Monday, January 4, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
BIG TOP
Jackie comes over to help change Aroo's litter box.
I sit on the couch with a ballot, a ball point pen, and a list of the Screen Actors Guild award nominees.
My voice is garbled (tonight). Sometimes, in mid sentence, I sound like a phantom is strangling me.
"Jackie, okay listen, I'll read the nominees and you then say which one you think should win."
"Charlie, I haven't seen any movies this year. You pick."
"Jackie, I haven't seen any of the movies either. We'll just have to guess."
Jackie sits in a blue toile chair with Aroo. I'm on the couch.
I read...
"Outstanding Performance by a Male Actor in a Leading Role,
"JEFF BRIDGES in CRAZY HEART" - but through my troubled larynx it sounds like I'm saying... "Jeff Bwidis in Cwazee Harr".
"GEORGE CLOONEY in UP IN THE AIR" becomes "Jor Klune-nee in Op in the Air"
"COLIN FIRTH in A SINGLE MAN" is "Colin Firtha in a Single Man"
"MORGAN FREEMAN in INVICTUS" is "Morgan Freeman in En-vih-tis".
and "JEREMY RENNER in "THE HURT LOCKER" sounds like "Jear-a-meee Renna in The Urt Lochh-er".
I plough through the names like a determined drunk. I'm not frightened of my degeneration. I'm curious.
It's like I'm saddled with a difficult accent for a cool new role.
(Listen to my weakening articulation! Isn't it heart-rending? Isn't my vocal disintegration compelling?)
Vocal articulation, speech, the melody of the voice, is marvelous entertainment.
It deserves the Big Top of physical attractions not the side show.
"Which one Jackie? Wadda ya think?"
Jackie suggests Beau Bridges.
"He's not on the list Jackie, it's Jeff Bridges!"
"Well then Jeff Bridges, I choose him, he's a very good actor. Very serious."
"Well, I'm going to pick Collin Firth (which I pronounce Collin Foouth). "It's his time and I read the book and this movie needs attention."
After we're done with the ballot, Jackie helps me change the sheets on my bed. (I haven't changed them in weeks).
I say to Jackie (as I order her around my bedroom "Get the blue bedspread from the top shelf, flip the feather mattress and then lets put the mattress pad OVER the feather bed, otherwise the feathers poke through the sheets... whoever thought I'd need help making my own bed. Who could have ever predicted that?"
I sit on the couch with a ballot, a ball point pen, and a list of the Screen Actors Guild award nominees.
My voice is garbled (tonight). Sometimes, in mid sentence, I sound like a phantom is strangling me.
"Jackie, okay listen, I'll read the nominees and you then say which one you think should win."
"Charlie, I haven't seen any movies this year. You pick."
"Jackie, I haven't seen any of the movies either. We'll just have to guess."
Jackie sits in a blue toile chair with Aroo. I'm on the couch.
I read...
"Outstanding Performance by a Male Actor in a Leading Role,
"JEFF BRIDGES in CRAZY HEART" - but through my troubled larynx it sounds like I'm saying... "Jeff Bwidis in Cwazee Harr".
"GEORGE CLOONEY in UP IN THE AIR" becomes "Jor Klune-nee in Op in the Air"
"COLIN FIRTH in A SINGLE MAN" is "Colin Firtha in a Single Man"
"MORGAN FREEMAN in INVICTUS" is "Morgan Freeman in En-vih-tis".
and "JEREMY RENNER in "THE HURT LOCKER" sounds like "Jear-a-meee Renna in The Urt Lochh-er".
I plough through the names like a determined drunk. I'm not frightened of my degeneration. I'm curious.
It's like I'm saddled with a difficult accent for a cool new role.
(Listen to my weakening articulation! Isn't it heart-rending? Isn't my vocal disintegration compelling?)
Vocal articulation, speech, the melody of the voice, is marvelous entertainment.
It deserves the Big Top of physical attractions not the side show.
"Which one Jackie? Wadda ya think?"
Jackie suggests Beau Bridges.
"He's not on the list Jackie, it's Jeff Bridges!"
