RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,075
(like a paddleboat reality)
Up atop the Empire State
Building, as I was saying:
Being up there was really no
sort of thrill to me. I even then
hated all those sorts of places
that you went to, just so someone
else could be directing you to
the 'approved' view and sanctioned
narrative of whatever you were
viewing. Granted, this was different
a little, being famous and high up,
and all that, but in the basic idea
it was the same. I little cared for
the industrial portrayal of a great
and moving country. I was a little;
I needed more of a thrill that this
almost formal viewing point
afforded. It reminded me,
immediatelyof a tripe we'd
made as a small family, which
included this same grandmother,
to Washington DC. My Father,
driving, my mother, my grandmother
and my sister and myself. I don't
remember the old roads, most
probably the turnpikes and main
highways; whatever got one there.
It was a '53 Ford station wagon,
the very same car in the train crash
with my motjer and myself, thought
that was yet some months in my
future. It was as if I was already
swiming through time and, say,
'getting near' another coast. We
get to Mount Vernon, or somewhere
in Virginia. Mount Vernon was the
formal name of George and Martha
Washngton's estate, treated with
high respect in those days (even
though now it could pass for a really
bad gay joke punchline), and went
in for the formal 'tour-group' thing.
I can remember it well. Red rope
lines, putting you just off from
what you were viewing - in this
case, about 1957 versions of the
'real' furnishings and room settings
of George and Martha. I remember
seeing their bed, in the bedroom,
and being surprised at its small
size. Everything seemed small, in
fact. The standard answer always
was 'people were smaller then,'
which I guess is right, but old
George washington was like 6
feet and a little more. It was
always pointed out, about his
commanding stature and thus
some sort of personal authority
that supposedly came from that.
But, the bed and all else I saw
only tended to diminish him.
It wa difficult for me to picture
him scrunched up in a fluffy,
bed like that and anyway, why?
After all that time marching
and fighting and sleeping out
on those cold and icy fields,
even if he did most often get
officer's quarters anyway,
why come home to something
whimpy like that. Silberware
and candles and place setting
and all that. Boy, I couldn't
figure any of that out, and of
course the 'pictured' narrative
of the guides and guards was
all different from my imaginings.
-
The Empire State Building was
like that, but way up high. No
Superman or plance crashes
or tethered blimps or anything
of tht nature, jus more of the
same steel and concrete and
glass but highr up. I noticed
that people sort of worshipped
that,as symbol, a meaningful
representtiion of American
power and might. 1930's version
anyway. If you look around now,
you can lots more buildings,
worldwide, bigger and taller
and swankier and more
modernistic than ever the
Empire State Building was,
but no one brags about them
so much. Nothing is invested
with that kind of meaning or
symbolism any longer. I'm not
sure what that means, but it just
does seem that a lot of the old
'magical' feeling about the
splendors of life have now
been deadened into a sort of
regular grind where all's been
done, and what's done now
is ordinary, and all the new
people now are either jaded
or just don't know about their
past world, or the 'past' of
their world anyway. It simply
goes like that. Probably two
generations after that caveman
came with the 'wheel' to push
his cart of firewood and/or
rocks around, everyone thought
'it had always been that way
and what's the big deal, it's a
stupid old cart.'
-
I always appreciated all these
trips, yes, and don't get me wrong.
It was pretty cool for a 1950's
long-widowed Grandma to take
a kid ir kids around like that.
And she was pretty brave too,
yet I can's imagine what the
world used to look like to her;
and I only wish now she was
around so I could ask a million
questions; real questions, not
all that crap about Mickey
Mouse, and Flappers. (Which
reminds me, I read a cool joke
today: 'A new Secret Service
guy, at the White House, to
protect the President, is walking
outside, with the detail, and
the President. An assassin rises
up, with his gun and aims to
shoot, and the new guy yells out,
'Mickey Mouse!' Everyone's
confused, but they save the
President and apprehend the
shooter-to-be. The Secret Service
leader later says to the guy, 'Good
job. Michaels, but, tell me, why
did you yell 'Mickey Mouse'
like that? The agent says, 'Sorry
sir, I got nervous. I meant to yell,
'Donald, Duck!'
-
I wonder if George and Martha
would have laughed at that?
Use what you were given
worldwide beggar strike
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