Disco Hints:
The New Etiquette
It may come as somewhat of a surprise to those who know me only as a woman of letters to learn that I am quite fond of dancing and not half bad at it either. I am not, however, fond of large groups of people. This is unfortunate, for it is not feasible to bring into one’s own home all of the desirable accoutrements of discothèque dancing such as a deejay, several hours of tape, and the possibility, slim as it might be, of meeting one’s own true love. I am therefore compelled to spend night after night amongst hordes of strangers, many of whom conduct themselves without the slightest regard for the sensibilities of their fellow dancers. This has led me to compile a short list of helpful tips to ensure more pleasant dancing for all.
When the discothèque in question is a private club with a strict members-only policy, it is not good form to stand outside and beg in an unattractive tone of voice to be taken in. It is even less appealing to threaten the life or reputation of an entering member with either a knife or the information that you know his real name and are planning on phoning his hometown newspaper with the true reason why he hasn’t married.
There is no question but that after a few moments of dancing you are likely to become quite warm. This should not be taken as a cue to remove your shirt. If one of your fellow dancers should be interested in your progress at the gym, rest assured that he will not be too shy to ask. Should you find the heat unbearable you can just take that bandanna out of your back pocket and blot your forehead. Just be sure you put it back on the right side.
If you are of the opinion that an evening without amyl nitrate is like a day without sunshine, you should avail yourself of this substance in the privacy of your own truck and not in the middle of a crowded dance floor.
If you are a disc jockey, kindly remember that your job is to play records that people will enjoy dancing to and not to impress possible visiting disc jockeys with your esoteric taste. People generally enjoy dancing to songs that have words and are of a reasonable length. Sixteen-minute instrumentals by West African tribal drummers are frequently the cause of undue amyl nitrate consumption and shirt removal.
Better Read Than Dead:
A Revised Opinion
My attendance at grammar school coincided rather unappealingly with the height of the cold war. This resulted in my spending a portion of each day sitting cross-legged, head in lap, either alone under my desk or, more sociably, against the wall in the corridor. When not so occupied I could be found sitting in class reading avidly about the horrors of life under Communism. I was not a slow child, but I believed passionately that Communists were a race of horned men who divided their time equally between the burning of Nancy Drew books and the devising of a plan of nuclear attack that would land the largest and most lethal bomb squarely upon the third-grade class of Thomas Jefferson School in Morristown, New Jersey. This was a belief widely held among my classmates and it was reinforced daily by teachers and those parents who were of the Republican persuasion.
Among the many devices used to keep this belief alive was a detailed chart that appeared yearly in our social studies book. This chart pointed out the severe economic hardships of Communist life. The reading aloud of the chart was accompanied by a running commentary from the teacher and went something like this:
“This chart shows how long a man must work in Russia in order to purchase the following goods. We then compare this to the length of time it takes a man in the United States to earn enough money to purchase the same goods.”
RUSSIA U.S.A.
A PAIR OF SHOES—38 HOURS A PAIR OF SHOES—2 HOURS
“And they only have brown oxfords in Russia, so that nobody ever gets to wear shoes without straps even for dress-up. Also they have never even heard of Capezios, and if they did, no one would be allowed to wear them because they all have to work on farms whenever they are not busy making atom bombs.” “And we have all kinds of shoes, even Pappagallos.”
A LOAF OF BREAD—2½ HOURS A LOAF OF BREAD—5 MINUTES
“They do not have peanut butter in Russia, or Marshmallow Fluff, and their bread has a lot of crust on it, which they force all the children to eat.” “We have cinnamon raisin bread and english muffins and we can put whatever we like on it because we have democracy.”
A POUND OF NAILS—6 HOURS A POUND OF NAILS—8 MINUTES
“And they need a lot of nails in Russia because everyone has to work very hard all the time building things—even mothers.” “Even though we don’t need that many nails because we have Scotch tape and staples.”
A STATION WAGON—9 YEARS A STATION WAGON—4 MONTHS
“If they were even permitted to own them, which they are not, so everyone has to walk everywhere even though they are very tired from building so many things like atom bombs.” “And we have so many varieties to choose from—some painted to look like wood on the sides and some that are two different colors. We also have lots of other cars, such as convertible sports cars.”
A PAIR OF OVERALLS—11 HOURS A PAIR OF OVERALLS—1 HOUR
“And everyone has to wear overalls all the time and they’re all the same color so nobody gets to wear straight skirts even if they’re in high school.” “But since we can choose what we want to wear in a democracy, mostly farmers wear overalls and they like to wear them.”
A DOZEN EGGS—7 HOURS A DOZEN EGGS—9 MINUTES
“But they hardly ever get to eat them because eggs are a luxury in Russia and there are no luxuries under Communism.” “We have lots of eggs here and that is why we can have eggnog, egg salad, even Easter eggs, except for the Jewish children in the class, who I’m sure have something just as nice on their holiday, which is called Hanukkah.”
