How the Brain Works ~ A Treatise by Namron Soar ~ Oh-1 Digital Press ~ Friday October 10th 2011 ~ Chapter Eleven ~ How to live like a Millionaire ~ ID 2984
The Mind and Money (to my Doctor buddy)
Well the expression ’Millionaire’ is a bit worn out these days because that’s just about "chump change" or "chicken feed", as they say, so perhaps the title should have said Billionaire but then you get the point. Mommy wanted you to go to college and you opted to be a Doctor because in your vastly immature mind you thought that would be cool.. Well guess again Bucko. Being a Doc these days is pretty much the same as being a tow truck driver because you are on call 100% of the time and though you make a whole bunch of money, you never have time to spend it and you have no privileges at all, apart from the rubber glove stuff you can do to people and that’s just gross.
Daddy wanted your Sister to become a lawyer because she saw Johnny Cochran and was totally depressed about the way he got O.J. ’the juice’ Simpson off the hook when the blood was fairly dripping off his hands when he was arrested and she said "yes", got called to the bar, got the famed certificate, hung it on the wall, and began a non-fulfilling career Lying for a Living, full time. With all that lying around she could have been a hooker and at least she’d be making an honest living and at have copious amounts of heroin to drown her sorrows. But no, she got the certificate and was forced by her peers, parents and her own silly conscience to keep using it as were you, the poor overworked doctor. If either of you had any sense or ’kahoonas’ to coin an expression, which by the way means testicles, nuts, balls or just plain fortitude you both would have taken the stupid certificate off of your wall and burned it and followed the advice given below. Now, nearly middle aged around forty you are both suffering from alcoholism because you are forced by the drug companies to act just like a used car salesman when dealing with patients and your sister has had to give up all of her moral values, as well, and defend the scum of the earth with legal beagle B.S. other wise known at lies, forked tongue, psycho babble, mistruths, deviate language.. well need I go on.
I actually know a real millionaire and he’s just a truck driver but his life is a bit more fulfilling because he isn’t required to ’fool’ everyone he talks to, the way you and your sister do. You went and bought that Mercedes and the garage keeps on sticking it to you, so in turn you keep sticking it to your patients by prescribing crap that will slowly kill them as well and operations that they just don’t need in order to pay the bills. The worst part is you can’t even drive it because it keeps getting vandalized and you have to use Mom’s old K car to get to work. Poor You! My truck driver buddy has a million two ($100,200,000.00) in the bank in cash and he’s all up in arms because the financial world made it impossible for him to live off the interest by abolishing savings accounts that paid anything and he won’t invest it because every time he does he runs into people like your aunt, the investment broker (another fulltime liar and thief) that kept on apologizing for loosing his money while she drives around in her Lambo. He bought four investment properties and keeps them rented but now has to cut grass like a teenager and is also on call, day an night fixing plumbing and eavestrough just to keep his tenants happy and still isn’t thrilled about his so called wealth. What with your car problems, your drinking and the gambling debts that you have, you can’t even touch the 700 grand you have tucked away with your aunt in so called ’investments’ that she keeps hinting "aren’t doing so well" and you keep wondering if there is a better way. Well you made your bed...
You probably remember me, I’m the guy that looked after the Radio Control Car club on Sundays as a volunteer announcer and President of the club. You remember the long haired hippy dude that felt so sorry for you and your youngster after you brought him there four times in a row and was called away by emergencies? Well I still see the lad and thankfully he isn’t going to college although you keep telling him he should. Are you on Crack? Look at your life Mr Success and just think about it. The kid doesn’t want to be like you or your sister, he want’s to be like his dealer, whose life he can respect. Someone who is honest, has all the time in the world, uses the Banks and does not get used by them, smokes a joint in the morning and has a glass of wine in the evening, has no money and doesn’t need any, no debts and never gambles. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention; I’m your kids dealer but I’m also his mentor and the main reason the kid is so well adjusted. He won’t go to school past grade 12 or if he does it’ll only be for an arts program and he’s never gonna take it seriously because he smokes dope and knows better.
A Sober Pause
Well OK maybe the forgoing is a bit over the edge but I’m trying to get the point across in a more interesting way than just explaining it verbatim. Some people are really meant to be Doctors and some are meant to be Lawyers but we would only know who these were if there was a financial crash and all the fake ones quit because they weren’t getting paid. Maybe some of the rubber glove freaks would hang on but most of the lawyers would have to quit because there would be no money to wrangle over and only those with high moral values would keep up their chosen profession for free. But then I digress. This is supposed to show how the mind works in relation to money and also give some insight on a much better way of life that isn’t based solely on the success factor relating to that stuff or to put it another way; to show that the mind takes a ’herded cattle’ approach to many things especially so called wealth.
