RUDIMENTS, pt. 727
('one fell swoop')
'If all men are brothers,
then their natural state is
fratricidal warfare.' That's
pretty sensible and very
straightforward too - it
means one man against
the other, 'til death. I
always fought concepts
and implementations of
things that back that up -
military; armies; law and
order. Man's real test is
one of 'Harmony,' not
'Distress.' Forget all that
rotten stuff; humans need
to get it together enough
to co-exist and go-it in a
'together' routine. That's
hard, in light of economic
differences, cultural and
housing, and school
differences too. Refusing
to admit those differences
exist is a part of the
problem all on its own.
-
It seems to me - general
observation, and I usually
watch for this kind of stuff -
that the dumber a person is,
the longer it takes them to
get out of their car. That's
harsh, but I'll stand by it.
It works, in the same way,
for getting into the car and
leaving, but I'm not to
discuss that - my concern
is in the leaving. I generalize,
here too, but it's a very precise
generalization, paradoxically,
and I'm not just trying to be
funny. One of the higher,
or 'smarter' attributes of life
is efficiency; to make the least
amount of motion do the most
amount of work. It's a concept,
perhaps some ergonomic BS
too, something Accenture would
go on about (that's a management
efficiency company that snoops
into people's business and tells
'corporate' where they can achieve
savings and gains, oftentimes by
adding more to what people must
do, or by getting rid of them
altogether). In about 2005, Barnes
& Noble began that - bringing
efficiency people in. They'd stand
around like brute-force know-it-alls,
and stare - to watch the staff and
their movements and motions -
receiving room people, books
handlers, etc. It was galling. Over
time, everyone comes to terms
with what they're doing, or must
be doing, and they find a natural
and 'personally' efficient and
self-rewarding way to do it. What
ensues is self-satisfaction and
joy and happiness in the doing
of the work. What I notice about
these car people the way they
enter the car, as if already ready
to leave, and then find 5 minutes
of other things to do before any
forward motion occurs about
the actual leaving : the phone
gets checked, the hair reviewed,
the handbag gets entered, things
are inspected, brought out, etc.,
and put back, something on that
phone demand attention, a call
is sent, lips and face need
attention in the mirror, the car
(finally) gets started but further
activity ensues. Nothing else
happens. 4 or 5 minutes can
ensue, and I've seen such things
even with another car waiting
for the spot. It simply seems
to boil my sense of smoothness.
(Here's the scoop : Since I don't
usually enter stores, I spend
a lot of time, with my dog,
waiting myself, but on foot,
observing the things that go
on around me).
-
It's all probably nothing and
in my head alone, unsettling
only to me. But that's how I
am. My father was frenetic,
so maybe I've got engrained
in me some genetic coding for
'get it done' and in a flash. I
have no other means of
reflecting : It's what I am.
Yet, at the same time, it
brings me interesting rewards,
my own small subtext to
living - the commentaries
of my being. It seems I can
do no other thing but bring
this all back, re-filtered, as
it were, through only what
I am now.
-
I've had some funny moments
though, things with my father,
back then. I was always very
foreign territory to him, once
I hit my 'stride' - pathetic
though it may have been. That
stride cause a definite divide,
the the chasm that morphed
into an abyss never really closed
up. I've related a few of the old
tales - the fake drug buy offer
at 509 e11th, a prank which
my upstairs friend Billy Joe
pulled on my unwitting father.
The ticket at the Studio School
from when he simply parked
out front and where he chose
and the devil be damned. The
ticket ensued, and how angry
he became. The abandoned
cars, the blown engines, the
Mexican cops, and more.
Much more. My father was
always at command of his
own peculiar form of anarchy
and pay back - taking seeming
offense at most everything, as
if, say, in the case of the parking
ticket, all of NYC had gathered
together to make the violation
and produce the ticket and fine,
just so as to antagonize and call
out HIM. It was a never-ending
response to offense and injury,
most often where nothing of the
sort existed at all. I often tried
thinking back to what it must
have been like as he 'grew up'
through the same sorts of ideas
and sensations - which seemed
fairly general, as well, in others,
but the gulf was too wide, I was
never able to visualize it, nor
bridge that gap. I don't think
he could ever have been me, nor
me him. Maybe it's like that
everywhere, and anyway, who'd
really want to be like their own
parent, if all truth be told. The
changes and the alterations
overall, seem to be far more
important than any 'alikes'
or similarities.
-
My father used to work at his
upholstery trade, all day long,
with a mouthful of upholstery
tacks, the little, black kind, and a
magnetic, thin-tipped, specialized
hammer for the upholstery trade.
He'd have 10 or 20 of the tacks
in his mouth, and with a swift
(efficient!!) move he'd swipe
the hammer quickly and perfectly
up to his lips, and the magnetic
end would always come back with
a tack at the ready, point out, for
the hammering. One swell foop,
as they say, one continuous
motion. Always without fail that
I ever saw, and without ever
swallowing a tack, that I ever
knew about. It all used to amaze
me. That, and the radio always
playing - WNEW AM, a sort
of ballroom or crooner music
of the 1940's and '50's. Julius
LaRosa, Frank Sinatra, Ella
Fitzgerald, Vic Damone, and
more, and on. Music not worth
spit. Hammer-mouth full of
nails, or not.
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