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"When the going gets weird, the weird turn Pro"

Hunter S. Thompson


 

 

 

 

Entries from July 1, 2007 - August 1, 2007

The Corrections

I have just managed to wipe the last remnants of tears from my eyes as I sit to write about an experience I shall never forget.  I can’t remember the last time an author reached out and spoke to my soul so devastatingly and completely.  I am talking all the way down to the cellular level my friends.  From Jonathan Franzen’s opening salvo, to his heart wrenching finale of The Corrections, one is left awestruck and completely imbued with a sense of wonder at his ability to completely render the dysfunction, absurdity, and joy of an American middle class family.


I am left feeling as if The Corrections was a personal story lifted from my experience, reworked splendidly by Franzen, and returned to me as a gift outlining my plight, and educating me through a multitude of insightful perspectives of my familial struggles, victories, and abject failures.  In this opus, Franzen has nailed my midwestern upbringing, turned it inside out, and lyrically rendered it both comic and tragic, absurd and insightful, cruel and loving.  Paradox so moving and true to life, that I am left shaken and awestruck at Franzen’s remarkable talent as a storyteller, and his sagacity of the human condition.


The Corrections tells the tale of the Lambert family set in fictional St. Jude.  It might be Kansas, Missouri, Iowa, or Illinois, or any other fly over state with “unmortgaged homes”, bridge clubs, protestant denominations, Elk clubs, and the Jaycees.  The Lambert’s are a typical dysfunctional american born and bred family, facing the crises of disintegration due to old age, and the patriarch’s downward spiral into Parkinson’s disease and dementia.  The tale eloquently details the drifting apart of values and ideals of the three adult children, and the tearing of the fabric of bonds the family feels as a whole.  The years of impartial healing from the wounds of childhood inflicted by an emotionally distant father, and an overly chastising mother, have left all of the siblings reluctant to be saddled with the responsibilities and compassion demanded of them to face the unraveling of their fictional familial bliss (one created and desperately clung to by Enid, the mother).  What I found truly amazing was Franzen’s ability to create a cast of characters so rich and complex that you are able to see characteristics of yourself within all of them causing a sense of empathy, while simultaneously chastising them in your mind for their utter inanity and cruelness to one another.  I won’t detail the plot in this writing, because I wouldn’t dare cheat you of the slow and delicious unraveling and understanding of these tragic people, nor could I ever hope to do justice to Franzen’s great talent for spinning a mind blowing story.


I connected to this novel in many obvious ways due to the parallels of my own father’s illness, and my family’s response to it, but it goes so far beyond that.  Those of you whom have not had to deal with a family member diagnosed and suffering from Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s disease, will still connect undeniably with this tale.  Franzen’s work is so rich and deep, comical and ironic, that  one can’t help but get sucked in and transformed.  His work is both current and timeless, and so delightfully layered that  it crosses the threshold of fiction into an almost unbearable authenticity.  I firmly believe this narrative is one of the great novels of the 21st century, and that Jonathan Franzen has claimed a space for himself alongside the best american novelists.  Any of you in search of a masterpiece to read this summer, will not be disappointed if you chose this novel to explore.  I found it so devastatingly good, that it almost made me want to stop writing altogether.


Take the plunge, I yearn to say “I told ya so!”

Posted on Thursday, July 26, 2007 at 04:12PM by Registered Commentertater | CommentsPost a Comment

Confession

I am suffering from lethargy and the unwillingness to take on the battle I know that I must now face again.  As I sit and type out guilt, to folks I feel I know but haven’t met, I am kept company by my pup Mooshu, who is insistent that I stop this computer nonsense NOW, and throw her ball for her.  It has been awhile since my last confession, and the persistence of my little friend makes me want to walk away and play.


