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The Arts & Media Books Dionysus At 50 and More Woe

The sccrct ofguys! The sagę of Lakę Wobegon tells how bozos gct that way.

By JOHN SKOW Nov. 22, 1993

Ariadnę, her eycs large with compassion, tells her husband, "Dio, we need to talk about your drinking." Dionysus can’t bclieve what he is hearing. "Look, l'm the god of winę, okay? I'm not the god of iccd tea. I am the god of rcvclry, a crucial element of the fertility process. The dancing and drinking and whooping and wahooing is what makes the wheat grow, babes. Thal's what gives us the com crop."

It's no good. After thousands of years of orgies with nymphs, Macedonian virgins, satyrs, hairy-earcd sailors and lots of olive oii, Dionysus has turncd 50. His hair has tliinncd, and what's left hangs likc dry moss. Ariadnę tells him that people drink to compensate for Iow self-esteem, and he says he has plenty of self-esteem; he‘s a god. Not after 50, you'rc not, is her chilling answer.

So goes The Mid-Life Crisis of Dionysus, a sly sketch from Garrison Keillor's American Radio Company show, and the ringing central gong of his amiable new collection, The Book of Guys (Viking; 340 pagcs; $22). But there's more, and worse. "Adolcscence hits boys harder than it does girls," Keillor writes. "Girls bleed a littlc and their breasts pop out, big deal, but adolcscence lands on a guy with both fect, a bad hormonc experience. Your body is engulfed by Chemicals of ragę and dcspair, you pound, you shriek, you batter your head against the trccs."

Yeah, right, thinks a guy reader with old scars on his forehcad. So what if guys arc bozos?

Tell it, Garrison. He does: "Women know about life and social life and how to get along with others, and thcy are sensitive to bcauty, aud at the same time they can ycll louder. They know all about guys, having been exposed to guy life and guy b.s. sińce forever, and guys know nothing about girls exccpt that they want one desperately. Which gender is better equipped to manipulatc the other?"

, Keillor, whosc Lakę Wobegon monologucs establishcd him as the fiinniest American writer still open for business, leaves off direct argument just as women readers are taking a deep breath and checking their 3-by-5 notę cards, and craftily retreats to parablc. Zeus, lolling at a seaside cafe, is confronted by Hera's lawyer, who threatens litigation. The father of the gods turns the twit inio vinaigrette dressing, pours the stufTover saTad, then tells a waiter the greens are wilted and should be fed to pigs. "And bring me a beautiful young woman, passionate but compiiant, with smali, ripe breasts." Alas, this is Zeus' last good move. In no time he transforms himself into an American tourist, a Lutheran minister from Odensc, Pennsylvania. Zeus lusts after the minister's bored and contemptuous wifc, who, of course, is not having any, and never mind that her puffy husband seems oddly different.

Hard times for guy dictics, even those who are electcd. George Bush, in another sketch, is fishing from the presidential yacht with Willie Horton — got him out of prison for the afternoon, figured he owed Willie a lot — when news breaks of an invasion of Chicago: wavc after wavc of squat, fiat- nosed horsemen in leather skirts, waving their fists and rolling their little red eyes. Bush calls for bipartisanship and issues a statement that barbarianism is a long-tenn problem, no quick Solutions, the answer is education. The President will, it is promised, decidc soon whether to namc a barbarian czar to coordinate the federal effort. So as to appear calm and in control, Bush tlies to Kennebunkport for a week of tennis.

Marve!ous stufĘ by a guy who provcs you don't have to be Ross Pcrot to be funny. Keillor for Secrctary of Spin!