, by Crispy Flotilla ® 2006