July 1st, 2009
Most will recite an aphorism, a decision which I generally find quite distasteful; you almost want to salute when they go over. An aphorism is a poor magician’s trick that seems to unveil a hidden truth, when really it has only charmed the audience. I imagine some have a trunk full at home and constantly change their mind about which one to employ on their appointed day.
One lady went so far as to perform Queen Gertrude’s monologue, “There is a willow grows aslant the brook…”; everyone pretended to love it. After she leaped the consensus was that it was in dreadful taste, though you could see the uncomfortable looks of those who had secretly considered the words of the Bard of Avon for their own dénouement.
Worse than these are the disingenuous, the unhappy Fools who lose their nerve and have to be pushed. A few have even had the silly notion that if they leap far enough they will clear the rocks below and plunge safely in the sea. The first to try, poor M. Fuljambe, in an attempt to wring the most out of his leap, misjudged his steps, slipped on the brink, and cuffed the cliff side more than once before dashing upon the rocks below.
Spry Sturtivant went the following year, and I think some harbored a secret hope that he would try, if only to see if the feat could be achieved at all. Sturtivant got up a sprint and made a great push off from the rim; those with lingering fear of our endeavor were forced to confront their cheering hearts – if only for a moment – as naturally he too made an awful wreck upon the rocks.
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June 24th, 2009
“Where did we get this story from? Would you like to know? We got it from the grocer’s paper barrel. Many books, both good and rare, have ended up in the paper barrel – not to be read but as wrapping for flour and coffee beans, salt herring, butter and cheese. Literature, I suppose, has its uses. Things are often thrown away that shouldn’t be.”
- Hans Christian Anderson, Auntie Toothache
Once a year we convene before a curling iron gate, near to the brink of an unbowed cliff that overlooks the sea. We are not the grim society one might expect, and greet each other with cordiality; the men wear suits and bowler hats, and the ladies wear fine summer dresses and carry parasols. The gate is unlocked, and filing through we proceed down a narrow flagstone promenade that wends its way along the precipice. The walk is hedged by low rock walls, dressed in wild shrubs and brakes of gardenia, with an iron balustrade to prevent the accidental fall.
At path’s end one steps out onto a lovely pergola set into the rock, shaded by a trellis woven with honeysuckle. A weather-worn statue of a bearded old man stands in the middle of the mottled shade, his expression lost to time. Perched on his shoulders are a raven and a dove, spewing arcs of water that play in his upturned palms, happily burbling against the muffled crash of waves below.
We take our seats on stone benches; tea is served and slices of puff pastry with almond filling. One of us finds a porcelain figurine hidden in their pastry and is designated le Mat, or the Fool. That person is allowed some time to collect their thoughts, to say a few words if they like. When the nominee is ready they gather the nerve and jump from the cliff to their death.
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June 17th, 2009
When I was a student many years ago I went for a stroll one lovely evening to return a chessboard I had borrowed for a project. Along the way an man shouted to me from nearly a block away. I slowed my pace and allowed him to catch up – the wisdom of youth. He challenged me to a friendly game of chess. I declined saying that anyone who wanted to play chess was a superior player.
We walked and talked for a while instead, the talk of those who enjoy the company of strangers. I eventually asked if he lived in town and he said no that he was from the City. He told me that he had just been paroled, that he was HIV positive, and that he had had a grand mal seizure and been sent upstate for the hospital facilities; from his pocket he produced rumpled documentation for all of it: identification, medical forms, discharge papers.
Very humbly he asked if I could spare enough for a bus back to the City. I checked the bills in my wallet like hole cards: a pair of twenty dollar bills. His being the worst story I had ever heard I found no trouble giving up one of them. He thanked me profusely. We continued to walk and talk in our friendly way, both of us relieved.
We passed from the streetlights to the dark beneath the shivering elms. I turned then and saw to my disappointment that my friend had pulled a gun. He explained that he had intended to mug me but that I seemed so nice he didn’t have the heart. However, he really needed that other twenty. I’m proud to say I protested at first, but then I suppose I remembered what guns were for. I handed it over; he thanked me again and we said goodbye. Just as he was on the brink of disappearing into the woods he turned and shouted, “Good luck with school!”
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June 10th, 2009
It is generally accepted in our culture that hard work and dedication will win one success in life. I suppose this is possible, but the notion that this is a truism is ludicrous – possibly the most hard working and dedicated falsehood in the Western world.
Most ’successful’ people go on to conclude that they and their peers must be generally more determined and intelligent, and that less successful people must be generally lazier or of lesser intelligence. Had they any real intelligence they would know that this is called a deductive fallacy. Countless studies are made correlating income with intelligence – my own research suggests that the majority of scientists who conduct these studies are cognitively impaired.
The supposition is that good work in our society yields prosperity, but in spite of our best efforts we have a kind of modern gentry, a mediocre lot who advance by favors and nepotism. The rich make egregious errors in child rearing the poor can only dream about. It is true that some have made their own way, but their manic persistence suggests an imbalance of hormones (which may explain the often coincident difficulty with fidelity).
This is not to say there aren’t brilliant and kindly people who have achieved great success in life or that there are not hordes of dangerous idiots among the impoverished, only that each caste is granted the same scant proportion of virtue. The human race has been on this trajectory since the advent of privilege. For the underprivileged a lack of determination leaves their fortunes entirely to the Fates, the same fickle witches who denied them favor in the first place.
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June 3rd, 2009
Often when people are discussing a television show someone will feel compelled to declare, “I don’t watch television.” What motivated them to interject this autobiographical detail? Ignoring the rudeness of the timing I suppose they want to intimate their uncommitted free time is dedicated to literature and meditation. If there is an attack of deadly nerve gas they are proud to wait for the morning paper.
Reading can be a rewarding pastime (or a reliable sedative), but one can’t read while doing housework or paying bills. They presume intellectual superiority when really they’re only admitting to not being able to do two things at once. Certainly quiet time and going outdoors are important too, it is unfortunate that they can only manage these with an absolute ban on other activities.
It is also strange for self-described intelligent people to express such a willful contempt for a niche of cultural literacy. As other mediums die or decline television continues to flourish; even as its audience and revenues dwindle programming continues to evolve. The complaint that most of it is worthless fodder only means that the complainer is not up to the elementary task of separating wheat from chaff. It also pretends that the same isn’t true of music, film, painting, sculpture, architecture, photography, diorama, the written word, and every other medium – often at less agreeable ratios.
Most claimants to television abstinence are like kids with purity rings; really they take in all manner of shows – by any avenue other than the old cable box. For those who really do watch little or no television well that’s their prerogative, albeit one akin to not dining with silverware. But, I hope that by announcing the fact they don’t think they are doing anything other than confessing a shortcoming. Only an incurious mind could get nothing out of it.
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