The Fran Lebowitz Reader (12 page)

A loaf of bread that is more comfortable than a sofa cannot help but be unpalatable.

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The servant problem being what it is, one would think it apparent that a society that provides a Helper for tuna
but compels a writer to pack her own suitcases desperately needs to reorder its priorities.

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Chocolate is an excellent flavor for ice cream but both unreasonable and disconcerting in chewing gum.

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Breakfast cereals that come in the same colors as polyester leisure suits make oversleeping a virtue.

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When one asks for cream one should receive either cream or the information that the establishment in question favors instead a combination of vegetable oil and cancer-causing initials.

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Cheese that is required by law to append the word
food
to its title does not go well with red wine or fruit.

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Thoroughly distasteful as synthetic foods might be, one cannot help but accord them a certain value when confronted with the health food buff. One is also ever mindful of the fact that the aficionado of whole foods is a frequent champion of excessive political causes.

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Brown rice is ponderous, overly chewy, and possessed of unpleasant religious overtones.

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Civilized adults do not take apple juice with dinner.

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Inhabitants of underdeveloped nations and victims of natural disasters are the only people who have ever been happy to see soybeans.

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Bread that must be sliced with an ax is bread that is too nourishing.

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Large, naked, raw carrots are acceptable as food only to those who live in hutches eagerly awaiting Easter.

Food is such a common occurrence in our daily lives that few have taken the time to consider it in the broader sense and thus cannot truly appreciate its impact on society.

Food is welcome at both meal and snack time. It goes well with most any beverage and by and large makes the best sandwich.

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Food gives real meaning to dining room furniture.

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Food goes a long way in rounding out a CARE package.

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Food offers the perfect excuse to use the good dishes.

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Food is an important part of a balanced diet.

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Food plays a crucial role in international politics. If there was no such thing as food, state dinners would be replaced by state bridge games and, instead of fasting, political activists would probably just whine.

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A foodless world would have the disastrous effect of robbing one’s initiative. Ambition has no place in a society that refuses its members the opportunity to become top banana.

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Without food, one of man’s most perplexing yet engaging problems would be rendered meaningless when one realized that the chicken and the egg both didn’t come first.

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If food did not exist it would be well-nigh impossible to get certain types off the phone, as one would be unable
to say, “Look, I’ve got to run but let’s have dinner sometime soon.”

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Food was a very big factor in Christianity. What would the miracle of the loaves and fishes have been without it? And the Last Supper—how effective would that have been?

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If there was no such thing as food, Oyster Bay would be called just Bay, and for the title of
The Cherry Orchard
Chekhov would have chosen
A Group of Empty Trees, Regularly Spaced.

Perhaps the least cheering statement ever made on the subject of art is that life imitates it. This would doubtless be more heartening news were its veracity not quite so capricious. For upon inspection it is immediately apparent that life is at its most artistic when such a condition is least desired. It is, in fact, safe to assume that, more often than not, life imitates craft, for who among us can say that our experience does not more closely resemble a macramé plant holder than it does a painting by Seurat. When it comes to art, life is the biggest copycat in the matter of the frame.

Wishing to investigate the matter more thoroughly, I gathered about me a group of like-minded associates and began the long, hard work of imitating art in its most contemporary manifestations.

We positioned ourselves randomly on a hardwood floor and pretended to be cinder blocks. We affixed to
our shirtfronts labels bearing words unrelated to one another in a linear sense. We were not understood and we were greatly admired. We found this to be not unfulfilling.

Some of us dressed up like bold, daring lines; others, like large, clear, easy-to-read letters and numbers. All of us wore simple yet childish bright colors. We arranged ourselves in the shape of an airport and adopted a manner both useful and sprightly. We were most popular with those similarly dressed.

Quite a few of us wore the same things we had worn when following the example of Graphic Design, although we went to considerably smaller sizes. The rest of us divided ourselves equally into two groups—one being airbrushed color illustration; the other being out-of-context, blown-up quotations from articles. All of us stationed ourselves for maximum intrusion value. Everyone crowded together in the form of a single page but kept our distance by the clever use of numerous black borders. We were a big hit and proved once and for all that you can take the art out of art direction but you can’t take the direction out of art, at least not if it’s headed that way.

We researched this one carefully and decided to be both fun and functional. We wore molded plastic, durable fabrics, and lots of butcher’s block. We assumed the shapes of gigantic bean bags, inflatable rafts, hard-edged
paintings, and cumulus clouds. We were rather reminded of our days as Graphic Design and felt more than ever that we had a multi-purpose in life.

We thought a lot about glass and new, lightweight building materials. We imagined ourselves schools, shopping centers, office buildings, public housing, and luxury apartment complexes. We hoped that at least a few of the others would imagine themselves signs so that people could tell us apart.

