Chapter 44
October 23
Funny Peculiar
A stranger with whom we have been exchanging — quite pleasantly — our impressions, which we might suppose to be similar to his, of the passers-by, whom we have agreed in regarding as vulgar, reveals suddenly the pathological abyss that divides him from us by adding carelessly, as he runs his hand over his pocket: “What a pity, I haven’t got my revolver here; I could have picked off the lot!”
Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time: Within a Budding Grove
DICK AND JANE returned, as they had said they would, and Albertine gave them their old room, as she had said she would, but it wasn’t the same as it had been when they left it, because during their absence Alice had redecorated it in art deco style and then a leak in the corner had stained the wallpaper in a pattern closer to art nouveau. When Albertine, responding to a flatness in their oohs and ahhs, said that she was afraid that they were disappointed to find it changed, they demurred, professing to find it throughly charming, just a little surprising, so much different from what they had remembered.
At cocktail time, Jane had one too many, and when Albertine said, in all innocence, “It’s good to have you back on our little island,” Jane began to discourse on the manifold ills of the world beyond the bay. She began, as I recall, by waving her glass approximately in the direction of Babbington and saying, “Beyond this lovely little island lies the land of shit triumphant.”
“Here, here,” said Artie.
“Jane,” said Dick, raising both eyebrows.
“Oh, it’s true, Dickie,” she said. “It’s true. It’s all lost now. The shitheads have won.” She paused, thought for a moment, and said, “Oozie Holtz has won.” She took a swallow of her drink and repeated, emphatically, “Oozie Holtz has won.”
“What’s that?” asked Artie.
“That,” said Dick, “is Jane’s bête noire.”
“Oozie Holtz was a girl I knew in high school,” said Jane. “She was very stupid, and she was very ignorant, and she was very crude. She oozed. She was covered with makeup, and when she began to sweat, she would ooze. Not a pretty picture. Believe me. She couldn’t understand jokes, that was one of the things about her. She had no sense of humor. She would listen to a joke, but she had no way of telling when it was over because she just couldn’t follow it. We would have to tell her when to laugh. And we’d have to tell her what was a joke and what wasn’t. We’d say, ‘It’s a joke, Oozie — laugh,’ or we’d say, ‘It’s not funny, Oozie — stop laughing.’ So, now, here’s what has happened: the world has been entirely remade to accommodate Oozie Holtz. Oozie Holtz and her ilk. Her oozie ilk.”
“She’s talking about television,” said Dick. “She tried watching television, and she discovered that she didn’t like it.”
“It’s immaterial whether I liked it,” said Jane, “because it’s not meant for me. It’s meant for Oozie Holtz. Allow me to place before you for your consideration one single example,” she said, aware now that she had the attention of everyone in the lounge, and turning on her stool to face the larger group. “Setting aside the shitcoms and the news and the afternoon exhibitionists, let’s just look at the monologues on the late-night shows, the talk shows.” She held her hands in the air, above her head, as if she were the victim of a holdup. “The host comes out and tells ‘jokes.’” She wiggled the first two fingers on each hand to indicate quotation marks and let her arms fall. “The jokes aren’t particularly funny, but they’re supposed to be jokes, so you’re supposed to laugh. This is a concept of humor on the Oozie Holtz level. When the host gets to the punch line, he pauses a moment, then he rises up on the balls of his feet, and he raises his eyebrows, and sometimes he even holds up his hands with his fingers spread — all this is so that Oozie knows the punch line is coming. Then he shouts the punch line, and in case Oozie still doesn’t get it, the camera pans across the audience so that she can see that everybody — most of them guys, did I say that? — everybody is laughing, and whistling, and pumping the air with clenched fists even though I strongly suspect that not a single fucking one of those imbecilic assholes has got the faintest idea what the hell he’s laughing at, and when he gets home, he’s going to remember that he didn’t get the jokes in the monologue, and he’s going to feel stupid and embarrassed and you know what he’s going to do then? He’s going to hide his embarrassment by beating the shit out of his wife or his girlfriend or his daughter, that’s what he’s going to do — unless, before he ever gets back home, somebody does the world a favor and slits his fucking throat from ear to ear — ”
“Say good night, Jane,” said Dick, offering her his arm.
Slowly, with dignity, she drained her drink, slid from her stool, nodded to her audience, and, with Dick’s assistance, made her way to the door and up the stairs.
“Has it occurred to you that we’re running an asylum here?” I whispered to Albertine.
Subscribe to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy
Share The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy
Watch Well, What Now? This series of short videos continues The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy in the present.
Have you missed an episode or two or several?
You can begin reading at the beginning or you can catch up by visiting the archive or consulting the index to the Topical Guide. The Substack serialization of Little Follies begins here; Herb ’n’ Lorna begins here; Reservations Recommended begins here; Where Do You Stop? begins here; What a Piece of Work I Am begins here; At Home with the Glynns begins here; Leaving Small’s Hotel begins here.
You can listen to the episodes on the Personal History podcast. Begin at the beginning or scroll through the episodes to find what you’ve missed. The Substack podcast reading of Little Follies begins here; Herb ’n’ Lorna begins here; Reservations Recommended begins here; Where Do You Stop? begins here; What a Piece of Work I Am begins here; At Home with the Glynns begins here; Leaving Small’s Hotel begins here.
You can listen to “My Mother Takes a Tumble” and “Do Clams Bite?” complete and uninterrupted as audiobooks through YouTube.
You can ensure that you never miss a future issue by getting a free subscription. (You can help support the work by choosing a paid subscription instead.)
At Apple Books you can download free eBooks of Little Follies, Herb ’n’ Lorna, Reservations Recommended, Where Do You Stop?, What a Piece of Work I Am, and At Home with the Glynns.
You can buy hardcover and paperback editions of all the books at Lulu.
You’ll find overviews of the entire work in An Introduction to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy (a pdf document), The Origin Story (here on substack), Between the Lines (a video, here on Substack), and at Encyclopedia.com.
Share this post