Tatoo You

I don’t have a tattoo. It’s entirely too permanent.
My friend in high school got a tattoo on his shoulder of a big rainbow. Little did he know 10 years later the gay community would make rainbows a battle cry. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
A young family member who is 19 years old got the word “one” printed on her right wrist, and “love” written on her left, an ode to her boyfriend with which she can extend her hands and show the world her feelings. It also happens to be a sell line for a fast food chicken restaurant called, “Raising Cane’s.”
“Raising Cane’s, One Love,” It’s on all the television commercials and radio jingles. What the hell was she thinking? He broke up with her about three months later, the act of love not being good enough, but it was good enough to earn free chicken dinners for life from the owner of Raising Cane’s.
Here’s another. I went on a business trip with a librarian who was one of the sweetest people you ever want to meet, very nice and enthusiastic about her job and would say things bright and cheery such as, “Hey Larry, it is so very nice to see you again. I’m so glad you’re with us. How are you today?”
She came off as such a good girl, and very friendly, the kind you wouldn’t mind spending a six-hour flight with. You know the type, bubbly.
At dinner, sitting in a booth, she, across the table from me, I noticed in a mirror her shirtsleeve gathered haphazardly up her arm and in the reflection, a tattoo of a naked lady in a provocative pose. The lady’s arm was behind her head lounging back, with her legs open. When I saw it, I blinked real hard and it didn’t go away. So I blinked again. It was still there and I thought, “Oh, you naughty librarian, you.”
I read a study on tattoos that said the shock value is waning and that people with four or more tattoos are more likely to do drugs. I tend to agree only with the shock value of the study and not the drug analyses. I do remember when a man piercing just one ear put the neighborhood on edge.
The increase of women with the lower back butterflies, abstract art, and words written right above “the goods” tend to make me ask, “What were they thinking?” I would think, they only expected a few intimate men or possibly the people on the beach to admire and ogle the top part of their ass, and imagine, as Opra put it, “the Va-J-J.” But, the thing that always comes back is the fact that the tattoo is not coming off without substantial work.
What reminds me of life, when looking in the mirror, are scars, the one on my lip when at a bachelor party I got drunk and fell into the bumper of a car. The one on my knee when I crawled under a fence to get to a cigarette machine a twelve year old boy should not have tried to get to, my eyebrow that as a first grader slipped on a cowboy shirt that my mother told me moments before to pick up and clean my room, and those were just the physical.
Next time you look deeply in a mirror, notice the tattoos of time, they’re there, staring back with all the colors of the rainbow and all the colors of life, which is basically black and blue. Look into that black and blue, see the permanent pictures, the pictures that life has tattooed on you.

Posted in Uncategorized

Hippity Hoppity Easter’s on its Way

With Lenten season in full swing, and asked sit down with the illustrious Peter Cottontail to find out the state of Easter, I quickly said, yes. Being a Christian, a chocoholic, and a fan of Elmer Fudd, I especially wanted to know if Peter was a “Wascally Wabbit.”

We met at a Starbucks, next to a Pet Smart, Peter mentioning over the phone that with the proximity to other animals, Starbuck’s awareness of animal issues, “Having the best freakin’ latte,” plus, being outdoors, he feels most comfortable. He was wearing a very colorful vest over his snow white fur, his voice much lower than I expected, resonate, and hauntingly persuasive.

Larry: Thank you so much for meeting with me, sir.

Peter:  I always love it when I can talk to my “Peeps.”

Larry:  Ha! That’s a good one, sir…

Peter: Oh, please, call me Peter.

Larry: You’re much taller than I expected, Peter.

Peter:  Yea, I get that. That’s another reason I selected the outdoor patio. These ears can get in the way.

Larry: How tall are you?

Peter: It varies. I can control my ears and then by dipping my head or pulling my feet to my chest I can become much smaller. It helps when going into smaller homes.

