Dear diary,
I wanna try to write a short entry, just to have something to…
Easter did it. Like all holidays, this one commemorating resurrection killed me. All the days leading up to it were filled with anxiety, and the day itself was a torment, and then these days of aftermath are just as bad, because my nerves are now well-oiled, by which I mean they’re ready, at the slightest provocation (the merest thought will do) to shoot my body full of adrenaline: FEAR. So that is why my penmanship appears shaky.
I have no pleasure in anything, at the moment. And it’s proof of an achieved optimism that I even add that phrase “at the moment”, for I can’t believe that any day will ever again be enjoyable. – I can’t believe it, I can only say it.
QUESTION: Exactly what happens at the average family’s Easter celebration? (HINT: “Hosanna!”)
ANSWER: Dogs bark; the TV presents a ballgame; folks make small talk. Food is cooking somewhere, you can smell it – sometime you might get to eat it; although you have no appetite because you’ve turned down the host’s offering of alcohol, in an effort to appear as something you’re not: an unflustered adult.
And everyone loves to tell about their job. Nice to meet you, Bryan; so you’re Susan’s older brother? Yes I am. Ah, so what’s your racket? I work for the C.I.A. Oh that sounds interesting. Yes it is; how about yourself? I’m at a yoga startup. Oh wow. Yeah it’s fun: I love the people, both the customers and our team of coaches; and although my co-workers and I are basically slaves to the corporation—we’re forced to work from sunup to sundown; and we’re not paid a living wage, so, to evade homelessness, we all either house-sit for friends or live with mom—still, once business begins to boom, as I’m certain it shall, our franchise will expand from its current four locations to more than 200; at which point all of us lesser employees will be promoted to part-owners, and then we’ll be making loads of cash: we might even be able to afford the first payment on our medical treatment; for, by that time, we’ll all have some disease or other, and no retirement pension.
Additionally everyone loves to talk about sports. Who’s playing today? The Squids versus the Stoners. My favorite player is David; who’s yours? I like Ahimelech the Hittite; also Abishai the son of Zeruiah, brother of Joab. Oh good choice; but I heard Ahimelech’s injury might keep him from playing this season. Yeah, it looks like… Never mind, I can’t even feign interest in this topic.
Lastly everyone loves to talk about what they recently purchased with their credit cards. Look at my stretchy pants that I bought from website dot zoo: good deal, low price. Look at this ornate snuff box slash television remote control holder. Look at my hair gems. Ooh I love those hair gems; they’re better than all the other hair gems I’ve ever seen. How much did they cost? 700 kopeks. How much was your bald cap? Sixteen guineas. Whoa, where’d you find it? Everything’s online nowadays; I just follow all the fashion sites and self-styled hot-girl blogs. Oh I love hot-girl blogs; that’s where I got this spear and this cruse of water. Yes, shopping for items online is as easy and fun as hunting for a partridge in the mountains.
Then we all have a big religious dumb-off. I call it a dumb-off rather than an argument, for an argument requires that each member of the family voice her war-cry and offend her foemen with an intellectual attack, whereas, in a dumb-off, you sort of half-hint at what you think you might believe, but you retreat and backtrack before actually saying anything; then, all at once, everyone gets very sleepy. So we change the subject to how cute pet dogs are.
*
How would you like to play tee-ball in a faraway land, with others from your country who’ve become expatriates? (Our team needs a shortstop.) Yes? OK, now you live in Shanghai. Your daily routine is: wake up, drink rum, play ball. Best of all, unlike working for the mob, you can leave when you like.
*
Sorry to myself: I know that I prefer to read long entries, but I’m too exhausted to write more. By the way, that last paragraph (the one surrounded by asterisks), plus much of the stuff above it, was taken from actual talks that occurred at the party.
P.S.
As I explained much better in my last postscript, long ago I made a rap demo album called Happy Songs of Love, which contained ten tracks. Below is another one of the titles from this album. It was recorded at my parents’ house, back in the days when I used to work for my dad’s trucking company. I was the accountant and safety director. Since my dad used his personal residence as his business address, my own office was just a bedroom with a computer in it. One day, after my dad left the house to go do maintenance on his trucks, I took my four-track cassette recorder out of my briefcase, plugged in the microphone, and said my rap.
You might notice that the present verse begins only after a lengthy spell of unscripted mumblings; and then, right after the verse ends, I remark: “Oh no, the state office is calling.” This is because the Minnesota Department of Transportation was, at that very moment, attempting to notify us that our company was scheduled to be audited: a representative would soon pay us a visit to check the accuracy of the safety files that it was my job to maintain (this type of inspection was my worst fear, by the way) – and since the corded phone was positioned at eye-level where I was rapping, I was able to see the agency’s name and number appear in the caller-I.D. display. This was back in the epoch when every home had at least one land-line (that is: a communications connection by cable laid across land) whose corded telephone boasted an I.D. display, to help you decide which calls not to answer.
Incidentally, the audit resulted in my dad’s company being fined $15,000.00 for neglecting to perform the proper number of annual drug tests.
But I don’t remember how or why my voice got pitched down so that it sounds so sluggish; I think maybe I accidentally recorded myself at a higher speed & then played it back, in post-production, at normal speed, thus producing a slow-motion effect; the stupidity of which must have amused me, so I left it that way.
MORAL: Vulgar decisions made in youth may require substantial excuse-making later in life.
2 comments:
The conversations you had to sit through bring back lots of memories. Especially the one about the purchases. People LOVE talking about their latest purchase, it's so annoying. Luckily mi amor is as much as a minimalist as me, and my friends are more evolved than some of my previous ones, so I haven't had to deal with it. Your paragraph about religious dumb-offs is great. Thanks for the laugh. I can totally relate to the hint and then the backing off and the falling asleep. Haha. BTW, I've been meaning to respond to your recent post on my blog, but haven't had a chance. When my son's around, the only thing I have time for is drawing, since he draws too. I'm too exhausted to write after I put him to bed. His favorite thing to do is to stand and climb and jump on me. He could literally do it for hours, and does. More later...
Ha! First, re that last reply from your own post: no worries at all! I have the self-indulgent habit of allowing myself to drone on and on, so I’m always worried, right after pressing “send” on any comment, that I’ll cause offence by my longwindedness; so to hear that you’re cool with it—that’s more than enough: I’m happy and content! ...Thanks for your kind response here—it’s a relief to know that anyone can relate to these family fiascoes. I love to hear that your son draws—neither I nor my siblings have any children, and I don’t spend much time with my in-laws who do have kids, but when I DO get to see them, I have the most fun spending time with the children making pictures. ...And minimalism, blessed minimalism! I say: in this current cultural climate, it’s a necessity. My own amor & I have been daily reading thru a selection of our friend D.H. Lawrence’s personal correspondence (your luring me to his Twilight in Italy rekindled my addiction, thank you very much!), and your words above made me want to quote this passage from a letter that he wrote to Lady Ottoline Morrell (1 Feb. 1915):
“And this shall be the new hope: that there shall be a life wherein the struggle shall not be for money or for power, but for individual freedom and common effort towards good. That is surely the richest thing to have now—the feeling that one is working, that one is part of a great, good effort or of a great effort towards goodness. It is no good plastering and tinkering with this [present-day] community. Every strong soul must put off its connection with this society, its vanity and chiefly its fear […]”
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