Young, White and Stupid

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Photo illustration by Dave Zylstra

Art Kumbalek

I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, no essay this week on account I just realized I’m scheduled to go to the doctor’s for my sort-of-yearly check-up to see if I still got at least a couple, three days to make out a will. And since I’m running a little early, I thought I’d first swing by my favorite open-24-hours restaurant where a guy like me can get a jump-start on girding his loins in preparation for the day’s daily shit-storm to follow. Come along if you want but you leave the tip. Let’s get going.

Bea: Hey there, Artie. Haven’t seen you for a while.

Art: I’ve been busy, Bea, sending out my resume to the federal government to see if they got an opening for an ambassador somewheres. I figure maybe it’s time I get a regular job that pays more than a buck two-eighty, so’s I got a little dough to leave behind for remembrance when I croak.

Bea: Ambassador, Artie?

Art: Darn tootin’, Bea. I like that the main responsibility is to go to banquets, and then the rest of the time you conduct yourself like a regular Santa Claus from America who’s come to some godforsaken part of the world to bring glad tidings of a better way of life, toss some dough around, be nice to the kids and just plain spread a little good cheer each and every day—especially in those places where the people seem that they just can’t get enough of slaughtering each other, what the fock.

Bea: Sounds mighty nice. So, what’s your pleasure, Artie?

Art: How ’bout you shovel me a nice scoop of the blackest, thickest and cheapest cup of whatever you’re calling plain-old American coffee today. And by thick, I mean the kind of coffee a guy could sculpt with if he were so inclined.

Bea: Coming right up, Artie. Here you go. Would you like a spoon, or a putty knife?

Art: I’ll take the putty knife, Bea, thank you kindly.

Bea: So what do you hear, what do you know, Artie?

Art: I heard that Little Jimmy Iodine’s nephew started up one of those rock bands in his basement the other day.

Bea: You don’t say. That nephew’s a nice young man. Comes in for cup of chili and to use the men’s room around bar time on occasion. I didn’t know he was musical.

Art: That’s the problem, Bea. He’s not. But I guess he doesn’t have to be. He’s the lead singer.

Bea: Does he have a nice voice. Artie?

Art: Not unless you think stuffing a tomcat into a Vegematic and setting it for “puree” would make a nice sound. But I’ll tell you one thing, Bea—you can always tell when a lead singer’s at the door.

Bea: How’s that, Artie.

Art: He can’t find the key and doesn’t know when to come in. Ba-ding! Yeah yeah, so the first thing these knuckleheads did before they even practiced a song was go get tattoos. On their foreheads. They said you can’t be in a rock band without a tattoo these days. I think these kids watch too much professional basketball.

Bea: Oh, my. Have they chosen a name for the band?

Art: They have not, Bea. I suggested they call themselves “Young, White and Stupid.” They want to change the world, you know. What’s your favorite music to listen to, Bea?

Bea: I like the classical music, Artie.

Art: Oh yeah, they’ve got some good songs. But I’ll tell you, Bea, those symphony orchestras could learn a trick or two from the rock bands so’s to put on a better show. Like, show a little professional respect for the audience and memorize your Mozart, Beethoven, your Hugo Winterhalter tunes. If you still don’t know the music well enough that you still got to read it off the chart by the time you hit the stage, then play something you know better. How hard can that be? And unless you’re the piano player or the drummer, stand up when you play. String players, listen: Are you bus drivers or are you musicians? Get up off of your ass. You ever see James Brown and the Famous Flames perform the classic “I Got You (I Feel Good)” whilst sitting on their dupa? I think not.

Bea: I don’t know about the musical artists, but I do know that I surely would love to be able to sit down on the job here and there.

Art: God bless you, Bea. But I got to run, so thanks for the coffee and for letting me bend your ear there, Bea—utiful. See you next time.

Bea: My pleasure, Artie. Always nice getting talked at by you. Take care.

(It’s off to the doctor’s and then the Uptowner tavern/charm school for an either-way toast to health. If I see you there, then you buy me one ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.)