Occasionally I run across a dieter with an unusually stubborn weight problem. If you fall into this category, I recommend as a final desperate measure that you take your meals with a magazine editor who really and truly understands your work and a hairdresser who wants to try something new and interesting.
The Unnatural Order
New Yorkers whose formative years were spent in more rural environments are frequently troubled by their inability to spot seasonal change. Deprived of such conventional signs as caterpillars, yellow leaves and the frost on the pumpkin, these bewildered citizens are quarterly confronted with the problem of ascertaining just exactly when it is what time of year. In an attempt to dispel this sort of confusion I offer the following guide:
AUTUMN
Autumn refers to the period beginning in late September and ending right before January. Its most salient visual characteristic is that white people all over town begin to lose their tans. New Yorkers, however, being somewhat reserved, it is not good form to try to rake them up and jump in them. Recent air-pollution control laws have also prohibited their burning, no matter how nostalgic one is for the homey scent of a roaring bonfire. Another marked feature of this season, and one not unrelated to the aforementioned, is that there are white people all over town, a fact worth noting in this context as it signals a mass return from the Hamptons (see Summer).
Nubbier, more textured fabrics start to make an appearance and shoes begin gradually to become more bootlike.
Politicians begin to spout brightly hued wild promises, but it is unwise to pick them, particularly early in the season, and on the whole one is far safer in sticking to the cultivated varieties.
WINTER
Winter begins where autumn leaves off, but has a lot more staying power than its quicksilver antecedent. As this season progresses one begins again to note fewer white people on the street (see Barbados) and more black people on television (see landlord’s attitudes toward supplying heat; see landlords in person in Barbados).
Outdoor fashion shootings become sparse and are replaced by illegal aliens selling outsized pretzels and cold chestnuts.
Due to the dangers of the chill air, buses tend to band together in herds and Checker cabs pair off and retire to their garages for mutual warmth and companionship.
Although the frozen ground is hard and unyielding, often city contracts covering vital services come up for renewal (see Autumn, Spring and Summer) and mayoral press conferences are abundant.
Along about February, literary agents begin to turn green while talking on the telephone to their cinematic counterparts, and almost as one fly West to negotiate. Shortly after their return they will begin to lose their tans, but this is merely an example of the exception proving the rule and should not be taken by the novice as a sign of autumn. It is still winter, so try to regain your bearings by determining which out-of-season fruits are the most expensive.
SPRING
Rumored to be a season separating winter and summer, spring is, in New York, a rather mythical figure, and as such attracts a slightly rarefied crowd. Around April, art directors and aesthetic realists begin shedding their sweaters, and very constructed young men start to plan next autumn’s colors. Property values on eastern Long Island rise sharply (see white people), while the level of reason and good will recedes from the banks.
Newsstands become more delicately tinged as magazine covers once again sport their seasonal pastel look and the word “relationship” is in the air, although fortunately not in the water.
Along about May, movie agents in Los Angeles begin to turn green while on the telephone to their literary counterparts and as one fly East to negotiate. Shortly after their arrival they will begin to lose their tans, but this will compel them to leave before even the rawest novice can think that it’s autumn.
SUMMER
Although the most hard-nosed element maintains that summer is that time which is not winter, it technically describes the interval between spring and autumn, and most quickly manifests itself by a luxuriant growth in Con Edison bills. The air becomes more visible, and a great many adults, stunned by the bountiful harvest of roving street gangs and sidewalk domino players, forget that they look terrible in shorts. Daylight-saving time blossoms once more and is welcomed heartily by insomniacs who now have less night to be up all of.
Wits thicken, urban flesh turns a vivid gray and the word “relationship” is in the water, but not, fortunately, in the city.
How to Be
a Directory Assistance
Operator: A Manual
INTRODUCTION
Uppermost in your mind should be the fact that as a Directory Assistance Operator your job is to serve the public. You must be helpful and courteous, of course, but serving the public is a grave responsibility and consists of a good deal more than might be immediately apparent. Give them the number, sure, but it must be remembered that the public is made up largely of people, and that people have needs far beyond mere telephone numbers. Modern life is such that the public has come to rely rather heavily on convenience, often forgetting the value and rewards of difficult, sustained labor. The human animal has an instinctive need for challenge, and you, as a Directory Assistance Operator, can be instrumental in reintroducing this factor to the lives of your charges. So serve the public, by all means, but do not make the mistake of thinking that serving the public compels you to indulge its every whim—for that, future Directory Assistance Operator, would be not only an error in perception but also a tacit admission of irresponsibility.
LESSON ONE: IS THAT A BUSINESS OR A RESIDENCE?
When a member of the public (henceforth to be referred to as the Caller) asks you for a number, do not even think about looking it up before you have inquired in a pleasant yet firm tone of voice, “Is that a business or a residence?” This procedure is never to be omitted, for doing so would display an improper and quite unforgivable presumptuousness on your part. Just because the Russian Tea Room doesn’t sound like someone’s name to you doesn’t mean that it isn’t. Americans often have strange names, a fact that has no doubt come to your attention no matter how short a time you may have been in our country.
