Saturday, December 30, 2006

Absolutely, Positively

One day not to long ago, my mother told me that she was entertaining thoughts of going outside and painting polka dots on the mushrooms that were growing on her lawn after several days of rain. I said it would be fun to freak out the neighbors, and she agreed, but I'm not sure that this was her initial intention. Mom's into tole painting and just likes to paint cutesy things on objects of all kinds. But I vowed that if I lived to be old and gray, I would definitely indulge in this kind of eccentricity.

So, when a certain Mermaid known as Charlotte Della Luna posted the Which Historical Lunatic Are You? test, I couldn't resist finding out. I am thrilled with the result!

You are Joshua Abraham Norton, first and only Emperor of the United States of America!

LinkI'm Joshua Abraham Norton, the first and only Emperor of the United States of America!

Since nothing above is linked to the essay about this guy, I've reproduced it below. The fact that his life's story played out in San Francisco only affirms the similarities I perceive between it and New Orleans. Joshua Abraham Norton would have been right at home here. We have the same kind of irreverence and sense of humor in this town. If there's an afterlife, I'll bet the Emperor is holding court
right now with our queen, Ruthie the Duck Lady. (Sad & Tragic Note: Look at what happened to the historic archives of Eccentric New Orleans.

Here's the story of
Joshua Abraham Norton, my American hero:

Born in England sometime in the second decade of the nineteenth century, you carved a notable business career, in South Africa and later San Francisco, until an entry into the rice market wiped out your fortune in 1854. After this, you became quite different. The first sign of this came on September 17, 1859, when you expressed your dissatisfaction with the political situation in America by declaring yourself Norton I, Emperor of the USA. You remained as such, unchallenged, for twenty-one years.

Within a month you had decreed the dissolution of Congress. When this was largely ignored, you summoned all interested parties to discuss the matter in a music hall, and then summoned the army to quell the rebellious leaders in Washington. This did not work. Magnanimously, you decreed (eventually) that Congress could remain for the time being. However, you disbanded both major political parties in 1869, as well as instituting a fine of $25 for using the abominable nickname "Frisco" for your home city.

Your days consisted of parading around your domain - the San Francisco streets - in a uniform of royal blue with gold epaulettes. This was set off by a beaver hat and umbrella. You dispensed philosophy and inspected the state of sidewalks and the police with equal aplomb. You were a great ally of the maligned Chinese of the city, and once dispersed a riot by standing between the Chinese and their would-be assailants and reciting the Lord's Prayer quietly, head bowed.

Once arrested, you were swiftly pardoned by the Police Chief with all apologies, after which all policemen were ordered to salute you on the street. Your renown grew. Proprietors of respectable establishments fixed brass plaques to their walls proclaiming your patronage; musical and theatrical performances invariably reserved seats for you and your two dogs. (As an aside, you were a good friend of Mark Twain, who wrote an epitaph for one of your faithful hounds, Bummer.) The Census of 1870 listed your occupation as "Emperor".

The Board of Supervisors of San Francisco, upon noticing the slightly dilapidated state of your attire, replaced it at their own expense. You responded graciously by granting a patent of nobility to each member. Your death, collapsing on the street on January 8, 1880, made front page news under the headline "Le Roi est Mort". Aside from what you had on your person, your possessions amounted to a single sovereign, a collection of walking sticks, an old sabre, your correspondence with Queen Victoria and 1,098,235 shares of stock in a worthless gold mine. Your funeral cortege was of 30,000 people and over two miles long.

The burial was marked by a total eclipse of the sun.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

The Emperor and the King must get together soon and hold court!!
I must say the Emperor sounds a bit less insane than the King. At least you didn't wet your pants. :)

7:16 PM  
Anonymous ashley said...

Good lord...I'm not linking to this from my blog.


I'm Caligula.

12:35 AM  
Anonymous Sophmom said...

I was Charles VI of France, also known as Charles the Mad or Charles the Well-Beloved! Whatever that means!

Happy New Year, Lisa! I hope 2007 is the best year ever! :)

4:25 PM  
Blogger LisaPal said...

As soon as my house is done, I'm going to have a Come as the Historic Lunatic You Are party. Y'all coming?

12:11 PM  
Anonymous ashley said... you *really* want me as Caligula?

3:22 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Oh yeah! Dressing up as a fopish mad french king would be a blast!

11:06 PM  
Blogger Richard said...

Oh great and noble Emperor, we would welcome you graciously to your home city by the bay any day. Please do visit you loyal subjuects whenever you wish.

12:45 AM  
Blogger LisaPal said...

Well, we do seem to be assembling a stunning assortment of lunatics. Those represented in the results I've seen are truly world-class. And what lunatic party would be complete without Caligula? Besides, I think you'd look great in the emperor's garb, Ashley. Just don't get carried away and stay in character. (You either, Mermaid and Sophmom!)

Richard, it's been way too long since I've been to San Francisco. I love that city almost as much as New Orleans, have spent more time there than in any other city (post-K Virginian exile doesn't count), and have had many life altering events take place there, as well. There's a good chance that Rachel was conceived in SF, but it's just as possible that she was conceived in *gasp* Modesto, a place that's spawned its own share of social deviants. As far as I'm concerned, the fact that she was born in New Orleans undoes any potential Modesto mojo. As corny as it sounds, I really did leave at least part of my heart in San Francisco and returning might involve dealing with some exquisitely painful memories of the happy times I had there with Rachel's father. Nonetheless, I do hope I can get back before I really am as crazy Joshua Abraham Norton. How far away is that? If some normalcy doesn't return to my life soon, it may not be as far away as I (we?) think it is.

5:46 AM  

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