Back to the plot
Doc shows up at my door to collect his erstwhile teen from the clutches of said Bogeyman. "What the Hell’s going on here?" (he screams in a rather well-mannered, doctor-like, fake, feigned, disapproval as I open the door of my cottage and he gets a whiff of the real-genuine, unmistakable, blue-aired, highly-illegal vapor filling the open-concept one-room retreat.)
"Umm.. Err.." (we both reply in unison).
"Jesus!!.." (he states as if we know exactly what he’s on about).
"Dad!.. I’m 18!.." (the kid declares knowing full well that he’s only 17).
"I know.." (responds Daddy, and then looks puzzled because he’s both drunk and can’t recall his own Son’s birthday, and he knows the kid knows both those things and so do I and then he remembers his manners) "Sorry Bud.." (he calls me that because he can never recall peoples’ names) "How Ya bin!" (and offers me his hand as sort of an apology).
"Fine.. C’mon in.. long time no see" (I was actually going "Oh Shit, oh Shit, oh Shit!" in my mind, cause I was totally wreaked and so was his 18 year old.. har har.. wink wink.. nod nod..)
"So Son.." (He pauses and looks around my humble abode, slightly teetering and sees the spiral staircase made of real wood 3 by 8’s that go up to the bedroom loft, moves his neck around in a rather odd arc to view the full plate glass southern wall with the sun glaring in and squints) "Ya coming home?"
"Nope" (says the 18 year old.. and Jeez I’m sure glad he’s 18 under the circumstances).
"Well sit down" (says I, hoping he couldn’t hear my thoughts that were adding ’ya freakin’ idiot!’)
"Sooo.." (he begins as he almost falls onto the couch) "What’s going on?"
"We’re smoking Pot Dad!" (replies the Son brazenly realizing Daddy is more vulnerable that we are and that I’m almost crapping myself) "And you’re driving drunk.. Right?" (taking a step toward his Dad to emphasize the point).
"OK, Ok We’re none of us perfect.. that’s all right.. I was just wondering.." (and he trails off while taking in more of the place now that the smoke has cleared and notices that all the walls are covered with solid wood pine and spruce at various angles other than vertical) "So.. nice place you have here" (sounding slightly distracted as if he were getting a contact stone but oddly sincere).
"Ya I like it" (I respond, trying to relax and not think about anything being illegal or anything like that) "Wanna Toke?" (now where the hell did that come? from I wonder, realizing that I had just offered the Good Doctor something that could get me into much more trouble! ’Damn! I think to myself and mentally boot my ass all the way around the room wishing I could take the offer back).
"Ya..! Do it Dad!.. Go for it!" (his son is giving me more support and trying to diffuse an awkward situation by doing something that we both know is really, really, really stupid).
"Shit!.. I haven’t done that since Public School.." (he states, and sonny and I both hear the declaration and pass glances that only Ninja’s understand) "Err.. well.. I should say Highschool" (he corrects himself with a drunken slur and produces a mickey from his pocket and takes a pull and then offers a slug to his son with an outstretched hand).. "Well yer 18."
"Hey!.." (states the Boy, smashing back a mouthful of raw whisky and making an awful face, and me thinking that this poor lad won’t even take a sip of wine.. but then it’s an occasion that he just couldn’t pass up) "Sooo.. how about that toke Dad?" (closing in for the kill that will discharge the enemy.. what am I talking about?)
"Well no, I’m OK.." (licking his lips and thinking something that the boy and I can’t quite fathom using pure clairvoyance) "Gotta Drive.." (and then we see the obstacle).
"What’s the rush Dad? We’re having a bonfire later and veggie burgers, Our host has lotsa wine.. and you can stay here or I can drive you home.. later.." (at that point Dad looks out the window and his son winks quickly at me transferring all of the information Ninja style that only true stoners can understand.. I’m guessing that means that someone is going to have to make the veggie burgers I think to myself, we might as well have a bonfire, my wine supply is in jeopardy but the wink means he’ll replace what Dad drinks and the part about driving him home is probably a lie because he plans on converting Daddy to sleeping on the couch).
"Ya.. Relax and turn off your phone.." (I direct, knowing that Doctors always begin doing stuff and almost always have to quit and go operate on someone’s brain right in the middle of a game of Yahtzee).
"Well my phone’s in the car and I’m sorta on vacation right now anyway." (he declares giving both his son and I the green light feeling, yet wondering how the vacation thing came up so suddenly since he was at work yesterday and finished his vacation only a week ago. Sonny and I glance at each other clairvoyantly and realize that Papa might be in deep shit with his Doctor stuff, like maybe caught O.U.I.. that’s Operating Under the Influence).
"OK then I’ll start the fire and you can make the burgers!" (the boy exclaims looking at me with a sense of victory and not wanting his Dad to change his mind since it means that he can finally spend some quality time with Pops and maybe even cure him of his alcoholism and save him from a wasted existence at the same time.. OK now settle down.. maybe they could just have some fun talking by the fire).
