Saturday, November 24, 2012
In the illustration above, I am at a gathering in the beautiful home of people close to me. It is spacious and likable. I like my house too but, from certain angles, it looks like it crawled out of a hole and is up to no good. My home is small by comparison and sometimes out of whack, so I am happy and refreshed by this gathering. I post myself beside an open window and utter imbecilities.
Newly emerged from a protracted state of maladjustment (during which I saw specialists! Had procedures!) I resolved not to talk about it. I would not permit myself! I say instead:
"Basmati? Yes, I love all sports cars."
"There is a theory that hummingbirds drink espresso all night."
"Until television, I had no idea cats had two ears."
"From Barbie Dolls children learn to wiggle their heads until they fall off."
"After much thought, I voted for him because he's cute as a button."
Then I am alone, beside a window, pondering the origin of whack. Whack goes back, way back, before Miami Vice (in which Don Johnson played Jed Clampett), before fashion and confection fused, back to when our leaders shambled up to our holes, full of strange enthusiasms, and demanded marksmanship.
"You can't make us do anything," we grunted. "We're out of whack!"
Then we'd wag our hairy heads at them until they fell off. At this point, I realize I have garrulated and a still, small voice from there or here taunts: "Oh great, what if everybody else was like you?"
To which I can only reply, there is nobody else like me --even I can't always do it.
You have to be in whack.