"Well then Jeff Bridges, I choose him, he's a very good actor. Very serious."
"Well, I'm going to pick Collin Firth (which I pronounce Collin Foouth). "It's his time and I read the book and this movie needs attention."
After we're done with the ballot, Jackie helps me change the sheets on my bed. (I haven't changed them in weeks).
I say to Jackie (as I order her around my bedroom "Get the blue bedspread from the top shelf, flip the feather mattress and then lets put the mattress pad OVER the feather bed, otherwise the feathers poke through the sheets... whoever thought I'd need help making my own bed. Who could have ever predicted that?"
Saturday, January 2, 2010
The "F" Word
The morning before New Year’s Eve Jackie walks into my apartment.
“Hi Jackie.”
“Good morning Charlie! It’s a beautiful day out there. You gonna get on your bike? Look at the flags out there? The flags in front of the building? They’re not waving. No wind. That's good! Where’s Aroo? How’s Aroo?”
“He’s bored Jackie. He’s been waiting for you. All he thinks about is himself. It’s all about Aroo, Jackie."
“What?! Where’s his brush. He needs a brush. Aroo?”
Jackie finds Aroo’s brush and I stay fixed on the end of my couch, my feet inserted in my new $250 foot massager. The massager (made in China) both vibrates and grips! I surrender (bare chested in boxers-an immodest invalid)- staring at nothing, as the machine clutches, buzzes, and makes its preprogrammed "ka-chunk, ka-chunk" noises.
“Oye” I say to the void.
“Jackie... there really is no other word that can compete with "oye'. I mean what do non-jews have?
Geese?”
"There's the "F" word. People use the "F" word."
"Yeah, but everyone uses that. It's not confined to a specific culture. What Yiddish words do you know?"
Jackie brushes Aroo. "Well... there're shlemiel and shiksa?”
I try to come up with the word Mensch but I can't think of it. A guy at work used to tell me I was a real mensch. It sounded (to me) like he didn’t respect me and when he explained that it meant I was a really nice guy, I couldn’t help but think he was actutally saying... I was a pushover.
"How bout agida?" I offer.
"No, agida is Italian. It means that you've got really bad heartburn, indigestion."
(Ka-chunk, ka-chunk goes the foot massager. Purr goes the cat).
“Jackie, I’m reading a book by someone you know and love.”
“Is it Oprah?”
“No”
“Barbara Walters?”
“No. He’s very handsome and his initials are T.C.”
“John Garfield?”
“No Jackie! T.C. T.C. The initials are T.C!
"What I can't guess. I'm no good at games. What Charlie?"
Alright I'll tell you. Tony Curtis. I’m reading about the making of “Some Like it Hot.”
Oye.
Tony Curtis. I don’t know... he’s so full of himself. They slept together, he and Marilyn Monroe, during the shoot. He'd just had a baby. I don’t know. Oye. I think he was pretty full of himself.”
“A free spirit Charlie. Tony Curtis is a free spirit. You can’t fault him. He just likes to live free.”
Jackie defends Tony Curtis like we're talking about a first cousin or beloved ex-husband.
"And Marilyn? Jackie, Marilyn Monroe was a mess, the drinking, the pills...”
“Well, booze and pills will do that to you Charlie." Jackie makes a comically tragic face like we were talking about her instead of Marilyn Monroe. "She was hooked on booze and pills and ... MEN. All those men... Charlie, men can really mess with you.
Let me do some dishes. I want to do some dishes.”
Jackie moves to the sink.
“What are you doing for New Year’s Jackie? Do you have any New Year resolutions?”
“Well, I’m going to really try to live in the moment Charlie. Like that Ekhart Tollel says. I’m going to live in the now and I’m not going to do anthing that I don’t want to. There! That’s my New Year's resolution. You? What about you? Wadda you got planned?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m capable of doing. This week I'm wiped. I feel like I have the flu."
(I've felt so lethargic (this week) that my fatigue trumps any guilt of laziness).
“Well" Jackie suggests "You said you wanted to swim every day. You can put THAT on your resolution list!”
