Spaceman Jim

“Downtrodden run of the mill Brooklyn-esque hipster seeking manic pixie dream boat to lift spirits and breathe new life into perpetually floundering heart” My eyes almost blew out of my freshly shaven head when I read that. Only a few hours before blast off and I had to go and read a thing like that. Innocently sitting in my dressing room just trying to pass the anxious moments before show time and a wild personal ad in the back of the Dispatch sends me into a hysteric state of extreme mystification. Oh the sweet irony! As if god is pouring ironic honey slowly down my forehead, mocking me during my final hours on this blue planet. I regain my confidence before the mirror – standing tall, my head held high, proudly cradling my helmet. T-minus 3 hours and then blast off into the great expanse and the dark uncertainty of the cosmos beyond. I can recall the foolish devil boy I was back when signing up for Spacecamp in the 80’s, at first getting promoted to captain my freshman term out of flight class – and those final heartbreaking years of refusal, climbing the ranks to full fledged Space Commander with my own crew, and my very own shimmering pair of space booties. I thought of my old freshman year roommate, toothless Banyo – I wonder where he is now? I wonder if he would marvel at my silvery space suit or at my Dali-esque mustache perfectly trimmed just so. I can see his eyes well up with tears like an electrocuted schoolhouse rat, mumbling senseless gibberish then raising his half crazed slender limbs in the air. What am I saying? There are times when I close my eyes and I become Banyo instead of Commander Lorenz with all of my responsibilities and commitments. Does anyone every think about what would happen to me if I failed to live up to my obligations and responsibilities? Maybe poor old Banyo does – I can still see him as he would return from a flight simulator seminar, dipping the back of his trembling hands into the mirror surface of our small dorm room sink, then raising them up to the ceiling as if to ask god ‘why?’ Most days ended with him manically mincing back and forth with an erratic strut in his step while shaking his head. He then goes off and does one of his bow-legged city walks up and down the tarmac for all eyes to see. I can recall the last time I ever laid eyes on him as the MP’s placed the handcuffs on - the other recruits and I stood starring in disbelief as he kicked out the back windshield of the police jeep – just pure classic Banyo. But that is neither here nor there. I can’t imagine a better place to spend your final days on this earth before blast off then Monroe’s. The night before last I went down there, cause lets face it, that’s where the action is best. They take the flack out of being a spaceman. This is no joke - they have got the finest shakedown Jacuzzi in town. I am not kidding in any way whatsoever when I tell you that they crank that bubblin’ body cauldron up to the perfect degree. Oh sweet surrender this place is hard to beat! You can just ease right on in and get loose and jiggly in the flesh. They also serve up the finest Mediterranean ceviche this side of Colfax Street - always perfectly zested and fresh, with just the slightest hint of octopus heart. Monroe himself learned the recipe from and ancient shaman king and it really shows in the care and presentation of this tasty little dish. Oh how I enjoy gorging myself on that salt laden ceviche, then getting all roasty by the roaring fire pit. It’s the sweetest thing to do while at Monroe’s, just settling down easy next to the great flames, wrapped up like a crepe in an ox flesh blanket – perfectly satiated and roasted to the bone.