The painter is back (a young kid, really) for he did a shit-poor job the first time; the second call back is for carpeting which was defective throughout the house. The carpet man shared over the cell that he was in his “help mode” and I retorted that I am in my “victim mode.” I detest bullshit language like that and he soon sensed my rage. Two major efforts backfired but we are recovering and with a vengeance. What do you do when the painter tells you he did not bring an extension for the paint roller? I think I will buy a six foot pole and a tube of KY for this lad. The balcony deck has to be repaired, we may tile it — more bucks; I observe myself worrying and as Jane says so aptly, “You borrow trouble.”
I used to tell clients not to do a future fuck on themselves, that is, don’t do a number on yourself before it happens and here I am triple fucking myself. While I am writing this blog, I go inside and observe the paint job being done, inspecting it, making sure details are attended to. It is like guiding a kid’s hand as you teach him or her how to make cursive letters…vexing, annoying and not a little boring. Teaching sucks, learning does not suck if self instigated. Yesterday, Jane and I saw “Public Enemies,” which was well directed, beautifully photographed and had a hollow heart to it; within minutes I was talking to myself rather than watching, for the picture was not involving. For me a film has to grab my feelings or mind, or the rest of it is all Candyland and production values. The next on the list is “The Hurt Locker.” So Jane and I wander across Vegas, shopping, eating at different venues and buying things for our new home. We know enough to take breaks from the tediousness and aggravation of so large a move. Yesterday a neighbor stopped by to give us some diced melon and to chat which was much better than a bowl of sugar.
Unfortunately I can be unruly with Jane and I work on that; I don’t want to feed on her when things go awry or wrong. I am a classic displacer and that is no fun, especially when I see it occuring right before my eyes and especially to someone I care so much about. Jane sums me up as a mixture of Jerry Lewis and Larry David. “Why? Why?” Phil Silvers asks the heavens in the Mad World flic. That is why Jews don’t need priests. We speak directly to a Jehovah who does not exist and save a whole lot of time. In fact, we are the ventriloquist and god is the dummy. I will have to think on that myself.
During this slow-mo chaos, I managed to write a rough draft for my new book dealing with a Holocaust survivor who spends his time going to schools and giving talks, not an unusual volunteer effort among survivors. In a story I read by Philip Roth decades ago called “Defender of the Faith” I encountered a story over my head but the jist if I recall it is that a Jew asks a favor of another Jew simply because he is of the faith. I believe Roth got flak from Jewish groups, et al, because he argued that it was an unnecessary dispensation — all this occurring in the army. Given Bernie Madoff, one cannot assume that another Jew, Catholic, et al will refrain from fucking you simply because you are a member of the clan. So, in my story I argue against teaching the Holocaust in certain ways, saying that survivors are mortal men and women who have been traumatized by the most horrific act of human history. They are not saints
It was triggered by a survivor telling me that only recently he had given his 500th lecture as if it made a whit of difference. He seemed to have an inordinate prideful feeling to it which somehow rubbed me the wrong way; thus, a story emerges. The story, in part, deals with Shoah business.
I go to relax.
Adieu.
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