I nod sullenly, "that's true".
“And you’ll write a book. Charlie, I wish you’d write a book. You were born to write.”
“Jackie, no I wasn’t. That's not true. You got that wrong. I just started writing this year. I’ve never written anything. I’m just writing a little blog. That’s it. I’m an actor.”
“Then Charlie, you should ACT! Do a voice over if that’s what you want to do. You know all about show business. I don’t. I never got anywhere but you did. Call them up and tell them you want to do a voice over!”
“I have to focus on this illness.”
“You know what Charlie? You want my opinion?
F*ck ALS.
I think you should do what you want, and eat what you want, and drink what you want, and stop taking all of those vitamins! I don’t know anything Charlie I’m just telling you what I would do. I say F*ck ALS!"
The drama of Jackie's proclamation has induced an uninvited grin across my face. And then Jackie’s cell phone rings (or plays some fifties rock song).
“It’s Bruce my son-in-law. I gotta take this."
The foot massager "ka-chunks". The cat purrs. Jackie takes her call.
"Charlie, I gotta go. They’re going to pick me up. "NOW!" Bruce says. I really hate that. No warning. It's just "be ready". Don’t I have a life? Aren't I somebody I’m just supposed to jump like some I'm some trained animal or something!! I’ll see you later Charlie or tomorrow. Good bye Aroo- roo- roo.”
“Hi Jackie.”
“Good morning Charlie! It’s a beautiful day out there. You gonna get on your bike? Look at the flags out there? The flags in front of the building? They’re not waving. No wind. That's good! Where’s Aroo? How’s Aroo?”
“He’s bored Jackie. He’s been waiting for you. All he thinks about is himself. It’s all about Aroo, Jackie."
“What?! Where’s his brush. He needs a brush. Aroo?”
Jackie finds Aroo’s brush and I stay fixed on the end of my couch, my feet inserted in my new $250 foot massager. The massager (made in China) both vibrates and grips! I surrender (bare chested in boxers-an immodest invalid)- staring at nothing, as the machine clutches, buzzes, and makes its preprogrammed "ka-chunk, ka-chunk" noises.
“Oye” I say to the void.
“Jackie... there really is no other word that can compete with "oye'. I mean what do non-jews have?
Geese?”
"There's the "F" word. People use the "F" word."
"Yeah, but everyone uses that. It's not confined to a specific culture. What Yiddish words do you know?"
Jackie brushes Aroo. "Well... there're shlemiel and shiksa?”
I try to come up with the word Mensch but I can't think of it. A guy at work used to tell me I was a real mensch. It sounded (to me) like he didn’t respect me and when he explained that it meant I was a really nice guy, I couldn’t help but think he was actutally saying... I was a pushover.
"How bout agida?" I offer.
"No, agida is Italian. It means that you've got really bad heartburn, indigestion."
(Ka-chunk, ka-chunk goes the foot massager. Purr goes the cat).
“Jackie, I’m reading a book by someone you know and love.”
“Is it Oprah?”
“No”
“Barbara Walters?”
“No. He’s very handsome and his initials are T.C.”
“John Garfield?”
“No Jackie! T.C. T.C. The initials are T.C!
"What I can't guess. I'm no good at games. What Charlie?"
Alright I'll tell you. Tony Curtis. I’m reading about the making of “Some Like it Hot.”
Oye.
Tony Curtis. I don’t know... he’s so full of himself. They slept together, he and Marilyn Monroe, during the shoot. He'd just had a baby. I don’t know. Oye. I think he was pretty full of himself.”
“A free spirit Charlie. Tony Curtis is a free spirit. You can’t fault him. He just likes to live free.”
Jackie defends Tony Curtis like we're talking about a first cousin or beloved ex-husband.
"And Marilyn? Jackie, Marilyn Monroe was a mess, the drinking, the pills...”
“Well, booze and pills will do that to you Charlie." Jackie makes a comically tragic face like we were talking about her instead of Marilyn Monroe. "She was hooked on booze and pills and ... MEN. All those men... Charlie, men can really mess with you.
Let me do some dishes. I want to do some dishes.”
