Month: June 2015

Yesterday I spent an hour in a Catholic church for a wedding of people I didn’t know. The groom is the son of Joyce’s high-school friend, so… Sometimes you do what you have to do. Then I saw the welling eyes of the young man watching his bride to be walking toward him, and I was all in. Keep it together, man.

Probably like “the most interesting man in the world,” I don’t go to church often, but when I do, I pay attention. Behind and above the altar was a circular stained-glass window of the “holy trinity,” the father, the son, and the holy spirit – portrayed in a peace sign. So that was cool. The church was filled with whitish people – Italians, French, Irish, Hispanic… From right to left, I’m sure they filled the political spectrum, too. The musicians were an Asian couple and a white woman playing a cello beautifully. The priest was black. At the reception a gay couple sat at an adjacent table. The brides “man of honor” was a gay (and very funny) man.

Back in church, I sat there with my five senses while the attendees knelt and recited old familiar prayers. It did feel strange to be one of very few not to walk the communion ritual, but I had no fear that my religious non-conformity would result in my beheading. As Reverend Mpagi spoke eloquently, I was not concerned someone would rise and shoot him for the color of his skin. The gay men in the room had nothing to fear and felt free to be who they are… Coexistence. Not too complicated.

One of the ceremony readings was about the god of that house, and his plea to “love each other.” Father Mpagi then spoke of “a love as strong as death.” That shook the cob webs of my thought. The ceremony and reception were well done. Our table-mates were cool people. The haddock was tasty. The bride sang like Julie Andrews. Joyce’s friend held court for cigars on the porch. Someone mentioned the Charleston shooting in our little group. I spoke of hearing that the daughter of slain 70-year-old Ethel Lance said to the killer, “I forgive you.”

Suddenly “a love as strong as death” made a little more sense.

Let me preface this by informing you this is a “first-world” tragedy I’m about to describe, not some real tragedy involving someone’s health or well-being. No, wait. It is exactly well-being that’s at stake here. And hygiene.

This apocalyptic tale, like many, begins with a wealthy philanthropist. Well, a philanthropist – Joyce. To help support her beloved charities like the Summer Experience In Greater Lowell and the Boys and Girls Club of Greater Lowell, my girl auctions time at her Cape Cod cottage, aka the Happy Hollow. Last weekend, “George” (I’d change the names to protect the innocent, but in this sordid tale, there’s no innocence, plus “George” has a certain connection here…) was in residence with friends. I’m sure “George” is a fine fellow. He and his friends waters all her flowers, left Joyce a beautiful orchid, and left the place immaculate. Now I know why… They broke the “Commando 450.”

Part of the magic here has always been the Commando. If you’re not familiar with the term, then you’ve obviously one of the unwashed masses. I advise you to view the documentary below on the “Commando” in hopes you can understand my plight, and get yourself truly clean. Let’s put it this way, with the Commando 450, you don’t need soap to achieve blissful cleanliness. That baby packed exfoliating power, and required careful use to avoid damage to exposed and sensitive areas.  Anyway… “George,” not having the black market showerhead connections necessary to secure a 450, made a decent effort and replaced the head with an attractive, but unreasonable facsimile that dribbled the water pressure of a tinkling 80 year old man.

Enter the internet. And freedom. Though “George” was unable, through no fault of his own, to obtain a black market showerhead, A Libertarian Approach to Showerheads: How to Increase Your Flow may deliver the high-pressure miracle we need. Until then, the Happy Hollow will not be the same, and neither will I.

“If I don’t have a good shower, I am not myself.
I feel weak and ineffectual. I’m not Kramer.”
– Cosmo Kramer in “The Shower Head”