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Monday, November 28, 2016

Nurse the Hate: My Godfather Part 2



There is another opportunity for me to become a Godfather again in the near future.  This is obviously very exciting news for me as I have never been known to pass The Godfather movie whenever I stumble onto it on cable.  It is an undeniable fact that I like the idea of being a Godfather much more than any of the actual duties of being a Godfather.  I am, frankly, completely unaware of the actual duties of being a Godfather unless you count repeating dialogue from the Coppola films.  I have yet to have the opportunity to sit in a darkened office with nearby muscle as I slap my godson screaming “Be a man!”.  I will share with you that based on some social media photos I have glimpsed of my current godson, I am concerned that I am on a collision course with that reality.  As I haven’t actually spoken with my godson in well over two years, this will probably come as a shock to the boy.  A grown man that is essentially a stranger slapping your face and screaming at you?  Eh, what can you do…  You gotta straighten the kid out.

I think a mistake I made in the past was to focus on the characteristics of Vito Corleone.  This time around I think if given the opportunity I will assume a role more akin to Don Fanucci, the Black Hand from Godfather 2.  While Don Fanucci did get shot by DeNiro at the Feast, he had a good run prior.  I think I can really assimilate into the Don Fanucci personality and have it work for all parties concerned.  I can definitely claim a puppet show is too violent for me.  That’s easy.  I will just need to create a scenario where I extort cash from someone and place my hat on top of it as I drink espresso.  I think it will be less effective if that hat is a Giants baseball cap, but I can’t start walking around in white suits a la Don Fanucci.  I have already shared with you my last disaster with a white suit.  There is no need to go back there.

I will need to make clear to the interested party in retaining my Godfather services that unless the kid lives in my immediate orbit, I will offer almost no real support.  I am much too busy and self-involved to possibly be seen as a safety net emotionally.  Granted, if the parents are eaten by a mountain lion while on an unlikely hiking expedition, I will see to the boy’s education, though by “see to” I mean enroll the child in military school and have awkward holiday dinners when he is on leave.  “So…  How’s school?  Hmm…  That’s nice.  Can you pass the rolls?”  I won’t be completely absent though.  I would like to take him to Cleveland’s West Side Market as he walks by my side as I pluck fruit off vendor’s carts and eat my way through the stalls.  I should practice wearing a coat on my shoulders beforehand.  It would be embarrassing if it falls off when I am shaking down the citrus stall.  The boy doesn’t need to see that.

Maybe I can somehow blend the Vito and Don Fanucci roles and take my godson in like Robert Duvall’s “Tom” character.  Though I don’t suspect I need a consigliere, it would be conceptually good to have one.  I know plenty of guys that have fast cars and nice guitars, but I don’t know any that have a consigliere.  That’s a real status symbol.  It will be tough to work into conversation.  I would have to say complete lines of Godfather movie dialogue with key details switched out.  It will probably shake people initially when I lean in and whisper “So, Leo will move against you first.  He will set up a meeting with you with someone that you absolutely trust, guaranteeing your safety.  And at that meeting, you will be assassinated.” I will get the kid into it too.  It will be confusing when a young boy shows up at places I am frequenting and announces “I'm an attorney for Greg Miller. These men are private detectives hired to protect Greg Miller. They are licensed to carry firearms. If you interfere you'll have to appear before a judge in the morning and show cause.”  In time I think people will think of it as just “an amusing quirk”.  We’ll see I suppose.


It is an exciting time.

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