Jackie moves to the sink.
“What are you doing for New Year’s Jackie? Do you have any New Year resolutions?”
“Well, I’m going to really try to live in the moment Charlie. Like that Ekhart Tollel says. I’m going to live in the now and I’m not going to do anthing that I don’t want to. There! That’s my New Year's resolution. You? What about you? Wadda you got planned?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m capable of doing. This week I'm wiped. I feel like I have the flu."
(I've felt so lethargic (this week) that my fatigue trumps any guilt of laziness).
“Well" Jackie suggests "You said you wanted to swim every day. You can put THAT on your resolution list!”
I nod sullenly, "that's true".
“And you’ll write a book. Charlie, I wish you’d write a book. You were born to write.”
“Jackie, no I wasn’t. That's not true. You got that wrong. I just started writing this year. I’ve never written anything. I’m just writing a little blog. That’s it. I’m an actor.”
“Then Charlie, you should ACT! Do a voice over if that’s what you want to do. You know all about show business. I don’t. I never got anywhere but you did. Call them up and tell them you want to do a voice over!”
“I have to focus on this illness.”
“You know what Charlie? You want my opinion?
F*ck ALS.
I think you should do what you want, and eat what you want, and drink what you want, and stop taking all of those vitamins! I don’t know anything Charlie I’m just telling you what I would do. I say F*ck ALS!"
The drama of Jackie's proclamation has induced an uninvited grin across my face. And then Jackie’s cell phone rings (or plays some fifties rock song).
“It’s Bruce my son-in-law. I gotta take this."
The foot massager "ka-chunks". The cat purrs. Jackie takes her call.
"Charlie, I gotta go. They’re going to pick me up. "NOW!" Bruce says. I really hate that. No warning. It's just "be ready". Don’t I have a life? Aren't I somebody I’m just supposed to jump like some I'm some trained animal or something!! I’ll see you later Charlie or tomorrow. Good bye Aroo- roo- roo.”
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
KABOOM
Susan comes over with a bottle of wine and a bag of spinach. I play Christmas choral music from the Pandora website.
We sit side by side on the sofa and page through the art book I recently bought through Amazon, "The Messiah". The book tells the story of Christ through the history of art. Aroo (the cat) stretches over both our laps. Susan thinks that most of the classical paintings depicting Christ are corporal, sensual, sexy.
"Look at those shoulders! Those legs!"
We play "Name That Tune" using pandora.
We eat yams, spinach and organic turkey bacon.
We barely touch the wine but when Susan goes, she leaves her winter coat (hanging in the closet) and her cellphone (on my coffee table).
Susan must be in love.
The next night I bring her coat and cellphone to her apartment on West 95th and Central Park West.
Susan borrows a neighbor's bike and we ride the loop of Central Park in the cold December night.
The New York skyline chaperones our joyride through the brittle, leafless park.
At "Poet's Walk" we peddle past statues of Robert Burns, William Shakespeare, and Sir Walter Scott. Susan asks me if I'm related to each statue we pass (referring to an earlier blog entry I wrote about being related to Oliver Ellsworth). This, I find hysterical.
Before we split up at west 72nd Street, we're stopped by a young man with a thin face, long hair, and a serious expression. He needs directions to the east side. Susan is all over it and the young man takes his time with us as if he wants to spend time with us. He thanks us and is on his way.
I tell Susan that that could have been Jesus. Looked just like him. He was testing us and we passed.
Susan says "imagine if we'd been rude?" and then she pantomimes lightning striking her. "Kaboom!"
HAND
Today I can't turn the key in my mailbox. It takes several tries. It's cold. But still I've never experienced that before.
ELOISE AT RIVERPLACE
The night before Christmas Eve, Jackie comes over at around nine. The knock, knock, knock on the door. "Come in Jackie!"
The door is open and I am at my desk.
I had a little wine but poured it back in the bottle. I wasn't in the mood.
Christmas activities take energy and focus.
I sit tucked into my desk with a box of thank you cards and a wad of twenties.