Walking away is a common thread in my life.  Avoidance of emotional baggage at any cost.  Lately the suitcase I need to pawn is my father.  I must visit the folks again next weekend, must walk into the fog of my father’s existence, and put on a happy, unconcerned face.  I must walk up to him, hug him, and tell him I love him.  I will think he looks okay, until I get close and go in for the hug, only to smell two or three days worth of body odor rising up to repel me.  I will suck in my breath, I will breath through my mouth, I will say the reassuring utterances which sooth the look of fear and shame in his eyes.  He is on medication which eradicates his sense of smell, and he is too far erased by disease to remember the daily acts of hygiene we take for granted as rote daily routine.


I will watch the shuffle steps and the confusion, as he wanders the house looking for my mother.  I will hear him ask me the same question over and over and over again.  I will feel guilty for feeling annoyed.  Guilty, ungrateful, selfish, and short on compassion.  He will follow me around HIS castle, and I will patiently answer him as he asks ‘just what I think I am doing with____’  Fill in the blank.  I must attend to his home, fix the washing machine for my mother so it no longer wobbles and bangs about her utility room like a drunken whore.  I will breathe through my mouth to avoid feeling shame at my own repugnance of this man I love.  I will endure his attempts to tell me how to do these tasks I must do, endure his constant criticisms as his blood pressure rises at my transgression of his role of Lord.  He will insist on helping me with every little thing, and constantly forget what we are setting out to accomplish.


His dog will whine anxiously and circle me, licking me and offering her belly.  She will plead with me in her blue merle eyes to rescue her papa from this stupor, to take her away from this master that is becoming a stranger.  She senses his illness, and attempts to herd him to his easy chair incessantly.  She has taken to peeing in the basement when mom is away from the house for groceries, or odds and ends, and dad forgets she needs to go out.  She shows me her shame as I mop up the mess, and I pat her and tell her its alright, I understand her dilemma.  I wonder how soon it will be before I will have to start performing this chore on my dad?



I will answer his questions, I will smile for him.  I will extend my love to cloudy recollection, and I will accept his rebukes and consternation of my trespass.  I will listen to him recount my childhood tales still on call in his mind, and I will listen to him reconstruct our history.  He was the perfect father, I the recalcitrant and stubborn son.  In his reconstruction I am grounded and not strapped, chided but not ridiculed,  Bragged about, not rundown to friends and family.  I will feel angry, and shamed at my inability to just turn the other cheek to this poor sick soul.  The memories of fear, and sadness will come flooding back, to be rebuffed by the parts of me that have successfully moved on from all this nonsense.  I will become a child again, only  to snap out of it long enough to laugh at the futility of my harbored hurts.


I will stress to my mother the need for respite care, and she will agree with me again, and promptly dismiss it from her to do list.  I will hold her while she sobs in my arms, and tell her I am there for her, that all of us are available to help her through this torment and grief.  She will thank me, and then won’t tell me what she needs me to do for her.  I have been reduced to snooping about their house sniffing out all the entropy that has occurred, and jotting down notes to remind myself.


I will start to drive back home, into a life, where I support my family, where I am needed and counted on to keep the wheels turning.  I will be forced to pull off onto the shoulder and relinquish the stress and heartache with sobs and wails the likes of which I’ve never known.


I will do all this and stay sober.  I will do all this and not seek out the powders, pills and herbs which soften the edges and push away the hurt.  I will face this head on and power through, cause that’s my only alternative.


But I have a confession to make, and I feel weak.  I picked up tobacco again.  cigarettes.  I broke down and bought a fucking pack of cigarettes, and it was off to the races again.  Six years of kicking the habit out the window with one drag.  It’s not a drink, and not my drug of choice, but will kill me just as assuredly.  So now its off to a meeting, to address this backsliding bullshit, and pick up another white chip.  And I am sorry.
Posted on Friday, July 20, 2007 at 04:13PM by Registered Commentertater | CommentsPost a Comment

Party Dress

Kim woke with a start as a car backfired down on Western Avenue.  She was dreaming of the Bozo Circus Show, and in particular Cookie the Clown.  In her dream, she was dressed up in a pink poodle skirt, a lime green blouse, black patten leather shoes, and a purple ribbon tying back her long brown tresses.  Her bobby sox were lacy and folded down at the ankle, and looked like those paper drumstick decorations on a roasted Turkey, as her legs pistoned up and down in her angry pursuit of Cookie.  She had been weaving through the bucket game, dodging the wires and cables of the cameras as she took swipe after swipe at that damn clown with the garden rake she wielded like an axe.


