If You Ask Me
If you ask me, it appears that things are getting a bit out of hand these days. To give but one example, I just found out that my next-door neighbor, Fred Blodkin, who heretofore had been happily married to Eunice, his loving wife of forty-three years, has run away to Las Vegas with a teenage rhinoceros of exceedingly loose repute. Eunice, of course, is quite beside herself. She says that, only the day before Fred departed for Las Vegas, he had blithely referred to the rhinoceros as being "nothing more than a casual friend." She now understands that she was extremely foolish to believe him. I always had figured that Fred was slightly "off," but I am, nonetheless, thoroughly surprised by the wildness of his latest actions. It goes to show, you never can tell what a person might do.
Here is something else to consider. My Uncle Howard, who once went on a date with a distant cousin of Mamie Van Doren's hairdresser's brother's ex-wife, claims that a gang of otherworldly beings has gained control of his brain, which sounds utterly doubtful to me. As far as I know, Uncle Howard's brain has never proven to be of any great use to Uncle Howard himself, so I find it hard to imagine that it would be of any use to a gang of otherworldly beings, unless they were, for some reason or purpose, in particular need of a useless brain. If you ask me, Uncle Howard's problem is that he has been having too many glasses of wine with his dinner. (The half bottle of vodka that he cheerfully imbibes with his breakfast could be part of the problem, too.) It seems that some people (Uncle Howard, for instance) will say anything nowadays, regardless of whether it is true or not.
It must be admitted, I suppose, that no one can be completely agreeable all of the time, but I know several people who are not even trying, not even to a small degree. My friend, Arnold Prunsley, for one. He somehow has got it into his head that he is entitled to be treated in the same manner that a king is treated. Arnold now demands that everyone should bow to him whenever he enters a room, and formally address him as "King Arnold, Our Beloved Monarch, Whose Glorious Countenance Never Ceases to Inspire Us with Infinite Joy, and Whose Unfathomable Essence Is Too Overpoweringly Awesome to Be Described in Mere Words." I am willing to go along with it, just for a laugh, but his other friends are less understanding. To be perfectly honest, one can hardly blame them.
Have you noticed, lately, how rare it is to receive good service? Yesterday I went into a tearoom and quietly requested a pot of tea and a scone. The waitress who heard my request (without any hint of a smile, I must say) did not return for nearly two hours, and when she did return, she poured the tea over my head and crushed the scone into my face, while saying, in a tone of decided insolence, "There's your bloody tea and your bloody scone, are you happy now?" Frankly, I was not happy at all, but I am inclined to suspect that the question of my happiness was not truly uppermost in the mind of that young woman. Perhaps she was having a bad day. We all are entitled to have a bad day, but if you ask me, young women who choose to work in tearooms should make an attempt to refrain from abusing their customers.
I can promise you, it is not as if I get up every morning and go looking for trouble. I keep to myself and mind my own business, but I do observe things around me, and many of the things that I observe are most distressing. They are the kinds of things that are likely to be observed only by those who are fond of observing things. It seems that everyone else is too busy having what is carelessly designated as "fun" to observe anything. "Fun" might be seen as a suitable activity for the unregenerate masses, but what about those of us who aspire to higher principles? What about those of us to whom, for example, the thought of spending a pleasant evening at the opera is preferable to the thought of being kicked in the head, dipped in a vat of molasses, and hurled out of an upstairs window?
Everywhere I go, it is clear that things are sliding down a slippery slope. No one gives a hoot about quality any more. Today, if the Great Pyramid of Giza was being built in Egypt, it would be made of plastic blocks, and the plastic blocks themselves would be made in China. The Taj Mahal would be raised in plastic, too, and the Eiffel Tower as well, and all of them would be owned by an Asian millionaire (or a Russian billionaire). I presume that it is only a matter of time until trees, flowers, and mountains are also made of plastic. Call me old-fashioned, but I hold this to be a dangerous trend. I do not object to a moderate amount of plastic in my surroundings, here and there, and I fully accept that progress (or, in other words, a complete takeover of all human affairs by monstrous corporations) is inevitable, but I do feel that a line has to be drawn somewhere.
What I have come to regard as especially annoying is that no one else appears to get annoyed at things as much as I do. Few things in life are as annoying as getting more annoyed about things than other people do. It is, as I just said, an especially annoying thing. Of course, I am not afraid to acknowledge that I always have been a person who is easily annoyed. It is something of a proud tradition in my family. When I was a child, my Aunt Philomena frequently used to say to me, "My boy, you are destined to go far in this world, for you have the priceless gift of being easily annoyed." Unfortunately, Aunt Philomena herself could be somewhat annoying at times, but looking back, I can see that she was wise (annoyingly so) in her own sweet way.
I look out the window every morning, and I think to myself, "What will happen next?" I do try to be as open-minded as a person can be, but there are times when I am forced to wonder how far my open-mindedness can go. I mean, there are certain rules of proper behavior that must be maintained. When I first heard that an artichoke had been elected President of the United States, I could only say, "Well, there is another fine thing!" If the citizens of the United States freely choose to have an artichoke (with a well-known fondness for shady females and a public record of communist leanings) as their leader, I suppose that is their choice to make, but it does seem a little odd to me. I believe, however, that in most situations, it usually is best to look on the bright side. After all, there certainly must be worse things than having an artichoke as President of the United States.