Jackie and I go through the list of River Place employees (left in our mail boxes) and decide who I should give money to.
I ordered an extra box of organic fruit from Urban Organics with my weekly box of vegetables. We line a cardboard box with red wrapping paper and arrange grapefruit, oranges, apples, kiwis and rolls of cookies in the box. We make a sign to tape to the box. I print it out in big red and green letters from my printer.
It reads,
"Happy Holidays!
To the staff of River Place
Organic Fruit from Urban Organics
Thank You!
Charlie
apartment #916"
Jackie gasps at how perfect it is.
"Oh Charlie. This is bea-ooooo-tiful.! I mean gor-g-ous! I can't believe how beautiful that sign is Charlie!"
Her reaction (like she's staring at a new born baby) makes me laugh.
I ask Jackie if she'll carry it down to the front desk. It weighs a lot.
Jackie is totally willing, totally into it. She's high on the pre-Christmas flurry.
Jackie is "Eloise at Christmas Time" and I am the more sober Aunt.
I guess I'm Kay Thompson? And actually, our apartment building is kind of a great place to be at Christmas time. The lobby is bustling with people carrying gift wrapped packages, toys and christmas trees. It kind of reminds me of the illustrations in "Eloise at Christmas Time".
When Jackie returns from delivering the box of fruit, I ask her to get the stack of chocolate bars from the kitchen.
"Jackie, I'm sorry to boss you around but will you get the candy bars I bought at Ikea? They're stacked near the cans of soup."
"Charlie! Don't apologize. I NEED direction. I'm like an actress on the stage. I don't know where to go unless someone tells me."
Jackie brings the candy bars over to my desk crowded with unsent Christmas cards, gift wrap, scotch tape and unpaid bills. I order Jackie to get rubber bands from the secretary in the living room. We use the the rubber bands to attach candy bars to the thank you cards (which have folded twenty dollars bills inside).
Then Jackie deliverts the few Christmas cards I managed to write (I used the free ones you get in the mail from CARE and HABITAT FOR HUMANITY) to the mailbox in the lobby. Before she goes, Jackie asks me to wrap a gift for for her son-in -law with my IKEA red wrapping paper. (I got four rolls of paper at IKEA for one dollar. This impressed Jackie hugely. She is devoted shopper of the 99 cent store).
When Jackie comes back, I write the gift card to her son in law. Jackie (like most of her generation) has lovely loopy handwriting. Mine is graphic, chicken scratch but Jackie insists I write the card.
"You're handwriting is great, mine is HORE- able." Jackie makes a comically tragic expression when she says this.
When I'm done, after I attach the card to her package, Jackie again coos, "this is beauooo- tiful!! He's going to love this Charlie, I mean it, he will LOVE this!"
Jackie has some gifts for me. This was unexpected. I would have got something for her but I can't seem to think ahead. And I can't just walk into a store so .... I don't have much to give this year.
Jackies gifts are undisguised re-gifts: a miniature portable (lime green) bible - Jackie inscribed my name,
love Jackie, and the date, on the first page, a bar of bitter-sweet chocolate, a cd of classical musical that someone gave her, (Jackie tells me that she wasn't raised with refinement but that I was so I'll appreciate it), a bottle of vanilla extract, and a book, "The Purpose Driven Life".
I page through "The Purpose Driven Life". There are several passages that have been underlined with a blue ball point pen. I point this out to Jackie and Jackie feigns shock. She insists I read the passages that were underlined over and over to her.
"Things don't happen up for nothing Charlie. This is a sign. I'm supposed to hear this. What does it say?
Read it to me. Read it again!"
It's time for our movie.
I've netflixed "Holiday Inn" with Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire.
We get a bottle of sparkling cider from my kitchen and a bag of potato chips from hers and watch the movie at her apartment.
When we get to Jackie's apartment, we can't find the DVD of "Holiday Inn".
Jackie leaves me on her settee and goes back to my apartment for to search for the missing movie.
She returns fifteen minutes later with the lost DVD.
"Turns out I left it by the mailbox when I mailed your Christmas Cards. The guys at the front desk think I'm crazy!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
