HUMAN ENGINEERING

  This is how it works: you work a year towards a church service and before you know it, it's over. This is not my first rodeo. It's part of the deal in doing this kind of work. More dollars are burned than end up in the collection basket. But, that's OK. I'm not bitching. I expect no more. In fact, this morning in the office could not have been more productive. Finally my lawyer Murray (not Milawyer) had good news. We had a majority of votes amongst the congregation of 19. This would allow me to proceed in cleaning the debris and putting a new roof on the 1923 part of the shul structure, before I close the deal. This is any artist's pay off in working without pay- the next project comes along. Time to get back in the gym.

   When I was 16 my father had an idea that his kids needed to be tested and evaluated by credentialed professionals in the field of human engineering. He meant well. If his kids had strengths he could encourage or short-comings he could correct, he wanted to know about it. He was in the office a lot. So the morning after I received my driver's license, after an intense night of celebrating, Mupp, Savage Lynch and I piled in the Old Man's pontiac and headed for Manhattan. I was sick. Savage was hung-over and Mupp was innocent. The night before I had thrown up on the fuzzy pink bathroom rug. I had placed my hands on the sink and the toilet and thrown up between them. Then I rolled the rug up and put it in the washing machine, stumbling back to bed, without turning it on. The next morning I was too fuzzy to even realize that my mother had found the horrible, stinking mess of slo gin fizz, puke-infused fabic in the washing machine and relayed that piece of intelligence onto my father. Good morning!
   What followed was a silent ride, a day of square peg in round hole, what do you want to do with your life? tests and questioning in a musty old upper east side brownstone, by people in lab coats. Turned out both Savage and I had rhythm and I had no fore-thought. This was very true. Why had I not turned the washing machine on? Had I not thought of the consequences of my actions? Did I think that my drunken carousing at the tender age of 16 would go unnoticed? As far as having rhythm goes, just ask Slick. They haven't made a drum machine that can keep time with me. My father took the tests also. They told the old man he should be a stock broker (which he already was). These guys weren't stupid. Satisfy the client.
    At the end of the day, over pizza in Goshen, I got what was coming. My father ripped me a new asshole, grounded me, took away my newly acquired driver's license, lectured Savage and praised Mupp for having the good sense to stay away from us. Mupp was just never caught for whatever mischief he was up to the night before, probably with Milawyer. He dodged that bullet. I took my medicine and moved on. Next.

I guess my point in all this, is no matter how much I resented my trips to Johnson-Oconnor Human Engineering Laboratories, they were absolutely spot on in their assessment of my wiring. The fact that they recognized so easily my lack of fore-thought has lead me to overcompensate for this deficiency all my life. I want, no need, to know what's coming and try my damnedest to plan for it. The fact that I can now work on the shul has assured that my immediate future will be strenuous, dirty, frustrating, expensive, cold, nasty and ultimately incredibly rewarding. I know that. I do have fore-thought. What will I do about all this? When will I run out of money? How long can I keep this ridiculous life style up without going back to the day job? I have no idea. I haven't thrown up on the rug (and not washed it) in many years. As far as being able to keep a beat. Too bad the Old Man couldn't get his money back on that one. Some things you can't fix.