By W.T. WIMPY HIROTO
Let’s talk. You know the drill by now. I expound, you listen in awe. I exhale several jewels of import, you inhale. Then you are free to go about your merry way before I ask for your rapt attention again next Wednesday. And if your patience is frayed every now and again, t’ain’t my fault, friend, it’s the monkey on the keyboard who didn’t cooperate.
And if perchance you sometimes wonder why I persist, these mental exercises are to keep an even keel: Sanity/health/outlook; a measure of worth. You know, the answer to the ultimate question: What the hey am I hanging around for?
It’s a short Gold Line ego trip from me to you. Sometimes a local trek, other times an express jaunt. And often these days a sentimental journey. An explanation is not necessary or required. Although CR2S is often *chastened when going off on a tangent and failing to give you an oar to row away with (*WOW=wordofweek: means “limited, subdued.”) Maybe it’s akin to OJ bewailing his innocence; someone just might believe.
As is my wont these days, I sit at my computer listening to music, waiting for an epiphany to inspire: An oldie “Three Little Fishes” brings to mind the recent release of the “Manzanar Fishing Club” documentary, which unfortunately I haven’t seen; “These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)” has promise, as romantic interlude, but sentimentality will have to wait for another time. And now comes “Don’t Fence Me In,” an apt post-Poston requiem; worth another reprise? Since I don’t have time to wait for Paul Anka’s “My Way,” let’s see where we can go before June begins bustin’ out all over …
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Appropriately enough on Memorial Day, I was reminded that everyone in our Poston gang (nee: softball team) served in the military after camp; being too young for WWII combat, we either volunteered or were drafted. I’ll bet this is true of almost every draft-eligible Nisei of the mid-’40s and Korea’s police action unfortunates. With less than 1% of today’s population serving an all-volunteer armed forces, it’s awfully easy to be patriotic.
The poor guy who spent five years in prison for a teenage rape he didn’t commit is seeking a mere $100 for every day of five years behind bars; “mere” in view of multi-million-dollar settlements commonplace today (the accuser received $1.5 million that is gone). In comparison we got $20 per diem for camp incarceration. And an apology.
CR2S doesn’t have much (good) to say about alma [SC] patter these days. But was pleased with the recent recognition of Dr. Kenji Sayama by UC Berkeley administration. On the other hand, why is it Niseidom is joined at the hip in automatic chagrin whenever “one of us” commits a crime? Or has an Oriental face or name?
Having deserted the Lakers some six years ago, their early playoff ouster had no bearing on CR2S’s well-being or television enjoyment, except to take pleasure in their disarray. But as do the suffering minions, I wonder what the team would have accomplished with CP3? OMG! I would have named my next son Yokohama (a stretch either way!) if that had happened … As far as the LA Dodgers of Albuquerque are concerned, check with me in July … When it comes to the Kings, I confess having a problem following the puck … and with a successful I’ll Have Another/Bodemeister exacta in the books, I will certainly have another to complete the Triple Crown …
My new favorite song title: “Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die.” It replaces “I Dreamed I Was Dead.”
I haven’t quoted Henry Van Dyke in a while: “Time is too slow for those who wait; too swift for those who fear; too long for those who grieve; too short for those who rejoice; but for those who love, time is not” … [ Read it again … then again … and then …]
“And now the end is near / And so I face the final curtain” … Better shave and get a shoe shine … Not to panic … See you next week …
W.T. Wimpy Hiroto can be reached at williamhiroto@att.net. Opinions expressed in this column are not necessarily those of The Rafu Shimpo.