ZOMBIE NIGHTS ARE HERE AGAIN
But this time it’s Zombie (K)NIGHTS!
Please stop calling me Dumbo, as the Zombie does all the time. I am not that dumb, really!, and this story will prove it. But I sure was anxious. I don’t know why I promised I would go off with Zombie on a “working vacation” next weekend to write an article showing that Donald Trump is a demagogue and not a populist. How had I ever made such a stupid promise? “Working vacation,” my foot! That was not what Zombie had in mind. And I certainly don’t know why I invested my entire fortune, over $16, in a Las Vegas on-line betting site, wagering on the same proposition. The odds were great, but it made me so anxious that I have not been able to write anything at all, not even skits for SNL.
But here is the good news: When the stress got intolerable, I found a brilliant solution, if I may say so myself with all due modesty -- escapism. I decided to deal with that anxiety by talking to someone smart, witty and articulate, just for fun, over a few beers. . Good plan, eh?
The trouble was, of course, that no living person who is smart, witty or articulate wants to have anything to do with the likes of me. Was I stymied? No way! I dusted off my notes from the Necromancy courses I had taken a decade ago when I was an undergraduate at UC Santa Barbara, thinking I could conjure up– you guessed it! – Aristophanes, one really smart, witty and articulate dude! Yes, I would relieve my anxiety by shooting the breeze with him over a few beers. After all, what’s a major in Necromantic Studies for, if not for intelligent conversation?
No luck. I guess my note taking was impeded by all those glorious, well-tanned surfer bodies sitting around me in the Necromancy classes. I might as well have majored in Literary Theory , where the faculty kept explaining that you can never recover the actual presence of the author, just “the socio-economo- power relationships that constitute the illusion of individual identity in a mass-consumer capitalist society.” Discouraged after several efforts to conjure up the wise old guy, I dozed off on my much-used couch.
Note: please. DO NOT THINK I DREAMED THE NEXT OART OF THE STORY. THAT IS SOPHOMORE STUFF. I WAS TELEPORTED – MUCH BETTRER, AS ANY SCI-FI FAN KNOWS/
That is when the amazing thing happened. I was teleported back to Athens where a performance in the Theater of Dionysus was about to take place! And it would not be one of those modern “adaptations. ” You know -- where the translation is in modern slang, the costuming is all blue jeans and b lack T shirts, and where dirty jokes and obscene actions are added to the sacred ancient script. These productions are full of cheap shots at today’s national leaders, mostly Republicans, like me. These modern-dress productions usually end up runnin the show into the audience, in some big Conga line – a sure sign of their aesthetic bankruptcy.
No sir, this was not going to be one of those disgraceful productions This would be the real thing, authentic, sober, “the chastening of the politic by a chaste Muse,” as I once read in a book about th Greeks by Professor What-was-her-name? Yup – I was at the original production of Aristophanes’ Hippies. in 424 BC, (plus or minus 50), if my memory serves me right. Thinking back on all those earlier blog postings, “Zombie Night, I thought of a really cool nulti-lingual pun. The Hippies could be valled Zombie Knights. Get it? (Please, don’t e put off by this learbed and cleveer pun; scroll down; don’t miss the earlier episodes of Zombie Nights.) .
It was starting. Two establishment politicians of ancient times, surely Nicias and the general Demosthenes, although I must admit they looked very much like Paul Ryan and Mitch McConnell, were...well... . They understandably wanted to release the tension and disappointment that had built up when they were displaced by a vulgar new comer. They were doing this in a way that a viewer accustomed to our sex-crazed, Hollywood entertainment world might think was the stroking of their huge comic phalluses. I am sure there is some other, more authentic explanation of this scene.
Aftrer a while on came the chorus of hippies pretending to be cavalry. They has no horses but went cantering about in a manner that evoked Monty Python. We were all waiting for, the two main characters, the Weenie Man, and someone said to have orange hair, thug-like movements, and wimpy gestures. I am sure the program notes were correct in saying this was the politician Cleon, and that any resemblance between him and our esteemed forty fifth president of the US of A was purely an anachronism.
But who was going to play the Weenie Man, the salesman who outdid Trump, I mean Cleon, in noise, vulgarity and salesmanship? Me! Yes, me, Dumbo! I was totally absorbed in the comedy when a sharp voice announced “Two minutes till you’re on stage. Get that mask and those buskins on. Don’t forget your phallus!.”
“Hey,” I thought, “this could be an authentic experience. of an ient drama. What an opportunity!” OK, I’ll do it, but I might as well have some fun, you know, just a few ad libs. So even before I came on stage I cracked the audience up. Nothing inauthentic, of course. . Even before my entrance on stage I had the audience cracked up, shouting “Wee--nies, Wee-nies. Big hot we-enies.. Get your weenie here... Best weenies in town. Eat more weenies.” Or words to that effect.
