My Survival Kit for When the Evildoers Strike Next

world 0 My Survival Kit for When the Evildoers Strike NextSo the evildoers are gonna get us again. I can feel it; they’re getting ready. Leon Panetta for C.I.A. head? Were Warren Christopher and Richard Simmons both unavailable? Not to worry, I’m sure the incoming secretary of state will have the terrorists quaking in their boots, postponing plans to make kaboomies. I’ve been watching the 35th anniversary Death Wish fest on American Movie Classics. My fiancée loves the whole franchise, thinks they’re comedies; every time Bronson wastes a switchblade-wielding mugger, she’s cackling away.

Anyway, I’m putting together my survival kit. Remember when everyone promised themselves they’d pack one after 9/11? And how no one did? Suckers.

So here goes.

Au poivre buffalo burgers, scallion cream cheese, crab cakes, matzo ball soup, creamed spinach, salmon caviar, cheese, pigs in a blanket, beef jerky from the Mast General store in Boone, N.C., 50-year-old Macallan’s single malt whiskey—O.K., some 23-year-old pompous ass with a beard is now thinking, Ha, what a dope, he doesn’t know you’re supposed to call it Macallan. Well, dudes like you are only good for one thing: ruining my drinks. Go back to fuckin’ Wesleyan. Let’s see, where was I? A pound of White Widow marijuana; the whole trick is to catch a slight buzz throughout the day, every few hours, then continue going about your tasks. I pity anyone who doesn’t do this on a regular basis. At the same time, I don’t like advocating marijuana use for anyone but me and am not in favor of softening Rockefeller drug laws—I’d make ’em even tougher for people in Hollywood.

Just looked into purchasing a bong at my local deli. Two prep-school dudes checking them out, too. I asked the very nice Muslim man to show me the bong; the price tag had a 5, a 9, and another 5 on it, so I figured all right, we’re in a depression, bongs are even cheaper than eighth grade. Nope. Guy wanted $59.95. Three of us burst out laughing at him. Then again, beginning to worry that after a month of sparking up every day and no exercise, I’m becoming somewhat lazy.

More for the kit: At least five different kinds of croutons.

CDs: the Band’s Music From Big Pink; Jethro Tull’s Songs from the Wood; Erik Satie’s Oeuvres Pour Piano Volume 3; Barry Manilow Live; Funky Kingston/In the Dark by Toots and the Maytals; Beach Boys’ Endless Summer; the Who’s Tommy; Bob Dylan’s Desire; all Miles Davis; Van Morrison’s Moondance (music freak friend argues he’d rather have Astral Weeks because Moondance is “too polished,” but you know what, he cried during Marley and Me so he’s disqualified); Judith Owen’s Mopping Up Karma (because of karma—I called her bonkers in this newspaper); the greatest hits of Joni Mitchell, Fats Domino, Ricky Nelson, John Denver, Neil Sedaka, George Jones; Are You Shakespearienced? by Trip Shakespeare (Check this OUT: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jwlHcFj0W_E); Hong Kong Gooey Volume 7—don’t know what that’s doing here, or the Vanessa Del Rio flick; the Stones’ Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out; Comedy Minus One by Albert Brooks; Pride and Prejudice read by Jenny Agutter; and Steve Martin’s Comedy Is Not Pretty!

Let’s say I’m one of the last who survive, I Am Legend–style, and I appoint me emperor. I’ll ban Brits saying “massive” and “proper” (a proper flat, a proper lorry, etc.). Australian guys will be outlawed. In fact, dudes in general can take a hike.

May or may not pack up my Complete New Yorker with the eight DVDs. The mag irked me last night, Nancy Franklin writing about the Elvis Costello talk show, said she’s “not crazy” about the studio audience: “I noticed only two black faces and no young proto-rockers, just a monotonous sea of well-groomed upper-middle-class white people…” What does she expect? So that bothered me along with all the gratuitous Bush bashing in the magazine. Guess the deal is, if you include a sentence dissing Dubya, everyone winks at you when you walk down the New Yorker hallway, like a secret handshake: Pssst, nice goin’ with the chimp reference in your “pop notes” column or restaurant review, keep fighting the good fight, Obama’s gonna change the world, he’s gonna change it and rearrange it!