THE TAO OF MaGOO

The sun was barely above the hills, and I was driving along to work to go and save some lives. (I actually transfused two units of blood and platelets the other day; so no, psychiatry is not just, "Tell me about your childhood," and turning your mother into a metaphoric pinata.) I had my cup of Joe and then some kind LA drivers bleerily allowed me to cut in and make a left turn across traffic. I thought, "How sweet; who says LA drivers are..." And - WHAM! I was hit. Me and my new Jetta! My new, cute black Jetta with leather interior and sun roof! I couldn't believe it. I had just woken up. Hell, I had just bought it! Really, this car was so new I can honestly say that Madonna has had orgasms that lasted longer than it has been in my possession.

So I stopped, glared at my dazed assailant and said - of course - "What the fuck is your problem?" (Never mind that I yelled this through my rolled up window.) Before I knew it, I had leapt from my injured companion's side and into the face of this poor kid. I was so tough I wish my agent could have seen me. (Maybe he'd finally send me out to play some heterosexual parts.) In one split instant, I proved that New York was still in my blood (if not my address book). I was fuming mad but gave a valiant effort to remain composed (and a virgin to the judicial system). The young man was originally hostile but calmed down when I started snapping pictures with my cell phone and saying things like, "See these tire tracks? It proves that you saw me and couldn't stop in time." Then we did the proscribed exchange of information and were on our way. (My friend Lisa, the powerhouse prosecutor, will note that we did not wait for the police.) So, I continued on my drive, chainsmoking and trying to be Zen about my morning violation. Then, fantasty kicked in - I imagined that maybe that this seemingly negative event would lead to something good. "All things happen for a reason," you know. I imagined that the man and I would meet to discuss the details about who would pay for the repair bill and then he'd look into my eyes and say, "Langdon, you beautiful man, you must allow me to pay for dinner. And wine. And then, if you have the time, would you like to get married?"

Don't worry; reality soon came a knockin'. I realized that Fabio was really too high maintenance. And that just because I was hit, I didn't have to let it ruin my day. (The hospital would do that soon enough.) Not to mention that "I" was not hit. My car was. (I have often thought that "I" am not "me." "I" am something travelling in the vehicle that is my skin. [My well-moisturized skin.] But I'll save these deeper musings for when I finally find my Golden Pond, or Walden Forest; currently, the only Leaves of Grass I have to write about are the bags of weed I confiscate from patients in the emergency room.) So, for now, I think I'm actually contented with blindly driving forward and seeing what wonders there are to bump into...just like MaGoo.