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A Day in the Life...
May. 17th, 2003 07:31 pmThe sign on the used bookstore’s door read, “Come explore the Labyrinth.” Inside, I found three floors of towering book shelves. The paths through the stacks twisted and turned at unnecessary locations, in unexpected directions. There was order to the books, though I could not determine it. I considered the possibility of venturing too deep and not finding my way back to the front door. However, I continued to browse and found the bookseller himself in the bowels of the establishment, to whom I spoke, telling him I had come because I was intrigued by the “Labyrinth.” He smiled and proclaimed responsibility for the design. “I’m sure you’ve read Umberto Eco’s ‘The Name of the Rose,’” I said. Indeed, he had. He also enjoyed the film’s depiction of the monastery’s library labyrinth, but felt the Escher-like proliferation of platforms and staircases would be tiring, if not dangerous, to his own customers.
I explored the Labyrinth, without a particular book in mind, and stumbled upon a pristine copy of Umberto Eco’s, “Five Moral Pieces.” I purchased that book, in addition to Madeleine L’Engle’s “A Swiftly Tilting Planet.” Later, in a nearby Chinese restaurant, I read Eco’s essay, “Reflections on War,” a treatise on morality and the ethics of war, originally published in April 1991 during the Gulf War against Iraq. My fingers stained the pages with the blood red sauce from my General Tso’s Shrimp. While I tackled Eco’s diction, a young Chinese girl, the daughter of the proprietress and the only other person in the restaurant’s dining room, struggled with her homework as she sat at the table near a bay window streaked with rain. The window provided her with a dim gray light by which to work in the darkened room. Behind me, the rattle of the kitchen and the occasional banter between chinese cooks complimented the soft lilt of ambient, western music.
Earlier, I had seen the film “About Schmidt.” It taught me a few things (or, more likely, reminded me of things I already knew, but to which I haven’t given much thought of late). First, I realized that this is not the only film containing a scene in which Jack Nicholson purposefully misses the bowl while urinating. I recall an important Nicholson pissing scene in the film “Wolf.” Moments like this make me wish I was still a university student, when I could legitimately spend my time engaged in the critical analysis of pissing scenes in American movies if I so desired (and improve my GPA by doing it). The film also reminded me to pay attention to the details; to the little things that speak for themselves when you give them clear and honest presentation. Unencumbered by explanation, a direct depiction of a simple moment leaves an audience with echoes of poignancy from which they can draw their own conclusions regarding why the artist shared that moment with them.
Dear reader, I would like to leave you with a story about a duck that walked into a bar and said, “You got any grapes?” And the bartender says, “No.” So the duck left, then came back the next day and said, “You got any grapes?” The bartender said, “No.” Third day he came back, said, “You got any grapes?” The bartender said, “No. I didn’t have none yesterday, the day before, today don’t have none. I won’t have none tomorrow. If you ask again, I’m going to nail your feet to the bar.” The duck comes back the next day, says, “You got any nails?” The bartender says, “No.” And the duck says, “Well, you got any grapes?”
I explored the Labyrinth, without a particular book in mind, and stumbled upon a pristine copy of Umberto Eco’s, “Five Moral Pieces.” I purchased that book, in addition to Madeleine L’Engle’s “A Swiftly Tilting Planet.” Later, in a nearby Chinese restaurant, I read Eco’s essay, “Reflections on War,” a treatise on morality and the ethics of war, originally published in April 1991 during the Gulf War against Iraq. My fingers stained the pages with the blood red sauce from my General Tso’s Shrimp. While I tackled Eco’s diction, a young Chinese girl, the daughter of the proprietress and the only other person in the restaurant’s dining room, struggled with her homework as she sat at the table near a bay window streaked with rain. The window provided her with a dim gray light by which to work in the darkened room. Behind me, the rattle of the kitchen and the occasional banter between chinese cooks complimented the soft lilt of ambient, western music.
Earlier, I had seen the film “About Schmidt.” It taught me a few things (or, more likely, reminded me of things I already knew, but to which I haven’t given much thought of late). First, I realized that this is not the only film containing a scene in which Jack Nicholson purposefully misses the bowl while urinating. I recall an important Nicholson pissing scene in the film “Wolf.” Moments like this make me wish I was still a university student, when I could legitimately spend my time engaged in the critical analysis of pissing scenes in American movies if I so desired (and improve my GPA by doing it). The film also reminded me to pay attention to the details; to the little things that speak for themselves when you give them clear and honest presentation. Unencumbered by explanation, a direct depiction of a simple moment leaves an audience with echoes of poignancy from which they can draw their own conclusions regarding why the artist shared that moment with them.
Dear reader, I would like to leave you with a story about a duck that walked into a bar and said, “You got any grapes?” And the bartender says, “No.” So the duck left, then came back the next day and said, “You got any grapes?” The bartender said, “No.” Third day he came back, said, “You got any grapes?” The bartender said, “No. I didn’t have none yesterday, the day before, today don’t have none. I won’t have none tomorrow. If you ask again, I’m going to nail your feet to the bar.” The duck comes back the next day, says, “You got any nails?” The bartender says, “No.” And the duck says, “Well, you got any grapes?”