"Uhhh.." (I reply, which in Ninja means you make the damn tofu burgers and I’ll start the fire).
"OK" (the Boy reply’s) "Where’s the mixing bowls?" (completely forgetting that Ninja’s always pretend they can’t read minds).
"What the Hell..!" (comments Dad, realizing as he slightly sobers that we are on a different wavelength).
"Oh I know what he meant.." (stammers the son and further complicating the situation because now everyone seems to be reading everyone else’s mind).
"So where’s that..?" (and Dad pauses as he retrieves his empty mickey from his coat pocket and looks at it with disdain) "Uhh.." (he says in a totally noncommittal way indicating to the other Ninjas in the room that he’s in need of libation be it liquid or shall we say.. not).
"Rufe?" (queries sonny, using my clandestine, secret, underground, nick name in which I am known for.. aww shut up. Indicating that I should administer the coup de grâce, so to speak).
"So.." (and I continue the incredibly long sentence structure that has been so prevalent recently, park my posterior beside my doctor buddy and light up a ’you know what’, take a hoot myself and pass the finest BC bud that the world has to offer to my unsuspecting, partially inebriated, never been stoned since grade eight, probably former friend and doctor, and he takes a great big toke, begins coughing immediately and tremendously until his eyes water and finally stops with a bit of a grin on his face staring straight at his son standing right in front of him and handing him a glass of my favorite Rosso.. Damn! I better get myself some before it’s all gone).
"Whoa.. Wow.. OK thanks" (says Dad recovering miraculously from his coughing spell and reaching for the glass with his left and across to me with his right to get the joint.. His son beaming all the while).
"Here" (I pass the joint to his son instead, who takes a giant hoot and nary a cough or wince, inhales it deeply and holds it, while passing it to his Dad and we can both see a huge sense of satisfaction on the Boys face).
"Dad" (he says with that telltale squeezed out vocal sound that is typical of people that are holding a lung or two full of smoke).
"Thank you Greg" (says Dad, using the boys name for the first time in centuries, well days.. well in a while anyway’s. He takes a more gingerly toke this time in order to avoid the novice, embarrassing, new kid hacking and impress us with his.. oh give it up!).
Are we having fun yet? (Have patience I’m getting to the point)
So a multitude of tokes later, and a belly full of my precious sweet vermouth is consumed and the tofu burgers were, shall we say, ’tolerable’ but not Greg’s fault, he did his best but tofu is just shit anyway you look at it. We sat, just the three of us by the fire and you could easily see a tear coming into the Doc’s eyes and he was beginning to get overwhelmed with emotion, not to mention the booze.
"Greg, and uhh.. Rufe.." (and he raised his glass to the heavens and we could all see the ruby red glint from the fire and the wine, and then he lowered it and I raised mine in a sort of salute while Greg rushed away to get a glass of his own because he wasn’t going to be left out of a moment like this, drinker or not, returning and quickly dashing a half glass from a dripping wine bottle, while I winced at the waste, and we all had a very glass-clinking moment, I was no longer worried about... well basically anything, Doc had leveled with us about his vacation which was exactly what we thought.. gambling problems and misuse of hospital funds.. well sorta what we thought and his son had finally had a real sit down with Papa and they had promised each other to have many more and it was all very touching.. Damn.. got something in my eye).
"I just wanted to say that you have really opened my eyes, Buddy if I can call you that, because I didn’t know where I was going today when they suspended me, I know I’m a bit stoned, but this must be what life is all about I had to get to the ripe old age of 40 to find out that I really don’t like my career at all.." (he trailed off staring at my towering front windows and the bonfire flickering in the panes and then he moved his gaze toward the lake and the Moon which was reflecting a great shimmering river straight at us and Greg and I followed his gaze and we could feel his pain).
"With your help I’m gonna quit.." (and then the tears came and all of became blubbering idiots.. well drunken blubbering idiots.. but you need that once in awhile).
"I’ll help you Dad!" (Greg said, still trying to sip that awful wine and not waste it).
"Hey Sure" (said I wondering if he really meant it).
"Damn.." (the Doc said with real enthusiasm) "You’re the richest son-of-a-bitch I’ll ever know, aren’t you?"
A Short Disclaimer
(Greg and the Doc are fictional characters) All of our Canadian Prime Ministers since Pierre Trudeau apart from this current PM Mr. Ben Dover have promised us that they would legalize Mary Jane and guess what? They got a phone call from USA’s big Pharmaceutical Companies saying that it wouldn’t be good for their business and threatenning to make crossing the border very tough if we did it. Well Rufus isn’t really a dealer but he does smoke whatever he wants dispite the government and he doesn’t give a rats ass who knows about it.
Clayarts Featuring; This Week at Grampa’s
General Interest Galleries Rebel Real Rufus
Contact Namron Soar Nsoar@tbaytel.net
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