Inside the Circus
by Peter Hamilton Travis
This month, shouldn’t we all take just a moment from adding a fresh polish to our highly polarized sunglasses (Summer’s glint & glimmer out here can be unbearable!) to remember those sad, unfortunates who are Hard of Memorializing: Those who forget to remember. Look, even though Oprah’s humble little afternoon program is officially dimmed, that SuperherO’s — OK, Oprah’s — Swat Team of semi-professional fixers could surely fix them all. The Hard of Memorializing would spend the remainder of May doing good things. I can’t take any credit for these bits of nOnsense. Or can I?
You’ll never know for sure.
Or will you?
I had the misfortune of having just swallowed a deliciously charitable, yet porcine amount of Newman-O’s Peanut Butter Cream Filled Sandwich Cookies — how shall I say…without any grace, whatsoever… Meanwhile O’s stable is already up and running with at least a dozen or so basic cable, Oprah-esque type programing.
For example, I could easily have phoned one of her Doctor-hosted, live programs and used the same line I used on 911 (Shut up! I could have.)
“Help! The show has just started with four or five unnaturally tan, eerily toned Medical Specialists in their smokin’ HDTV Prime — now fix me!”
Someone is bound to be stricken with a nasty strain of “Forget-Me-Not-Flag-Raising-Syndrome — on Memorial Day ? May 28th.
My Father spent four years overseas. Fighting in Okinawa. He was an Officer in The United States Army Infantry. Which meant he spent much of those four years enduring unprintable acts of brutality.
And, from the looks of a dog-eared wartime photo album featuring a nightmarishly familiar, yet polar opposite, seared-by-the-sun guy wearing a crème colored silk sport shirt splayed with emerald palm fronds enjoying himself as much as humanly possible.
Mother’s Day is May 13th. May 13 was also my Mother’s birthday. So…I guess it’s a big month for my parents. Wherever they are. I’m wherever they are — it’s lovely there.
Oh, and my dog, Romeo’s birthday — who is snoring like an Airbus A380 beneath my feet at this particular moment — is May 27th.
He’ll be eight this year. But I always forget it. So, I avoid getting away with saying, “Oh, he’s about to turn five. Or six. Or seven. Eight is not even remotely believable. Since his recent brow lift and nose bleaching. Which I will have you know my Pet insurance (Oh, sure…!) Don’t start with me. Romeo has been on the first FDA-approved prescription medication to manage obesity in dogs. Since, well…a year? I forget exactly how long he’s been taking it. Six months? Eleven months? The good news is that Romeo’s lost 12 pounds!
Or 9. Maybe it’s more like 8. Either way, considering he’s not exercising much, my Spinone is as much a success story as Marie Osmond. Or that indignant Princess Whatshername. And I doubt either of those women could consider themselves — with any pride — a “Soft-Mouthed Retriever.”
My local veterinarian recommended A Canine Fountain Of Youth. And it actually works! But I wouldn’t dare mention the name of his practice. He’s the kindest, most compassionate, genius-of-a-vet God ever cast. He’s so good he doesn’t even have to practice. And he reads my column.
I can just imagine the cattle drive of Opalescent Midnight Supercharged whatever’s descending on Sag Harbor to beg for their magic elixir. Fine with me — as long as they stop in town during their power-stroll up Main Street (“You know — in this light, honey — your thighs do look a touch lumpy. Like there was an angry, resentful school of Koi — in a blind panic to get out.”) to purchase what will surely be a limited number of freshly, Award-Winning copies of The Sag Harbor Express.
PETER HAMILTON TRAVIS is against human consumption of any medication reserved strictly for animal use. And visa versa. I just wear Hartz Ultraguard Flea and Tick Collars for Large dogs because I like the way it makes my eyes “pop.”