The backfire became a pistol shot in her half wakefulness, and she was certain that that Damn Ringmaster Ned had shot her dead.  She fluttered her eyes open and took in the morning light of her bedroom, one she shared with two other sisters in her parent’s crowded, German Catholic home.  She felt her stomach and chest, and let out a sigh.  She laughed at herself, and the chuckle gave way to her beautiful wide smile.  Cookie the clown had somehow been responsible for the theft of her Beatles’ album, which in fact had been stolen by her girlfriend Cookie Bronkowski down the street.  She giggled again as the dream started to dissolve into reality and her thoughts turned to the really neat fact that today was her 12th birthday!


Her parents had arranged a birthday party with her sisters and their close friends at Kiddieland, in Melrose Park!  Kim threw back her covers and leapt from her bed, waking her sisters as she hopped into her slippers and pounded down the stairs to breakfast.  She was anxious to get the party started, and couldn’t wait to get back upstairs and get into that pretty yellow party dress her grandma had bought her special, just for this occasion!


She stood in front of the hallway mirror, and lifted her chin.  She adjusted her glasses and slowly turned on her toes as she admired, first her striking profile, and then, tossing back her hair and smiling, her beautiful full on image.  She loved how the dress was just long enough, but not so long that she felt overly proper.  She swayed from left to right, swiveling her hips to watch the way the dress floated and moved with her.


‘Kim!  Get down here, the fire truck is here.  Are you still in front of that darn mirror?  Jesus, Mary and Joseph!   We’re running late!’


‘I’m coming dad.’


She stuck her tongue out at him in the mirror, smiling to herself again as she skipped down the stairs, through the living room and out the front door. There in the street was the Idora Park Fire truck!  The bright red engine that loaded up your party guests and drove you all the way to Kiddieland!  It was totally cool, and for the first time in her life, Kim knew that she had arrived.  All her guests were waving and smiling as they loaded onto the that truck and started towards North Avenue, bells clanging and neighbors waving, this was going to be the best day of her life!


The ride was super neat, and she loved the way the open air of the rooftop seating blew her hair back and practically snatched the words out of her mouth as she formed them, having to almost scream in order to be heard above the warm current of air and the clanging bell.  She leaned over to her younger sister and tickled her ear:


‘What ride are you most excited to go on?


‘I want to go on the Whip!!’, she exclaimed with a toothy grin.


‘You wanna do that first, or do you wanna save it for last?” Kim asked her.


‘How ‘bout the middle?’


‘Okay, middle it is’ Kim replied as she patted her sister’s arm.  Kim was feeling magnanimous in the spirit of the day, and while the Whip wasn’t her all time favorite, she would be sure her sister and her got to ride it.  She couldn’t wait to play the arcade games and try to win a stuffed animal, or taste the fluffy sweetness of Cotton candy melting on her tongue.  With five brothers and sisters, days like this were very rare occasions, and Kim wasn’t in a mind to waste a single minute.


The Kiddieland Fire truck made its way into Melrose Park, And Kim and her guests could make out the Kiddieland sign in the distance.  The Barber pole with the happy children clinging to it and Kiddieland in silly rainbow print, all topped with a crown.  They could see the little dipper roller coaster, the Polyp (yes, the actual name of a ride), the miniature steam locomotives, and the Whip.  As they pulled into the lot, they were engulfed in the smells of spun sugar, peanuts, and popcorn, and the sounds of gleeful screams, carousels, and Calliopes. They disembarked from the engine and were born into an alternate universe, were kids ruled, and parents grudgingly acquiesced.