On the other hand, I cannot help being fearful of the future. Toward what sort of heinous end is all of this heading? What will become of the common standards that always have guided us in the past? Are they now to be flung away without so much as a moment of careful thought, into the nearest waste receptacle, as if they were nothing? Will up now become down, and will down now become up? Will right become left, and left become right? Will wide become narrow, and narrow become wide? Will hot become cold, and cold become hot? Will out become in, and in become out? I know that whatever will be, will be, but if you ask me, we need to stop in our tracks and take a closer look at where we are going, before we fall off the edge of the world and stub our toes.
Here is something else to consider. My Uncle Howard, who once went on a date with a distant cousin of Mamie Van Doren's hairdresser's brother's ex-wife, claims that a gang of otherworldly beings has gained control of his brain, which sounds utterly doubtful to me. As far as I know, Uncle Howard's brain has never proven to be of any great use to Uncle Howard himself, so I find it hard to imagine that it would be of any use to a gang of otherworldly beings, unless they were, for some reason or purpose, in particular need of a useless brain. If you ask me, Uncle Howard's problem is that he has been having too many glasses of wine with his dinner. (The half bottle of vodka that he cheerfully imbibes with his breakfast could be part of the problem, too.) It seems that some people (Uncle Howard, for instance) will say anything nowadays, regardless of whether it is true or not.
It must be admitted, I suppose, that no one can be completely agreeable all of the time, but I know several people who are not even trying, not even to a small degree. My friend, Arnold Prunsley, for one. He somehow has got it into his head that he is entitled to be treated in the same manner that a king is treated. Arnold now demands that everyone should bow to him whenever he enters a room, and formally address him as "King Arnold, Our Beloved Monarch, Whose Glorious Countenance Never Ceases to Inspire Us with Infinite Joy, and Whose Unfathomable Essence Is Too Overpoweringly Awesome to Be Described in Mere Words." I am willing to go along with it, just for a laugh, but his other friends are less understanding. To be perfectly honest, one can hardly blame them.
Have you noticed, lately, how rare it is to receive good service? Yesterday I went into a tearoom and quietly requested a pot of tea and a scone. The waitress who heard my request (without any hint of a smile, I must say) did not return for nearly two hours, and when she did return, she poured the tea over my head and crushed the scone into my face, while saying, in a tone of decided insolence, "There's your bloody tea and your bloody scone, are you happy now?" Frankly, I was not happy at all, but I am inclined to suspect that the question of my happiness was not truly uppermost in the mind of that young woman. Perhaps she was having a bad day. We all are entitled to have a bad day, but if you ask me, young women who choose to work in tearooms should make an attempt to refrain from abusing their customers.
I can promise you, it is not as if I get up every morning and go looking for trouble. I keep to myself and mind my own business, but I do observe things around me, and many of the things that I observe are most distressing. They are the kinds of things that are likely to be observed only by those who are fond of observing things. It seems that everyone else is too busy having what is carelessly designated as "fun" to observe anything. "Fun" might be seen as a suitable activity for the unregenerate masses, but what about those of us who aspire to higher principles? What about those of us to whom, for example, the thought of spending a pleasant evening at the opera is preferable to the thought of being kicked in the head, dipped in a vat of molasses, and hurled out of an upstairs window?
Everywhere I go, it is clear that things are sliding down a slippery slope. No one gives a hoot about quality any more. Today, if the Great Pyramid of Giza was being built in Egypt, it would be made of plastic blocks, and the plastic blocks themselves would be made in China. The Taj Mahal would be raised in plastic, too, and the Eiffel Tower as well, and all of them would be owned by an Asian millionaire (or a Russian billionaire). I presume that it is only a matter of time until trees, flowers, and mountains are also made of plastic. Call me old-fashioned, but I hold this to be a dangerous trend. I do not object to a moderate amount of plastic in my surroundings, here and there, and I fully accept that progress (or, in other words, a complete takeover of all human affairs by monstrous corporations) is inevitable, but I do feel that a line has to be drawn somewhere.
What I have come to regard as especially annoying is that no one else appears to get annoyed at things as much as I do. Few things in life are as annoying as getting more annoyed about things than other people do. It is, as I just said, an especially annoying thing. Of course, I am not afraid to acknowledge that I always have been a person who is easily annoyed. It is something of a proud tradition in my family. When I was a child, my Aunt Philomena frequently used to say to me, "My boy, you are destined to go far in this world, for you have the priceless gift of being easily annoyed." Unfortunately, Aunt Philomena herself could be somewhat annoying at times, but looking back, I can see that she was wise (annoyingly so) in her own sweet way.
I look out the window every morning, and I think to myself, "What will happen next?" I do try to be as open-minded as a person can be, but there are times when I am forced to wonder how far my open-mindedness can go. I mean, there are certain rules of proper behavior that must be maintained. When I first heard that an artichoke had been elected President of the United States, I could only say, "Well, there is another fine thing!" If the citizens of the United States freely choose to have an artichoke (with a well-known fondness for shady females and a public record of communist leanings) as their leader, I suppose that is their choice to make, but it does seem a little odd to me. I believe, however, that in most situations, it usually is best to look on the bright side. After all, there certainly must be worse things than having an artichoke as President of the United States.
On the other hand, I cannot help being fearful of the future. Toward what sort of heinous end is all of this heading? What will become of the common standards that always have guided us in the past? Are they now to be flung away without so much as a moment of careful thought, into the nearest waste receptacle, as if they were nothing? Will up now become down, and will down now become up? Will right become left, and left become right? Will wide become narrow, and narrow become wide? Will hot become cold, and cold become hot? Will out become in, and in become out? I know that whatever will be, will be, but if you ask me, we need to stop in our tracks and take a closer look at where we are going, before we fall off the edge of the world and stub our toes.