SAINTS PRESERVE US

Hey Joe

Our collective human consciousness vibrates throughout the atmosphere in mysterious ways. You need to have your antenna up; you need to be tuned in. My latest bout with synchronicity has been mildly alarming as it concerns camels – and not the cigarettes. God help me, sometimes the cosmic switch is best left in the OFF position.

In 1973 Top 40 radio listeners had the misfortune of being constantly exposed to the cringingly wretched “Midnight at the Oasis.” Maria Muldaur is still a well regarded folk and blues singer and so her biggest hit still sounds anomalous, a career asterisk unlike say, Paul Anka’s execrable “(You’re) Having My Baby” from the same year, that ditty a fresh turd atop an already stinking pile.

“Midnight at the Oasis” is a sort of Middle Eastern erotic fantasy: Rudy Vallee as the sultan maybe, Scheherazade with a hippie hash pipe, more Justin Trudeau’s prep school Aladdin than Ilsa, Harem Keeper of the Oil Sheiks. Regardless, the fistful of sand in the Vaseline jar is undeniable. I’ve heard “Midnight at the Oasis” twice on the radio this past week. Me being meGeoff, I’ve been wandering around the Crooked 9 warbling my own lyric, “Midnight at the oasis, bring your camel to bed…”

Who knew things could get more bestial? Thursday morning’s newspaper carried an Associated Press story, datelined Dubai, United Arab Emirates stating that dozens of camels had been disqualified from a Saudi Arabian camel beauty contest. The busted cheater creatures had been injected with Botox and hormones, and had been subjected to other cosmetic alterations including facelifts.

The kingdom’s King Abdulaziz Camel Festival is an annual celebration of Bedouin heritage and culture, an affectionate affirmation of the old ways, much like Calgary’s annual Stampede. Its US $66-million prize pot is nothing to spit at. I am not mocking tradition here, but I must be permitted to snicker at the excesses and parallels with the West. It’s human nature to judge and compete: bodybuilders, Miss America contestants, gymnasts and figure skaters. You will find lipstick on a pig at an agricultural fair. Triple Crown contenders get a little something extra in their feedbags. Dogs go to spas and get stupid haircuts. Records, movies, hotels and restaurants are awarded stars.

But Botox for camels? Lips like Jagger. Rubberized, expressionless faces featuring impossibly white teeth. Disturbing anthropomorphism. Kardashian camels.

I reread the article. I put my pop art Who coffee mug down on the countertop, too struck to sip. I re-reread the article. I shook my head and looked to my right. The Crooked 9 is an old school household; it cannot function without the oversized kitchen wall calendar and erasable, magnetic board hung beneath it. I stared at the white rectangle imagining a movie screen. I saw Maria Muldaur bedding down with cigarette mascot Joe Camel. An artificially enhanced narcissist like him, I know the type: the kind of critter who’d place his ashtray on Maria’s belly.           

 

meGeoff has been your most unreliable, unbalanced and inaccurate alternative source of rational thought in a world teetering on the brink of madness since 2013. My novella Of Course You Did is widely available. Visit www.megeoff.com to find your preferred format and retailer.