Kim had the time of her life with her sister and girlfriends, running from one attraction to the next.  She played skeet ball until she won enough tickets to get her sisters each a teddy bear, ate enough cracker jacks and drank enough soda to fuel her into Sunday, and topped it all off with a delicious dessert of fresh spun cotton candy, careful as could be, not to get it on her dress, or in her hair.  The girls were having a ball, and had hit most of the rides when Kim decided it was time to ride The Whip.  She took the oldest of her little sisters by the arm and pulled her along up to the snaking admission line.


They watched as the ride slowly started it’s zig zag pushing and yanking motion, the zig zag, push pull, of it’s opposing arms creating impossible “G”s for it’s screaming patrons.  It started out slow and easy, with a tilt-a-whirl sensation as the cars gathered up speed, and before long the whipping and snapping of the impossibly fast cars were causing frightened screams and adrenaline yells as it’s occupants were shaken and slammed inside the uncomfortable and seemingly shoddily built compartments.  It all became a blur to Kim as she watched it zip back and forth, and suddenly this ride didn’t seem like such an excellent idea.  Kim felt her sister squeezing her hand, and decided to play it cool and act like it was nothing.


‘Doesn’t that look like a total blast?’ she said brightly!


‘uh huh’ her sister mumbled.


‘Are you going to chicken out?’


‘No!’


‘It’s okay if you don’t want to go on it’ Kim offered


‘I’m going on it, I’m NOT scared!’ her sister stubbornly replied.


‘Okay!’ Kim said, her smile feeling plastered on, as her stomach started to twist and turn,  just like the ride.


They made it to the boarding area and were told to stand at the height requirement sign.  A girl in front of them was told she was too little to ride, and let out a cry of dismay.


But I waited in line!  It’s not fair!’  she cried.


‘You could get hurt,’ her brother said to her, ‘you’re too small for the car.  I told you you were too small before we got in line!’


The ride attendant pushed her out of line and toward her parents, and took Kim’s sister and lifted her into the car with the other boy.


‘My sister would like to ride with me, sir.’


‘Sorry little lady, I need you to ride with Pee Wee here, you don’t mind do you?’


Kim glanced over her shoulder to get a load of Pee Wee, and almost choked on her gum.  Pee Wee was a rather large young man of uncertain age.  He was obviously mentally impaired, and this poor boy’s mother decided to enhance the obviousness of that impairment by dressing Pee Wee in a very small dress up cowboy outfit.  Pee Wee smiled and said something slurred and giggly to Kim and her heart sank. 


How could a good girl say no?  She smiled thinly as she looked him up and down.  His fancy western wear was made of red velvet with black and white fancy trimmings and fringe.  The buttons of his shirt were mother of pearl snaps, that were just a slight breeze away from bursting open.  Instead of full length pants, Pee Wee’s mom impossibly decided that black velvet short shorts were the order of the day.  Pee Wee’s fat legs were sticking out of his lederhosen like two Bavarian sausages, and looked like they were in danger of having their circulation cut off.  On his feet were a pair of black and red dress boots and white tube socks that just managed to crest the dressy tops.  On his hips were a pair of fancy chrome six shooters, tucked into a faux leather holster filled up with plastic bullets.  In crowning glory, a fancy red cowboy hat with white trim, perched on his oversized head, with a black drawstring hanging down his dress shirt and red velvet vest.  Kim could barely see his eyes through the coke bottle lenses he wore, and she self consciously pushed her own specs up by the bridge.  His fleshy face was covered with little red pimples accented  with random crests of pus, and dark hair was sprouting above his rather large fleshy lips.


‘Pee Wee here is with a special group of kids, that need to partner up with kids like yourself for some of the rides’ the operator said to her.


‘You look like a nice young woman, would you mind if Pee Wee rode with you?’


Kim stammered and looked at her feet, repulsed by the thought of riding with Pee Wee. and yet raised to feel too guilty not to.  She made up her mind and looked up and smiled at Pee Wee and the ride operator and said ‘sure.’


