Hard bodies

Phineas T. Bluster

March 27, 2012
Hard bodies

Chekov, speaking for himself(see yesterday's post): “You know there are people − and Tolstoy is one of them – who accuse me of writing exclusively about trivialities and having no positive heroes, no revolutionaries, Alexanders of Macedonia, or even, like Leskov, honest chiefs of police. But where am I supposed to find them? There’s nothing I’d like better. We live provincial lives: our cities are without paved streets, our villages poor, our people worn. When we’re young, we all chirp fervently like sparrows on a dung heap, but we’re old by the time we reach forty, and we start thinking of death. What kind of heroes are we?”

I had a report to write this week, due tomorrow, concerning a matter that had changed not at all since last year’s report.  So a nip here, a tuck there, an injection of botox; I’m done a day early, and it looks new, though in an odd way. Imagine Dolly Parton as Howdy Doody, freckles painted over, blonde wig. 

     There is no need to grow old gracefully, when you can become a marionette.  Lift up your jowls, your boobs, the cheeks of your ass; bind them with papier-maché.  Add several coats of paint and varnish. 

     There’s no need to grow old at all, just hard.

Q