A TELEVISION SET—2 YEARS A TELEVISION SET—2 WEEKS
“But they don’t have them. That’s right, they do not have TV in Russia because they know that if the people in Russia were allowed to watch Leave It to Beaver they would all want to move to the United States, and probably most of them would want to come to Morristown.” “And many people have two television sets and some people like Dougie Bershey have color TV so that he can tell everyone in class what color everything was on Walt Disney.”
All of this was duly noted by both myself and my classmates, and the vast majority of us were rather right-wing all through grammar school. Upon reaching adolescence, however, a number of us rebelled and I must admit to distinctly leftist leanings during my teen years. Little by little, though, I have been coming around to my former way of thinking and, while I am not all that enamored of our local form of government, I have reacquired a marked distaste for Theirs.
My political position is based largely on my aversion to large groups, and if there’s one thing I know about Communism it’s that large groups are definitely in the picture. I do not work well with others and I do not wish to learn to do so. I do not even dance well with others if there are too many of them, and I have no doubt but that Communist discothèques are hideously overcrowded. “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs” is not a decision I care to leave to politicians, for I do not believe that an ability to remark humorously on the passing scene would carry much weight with one’s comrades or that one could convince them of the need for a really reliable answering service. The common good is not my cup of tea—it is the uncommon good in which I am interested, and I do not deceive myself that such statements are much admired by the members of farming collectives. Communists all seem to wear small caps, a look I consider better suited to tubes of toothpaste than to people. We number, of course, among us our own cap wearers, but I assure you they are easily avoided. It is my understanding that Communism requires of its adherents that they arise early and participate in a strenuous round of calisthenics. To someone who wishes that cigarettes came already lit the thought of such exertion at any hour when decent people are just nodding off is thoroughly abhorrent. I have been further advised that in the Communist world an aptitude for speaking or writing
in an amusing fashion doesn’t count for spit. I therefore have every intention of doing my best to keep the Iron Curtain from being drawn across Fifty-seventh Street. It is to this end that I have prepared a little chart of my own for the edification of my fellow New Yorkers.
The following chart compares the amount of time it takes a Communist to earn enough to purchase the following goods against the amount of time it takes a New Yorker to do the same.
COMMUNIST NEW YORKER
A CO-OP APARTMENT IN THE EAST SEVENTIES ON THE PARK—4,000 YEARS. And even then you have to share it with the rest of the collective. There is not a co-op in the city with that many bathrooms. A CO-OP APARTMENT IN THE EAST SEVENTIES ON THE PARK—No time at all if you were lucky in the parent department. If you have not been so blessed it could take as long as twenty years, but at least you’d have your own bathroom.
A SUBSCRIPTION TO The New Yorker—3 WEEKS. And even then it is doubtful that you’d understand the cartoons. A SUBSCRIPTION TO The New Yorker—1 HOUR, maybe less, because in a democracy one frequently receives such things as gifts.
A FIRST-CLASS AIRPLANE TICKET to PARIS—6 MONTHS—Paris, Comrade? Not so fast. A FIRST-CLASS AIRPLANE TICKET to PARIS—varies widely, but any smart girl can acquire such a ticket with ease if she plays her cards right.
A FERNANDO SANCHEZ NIGHTGOWN—3 MONTHS. With the cap? Very attractive. A FERNANDO SANCHEZ NIGHTGOWN—1 WEEK, less if you know someone in the business, and need I point out that your chances of being so connected are far greater in a democracy such as ours than they are in Peking.
DINNER AT A FINE RESTAURANT—2 YEARS to earn the money; 27 years for the collective to decide on a restaurant. DINNER AT A FINE RESTAURANT—No problem if one has chosen one’s friends wisely.
Children:
Pro or Con?
Moving, as I do, in what would kindly be called artistic circles, children are an infrequent occurrence. But even the most artistic of circles includes within its periphery a limited edition of the tenaciously domestic.
As I am generally quite fond of children I accept this condition with far less displeasure than do my more rarefied acquaintances. That is not to imply that I am a total fool for a little grin but simply that I consider myself to be in a position of unquestionable objectivity and therefore eminently qualified to deal with the subject in an authoritative manner.
From the number of children in evidence it appears that people have them at the drop of a hat—for surely were they to give this matter its due attention they would act with greater decorum. Of course, until now prospective parents have not had the opportunity to see the facts spelled out in black and white and therefore cannot reasonably be held accountable for their actions. To this end I have carefully set down all pertinent information in the fervent hope that it will result in a future populated by a more attractive array of children than I have thus far encountered.