LESSON TWO: DO YOU HAVE THE ADDRESS?
This lesson is of primary importance as it serves a twofold purpose. The first of these is to facilitate the process of finding the number in cases where there are many parties with the same name. Note that this is not the case in the aforementioned Russian Tea Room, who seems, poor man, to have no living relatives, at least not in Manhattan. The second and more important reason for asking this question is to make certain that the Caller is really interested in the telephone number, and is not imposing on your time and energy in a sneaky attempt to weasel out of you, the Directory Assistance Operator, an exact street address. You are, after all, employed by the New York Telephone Company, and are not under any circumstances to allow yourself to be badly used by some larcenous Caller trying to pull a fast one.
LESSON THREE: COULD YOU SPELL THAT, PLEASE?
The Caller will frequently respond to this query with an audible and unpleasant sigh, or in extreme cases an outright expletive. Ignore him absolutely. You are just doing your job, and anyway, what good reason could he possibly have for wanting to telephone someone whose name he won’t or can’t even spell?
LESSON FOUR: IS THAT “B” AS IN BOY?
In recent times this traditional, even classic, question has presented a rather touchy problem. Marches have been marched, laws have been passed, rights have been won. The sensitivity of the average member of the Third World has been heightened to the point where asking, no matter how respectfully, “Is that ‘B’ as in boy?” is apt to provoke an unseemly response. But since it is quite impossible, no matter how empathetic one may be, to logically inquire, “Is that ‘B’ as in man?,” the modern Directory Assistance Operator is pretty much on her own here. Do, however, avoid “Is that ‘B’ as in black?” because you can never tell these days. And times being w
hat they are, male Directory Assistance Operators assisting female callers are cautioned strongly against even thinking of risking, “Is that ‘B’ as in baby?”
LESSON FIVE: YOU CAN FIND THAT NUMBER LISTED IN YOUR DIRECTORY
This last procedure, coming as it does at the end of your long, often stressful association with the Caller, is the one most commonly neglected, particularly by the novice. Its importance should, however, not be underestimated, as it is well known that last impressions are lasting impressions. The Directory Assistance Operator is, as has been frequently illustrated in this manual, subjected to every sort of unattractive and condescending human behavior. “You can find that number listed in your directory” is your opportunity to establish once and for all that the Directory Assistance Operator is nobody’s fool. “You can find that number listed in your directory” lets the Caller know, in no uncertain terms, that you have no intention of being pushed around by anyone, let alone anyone who, it seems, cannot even read the telephone book. So, for heaven’s sake, never forget “You can find that number listed in your directory.” It gets them every time.
ADDENDUM: HAVE A NICE DAY
The truly dedicated Directory Assistance Operator never fails to conclude the call with a sprightly rendition of “Have a nice day.” “Have a nice day” is the perfect parting shot, not only because it shows once and for all which of you is the bigger person, but also because it has the eminently satisfying effect of causing the Caller to forget the number.
War Stories
Despite my strenuous, not to say unparalleled, efforts to remain ill-informed, it has come to my attention that there has been, of late, some talk of war. Discussions concerning the drafting of women, the enrichment of the defense budget, and a certain unease on the part of older teenagers has led me to assume that what you people have in mind here is a regular war with soldiers, as opposed to a modern war with buttons.
Being classically inclined, I applaud this apparent return to the tried and true, yet cannot help but feel that contemporary life has taken its toll and we will thus be compelled to make certain allowances and institute practices that can only be called unorthodox. It is, therefore, in the national interests of a smooth transition and eventual victory that I offer the following:
SUPPOSE THEY GAVE A WAR AND YOU WEREN’T INVITED
The first step in having any successful war is getting people to fight it. You can have the biggest battlefields on your bloc, the best artillery money can buy and strategies galore, but without those all-important combat troops your war just won’t get started. Numbers alone are not enough, however, and many a country has made the mistake of filling its armed forces with too many of the same type. A good mix is essential. Monotony is as dangerous on the battlefield as it is on the highway. The problem, then, is how to attract the sort of large and varied group that you are going to need.
The draft, of course, is traditional and always appropriate but it has, in recent years, fallen somewhat out of favor, becoming in the process not only old hat but downright ineffective. Clearly, extreme measures are called for, and in no way could they be better served than by the implementation of just a touch of psychological warfare. By combining the aforementioned situation with the indisputable fact that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, I suggest that instead of drafting, the powers that be consider inviting. Inviting ensures attendance by all but the most conscientious of objectors, who are impossible to get for really big things anyway. And although inviting might, at first glance, appear to be rather a grand gesture, the actual invitations can and should be simple and functional. Engraved invitations are showy, unduly formal and altogether lacking in urgency. The desired effect can probably best be achieved by the prudent use of the Mailgram. With the invitee’s name and address in the upper left-hand corner a personal salutation is unnecessary.
