Here I put a big hamburger over the big tyger & a small hamburger over the little tyger.
Dear diary,
When I first moved into this old house where I now reside, the worst thing about it was the stench of its garage. It wasn’t too bad, just the aroma of damp wood, but it was definitely not pleasant — rather musty. The strange thing is how, over the couple of years that I’ve lived here, my brain has learned to interpret this garage-stench differently: it now comes off as the opposite of what it first seemed: it’s even borderline desirable. Instead of a feeling of recoil when I open the door that leads from the hallway to the garage (I must open this door every morning in order to turn off the back yard-light), the musty oak scent registers as agreeable. The most likely reason for this change is very simple: since the environment has proven to be a safe place for sustaining my existence, the once-foul aroma is now associated with a feeling of security: this triggers an “embrace” instinct rather than a “shun” reaction.
So even something that is repulsive to one’s aesthetic sensibilities can, over a short amount of time, win over one’s faculties of judgment and cause its official Mental Review (which was originally published in the equivalent of the Brain’s own internal Art Digest) amended from negative to positive. This is what is known as “an acquired taste”.
So I’ve successfully developed a fondness for musty oak. I now enjoy luxuriating on the forest floor after a rainshower. And I fall madly in love with any woman who wears Damp Wood Perfume.
If I may now shift the topic from timber to cinema, the most striking example that I can recall of this mental change happening to me personally is with the 2008 film Synecdoche, New York — O how I loathed that movie when I first tried to watch it! I only made it part way thru and then shut it off and returned it. (I had checked out a copy from the library.) Yet, after a couple days of not being able to stop thinking about it, I went back and borrowed it again and watched it straight thru to the bitter end; and I was sorely puzzled. So then I listened to the opinions of some admirers of the film who had recorded themselves discussing what they saw as its merits; also I read other critical texts and poured over various interviews with the writer-director Charlie Kaufman. Soon I purchased my own copy of the picture so that I could view it anytime: and I screened it again and again (make that umpteen agains); and somewhere along the way I grew convinced of its superiority: My present stance is that it’s the finest film I’ll see released in my lifetime. I rank it as our era’s Citizen Kane (1941).
This example of a life-changing experience at the movies applies only to me, of course. Most other viewers love Synecdoche, New York right out the gate, on an initial screening. At least you did. So if I had to choose an example of an acquired taste in cinema from your own private, personal experience, I’d point to Wrong Cops (2103). You had to be dragged kicking & screaming to that film. Remember? I had to duct-tape you down and smash a vase to get your attention; then I shouted: “What you’re about to see is a VERY GOOD MOVIE.” And, even then, you kept trying to escape; but I was vigilant.
This brings me to my next point: The look of our parents. They’re frumpy and embarrassing, and we do not want to be seen with them in public. But if you ever sneak away from them, when you’re very young, so that you find yourself lost in the Mall of America, you will long for the sight of those same two shamefully frumpy adults, once the terror of your situation becomes sufficiently intense. And the fear stems from the fact that, when young, you cannot take care of yourself. I mean, you can see the store that sells hotdogs, and you can say the name of the type of hotdog you’re craving (a Cheesy Dog plus one Beer-filled Brat, with a side of relish); but you do not have enough money to make this purchase. You have zero dollars. You do not even carry a wallet or a credit card on your person, because you are a mere tot who is clothed only in superhero-print underwear (your parents assumed that this was a totally normal outfit for their child to wear to the public mall, because they are bumpkins). Thus the money-based economy converts your hatred of your forebears into love.
But now that I think of it, it seems kinda stupid that parents waste hard-earned cash on feeding their kids. Everyone always answers, “Cuz I need the money — I got a family to feed!” when you ask them “Well if you despise your job so much then why don’t you quit?” Doesn’t it seem wiser, being that we all live in a machine that values money over people, to KEEP your money and allow your family to fend for themselves? They need to learn discipline, anyway — it’s a cold world, and you can’t just pamper your loved ones: they need to learn the ropes, lest they get vanquished by the system. He who doesn’t work shouldn’t eat.