Larry: You brought up feet. Having, what I would think, the luckiest rabbit’s foot, has that ever been a problem, someone trying to get a leg up, so to speak?

Peter: In the southern states I’ve run into it a few times, but being magical, I can easily persuade.

Larry:  How do you mean?

Peter: Well, it was Easter morning, early. I was finishing up in a section by the Mississippi Gulf Coast. There I was, hippity-hoppity, you know, down the bunny trail, keeping Easter on its way. I ran into some frat boys shooting guns in the back of a house. It was twenty-somethings having fun. Well, I had to get in that house. I had to get to the baskets. I don’t leave anyone out. So, this guy was drunk and yells to his buddies something like, “Hey look the Easter Bunny.  Let’s cut off his foot.” I thought hell, I ain’t got time for this but he approached me pointing the gun so I grabbed it, turned him around and stuck my foot up his ass. It wasn’t pretty. He screamed. His fraternity brothers screamed. Hell, I even screamed. My foot was pretty far up his ass.

Larry: It wasn’t his lucky day, huh?

Peter: Not by a long shot, my friend. Not by a long shot.

Larry: So, tell us, what’s the best part of the job?

Peter: Oh, I love my job, especially the kids. You gotta love the kids, their excitement; it’s the next best thing since Christmas. Then there’s the bright colors, the clothes, I do like the spring clothes, families dressing up, my wife likes that. She looks forward to wearing white after Easter. Actually, this is the most enjoyable job in the world. It’s important, yes, stressful yes, but such a pleasure. Look, I’m a rabbit yet I get to bring joy to people, young and old. I’m the luckiest bunny in the world.

Larry: Anything tick you off?

Peter: Nothing really gets me mad. Are there things that I wish people wouldn’t say, do, or not do, that sort of thing, of course.

Larry: What are some?

Peter: The joke about me and the chicken getting together to get Easter eggs, lame, very lame. My wife doesn’t care anymore but my kids hear those jokes and believe me, I got more than a few basket loads of kids. Hell, I breed like a…well, like a rabbit.

Larry: Anything else?

Peter: Changing my name to “The Spring Bunny” is kind of strange. I wish people wouldn’t do that.

Larry:  What’s your favorite song?

Peter: Sammy Davis Jr. “The Candy Man.”

Larry: Favorite thing to bring children?

Peter: Jelly beans for Tommy and colored eggs for Sister Sue, although, I do enjoy bringing toys. That started with the Baby Boom. The economy was better. The economy, situations in the household, and people’s outlook on life has a lot to do with what materializes in people’s baskets. One’s Easter basket can be a metaphor for one’s life.

Larry: Favorite Movie?

Peter: Fatal Attraction.

Larry: Really?

Peter: No, I’m just messing with you. I don’t watch a whole lot of movies. I do like Willie Wonka when he’s in the candy garden. I guess with the family life I end up watching a lot of TV. I like “Idol”, less now because Simon is gone. He doesn’t sugar coat like I do. It’s refreshing.

Larry: What has changed for you through the years?

Peter: Wow… Plenty… Too much to go into but I will say this. I’m the Easter Bunny. You may not believe in me and that’s fine, that’s your loss. The same with Santa, it’s your loss. But do you remember when you woke up on Easter morning with not a care in world, fixed on nothing but seeing a basket of candy, running to the den or living room, your mother or dad, family, whatever, following, anticipating your reaction? That is magical. That is me. That is the Easter Bunny.

Larry: Thank you, Peter.

Peter: Thank you and Happy Easter.

Posted in Uncategorized

For Love or Money?

