The Fran Lebowitz Reader (10 page)

The average person reacts to the arrival of his phone bill with a simple snort of disgust, but I frequently find my displeasure tempered with a touch of anticipation. For, unpleasant as it is to receive the written proof that one has indeed been whiling away the slender remainder of one’s youth in costly, idle chat, one is nevertheless helpless against the fact that one is inordinately fond of a good long read. And quite fortunate that is; for the phone bills that I receive are not the sort of phone bills one glances at—they are the sort of phone bills one leafs through.

While recently perusing such a document my attention was immediately captured by two rather jarring particulars. The first being that although I had spent the lion’s share of the month not at home, my bill was thick with calls to expensive parts of the nation. I mulled this over and decided that this irregularity could be easily explained if one was willing to accept the possibility that a heroin addict well connected in the movie business had periodically broken into my apartment and called Beverly Hills. I accepted, without reservation, just such a possibility. The second attention-getter
was an item that appeared on the back of page eight, where I discovered a list of special phones available to the discriminating caller:

1. Trimline
   
2. Princess
   
3. Bell Chime
   
4. Tone Ringer
   
5. Volume Control Handset
   
6. Weak Speech Handset
   

I had a brief flirtation with Bell Chime and a frivolous dalliance with Tone Ringer, but my heart was won by Weak Speech Handset.

I considered momentarily the possibility that the Weak Speech Handset had been designed for those who had suffered some unfortunate incident of the throat but quickly discarded the notion that the phone company was capable of such realism. I cast about for a likely theory and hit upon the following.

The Weak Speech Handset is aimed at the tedious crowd—those who are weak in the speech department. This device takes the wearisome remarks of the boring and converts them into sparkling repartee. There is no question but that such an invention is long overdue. It is, however, quite unlikely that its usefulness will be much recognized by those who need it most. It is probable, then, that Weak Speech Handsets will be largely purchased as gifts. And perhaps therein lies a certain justice; undoubtedly the listener will derive the greatest benefits. For one cannot help but assume that if the caller was as aware of his ennui-inducing qualities as was the callee, he would stop talking entirely and concentrate on his personal appearance.

Believing strongly that variety is the spice of life, I have thoughtfully prepared a catalog detailing a wide selection of models from which to choose.

Produces speech that is entirely epigrammatic.… You will fool no one, but in certain small sections of the country you will be very popular … in certain other sections of the country you will be arrested.… A great favorite among consenting adults … available only in yellow.

A sarcasm lover’s delight … particularly efficient at making humorous remarks on the subject of suicide.… Order now and receive as a free bonus an attractive round table.

A bit higher priced but you will profit in hours of rib-tickling fun.… Fully equipped with self-transformer.… dispenses once and for all with the need for two phones … perfect for Him
and
Her.

Thrill and amaze your loved one … the ultimate in contempt … a must for those with a taste for the trenchant.

A sure-fire hit with heroic-couplet buffs … especially entertaining in matters pertaining to hair.

The most commonly heard complaint among heterosexual women in New York concerns the dearth of heterosexual men. Should you hear such talk you would be well advised to direct the complainant to a Soho bar. For here she would be surrounded by such a plethora of eager gents that she might well wonder just who’s buying all those plaid flannel shirts. Why, she may ask, is this particular quarter of the city so heavily populated by young men to whom the name Ronald Firbank means nothing? To this query there can be only one reply—heterosexuality among males in urban areas is caused primarily by overcrowding in artist colonies. This is a scientific fact. Here is how we know.

Scientists observed over a long period of time the behavior of a group of twenty rats living in an apartment with high ceilings and working fireplaces. All twenty rats were artists. All twenty rats were, as is normal in such cases, homosexual. Five of these rats were chosen at random and taken in a knapsack to West Broadway, where they were moved into a loft. They were joined there by ninety-five other rats who were also homosexual
artists and had also been chosen at random from a number of other natural habitats such as doorman buildings and converted brownstones. All hundred rats had, when in their proper environments, exhibited absolutely no inclination toward unusual sexual behavior. Once, however, faced with life in a neighborhood that contained so many galleries and so few decent restaurants, an alarming pattern began to emerge. First they stopped painting and started having concepts. Then they began consuming a diet heavy in raisins and the less expensive but heartier red wines. Finally, many of them displayed a decided tendency to teach two days a week at the School of Visual Arts. Once this occurred they were past the point of no return and began seeking the company of female rats who had gone to Bennington in the late sixties.

