Just before the El arrived at one of the stops this morning, the driver said over the intercom "People, uh, I have to stop at the Chicago station for just about a minute. I have to, uh, leave the train and take care of something. But it'll only take a minute." I was looking out the window at the time. I smiled and chuckled a little but as I did I felt a wave of similar reactions go through the whole car.
Everyone on the train appreciated this moment and simultaneously understood this man's plight. We've all had to pee, of course. I then took a careful look around and saw a faint, commuter-smile ebbing from every face. An entire, packed train of workers-en-route was suddenly very patient.
Had this man stopped and said nothing, the entire train would have figeted and checked their watches. Some dope would have flipped open something cellular and seemingly shouted at the top of his lungs about how he was going to be late.
Yesterday I was at Ada's Deli with my fiance. She just got back from the protest in Washington. (Folks involved in the protest estimated that over a million people were there, making it the biggest protest in one location in human history. I hope their estimates are accurate.)
Anyway, she got up to use the rest room while a man at a nearbye table was on a cell phone. He was the worst kind of cell phone user--the guy who's not terribly familiar with them, using his freind's phone. So the man was essentially shouting. Here's what I learned about him:
1. He is Jewish--a Rabbi in fact.
2. He owns a company in the southwest that kills livestock (I assume not pigs), and also makes leather and food products.
3. The company is number 7 of the "fortune 1000 companies", whatever that means.
4. He earned 919 million last year. (yes, he broadcast this to the entire restaurant.)
5. He was talking to his friend's mother.
6. His freind's name is Lawrence.
7. Lawrence represents another business or charity and was there to ask this wealthy man for money.
8. Our rabbinical friend lost his mother on December 14th of the year 2000. She was 90.
Genevra returned from the ladies room exactly as the man handed the phone back to Lawrence. It felt like this man's conversation had been a half-time side show, like hold music on my lunch with G.
Last night I was rehearsing 43 Plays For 43 Presidents again. We're remoutning it on the southside at the Beverly Center for the Arts on May 8th. I was in a silly mood, and at one point when Genevra was playing the recently assassinated President Garfield and lying flat on her face, I leapt onto her back and kissed her face and made funny noises. (Yes, today I am a 30 year-old man. Happy birthday to me.)
She asked me to get off her as she said the others were "uncomfortable". Yeah, they probably were. It hit me that I had basically begun to hump my fiance by all appearances.
But I wanted to jump on her. And I wasn't hurting anyone. And who hasn't at some point in their lives wanted to jump onto the back of an alluring human being--even if it's to be silly and make funny noises?
If I'm not hurting anyone, can't I say or do whatever I want? Why did the Rabbi on the phone irritate me so much? And why was it such a bad thing that he shouted his 2003 earnings to the entire Loop? And why was it funny when the driver on the El today basically annouced to us that he had to take a wiz?
We loved the man on the El today. We hate the man on the cell phone who's sharing his salary with the diner. And we're uneasy over the man who leaps onto his fiance in the middle of a reahearsal. Some violations of the status quo seem pleasing, some will always bother people--like they are rules broken from an omnipresent book that no one wrote. It's been there since middle school when suddenly there were things you didn't do or say, because if you did them or said them you were a geek. Am I a geek? Is the Rabbi a geek? Is the El driver one of the cool kids? Have we never left public school?
I swear, we think we've grown up but we haven't. In no time we'll be telling our kids that they shouldn't skip and throw their arms around because people will think they're crazy. We'll tell them not to pinch their wee-wee's and stomp and say they "gotta pee." We'll insist that they stifle their loud laughter, hint that they're too old to play with dolls, and beg them not to run screaming through the yard. And then we will turn around and laugh at how unenlightened their adolescent rulebooks are. We will say "oh, what, is that not cool now?" and chuckle to ourselves because we're adults and we have it all figured out.
Look around. I love this place but it is largely joyless. And that's why your adolecent children think we're all a bunch of fakes. Please dance today. Do something. And I promise to jump on my fiance as often as I possibly can. And when the kids in school make a face, I'll moon them and scream like coyote. And hey, Mr. 919 milliion, GOOD FOR YOU! And while we're at it, let's all stop to pee when we have to pee, and we can be charming about it, too. We can, dare I suggest, hold our wee-wees and stomp. Why the fuck not? Huh? Why?
