Sunday, August 14, 2005
Fuscations: Revealing the Errors of My Ways
welcome back my friends, to the blog that wouldn’t end.... it’s time to reveal my mendacity and tell you which of the stories I told on friday are just not true. Well, only one of them wasn’t true, and I’m delighted to announce the winner who correctly guessed it: NOBODY AT ALL. Whoo-hoo, I’ve lied my way past all y’all. Today I am a man. An untrustworthy man.
So, let’s take stock. Yes, in 1977 I attended a bar mitzvah with a reception at the Sportsman’s Lodge, and they had a “do the bump” contest, which I, improbably, won. At the moment I was announced as the winner, a hush fell over all in attendance, and over nature herself, as if some violation of the essential conditions of existence had been committed and only subsequently recognized. I knew something was wrong as I took my prize. It was only on the way home that I began to realize that I’d crossed a line that was supposed to remain uncrossed at bar mitzvahs, something about personal dignity and salacious behavior and disco dancing. Strange days, but then again, it was the 70s.
And Yes, in 1995 I was in the Shakespeare at Stinson production of 12th Night, playing “Sea Captain” and “Male Lead’s Friend,” and was simultaneously writing a story about five people who all write important letters of various kinds that all go into the same mailbox, into which a vandal drops large quantities of dog feces, resulting in very different outcomes for each of the letter-writers. It might have been great literature, though it probably wasn’t - but that’s no nevermind, I wandered away and lost the damn thing and consigned the whole mess to the scrap heap of literary history many years ago. I just hope no one tries to publish it under another name, because I’m totally on the lookout for that kind of sneaky crap.
And finally, Yes, I did take a bike ride, over parental objections, from my home out to Palisades Park, but I only got about 1/3 of the way back before my knee was so blown out that I called home for a ride back. The homeless guy tried to inspire me to finish, but I couldn’t. My dad picked me up and was wonderful and understanding and supportive. I felt bad about making him go so far out of his way for me, but he was great. And that’s just the kind of story that I can make work as a lie - that I finished my ride, heroically, when I really just foundered and needed to call my dad for help. Which is as good a time as any to say hello to dad, whom I understand is now reading this blog a bit more often because I sometimes post photos of his grandson on it. Just Like This.
I’ll be back later with some non-obfuscatory stuff or other. Meantime, don’t believe everything you read - and thanks for playing.