The scientists, understandably horrified by the results of their tampering with the natural order, tried to stem the rising tide of heterosexuality by appealing to the rats’ greatest weakness. They chose a small group of rats who had previously been the most hard-core of the S & M crowd. They led them over to the docks on the Hudson River. Here they attempted to stir old fires by tossing into the murky waters those accoutrements most cherished before the move to Soho. First they let dangle and then drop a black leather cap with metal ornaments. The rats responded with agitated tail movements but stayed put. Next they tried a pair of rugged boots complete with menacing-looking spurs. Still no action. Finally the scientists threw into the river a long, snaky leather whip. Their spirits lifted as several of the rats scurried to the edge of the dock. But instinct was overcome by conditioning, and they watched with heavy hearts and defeated eyes the rats desert the sinking whip.

I love sleep because it is both pleasant and safe to use. Pleasant because one is in the best possible company and safe because sleep is the consummate protection against the unseemliness that is the invariable consequence of being awake. What you don’t know won’t hurt you. Sleep is death without the responsibility.

The danger, of course, is that sleep appears to be rather addictive. Many find that they cannot do without it and will go to great lengths to ensure its possession. Such people have been known to neglect home, hearth, and even publishers’ deadlines in the crazed pursuit of their objective. I must confess that I, too, am a sleeper and until quite recently was riddled with guilt because of it. But then I considered the subject more carefully and what I learned not only relieved my guilt but also made me proud to be among the fatigued.

I would like to share my findings so that others might feel free to lay down their once uplifted heads. I have therefore prepared a brief course of instruction in order to instill pride in those who sleep.

Sleep is a genetic rather than an acquired trait. If your parents were sleepers, chances are that you will be too. This is not cause for despair but rather for pride in a heritage that you share not only with your family but also with a fine group of well-known historical figures. The following list is indicative of the diversity to be found among sleepers:

Dwight D. Eisenhower

While many remember Ike (as he was affectionately called by an adoring nation) for his golf, there is little doubt but that he was a sleeper from childhood, a trait he unquestionably carried with him to the White House. In fact, so strongly committed was he to sleep that one could barely distinguish Ike’s sleeping from Ike’s waking.

William Shakespeare

Known as the Bard among his colleagues in the word game, Shakespeare was undoubtedly one of literature’s most inspired and prolific sleepers. Proof of this exists in the form of a bed found in the house he occupied in Stratford-upon-Avon. Further references to sleeping have been discovered in his work, and although there is some question as to whether he actually did all his own sleeping (scholarly debate currently centers around the possibility that some of it was done by Sir Francis Bacon), we are nevertheless safe in assuming that William Shakespeare was indeed a sleeper of note.

e. e. cummings

The evidence that e. e. cummings was a sleeper is admittedly sparse. Therefore, it is generally accepted that he was perhaps more of a napper.

It is only to be expected that if so many well-known historical figures were sleepers, their accomplishments should be of equal import. Following is a partial list of such achievements:

I rest my case.

It was once the common belief that the climate was determined by a large number of gods, each in charge of a specific variety of weather. Then came the major religions, and most people came to hold a more subdued point of view that suggested but a single god who got around a lot. Many still take this position, although the majority now ascribe to a theory of weather based largely on cloud formation, air pressure, wind velocity, and other aspects of science. Lastly, there are those who feel that the weather and what it does are entirely the province of honey-throated television announcers with big Magic Markers. So, then, we are presented with three basic theories as regards the controlling factor of weather:

To the casual observer it would appear that these three theories are widely disparate. That, of course, is
the problem with casual observers. Their very casualness—that trait we once all found so attractive … so appealing … so devil-may-care—is precisely what makes them so quick to judge and therefore so frequently inaccurate. The more vigilant observer would unquestioningly be able to detect a rather striking similarity. That similarity being that all three theories are based quite simply on mere whim—God can change his mind, Nature can change her course, and Voice, as we all know only too well, can change its tone.

Thus we find that by and large the world considers weather to be something, if not all, of a romantic—given to dashing about hither and yon raining and snowing and cooling and heating with a capriciousness astonishing if not downright ridiculous in one so mature. Well, the world may think what it bloody well likes but I for one will have nothing to do with such faulty logic and so have formulated what I believe to be a more reasonable theory.

“Why,” I asked myself, “should the weather be any different from you or me—are we not all one?” When presented with a question of such startling clarity I was compelled to answer, “No reason, Fran, no reason at all.” “Well then,” I continued, “it follows that if weather is no different from you or me, then it must be the same as you or me, in which case that which controls
us
must control
it.”
“Can’t argue with that,” I replied, realizing with a start that I was in the presence of a master. “And what,” I queried further, “do you think that is? Only one thing—money. That’s right, money.” “When you’re right you’re right,” was the welcome reply, and with that my companion and I strode off happily hand in hand—a gesture which, while it did lend us a certain September Mornish aspect, was in no way unattractive.

While some may find this argument specious, I offer the following as absolute definitive evidence that it is money and money alone that influences the weather.