As the operator trundled them into the car, Kim caught a whiff of something completely unpleasant.  The mass that was Pee Wee, left Kim with less than half an inch to spare, and he kept brushing against her thighs with his leg as  he whooped and grunted in excitement.  She realized that Pee Wee smelled just like his name, and that his shorts seemed damp and moist.


‘Oh My Gawd!’  she thought to herself as the cars started slowly moving into their first zig, ‘he’s peed himself once already, what if he pees again?’


She had a frantic look in her eye that her little sister picked up on in the car opposite as she came gliding by.


‘It’s okay Kim, don’t be scared!’ she said in passing


Kim grimaced a half smile, and was caught slightly off guard as the car jerked into it’s zag, now at an increased speed.  Pee Wee was having a grand old time, and was bouncing up and down on his seat whooping and giggling.  Wafts of stale pee, strong and rich in her nostrils, Kim tucked her new dress as tightly under herself as she could manage with her free hand as she tried to desperately hold herself in place with the other.


The whip lived up to it’s name however, and moments later, Pee Wee and her were experiencing an undesired and forced intimacy.  Every turn of the car slammed Pee Wee’s bulk into her body, his dampness and the pointy grind of his toy pistol digging into her side. His gales of laughter slowly ceased, and morphed into grunts of fright.  The cars picked up speed and Kim could barely make out her sister whirling past with a shit eating grin on her face, her body was slammed into the side of the car by Pee Wee, and seconds later she was crashing into his soft mass. 


‘Sorry Pee Wee!’ she shouted!


‘ish awight,’ he stammered back, ‘i don lie thish anymo’


‘Me Neither!’ she exclaimed.


The speed kept rising and rising, and the g force got greater and greater.  Kim felt pummeled and lost as she could no longer see anything outside of her car but blurs and streaks.  Pee Wee was screaming now, and would only stop each time he had the wind knocked out of him by slamming into her or nailing the side of the rickety metal car.  It was not long after this that Kim felt a warmth spread along her left thigh, and then her buttocks.  Her worst nightmare realized, Pee Wee had become an onomatopoeia.  The tears started to slide across her face with the rhythm of the car.  Her party ruined.  She heard Pee Wee’s plaintive wailing, and reached out and held his arm.  The worst possible scenario had already occurred, might as well roll with it.


‘It’ll be over soon Pee Wee, I promise!’ she shouted in his ear.


‘Don’t be afraid, we’re going to be fine!’


She no longer tried to keep her distance but allowed their bodies to be rocked back and forth together, easing the slamming into a manageable jostle.  She glanced at him and saw him whimpering, and felt angry with herself for being so callous.  She was angry at her situation, but it sickened her to think she could be angry with him.  She brushed her tears off her cheeks and waved to her sister as their paths crossed. 


The ride was slowing down and would soon be over, and she would be able to disembark and clean herself up.  She knew that whatever stained her pretty yellow party dress could be rinsed away in the Kiddieland bathroom sink.  she also knew, that what stained this poor boy next to her, was a permanent thing that he would have to live with his entire life. 


She took Pee Wee’s hand as the ride stopped and the protective bar was raised, and carefully walked him to the exit where his group was waiting.  She handed him off to his counselor, and gave him her brightest smile and said goodbye, gathered her sister and headed off.


It was time to hit the bathroom, find the rest of the party, and sit down to cake and ice cream.  She took some ribbing for her wet dress, and even managed to not slap the neighbor boy when he accused her of wetting herself on The Whip. 


Kim discussed this with her sister years later. They practically hyperventilated with the laughs they shared over it.  It had been a great day punctuated with an incredibly shitty turn of events.  She told me that it was the first time in her life that she remembers being forced to chose between selfishness and compassion, and she managed to choose the latter.  Unsurprisingly, she ended our conversation stating that her twelfth birthday was also the first time she realized what it was like to feel beautiful from the inside out.


I wish Kim was my President instead of Pee Wee.


Posted on Tuesday, July 10, 2007 at 04:15PM by Registered Commentertater | CommentsPost a Comment