Once on stage, I had to fake my lines, answering the guy who looked just like Mitch McConnell as he tried to recruit me to replace the guy who looked just like our esteemed 45th president, Donald J. Trump, but wasn’t, of course, because this was an authentic production of a ancient play. .
So I tried to explain to the McConnell –look-alike that I couldn’t possibly be the rival of the Trump d’oeil, because I was too dumb and could only barely read or write.
That’s when it happened, the great moment, the ecstasy, the rush of pure joy. I mean: The McConnell figure said,
That is the only thing that can stand in your way, that you barely know how to read. A demagogue mustn’t be an educated man, and not an honest man; he has to be an ignoramus and a crook. (lines 189 ff.)
You heard it, right? The word! He said it. – not populist, no way! He said demagogue. For the first time in recorded history. And I was right there on stage, and it took my breath away I was present at the creation, the Big Bang, the moment when demagogy got its name.
Ohh- ... I was so happy I burst out singing! “Oh joy, o rapture unforeseen, the clouded sky is now serene.” The audience applauded.
A few minutes later, it happened again. The McConnell-look-alike said to me,
You possess all the attributes of a demagogue; a screeching, horrible voice, a perverse, cross-grained nature and the language of the market-place. In you all is united which is needful for governing. (216 ff.)
“Demagogue,” he said it again! I was so happy I burst out singing again, “Oh, happy days are here again/ the skies above are clear again./ Happy days are here again!” The audience loved it, They applauded. Some even cried. A new career opened up. A star was being born- moi!
When the Trump-stand-in came on stage everyone realized that word – demagogue, not populist – fit him like a glove. The guy was a demagogue pure and simple.
Now I would have the perfect case for using the qword demagogue, not that namby-pamby populist. I’d win my bet. Zombie and I --what the hell! – could spend our time together in better ways than writing a boring article arguing about political terminology.
From there on acting in this play was a piece of cake. It was easy to fake my lines. Whenever the Cleon guy said something more outrageous, I said something even more outrageous,. If he made a threat, I threatened him right back, big league! And all the time I was backed up by those Hippies, on their make-believe horses. Finally, old man Electorate had got rid of the Trump-look-alike and hooked up with – oh my gosh, she looked a bit like Zombie! Could it be? I’ll have to wait until Friday night to find out.
At this point we threw away the script of the play and ran the show into the aisles in a giant Conga line. Very authentic.
--
Free Advice: If you want to know what a demagogue is. or how to get rid of one, read the play, or better still, produce it! And have some authentic fun. Join the Conga line: 1-2-3 la Conga! 1-2-3 la Conga... 1,2,3 ... Ole!
But this time it’s Zombie (K)NIGHTS!
Please stop calling me Dumbo, as the Zombie does all the time. I am not that dumb, really!, and this story will prove it. But I sure was anxious. I don’t know why I promised I would go off with Zombie on a “working vacation” next weekend to write an article showing that Donald Trump is a demagogue and not a populist. How had I ever made such a stupid promise? “Working vacation,” my foot! That was not what Zombie had in mind. And I certainly don’t know why I invested my entire fortune, over $16, in a Las Vegas on-line betting site, wagering on the same proposition. The odds were great, but it made me so anxious that I have not been able to write anything at all, not even skits for SNL.
But here is the good news: When the stress got intolerable, I found a brilliant solution, if I may say so myself with all due modesty -- escapism. I decided to deal with that anxiety by talking to someone smart, witty and articulate, just for fun, over a few beers. . Good plan, eh?
The trouble was, of course, that no living person who is smart, witty or articulate wants to have anything to do with the likes of me. Was I stymied? No way! I dusted off my notes from the Necromancy courses I had taken a decade ago when I was an undergraduate at UC Santa Barbara, thinking I could conjure up– you guessed it! – Aristophanes, one really smart, witty and articulate dude! Yes, I would relieve my anxiety by shooting the breeze with him over a few beers. After all, what’s a major in Necromantic Studies for, if not for intelligent conversation?
No luck. I guess my note taking was impeded by all those glorious, well-tanned surfer bodies sitting around me in the Necromancy classes. I might as well have majored in Literary Theory , where the faculty kept explaining that you can never recover the actual presence of the author, just “the socio-economo- power relationships that constitute the illusion of individual identity in a mass-consumer capitalist society.” Discouraged after several efforts to conjure up the wise old guy, I dozed off on my much-used couch.
Note: please. DO NOT THINK I DREAMED THE NEXT OART OF THE STORY. THAT IS SOPHOMORE STUFF. I WAS TELEPORTED – MUCH BETTRER, AS ANY SCI-FI FAN KNOWS/
That is when the amazing thing happened. I was teleported back to Athens where a performance in the Theater of Dionysus was about to take place! And it would not be one of those modern “adaptations. ” You know -- where the translation is in modern slang, the costuming is all blue jeans and b lack T shirts, and where dirty jokes and obscene actions are added to the sacred ancient script. These productions are full of cheap shots at today’s national leaders, mostly Republicans, like me. These modern-dress productions usually end up runnin the show into the audience, in some big Conga line – a sure sign of their aesthetic bankruptcy.