So let’s say that you and your spouse have three kids that you’ve adopted. And let’s say that it takes fifty bucks to pay for their dinner. That’s fifty U.S. dollars, every single night: You’re leaking money like a sieve!! Stop being stupid. Tell your kids: “From this day forward, daddy’s gonna eat the whole lamb himself. I’ll give to God the fat and the bones, but the rest is mine.” If one of your children dies of starvation, then let that serve as a warning to the survivors. Here’s my prediction: You’ll find that when your employees are more desperate they’ll be willing to accept less pay for the same amount of labor. So, pretty soon, you might even find that your children are willing not only to dress the lamb that you consume by yourself each night, but they’ll keep the herd for you and perform most of the household chores. Simply pay them in oats. You can tell them to go ahead and grab a handful for themselves, next time they’re strapping the feedbag to the face of your steed Rocinante. The oats will serve to keep them alive.
But how can a man not esteem his own children!? When I advised you above to bless your kids with TUFF LOVE, I meant it for their own good: No man should want his own kids to die on the job. If a few need to serve as an example for the others, so that the remaining children can be more efficient employees, then so be it; but having children is the best thing a man can do, now that slavery requires a prison permit. For your children eventually produce great-grandchildren, and you can teach them all that you know about maintaining a house. Lawn care, roof care. And if they earn enough money, you can use it to buy a toolkit (always maintain control of their bank account: never let a bank account out of your hands: bank accounts are the key); and you can teach them how, now that they have affordable access to a hammer, every problem resembles a nail. Say that you notice the air conditioner’s broken. Simply bang it with the hammer. Problem solved.
And if you fall into the trap of adopting daughters, here’s my commandment. Do not allow these daughters out-of-doors. A daughter who makes it into the world will immediately become the lover of a famous artist, and she will live a lifestyle that is appalling: it will not be attractive to you. What you want to do is…
Actually, I must admit that I don’t know what to do about daughters. Maybe just sell them for a fair price to one of the neighboring tribes.
But let me tell you how to give your kids “the talk”. I’m assuming that we’re dealing with good, strong country-boys, now. Teach them that the best thing to do, once they find a couple employees to drive truck for them, is to invest the proceeds into the most lucrative stocks. Keep your eyes on that price: buy when they’re down, and sell when they’re up. This way, you cannot fail to make a fortune. My general rule of thumb is that when you break the million-dollar mark, you can then report back to your father and notify him that you’ve finally become a millionaire. Then it’s time to celebrate all that hard work. Crack open a beer & watch the football game on TV.
And always vote for the man whom you have faith in.
The most patriotic thing that you can do is keep your money in an offshore tax haven — that way, you don’t have to pay the exorbitant rates, and many eggheads will envy you. (If you live in the suburbs, you’ll definitely meet your fair share of eggheads. Keep your spirits up by reminding yourself that, while they own a puny snowblower that has very little power, you yourself own a much better model — you got the best consumer-grade unit that that company makes.)
Lastly, sign a mortgage and buy a house. When you invest in physical property, its value always appreciates; whereas, when you buy an automobile, its value plummets 50% the instant you drive it off the lot. You’d basically have to pay the company to take the car off your hands, at that point, once you’ve soiled it by purchasing it. Banks frown upon such behavior. So only buy used cars that do not work: that way, while planning to repair them, you can store them in your garage till the day that you die: then your wife can pay somebody to haul them away. (Note that this latter loss is your wife’s bad luck, not your own.)
And save your money. For while the next man is spending his cash on fancy clothes and hoochie-coochie girls, you yourself shall remain unadorned and unhappily married; but most wives come with a dowry nowadays, which you can use to establish your own long-haul trucking operation. Maybe look into getting a contract for mail delivery. As I always say: You can’t run a business into the ground if you never start one up. And you only live once.
P.S.
A final note on topsoil: If you happen to get stuck with a yard that is mostly bare sand, you’ll need to plant some seeds so that grass can grow; but first you’ll need topsoil. What type of shit-for-brains homeowner doesn’t purchase topsoil? Get a delivery, have them dump a big mound on your driveway; then spend the rest of your life shoveling this around, bit by bit, until it’s properly distributed over your front lawn. Then stand there in the heat every day, holding a water-sprinkler in one hand, and your other hand can be used to hold your cigar. I also suggest investing in a sun hat. Watch that grass grow, soldier. There is a place in heaven waiting for you, because the LORD will look you over not for certificates of achievement but for scars. And since you sent your kids to church, Christ will probably save a mansion for you. You’re gonna spend eternity next to the neighbors that are good, hard workers. Like that woman at the fast food restaurant who smiled so nice when she served you your medium coffee last Sunday. And the lazy neighbors will all end up in hell.
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