lest I leave in mid-chow. He wouldn’t eat if I left the room.
While he ate, I watched David Foster Wallace’s
This Is Water
on YouTube. Not sure what it did for me but it got my mind kick-started. The Davids in my viewing life:
David Mamet
David Simon
David Chase
David Milch.
The last I shared a wild streak of drugs, booze, and insanity with.
A knock on the door: my neighbor whom I now addressed as Doc. He seemed to go for it. He came in, rubbed the pup behind the ears, and took a seat. He was carrying a bright-colored box, said,
“I know you pretty much don’t get science fiction.”
True.
I said,
“I have a hard enough time with plain old reality.”
He nodded, then,
“You rate
Breaking Bad
The Wire
Justified
Mad Men
The Sopranos
As among the finest writing today. Am I right?”
“Yeah, pretty much. I think
The Wire
is the great American novel.”
He smiled at that.
He handed over the box, said,
“Give this a shot.”
I read the title,
Battlestar Galactica
, all twenty-five discs! Went,
“Lord, I’d need another lifetime to commit to this.”
As I laid it aside, he said,
“It’s got Edward James Olmos and Mary McDonnell.”
I was thinking,
“… Maybe look it up online, then wing that I watched it.”
Doc gave one last boost,
“Some critics regard it as maybe the best TV ever made.”
I’d take this as science fiction, said,
“And they say
The Big Bang Theory
is funny.”
He conceded, asked,
“Any progress in your case, the girl who was murdered?”
I shook my head, my lack of anything on this was embarrassing. I said,
“I’m at that point where I have nothing to go on.”
He moved to go, said,
“Treat it a little like life.”
“How does that work?”
Very sly smile, then,
“Like an infinite jest.”
Park stood frozen as the doorbell shrilled again. After his ECT, he would usually wander around the garden in a semi-relaxed daze. Dealing with the world was never on the list. Took him a moment to even recognize what the ring was. Then he moved slowly to answer.
Two
Students.
Collecting for Rag Week.
Boy and girl.
They let the girl do the spiel. She began,
“Dreadfully sorry to inconvenience you, sir, but we are collecting for Rag Week.”
She giggled.
“Even though Rag Week is no longer officially recognized, we like to organize some charity events for the homeless.”
The boy was smirking, stared amused at the silent Park. He thought,
“Old fellah is out of it.”
Park focused on the girl, said,
“I very much doubt you are.”
She looked at the boy, like,
hello
, did she miss, like, something? Park’s mind wandered for a moment amid a jungle of vowels, then he re-clicked, said,
“Dreadfully. You said you are dreadfully sorry but that is just simply misuse of an adjective. And …”
He had to think for a moment, then,
“There is really no call for that.”
The girl was going to give some cheek but then went,
“Anyways, you want to give a donation to help the homeless?”
Park debated punching her in the face but it would require more energy that he could expend. He said,
“How could you possibly care for the homeless when you don’t care for the rudiments of language?”
Slammed the door in her face.
The girl, named Kiera, one of the generation who had left Irish names like
Mary
Siobhan
Maura
Back with the notion of Mass on a Sunday,
Looked back at Park’s house, something tickling at the edge of her consciousness.
The boy, whose interest ranged no further than
The Big Bang Theory
, was, in his mind, a surfer dude/stoner on some beach in
Daytona.
Like he knew Daytona from a hole in his Red Bulled brain. Kiera said,
“Dude, something off back there.”
The boy went,
“Duh.”
She racked her brain for something she’d been hearing around the town, had a moment, then said to the boy,
“He seemed a bit hung up on language.”
The boy was already trying to decide on thick or thin crust from Domino’s.
She
While he ate, I watched David Foster Wallace’s
This Is Water
on YouTube. Not sure what it did for me but it got my mind kick-started. The Davids in my viewing life:
David Mamet
David Simon
David Chase
David Milch.
The last I shared a wild streak of drugs, booze, and insanity with.
A knock on the door: my neighbor whom I now addressed as Doc. He seemed to go for it. He came in, rubbed the pup behind the ears, and took a seat. He was carrying a bright-colored box, said,
“I know you pretty much don’t get science fiction.”
True.
I said,
“I have a hard enough time with plain old reality.”
He nodded, then,
“You rate
Breaking Bad
The Wire
Justified
Mad Men
The Sopranos
As among the finest writing today. Am I right?”
“Yeah, pretty much. I think
The Wire
is the great American novel.”
He smiled at that.
He handed over the box, said,
“Give this a shot.”
I read the title,
Battlestar Galactica
, all twenty-five discs! Went,
“Lord, I’d need another lifetime to commit to this.”
As I laid it aside, he said,
“It’s got Edward James Olmos and Mary McDonnell.”
I was thinking,
“… Maybe look it up online, then wing that I watched it.”
Doc gave one last boost,
“Some critics regard it as maybe the best TV ever made.”
I’d take this as science fiction, said,
“And they say
The Big Bang Theory
is funny.”
He conceded, asked,
“Any progress in your case, the girl who was murdered?”
I shook my head, my lack of anything on this was embarrassing. I said,
“I’m at that point where I have nothing to go on.”
He moved to go, said,
“Treat it a little like life.”
“How does that work?”
Very sly smile, then,
“Like an infinite jest.”
Park stood frozen as the doorbell shrilled again. After his ECT, he would usually wander around the garden in a semi-relaxed daze. Dealing with the world was never on the list. Took him a moment to even recognize what the ring was. Then he moved slowly to answer.
Two
Students.
Collecting for Rag Week.
Boy and girl.
They let the girl do the spiel. She began,
“Dreadfully sorry to inconvenience you, sir, but we are collecting for Rag Week.”
She giggled.
“Even though Rag Week is no longer officially recognized, we like to organize some charity events for the homeless.”
The boy was smirking, stared amused at the silent Park. He thought,
“Old fellah is out of it.”
Park focused on the girl, said,
“I very much doubt you are.”
She looked at the boy, like,
hello
, did she miss, like, something? Park’s mind wandered for a moment amid a jungle of vowels, then he re-clicked, said,
“Dreadfully. You said you are dreadfully sorry but that is just simply misuse of an adjective. And …”
He had to think for a moment, then,
“There is really no call for that.”
The girl was going to give some cheek but then went,
“Anyways, you want to give a donation to help the homeless?”
Park debated punching her in the face but it would require more energy that he could expend. He said,
“How could you possibly care for the homeless when you don’t care for the rudiments of language?”
Slammed the door in her face.
The girl, named Kiera, one of the generation who had left Irish names like
Mary
Siobhan
Maura
Back with the notion of Mass on a Sunday,
Looked back at Park’s house, something tickling at the edge of her consciousness.
The boy, whose interest ranged no further than
The Big Bang Theory
, was, in his mind, a surfer dude/stoner on some beach in
Daytona.
Like he knew Daytona from a hole in his Red Bulled brain. Kiera said,
“Dude, something off back there.”
The boy went,
“Duh.”
She racked her brain for something she’d been hearing around the town, had a moment, then said to the boy,
“He seemed a bit hung up on language.”
The boy was already trying to decide on thick or thin crust from Domino’s.
She
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