Everyone on the train appreciated this moment and simultaneously understood this man's plight. We've all had to pee, of course. I then took a careful look around and saw a faint, commuter-smile ebbing from every face. An entire, packed train of workers-en-route was suddenly very patient.
Had this man stopped and said nothing, the entire train would have figeted and checked their watches. Some dope would have flipped open something cellular and seemingly shouted at the top of his lungs about how he was going to be late.
Yesterday I was at Ada's Deli with my fiance. She just got back from the protest in Washington. (Folks involved in the protest estimated that over a million people were there, making it the biggest protest in one location in human history. I hope their estimates are accurate.)
Anyway, she got up to use the rest room while a man at a nearbye table was on a cell phone. He was the worst kind of cell phone user--the guy who's not terribly familiar with them, using his freind's phone. So the man was essentially shouting. Here's what I learned about him:
1. He is Jewish--a Rabbi in fact.
2. He owns a company in the southwest that kills livestock (I assume not pigs), and also makes leather and food products.
3. The company is number 7 of the "fortune 1000 companies", whatever that means.
4. He earned 919 million last year. (yes, he broadcast this to the entire restaurant.)
5. He was talking to his friend's mother.
6. His freind's name is Lawrence.
7. Lawrence represents another business or charity and was there to ask this wealthy man for money.
8. Our rabbinical friend lost his mother on December 14th of the year 2000. She was 90.
Genevra returned from the ladies room exactly as the man handed the phone back to Lawrence. It felt like this man's conversation had been a half-time side show, like hold music on my lunch with G.
Last night I was rehearsing 43 Plays For 43 Presidents again. We're remoutning it on the southside at the Beverly Center for the Arts on May 8th. I was in a silly mood, and at one point when Genevra was playing the recently assassinated President Garfield and lying flat on her face, I leapt onto her back and kissed her face and made funny noises. (Yes, today I am a 30 year-old man. Happy birthday to me.)
She asked me to get off her as she said the others were "uncomfortable". Yeah, they probably were. It hit me that I had basically begun to hump my fiance by all appearances.
But I wanted to jump on her. And I wasn't hurting anyone. And who hasn't at some point in their lives wanted to jump onto the back of an alluring human being--even if it's to be silly and make funny noises?
If I'm not hurting anyone, can't I say or do whatever I want? Why did the Rabbi on the phone irritate me so much? And why was it such a bad thing that he shouted his 2003 earnings to the entire Loop? And why was it funny when the driver on the El today basically annouced to us that he had to take a wiz?
We loved the man on the El today. We hate the man on the cell phone who's sharing his salary with the diner. And we're uneasy over the man who leaps onto his fiance in the middle of a reahearsal. Some violations of the status quo seem pleasing, some will always bother people--like they are rules broken from an omnipresent book that no one wrote. It's been there since middle school when suddenly there were things you didn't do or say, because if you did them or said them you were a geek. Am I a geek? Is the Rabbi a geek? Is the El driver one of the cool kids? Have we never left public school?
I swear, we think we've grown up but we haven't. In no time we'll be telling our kids that they shouldn't skip and throw their arms around because people will think they're crazy. We'll tell them not to pinch their wee-wee's and stomp and say they "gotta pee." We'll insist that they stifle their loud laughter, hint that they're too old to play with dolls, and beg them not to run screaming through the yard. And then we will turn around and laugh at how unenlightened their adolescent rulebooks are. We will say "oh, what, is that not cool now?" and chuckle to ourselves because we're adults and we have it all figured out.
Look around. I love this place but it is largely joyless. And that's why your adolecent children think we're all a bunch of fakes. Please dance today. Do something. And I promise to jump on my fiance as often as I possibly can. And when the kids in school make a face, I'll moon them and scream like coyote. And hey, Mr. 919 milliion, GOOD FOR YOU! And while we're at it, let's all stop to pee when we have to pee, and we can be charming about it, too. We can, dare I suggest, hold our wee-wees and stomp. Why the fuck not? Huh? Why?
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