While folding laundry and other maintenance, Match Game on the tube as a break from music (a break from music?) and to know the sound of other human voices (in this our present quarantined air) that aren’t poo-pundits or other slightly less disdainful personalities, I had a daydream thought: …Who would I be if I HAD to go back in modernesque time...a ways, not really far…but a few decades or so, if I had to be somebody else…this is just a what if…a cartoon………you know.
That got me thinking, there are a hellovalot of excellent choices. Important people. But…
knowing that all of the best efforts of the most benevolent-minded people historically are going to lead to the way things are now…anyways…like a continuous mocking bitch-slap in the faces of all of those who ever saw a better country, a better earth, a better way to be considerate of life in general, enough to take steps or risk life and limb and sanity, …
…and because Match Game was on the tube in the peripherals…
I think it must have been pretty cool to be Gene Rayburn. He seemed to move in festive circles, always witty, always hitting on the pretty girls, well dressed, healthy enough to be elderly and still MCing and hitting on the pretty girls until a ripe old age of 81, (although he was married for 50 years which may or may not have effected the hitting on girls bit, but still, he probably dug every tender inch of his wife, ...maybe had an early tryst or two with that hottie, Brett Somers, or maybe not, but still), probably spent a good bit of time near the sea or some inlet with his boat, boatdrinks and a pinochle deck, affluent and laughin’ it up while pulling in a good maintainable buck (not earned by harming others), …etc., etc.
Hey, ...Dean Martin could be a choice, or… Michael McClure …or my Uncle Al …but, for this diversionary fantasy, Gene Rayburn it is….
**** I wonder who you would choose? (I’m reaching here, I know, both in the query and in the hope that somebody will even reply to messy(mumbles)mcgee, but I’m curious …to say the least --- I can only imagine. And, again, this is purely escapist, not a woeful yearning or anything like that)