Pro
I must take issue with the term “a mere child,” for it has been my invariable experience that the company of a mere child is infinitely preferable to that of a mere adult.
* * *
Children are usually small in stature, which makes them quite useful for getting at those hard-to-reach places.
* * *
Children do not sit next to one in restaurants and discuss their preposterous hopes for the future in loud tones of voice.
* * *
Children ask better questions than do adults. “May I have a cookie?” “Why is the sky blue?” and “What does a cow say?” are far more likely to elicit a cheerful response than “Where’s your manuscript?” “Why haven’t you called?” and “Who’s your lawyer?”
* * *
Children give life to the concept of immaturity.
* * *
Children make the most desirable opponents in Scrabble as they are both easy to beat and fun to cheat.
* * *
It is still quite possible to stand in a throng of children without once detecting even the faintest whiff of an exciting, rugged after-shave or cologne.
* * *
Not a single member of the under-age set has yet to propose the word chairchild.
* * *
Children sleep either alone or with small toy animals. The wisdom of such behavior is unquestionable, as it frees them from the immeasurable tedium of being privy to the whispered confessions of others. I have yet to run across a teddy bear who was harboring the secret desire to wear a maid’s uniform.
Con
Even when freshly washed and relieved of all obvious confections, children tend to be sticky. One can only assume that this has something to do with not smoking enough.
* * *
Children have decidedly little fashion sense and if left to their own devices will more often than not be drawn to garments of unfortunate cut. In this respect they do not differ greatly from the majority of their elders, but somehow one blames them more.
* * *
Children respond inadequately to sardonic humor and veiled threats.
* * *
Notoriously insensitive to subtle shifts in mood, children will persist in discussing the color of a recently sighted cement-mixer long after one’s own interest in the topic has waned.
* * *
Children are rarely in the position to lend one a truly interesting sum of money. There are, however, exceptions, and such children are an excellent addition to any party.
* * *
Children arise at an unseemly hour and are ofttimes in the habit of putting food on an empty stomach.
* * *
Children do not look well in evening clothes.
* * *
All too often children are accompanied by adults.
A Manual:
Training for Landlords
Every profession requires of its members certain skills, talents, or training. Dancers must be light on their feet. Brain surgeons must attend medical school. Candlestick-makers must have an affinity for wax. These occupations, though, are only the tip of the iceberg. How do others learn their trades? We shall see.
How to Be a Landlord: An Introduction
In order to be a landlord, it is first necessary to acquire a building or buildings. This can be accomplished in either of two ways. By far the most pleasant is by means of inheritance—a method favored not only because it is easy on the pocketbook but also because it eliminates the tedious chore of selecting the property. This manual, however, is not really intended for landlords of that stripe, since such an inheritance invariably includes a genetic composition that makes formal instruction quite superfluous.
Less attractive but somewhat more common (how often those traits go hand in hand) is the method of actual purchase. And it is here that our work really begins.
Lesson One: Buying
Buildings can be divided into two main groups: cheap and expensive. It should be remembered, however, that these terms are for professional use only and never to be employed in the presence of tenants, who, almost without exception, prefer the words very and reasonable. If the price of a building strikes you as excessive, you would do well to consider that wise old slogan “It’s not the initial cost—it’s the upkeep,” for as landlord you are in the enviable position of having entered a profession in which the upkeep is taken care of by the customer. This concept may be somewhat easier to grasp by simply thinking of yourself as a kind of telephone company. You will be further encouraged when you realize that while there may indeed be a wide disparity in building prices, this terrible inequity need not be passed on to the tenant in the degrading form of lower rent. It should now be clear to the attentive student that choosing a building is basically a matter of personal taste and, since it is the rare landlord who is troubled by such a quality, we shall proceed to the next lesson.
Lesson Two: Rooms
The most important factor here is that you understand that a room is a matter of opinion. It is, after all, your building, and if you choose to designate a given amount of
space as a room, then indeed it is a room. Specifying the function of the room is also your responsibility, and tenants need frequently to be reminded of this as they will all too often display a tendency to call one of your rooms a closet. This is, of course, a laughable pretension, since few tenants have ever seen a closet.
Lesson Three: Walls
A certain number of walls are one of the necessary evils of the business. And while some of you will understandably bridle at the expense, the observant student is aware that walls offer a good return on investment by way of providing one of the basic components of rooms. That is not to say that you, as landlord, must be a slave to convention. Plaster and similarly substantial materials are embarrassingly passé to the progressive student. If you are a father, you know that walls can enjoyably be made by children at home or camp with a simple paste of flour and water and some of Daddy’s old newspapers. The childless landlord might well be interested in Wallies—a valuable new product that comes on a roll. Wallies tear off easily and can be painted, should such a procedure ever be enforced by law.
The Fran Lebowitz Reader Page 3
