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Authors: Douglas Coupland
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the day. At this desk he would also read and smoke a calabash pipe, while gazing out thro ugh leaded windows over a landscape that was forever a rainy fall afternoon in Scotland.
Of course, visitors were forbidden in this magic room, and only a Mrs.
York was allowed in to bring him his rations — a bun-headed and betweeded grandmother. Handcarverd by central casting, who would de- l i v e r to Edward his daily (what else) cherry brandy, or, as time wore on, a forty-ounce bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass of milk.
Yes, Edward's was a sophisticated room, sometimes so sophisticated t h a t i t was only allowed to exist in black and white, reminiscent of an old drawing room comedy. How's that for elegance? S o . W h a t h a p p e n e d ?
O n e d a y E d w a r d w a s u p o n h i s w h e e l e d b o o k s h e l f l a d d e r a n d reaching for an old book he wanted to reread, in an attempt to take his mind off his concern that Mrs. York was late with his day's drink. But when he stepped down from the ladder, his feet went smack into a mound of Ludwig's Jog mess and he got very angry. He walked toward the satin chaise longue behind which Ludwig was napping. "Ludwig," he shouted,
"You b a d d o g , y o u . . . . "
But Edward didn't get far, for behind the sofa Ludwig had magically and (believe me) unexpectedly turned from a spunky, affectionate little
, funmoppet with an optimistically jittery little stub of tail into a flaring, black-gummed sepia gloss rottweiler that pounced at Edward's throat, missing the jugular vein by a hair as Edward recoiled in horror. The new Ludwig-cum-Cerberus then went for Edward's shins with foaming
fangs and the desperate wrenched offal howl of a dozen dogs being run over by trucks on the freeway.
Edward hopped epileptically onto the ladder and hollered for Mrs. York who, as fate would have it, he noticed just then out the window. She was wearing a blond wig and a terry cloth robe and hopping i n t o the little red sports car of a tennis pro, abandoning Edward's service
forever. She looked quite smashing—dramatically lit under a harsh new s k y t h a t w a s s c o r c h i n g a n d o z o n e l e s s — c e r t a i n l y not at all an autumn sky in Scotland. Well.
Poor Edward.
He was trapped in the room, able only to roll back and forth across the bookshelves on the heights of his wheeled ladder. Life in his once charmed room had become profoundly dreadful. The thermostat was out of reach and the air became muggy, fetid and Calcuttan. And of course, with Mrs. York gone, so were the cocktails to make this situation bear-able.
Meanwhile, millipedes and earwigs, long asleep behind obscure
top-shelf books, were awakened by Edward as he grimly reached for
volumes to throw at Ludwig in an attempt to keep the monster at bay—from continually lunging at his pale trembling toes. These insects would crawl over Edward's hands. And books thrown at Ludwig would bounce
insouciantly off his back, with the resulting pepper-colored shimmy of bugs that sprinkled onto the carpet being lapped up by Ludwig with his long pink tongue.
Edward's situation was indeed dire.
T h e r e w a s o n l y o n e o p t i o n o f c o u r s e , a n d t h a t w a s t o l e a v e t h e room, and so, to the enraged thwarted howls of Ludwig who charged at Edward from across the room, Edward breathlessly opened his heavy
oak doors, his tongue galvanized with the ferric taste of adrenalin, and frantic but sad, left his once magic room for the first time in what seemed ever.
Ever was actually about ten years, and the sight Edward found SPECTACULARISM. A
outside those doors really amazed him. In all the time he had been
fascination with extreme
sequestering himself, being piquant in his little room, the rest of hu-situations.
manity had been busy building something els e —a vast city, built not of words but of relationships. A shimmering, endless New York, shaped of lipsticks, artillery shells, wedding cakes, and
Of course, visitors were forbidden in this magic room, and only a Mrs.
York was allowed in to bring him his rations — a bun-headed and betweeded grandmother. Handcarverd by central casting, who would de- l i v e r to Edward his daily (what else) cherry brandy, or, as time wore on, a forty-ounce bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass of milk.
Yes, Edward's was a sophisticated room, sometimes so sophisticated t h a t i t was only allowed to exist in black and white, reminiscent of an old drawing room comedy. How's that for elegance? S o . W h a t h a p p e n e d ?
O n e d a y E d w a r d w a s u p o n h i s w h e e l e d b o o k s h e l f l a d d e r a n d reaching for an old book he wanted to reread, in an attempt to take his mind off his concern that Mrs. York was late with his day's drink. But when he stepped down from the ladder, his feet went smack into a mound of Ludwig's Jog mess and he got very angry. He walked toward the satin chaise longue behind which Ludwig was napping. "Ludwig," he shouted,
"You b a d d o g , y o u . . . . "
But Edward didn't get far, for behind the sofa Ludwig had magically and (believe me) unexpectedly turned from a spunky, affectionate little
, funmoppet with an optimistically jittery little stub of tail into a flaring, black-gummed sepia gloss rottweiler that pounced at Edward's throat, missing the jugular vein by a hair as Edward recoiled in horror. The new Ludwig-cum-Cerberus then went for Edward's shins with foaming
fangs and the desperate wrenched offal howl of a dozen dogs being run over by trucks on the freeway.
Edward hopped epileptically onto the ladder and hollered for Mrs. York who, as fate would have it, he noticed just then out the window. She was wearing a blond wig and a terry cloth robe and hopping i n t o the little red sports car of a tennis pro, abandoning Edward's service
forever. She looked quite smashing—dramatically lit under a harsh new s k y t h a t w a s s c o r c h i n g a n d o z o n e l e s s — c e r t a i n l y not at all an autumn sky in Scotland. Well.
Poor Edward.
He was trapped in the room, able only to roll back and forth across the bookshelves on the heights of his wheeled ladder. Life in his once charmed room had become profoundly dreadful. The thermostat was out of reach and the air became muggy, fetid and Calcuttan. And of course, with Mrs. York gone, so were the cocktails to make this situation bear-able.
Meanwhile, millipedes and earwigs, long asleep behind obscure
top-shelf books, were awakened by Edward as he grimly reached for
volumes to throw at Ludwig in an attempt to keep the monster at bay—from continually lunging at his pale trembling toes. These insects would crawl over Edward's hands. And books thrown at Ludwig would bounce
insouciantly off his back, with the resulting pepper-colored shimmy of bugs that sprinkled onto the carpet being lapped up by Ludwig with his long pink tongue.
Edward's situation was indeed dire.
T h e r e w a s o n l y o n e o p t i o n o f c o u r s e , a n d t h a t w a s t o l e a v e t h e room, and so, to the enraged thwarted howls of Ludwig who charged at Edward from across the room, Edward breathlessly opened his heavy
oak doors, his tongue galvanized with the ferric taste of adrenalin, and frantic but sad, left his once magic room for the first time in what seemed ever.
Ever was actually about ten years, and the sight Edward found SPECTACULARISM. A
outside those doors really amazed him. In all the time he had been
fascination with extreme
sequestering himself, being piquant in his little room, the rest of hu-situations.
manity had been busy building something els e —a vast city, built not of words but of relationships. A shimmering, endless New York, shaped of lipsticks, artillery shells, wedding cakes, and
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