n ' t e v e n t e l l D a g a n d C l a i r e t o d a y o u t h e r e o n o u r d e s e r t p i c n i c . I t g o e s l i k e t h i s :
Once upon a time there was a young man named Edward who lived
by himself with a great amount of dignity. He had so much dignity that when he made his solitary evening meal every night at six thirty, he always made sure he garnished it with a jaunty little sprig of parsley.
BAMBIFICATION: The
That's how he thought the parsley looked: jaunty. Jaunty and dignified.
mental conversion of flesh and
He also made sure that he promptly washed and dried his dishes after blood living creatures into
cartoon characters possessing
completing his solitary evening meal. Only lonely people didn't take bourgeois Judeo-Christian
pride in their dinners and in their washing up, and Edward held it as attitudes and morals.
a point of honor that while he had no need for people in his life, he was not going to be lonely. Life might not be much fun, mind you, but it DISEASES FOR KISSES
(HYPERKARMA): A deeply
seemed to have fewer people in it to irritate him.
rooted belief that punishment
Then one day Edward stopped drying the dishes and had a beer
will somehow always be far
instead. Just for kicks. Just to relax. Then soon, the parsley disappeared greater than the crime: ozone
holes for littering.
from his dinners and another beer appeared. He made small excuses
for it. I forget what they were.
Before long, dinner became the lonely klonk of a frozen dinner on the microwave floor saluted by the tinkle of scotch and ice in a highball glass.
Poor Edward was getting fed up with cooking and eating by himself, and before long, Edward's dinner became whatever he could microwave from the local Circle Knuke 'n' serve boutique—a beef-and-bean bur-rito, s a y , w a s h e d d o w n w i t h P o l i s h c h e r r y b r a n d y , t h e t a s t e f o r w h i c h he acquired during a long, sleepy earnest summer job spent behind the
glum, patronless counter of the local Enver Hoxha Communist bookstore.
But even then, Edward found cooking and eating too much of a hassle, and dinner ended up becoming a glass of milk mixed in with whatever was in the discount bins at Liquor Barn. He began to forget what it felt like to pass firm stools and fantasized that he had diamonds in his eyes.
Again: poor Edward—his life seemed to be losing its controlability.
One night, for instance, Edward was at a party in Canada but woke up the next morning in the United States, a two hour drive away, and he couldn't even remember driving home or crossing the border.
Now, here's what Edward thought: he thought that he was a very
smart guy in some ways. He had been to school, and he knew a great
number of words. He could tell you that a veronica was a filmy piece of gossamer used to wrap the face of Jesus, or that a cade was a lamb abandoned by its mother and raised by human beings. Words, words,
words.
Edward imagined that he was using these words to create his own
48
G E N E R A T I O N X
private world —a magic and handsome room that only h e c o u l d inhabit—a room in the proportion of a double cube, as defined by the British architect Adam. This room could only be entered through darkly stained doors that were padded with leather and horsehair that muffled the knocking of anyone who tried to enter and possibly disturb Edward's concentration.
In this room he had spent ten endless years. Large sections of its
walls were lined with oak bookshelves, overflowing with volumes; framed maps covered other sections of walls that were painted the sapphire color of deep deep swimming pools. Imperial blue oriental carpets layered all of the floor and were frosted with the shed ivory hairs of Edward's trusty and faithful spanieJ, Ludwig, who followed Edward everywhere. Ludwig would loyally listen to all Edward's piquant little observations on life, which he found himself not infrequently making while seated at his desk much of
Once upon a time there was a young man named Edward who lived
by himself with a great amount of dignity. He had so much dignity that when he made his solitary evening meal every night at six thirty, he always made sure he garnished it with a jaunty little sprig of parsley.
BAMBIFICATION: The
That's how he thought the parsley looked: jaunty. Jaunty and dignified.
mental conversion of flesh and
He also made sure that he promptly washed and dried his dishes after blood living creatures into
cartoon characters possessing
completing his solitary evening meal. Only lonely people didn't take bourgeois Judeo-Christian
pride in their dinners and in their washing up, and Edward held it as attitudes and morals.
a point of honor that while he had no need for people in his life, he was not going to be lonely. Life might not be much fun, mind you, but it DISEASES FOR KISSES
(HYPERKARMA): A deeply
seemed to have fewer people in it to irritate him.
rooted belief that punishment
Then one day Edward stopped drying the dishes and had a beer
will somehow always be far
instead. Just for kicks. Just to relax. Then soon, the parsley disappeared greater than the crime: ozone
holes for littering.
from his dinners and another beer appeared. He made small excuses
for it. I forget what they were.
Before long, dinner became the lonely klonk of a frozen dinner on the microwave floor saluted by the tinkle of scotch and ice in a highball glass.
Poor Edward was getting fed up with cooking and eating by himself, and before long, Edward's dinner became whatever he could microwave from the local Circle Knuke 'n' serve boutique—a beef-and-bean bur-rito, s a y , w a s h e d d o w n w i t h P o l i s h c h e r r y b r a n d y , t h e t a s t e f o r w h i c h he acquired during a long, sleepy earnest summer job spent behind the
glum, patronless counter of the local Enver Hoxha Communist bookstore.
But even then, Edward found cooking and eating too much of a hassle, and dinner ended up becoming a glass of milk mixed in with whatever was in the discount bins at Liquor Barn. He began to forget what it felt like to pass firm stools and fantasized that he had diamonds in his eyes.
Again: poor Edward—his life seemed to be losing its controlability.
One night, for instance, Edward was at a party in Canada but woke up the next morning in the United States, a two hour drive away, and he couldn't even remember driving home or crossing the border.
Now, here's what Edward thought: he thought that he was a very
smart guy in some ways. He had been to school, and he knew a great
number of words. He could tell you that a veronica was a filmy piece of gossamer used to wrap the face of Jesus, or that a cade was a lamb abandoned by its mother and raised by human beings. Words, words,
words.
Edward imagined that he was using these words to create his own
48
G E N E R A T I O N X
private world —a magic and handsome room that only h e c o u l d inhabit—a room in the proportion of a double cube, as defined by the British architect Adam. This room could only be entered through darkly stained doors that were padded with leather and horsehair that muffled the knocking of anyone who tried to enter and possibly disturb Edward's concentration.
In this room he had spent ten endless years. Large sections of its
walls were lined with oak bookshelves, overflowing with volumes; framed maps covered other sections of walls that were painted the sapphire color of deep deep swimming pools. Imperial blue oriental carpets layered all of the floor and were frosted with the shed ivory hairs of Edward's trusty and faithful spanieJ, Ludwig, who followed Edward everywhere. Ludwig would loyally listen to all Edward's piquant little observations on life, which he found himself not infrequently making while seated at his desk much of
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