No sir, this was not going to be one of those disgraceful productions This would be the real thing, authentic, sober, “the chastening of the politic by a chaste Muse,” as I once read in a book about th Greeks by Professor What-was-her-name? Yup – I was at the original production of Aristophanes’ Hippies. in 424 BC, (plus or minus 50), if my memory serves me right. Thinking back on all those earlier blog postings, “Zombie Night, I thought of a really cool nulti-lingual pun. The Hippies could be valled Zombie Knights. Get it? (Please, don’t e put off by this learbed and cleveer pun; scroll down; don’t miss the earlier episodes of Zombie Nights.) .
It was starting. Two establishment politicians of ancient times, surely Nicias and the general Demosthenes, although I must admit they looked very much like Paul Ryan and Mitch McConnell, were...well... . They understandably wanted to release the tension and disappointment that had built up when they were displaced by a vulgar new comer. They were doing this in a way that a viewer accustomed to our sex-crazed, Hollywood entertainment world might think was the stroking of their huge comic phalluses. I am sure there is some other, more authentic explanation of this scene.
Aftrer a while on came the chorus of hippies pretending to be cavalry. They has no horses but went cantering about in a manner that evoked Monty Python. We were all waiting for, the two main characters, the Weenie Man, and someone said to have orange hair, thug-like movements, and wimpy gestures. I am sure the program notes were correct in saying this was the politician Cleon, and that any resemblance between him and our esteemed forty fifth president of the US of A was purely an anachronism.
But who was going to play the Weenie Man, the salesman who outdid Trump, I mean Cleon, in noise, vulgarity and salesmanship? Me! Yes, me, Dumbo! I was totally absorbed in the comedy when a sharp voice announced “Two minutes till you’re on stage. Get that mask and those buskins on. Don’t forget your phallus!.”
“Hey,” I thought, “this could be an authentic experience. of an ient drama. What an opportunity!” OK, I’ll do it, but I might as well have some fun, you know, just a few ad libs. So even before I came on stage I cracked the audience up. Nothing inauthentic, of course. . Even before my entrance on stage I had the audience cracked up, shouting “Wee--nies, Wee-nies. Big hot we-enies.. Get your weenie here... Best weenies in town. Eat more weenies.” Or words to that effect.
Once on stage, I had to fake my lines, answering the guy who looked just like Mitch McConnell as he tried to recruit me to replace the guy who looked just like our esteemed 45th president, Donald J. Trump, but wasn’t, of course, because this was an authentic production of a ancient play. .
So I tried to explain to the McConnell –look-alike that I couldn’t possibly be the rival of the Trump d’oeil, because I was too dumb and could only barely read or write.
That’s when it happened, the great moment, the ecstasy, the rush of pure joy. I mean: The McConnell figure said,
That is the only thing that can stand in your way, that you barely know how to read. A demagogue mustn’t be an educated man, and not an honest man; he has to be an ignoramus and a crook. (lines 189 ff.)
You heard it, right? The word! He said it. – not populist, no way! He said demagogue. For the first time in recorded history. And I was right there on stage, and it took my breath away I was present at the creation, the Big Bang, the moment when demagogy got its name.
Ohh- ... I was so happy I burst out singing! “Oh joy, o rapture unforeseen, the clouded sky is now serene.” The audience applauded.
A few minutes later, it happened again. The McConnell-look-alike said to me,
You possess all the attributes of a demagogue; a screeching, horrible voice, a perverse, cross-grained nature and the language of the market-place. In you all is united which is needful for governing. (216 ff.)
“Demagogue,” he said it again! I was so happy I burst out singing again, “Oh, happy days are here again/ the skies above are clear again./ Happy days are here again!” The audience loved it, They applauded. Some even cried. A new career opened up. A star was being born- moi!
When the Trump-stand-in came on stage everyone realized that word – demagogue, not populist – fit him like a glove. The guy was a demagogue pure and simple.
Now I would have the perfect case for using the qword demagogue, not that namby-pamby populist. I’d win my bet. Zombie and I --what the hell! – could spend our time together in better ways than writing a boring article arguing about political terminology.
From there on acting in this play was a piece of cake. It was easy to fake my lines. Whenever the Cleon guy said something more outrageous, I said something even more outrageous,. If he made a threat, I threatened him right back, big league! And all the time I was backed up by those Hippies, on their make-believe horses. Finally, old man Electorate had got rid of the Trump-look-alike and hooked up with – oh my gosh, she looked a bit like Zombie! Could it be? I’ll have to wait until Friday night to find out.
At this point we threw away the script of the play and ran the show into the aisles in a giant Conga line. Very authentic.
--
Free Advice: If you want to know what a demagogue is. or how to get rid of one, read the play, or better still, produce it! And have some authentic fun. Join the Conga line: 1-2-3 la Conga! 1-2-3 la Conga... 1,2,3 ... Ole!
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