We then proceed to the body of the Mailgram, which might, for example, read:
YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO ATTEND THE ONLY PREDECLARATION INDUCTION INTO THE ARMY FOR THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA’S FORTHCOMING WAR. THE INDUCTION WILL BEGIN PROMPTLY AT 8:00 A.M. AT 201 VARICK STREET, NEW YORK CITY ON APRIL 15. WE REGRET THAT DUE TO LIMITED SPACE ONLY ONE PERSON CAN BE ADMITTED PER INVITATION.
R.S.V.P. TO OUR OFFICES ON OR BEFORE MARCH 30. YOUR NAME ON OUR R.S.V.P. LIST WILL EXPEDITE YOUR ADMISSION.
THIS INVITATION IS NOT TRANSFERABLE.
Only one person can be admitted per invitation? This invitation is not transferable? Talk about impact. Imagine, if you will, the days immediately following the receipt of this missive. You are one of the lucky ones. There are others less fortunate. First casual inquiries, then pointed requests, finally desperate begging. On the eve of the induction the truly insecure go out of town while the aggressively defensive announce that they’re exhausted and have decided to just stay in and order Chinese food. Yes, people will be hurt. Friendships will be dissolved. New, decidedly unappealing alliances will be formed. It’s too bad, but it can’t be helped. Blood, sweat and tears are no longer enough; nowadays you need a door policy. All is fair in love and war.
THE CHILDREN’S CRUSADE
The most recent official statements on the subject indicate that when it comes to war, the powers that be are partial to eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds. The parents of these youths may understandably be disconcerted at having to send their children off to what is at best an unfamiliar environment. In an effort to assuage these fears, I suggest that they think of the army as simply another kind of summer camp, and keep in mind that their child may well be the one to return with that highest of honors: Best All-Around Soldier.
Camp Base
For Boys and Girls Ages 18-19
Our 102nd season as a friendly,
caring community Complete
facilities Hiking Riflery
Overnight trips Backpacking
Radar
EXTRA SPECIAL FORCES
Being in my absolute latest possible twenties, I am not myself of draftable age. That does not mean, though, that I am entirely without patriotism and the attendant desire to serve my country.
Desire is not, however (at least in this instance), synonymous with fanaticism, and I do feel that those of us who choose to go should receive certain privileges and considerations. The kinds of certain privileges and considerations I had in mind were these: either I go right from the start as a general or they establish, along guidelines set down by me, a Writers’ Regiment.
Guidelines Set Down by Me
a. War is, undoubtedly, hell, but there is no earthly reason why it has to start so early in the morning. Writers, on the whole, find it difficult to work during the day; it is far too distracting. The writer is an artist, a creative person; he needs time to think, to read, to ruminate. Ruminating in particular is not compatible with reveille. Instead, next to each (double) bed in the Writers’ Barracks (or suites, as they are sometimes called) should be a night table minimally equipped with an ashtray, a refreshing drink, a good reading lamp and a telephone. Promptly at 1:30 P.M. the phone may ring and a pleasant person with a soft voice may transmit the wake-up call.
b. In the army, discipline must, of course, be maintained and generally this is accomplished by a chain of command. In a chain of command you have what is known as the superior officer. The superior officer is fine for ordinary soldiers such as lighting designers and art directors, but the Writers’ Regiment would, by definition, require instead something a bit different: the superior prose stylist. Having a superior prose stylist would, I am sure, be an acceptable, even welcome, policy, and will without question be adopted just as soon as the first writer meets one.
c. The members of the Writers’ Regiment would, of course, like to join the rest of you in dangerous armed combat, but unfortunately the pen is mightier than the sword and we must serve where we are needed.
INTERNATIONAL ARRIVALS
Traditionally, former U.S. Air Force pilots have sought and attained employment with
the commercial airlines. Today we can look forward to a reversal of this custom, as the U.S. Air Force becomes the recipient of commercially trained airline personnel:
“Hello, this is your captain, Skip Dietrich, speaking. It’s nice to have you aboard. We’re going to be entering a little enemy fire up ahead and you may experience some slight discomfort. The temperature in the metro Moscow area is twenty below zero and it’s snowing. We’re a little behind schedule on account of that last hit, so we should be arriving at around two-thirty Their Time. Those of you in the tourist cabin seated on the right-hand side of the plane might want to glance out the window and catch what’s left of the wing before it goes entirely. That’s about all for now, hope you have a pleasant flight and thank you for flying United States Air Force.”
The Short Form
The poor are, on the whole, an unhappy lot. Ofttimes cold, invariably short of cash, frequently hungry, they unquestionably have grounds for complaint and few would dispute this. In general, the poor are deprived of most of the things that comprise that which is called “the good life” or “the American standard of living.” This state of affairs has been duly noted by both the government and the governed, and much has been done in an attempt to alleviate the situation. Wherever a lack has been perceived a solution has been proposed. No money? Welfare. No apartment? Public housing. No breakfast? Food stamps. No tickee? No washee. No, that’s another story. At any rate, you get my drift. The poor need help. The unpoor are willing—some, excessively so.
The Fran Lebowitz Reader Page 21