Digressions of a Dilettante

Digressions of a Dilettante
Vignettes of Inanity by Bud Hearn

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Search for the Perfect Holy Grill...An Allegorical Phantasm

Search for the Perfect Holy Grill ....
An Allegorical Phantasm


The unnaturally grim day got worse. My grill exploded as a fireball erupted instantly from the ancient cooker. A luminous cloud of burning vapor engulfed the air around me. I staggered backwards with a blackened and hairless head, and only the pool saved me from being burned to ash. Fortunately, survival was in the cards this evening, the hellish death-fire cheated out of its prey.
What I needed was a new and more predictable cooker, a perfect grill that did not require supplemental fire Insurance, and by golly, I was intent on finding one before the odds totally ran out! Atlanta was the place to start, so I began to plan for the trip.
That was several months ago, and like most things, I had not gotten around to it. The possibilities for the perfect grill formed flawlessly in my vision ... however; tonight I was stuck with the old TEC with its incendiary proclivities. Good-looking T -bone steaks were sizzling on it, waiting for some special guests. Sitting on the lounge next to the grill with the dog and a cold beer, I began to think about the "perfect grill" I was going to find as the late summer heat stultified my senses. Predictably, I drifted off at some point into that nether world where fantasy and reality coexist.


Some details of the afternoon remain foggy, yet the horror of the nasty spectacle remains vivid in my recollection. But I'm getting ahead of myself. The first rule of shopping is never to go alone ... so I enlisted a like­minded outdoor cooking companion to assist me on the adventure, a prominent attorney of celebrity status, who abundantly attaches the term "Esq." to his signature ("Esquire" of course is the term all lawyers use to elevate status and to justify exorbitant fees!). Since the meter with Ed was not running on this trip, we proceeded to organize our search for the Perfect Holy Grill.
Methodically we began the process of elimination from the most likely sources: the Internet, Ace, Wal-Mart, Lowes, Home Depot and sundry specialty shops. As you might suspect, there were multiple possibilities, all promising to be the perfect grill, but missing the cut. By the third day we were running low on ideas and energy, and our time in the city was almost up. We needed to come up with something fast, so we resorted to extreme measures in the search.
We pulled out our best disguises: Ed, with his urban assault camouflage suit and red sun glasses, and me with my best hippie attire, complete with beads. We wanted to blend in well without calling undue attention to ourselves. The neighborhoods of nouveau riche huntsmen in red velvet jackets produced nothing, so we moved on to the derelict places of Atlanta, the dark alleys, the darkened doorways, vacant warehouses, burned-out houses, railroad gulches, expressway overpasses--places where disenfranchisement and lunacy live hand in hand. One often has to resort to the edge of madness to find something perfect, you know. People who live in these environments have to make-do with creative devices to survive ... a perfect place to search for the grail.


It was a hazy dusk as we approached a railroad trestle over the river. We saw what appeared to be a treacherous and unstable convocation of hobos, winos, bankrupt deal junkies, washed up athletes and derelicts of all sorts gathered around a large smoking fire. And there in their midst It was, right on the banks of the river and next to an abandoned boxcar, exactly what we had been looking for: the Perfect Holy Grill. It defied description, but it met all of the criteria for the "perfect" status: cheap, versatile, adaptive, mobile, sturdy and unpretentious. But how would we get it away from such a crowd of human ugliness? And why was such a pearl of perfection to be found in this strange and seedy world of misfits, drunkards and failures? These things cannot be explained by logic!
But sometimes things can go sideways on you without warning. In our exuberance caution was abandoned … we were soon spotted and things began to turn nasty. The horde went all to pieces turning into an angry mob… escape was impossible. With the animus of a crazed pit bull, Ed began to scream, "Back off, back off, I'm an important lawyer ... I have connections," to no avail. .. the mob was in no mood for idle chatter. He snarled and hurled his title, Esquire, at them like a crucifix, but even that was not able to save us from the brutal onslaught. No, it was too late; the fat was in the fire.
They swarmed upon us from every side with clubs, bricks, chains, whips and other medieval devices ... the dust roiled as a frenzy of mayhem and disaster enveloped us. They began to savagely beat us as they flew upon their spoil. Things were moving faster and faster, noise and confusion reigned. Out of the corner of one eye I glimpsed Ed in a dead sprint for the river. .. the pounding was taking its toll on me as things began to get fuzzy. Ed faded out of my sight, disappearing in the dark shadows that began to surround me. Caught in a desolate vortex of descending darkness, I saw only shadows and strangers in slow motion with wild, glittering eyes, smoke filling my nostrils as oblivion descended upon me with these final words swirling around in my brain:

" ... To die-to sleep-to sleep!
Perchance to dream .. for in that sleep of death
What dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil
... "

After some moments I was suddenly awakened by a violent pounding upon my chest, punctuated by a shrill voice, "Wake up, wake up ... what kind of cook are you?" my wife kept screaming. "I trusted you with $100 worth of steaks, and you get out here and fall asleep while they cook. The steaks are charred and the dog is wobbling incoherently since he drank your beer. What will our important guests think?" The smoke was thick about us; guilt hung heavy in the humid afternoon air and there was little I could do to rescue the steaks at this point... these things happen. Backup plan: Pizza!
Somehow the evening passed without further incident, although a chill permeated the air around the home place for a few days. I thought it best to remain out of sight and in hiding until the whirlwind had passed. Since then I have had time to ponder this somnolent adventure. Was it was a chimerical fantasy, prophesy or a dream? I can't say. Yet in each of these there is some hyperbolic exaggeration that leaves deep impressions. There is nothing "perfect" in this life except what we "see" in our minds. When taken outside of that context, its application is seriously flawed.
I've lived long enough now to know life is not perfect either, yet we seem to continue to search and hope for whatever perfect grail we envision ... and perhaps it's the journey that justifies the price of admission, I'm not sure. Just Buy the ticket, Take the ride.


Searching for the Perfect Holy Grill flash-backed these words I read somewhere:

"Oh, the Prison of Perfection,
The Freedom of Just Good Enough
. "


So lest a worst thing occur, I think I'll risk incineration and be content to stay with the grill that's just good enough, at least until something better shows up.


Ed's been pretty hard to find these days ... can't blame him. He's probably polishing up his image and hanging with a better elegant island living crowd. But as for me, you can be sure that I won't go to sleep again while cooking T-bones, and I promise you I'll keep a better eye on the dog! And, Oh, by the way, if you happen to see Ed around the island, tell him all's forgiven and it's safe to come back around ... steaks are on the grill. .. No more pizza!

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