mango pudding blues 2.0

MANTRA

Here at Mango Pudding Blues, whilst we shuttle through a wild employment transition period with its attendant fear and uncertainty, we have adopted two mantras, both from films we’ve seen. One is from the excellent Requiem For a Dream, in which a late night motivational television guru has his crowd shout “Be excited! Be be excited!” in an addictively rhythmic chant. The other is from the horrible Bowfinger, which we would regret seeing but for one golden moment in which Eddie Murphy, caught in some kind of pickle, repeats rapidly under his breath, “Keep it together. Keep it together keep it togetherkeepittogetherkeepitogether.”

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MANGO vs. THE WILDLIFE

Our pet peeve, our bugbear, our bête noir here at Mango Pudding Blues is the highwayside sign that warns of wildlife crossing the road. As we drive by these signs we are invariably gripped by horrific fantasies of the carnage we’re in for should we hit one of ’em (an animal, not the sign). The crumpled car. The mist of blood and bone. Our trajectory as we hurl, atomized, through the airbag, through the steering column, through the engine, through the bellowing moose and out into the cosmos to meet our maker.

We have trouble believing that we, collectively, can put a man on the moon but haven’t figured out how to keep moose off of our highways. Sonic shockwaves? Satellite warning systems? Fences? But no; we have only the warning sign. And what good is it? What are we supposed to do with this information? One isn’t allowed to drive while continuously honking and flashing one’s lights (although we are sorely tempted to try).

The signs really seem to be saying that we are likely to hit an animal, and so we ought to be psychologically prepared for it. Which, in our case, means to tense up completely. Surely we’d be more likely to achieve an infinitely small chance of survival if our body were proverbially relaxed and therefore able to be miraculously thrown clear of the accident without a scratch.

Some signs specify that there is a particular danger at night, which is nice if you’re driving by in the daytime. And on the highway between here and Montreal there’s a spot where there’s two signs, one with a deer and one with a moose. As if it matters to us which species we’ll be dying with when we hit them.

For a while, Killer offered us some comfort, saying she never worried about deer colliding with her, since she’d never seen any large wildlife anywhere near the road in her many years of highway driving. Then one night, on one of our road trips, in upstate New York near Chataqua, she saw a deer just standing there in the shoulder, ready to pounce. Now she worries about it too.

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