I once took part in my community’s Big Read and read the book “The Great Gatsby.” A week later I attended a book discussion and talked about the themes of betrayal, infidelity, excess, the roaring 20’s, how the rich behave, escaping the past, and other literary staples that have made the book stand the test of time but what caught my attention was the theme, “I’m sorry, you’re just not good enough.”
The fact that “rich girls don’t marry poor boys” is a hard lesson learned by a young man in love but is there a harder lesson learned by a rich girl who marries for love and lives broke?
I wasn’t good enough for someone when I started my career. She was beautiful, funny, and charming, and I’d like to think that I was at least charming because she did date me. I wanted to take her for a ride, to the top, over and over again.
She didn’t say to me I wasn’t good enough but I knew deep down in my heart she was waiting for something better. She wasn’t going to wait for me to “make it.” She went on to marry the son of one of the biggest grocery chains in the south, a move well played. I wonder if she stays up at night thinking of , me? I’m kidding.
I’ve also been on the other side of this situation. Since my early 20’s crush I’ve run across women who thought the world of me, but didn’t think they were equal to what I wanted them to be. In one case it wasn’t that the girl wasn’t rich. It was her mother. I thought her family was freaking crazy and I didn’t want to get involved with a bunch of nut cases that scared the hell out of me, even though this time she thought I was the person who was handsome, funny and charming. Here’s the bitch, I was unaware of the fact that with her, I wouldn’t have had to “make it” to the top. I could have been me.
She ended up leaving her crazy-ass family, knowing they weren’t good enough for her either. She also believed in the next guy, his ability, and started a business with the gentleman who really loved her and they are now rich. For me, another lesson learned. By the way I’m still working on my career.
I also have a friend who is the triple threat. He’s good looking, funny and charming, who, years ago, was crazy about a woman, willing to do anything for her. She kept telling him she didn’t want to have a “boyfriend,” just a close companion, a guy to do things with, and he hung in there and gave no pressure. He feel madly in love and was just willing to be by her side. She must have known and had one of the best excuses that keep us men at bay, “I’ve just gotten out of a relationship.”
“Hey! Honey! You’ve been my friend for six months. We’re technically dating, throw the dog a bone or better yet, let me throw you one and get it over with.”
But he didn’t. He kept on until he realized he wasn’t good enough for her.
I don’t believe people when they say they only want a friend. All people want to be held close. Was she getting over on him? Was he not rich enough?
But, love conquers all, right? Tell that to the woman who married for love and is dreaming of the life she could have had, had she held out, went with her brain instead of her heart and got the house, the clothes, the trips, or even the feeling of showing one’s entire family they’re not good enough.
I can only speculate on women holding out for love or marrying for money. I would think it’s the way the girl was raised. I would bet the farm that if a woman loved me and another man the same, the brightness of gold would diminish the glare from my red hair. After my experiences I don’t blame them.
Love and money, or lack of it, plays into such an interesting way man and woman form a relationship. Throw youth into the mix and holy Christ, innocence and lack of intelligence rears its ugly head.
I once saw a young couple in the French Quarter begging for money. I was sitting across the street by the Joan of Arc Statue. They couldn’t have been more then teenagers, dirty clothed, street urchins, and I was amazed at the fact that as they begged they would hold hands in-between accepting coins from passers-by. For a long time I wondered if they were in the beautiful world

Posted in Uncategorized

“The only luxur…

“The only luxury I’ve never been afforded is the luxury of having luxury.”
Larry Hyatt- “How to Reach for the American Dream… (and not get it.)

Posted in Uncategorized

How to Reach for the American Dream… (and not get it.)

How to Reach for the American Dream... (and not get it.)

How to Reach for the American Dream… (And not get it), is the fictional, comedic account of the life of an entertainer who from childhood had what it took to “make it.” You’ll laugh, cry, and cheer him on as he struggles to achieve what only a select few can, through his television kid show debut, glee clubs, remedial college studies, gaining weight as a “starving” artist, dating women out of his league, nightclub entertainer, and romps through radio, television, and publishing. I didn’t want to write the worn out story of a celebrity induced rise and fall. This is a comedic “never risen,” written to inspire, teach, and explain that the paths of dreamers take many turns, go winding through many roads, but ultimately detour, to the highway of your heart.

Posted in Uncategorized