We attired ourselves in shiny garments so as to accurately reflect the hopes and dreams of the general public. We entered elevators, cars, planes, telephones, and just about every place else you couldn’t think of. We were an inescapable influence on the culture and inspired a fanatical devotion, for we made a joyful noise unto the bored.

We were careful to adopt only those attitudes associated with work of serious intention, being well aware that life generally does not imitate entertainment. We exhibited extreme sensitivity and technical prowess while motioning lyrically. We explored the themes of violence, despair, and social injustice that lurk beneath the slick surface of our society. We were nice and quiet, saying little and keeping pretty much to ourselves.

Some of us borrowed quite heavily from others. Some of us were unduly imaginative. A lot of us felt silly making these statements but we attempted to invest them with deeper meaning. This was not, in light of the preponderance of polyester, easy, but people bought it. Believing us to be expressions of their true personalities, the public clasped us to their bosoms and added a few fun touches of their own.

As one whose taste in mental states has always run largely toward the coma, I have very little patience with the current craze for self-awareness. I am already far too well acquainted with how I feel and frankly, given the choice, I would not. Anyone who is troubled by the inability to feel his or her own feelings is more than welcome to feel mine. It should not be surprising, then, for you to learn that I am something less than enchanted with a concept such as mood jewelry. For those of you fortunate enough to have your lack of awareness extend into the realm of advertising, mood jewelry is jewelry that tells you your feelings via a heat-sensitive stone. And although one would think that stones would have quite enough to do, what with graves and walls and such, it seems that they have now taken on the job of informing people that they are nervous. And although one would think that a person who is nervous would be more than able to ascertain that fact without the aid of a quite unattractive ring, this is apparently not the case.

Mood jewelry comes to us in many guises: necklaces,
rings, watches, and bracelets. But whatever form it takes, it is invariably equipped with the perceptive and informative stone that not only relates one’s present mood but also indicates in what direction that mood is headed. The stone performs this newsy feat by means of color change. The following, chosen solely on the basis of crankiness, has been excerpted from an ad:

EACH COLOR CHANGE
REVEALS THE INNER YOU!

One can safely assume that a person who finds it necessary to consult a bracelet on the subject of his own state of mind is a person who is undoubtedly perplexed by a great many things. It follows, then, that in such a case a piece of jewelry that reveals only emotions can hardly be called adequate—for here is a person besieged and beset by questions far more complex than “Am I strained?” This is an individual who needs
answers
—an individual who should be able to look at his heavily adorned wrist and ask, “Am I tall? Short? A natural
blond? A man? A woman? An elm? Do I own my own home? Can I take a joke? Do I envy the success of others?”

Clearly, if there is to be such a thing as mood jewelry it must become more specific. In the interests of hastening such an occurrence I offer the following:

THE FRAN LEBOWITZ GUIDE
TO EVEN GREATER SELF-TRUTHS THROUGH COLOR CHANGE!

Now, I’m not just talking about Vuitton bags. Or Gucci wallets. Or Hermès scarves. Designers and/or business concerns who splash their names and initials all over overpriced accoutrements of dubious quality are of course sorely lacking in taste, but I am not going to be sidetracked by trivialities. I’m talking about the larger issues. Open-necked Deco-ish shirts with a repeating pattern of middle-sized silhouettes of sailboats. Blue jeans depicting the death of Marilyn Monroe in waterproof pastels. Dresses upon which one (but preferably two) can play Monopoly. Overalls that remind toddlers, through the use of small pink animals spouting comic strip balloons, to brush their teeth. T-shirts that proclaim the illegal sexual preferences of the wearer. Etcetera. Etcetera.

While clothes with pictures and/or writing on them are not entirely an invention of the modern age, they are an unpleasant indication of the general state of things. The particular general state of things that I am referring to is the general state of things that encourages people to express themselves through their clothing.
Frankly, I for one would not be unhappy if most people expressed themselves by marching en masse into the nearest large body of water but, barring that, I wish they would at least stop attempting to tell all by word of jacket. I mean, be realistic. If people don’t want to listen to
you
, what makes you think they want to hear from your sweater?

There are two main reasons why we wear clothes. First, to hide figure flaws, of which the average person has at least seventeen. And second, to look cute, which is at least cheering. If some people think that nice, muted solid colors are a bit dull they can add some punch with stripes, plaids, checks, or—if it’s summer and they’re girls—small dots. And for those of you who feel that this is too restrictive, answer me this: If God meant for people to walk around in coats that have pictures of butterscotch sundaes on them, then why does
he
wear Tattersall shirts?

Soho is a real place. By real I mean that it exists materially. Mr. Art is not a real person. By not a real person I mean that he does not exist materially. Nevertheless, where Soho is concerned I wouldn’t consider excluding Mr. Art from my observations, for in matters such as this he is my most trusted adviser and confidant. He is a dapper little fellow, perhaps a bit wry—and while it has been said of him that his manner cannot really support his mannerisms, he is, I can assure you, a welcome relief from some of these other types we get in here.