Bream Gives Me Hiccups (17 page)

A Marriage Counselor Tries to Heckle at a Knicks Game

Let's go Knicks!!! But let's also recognize the positive attributes of the opposing team!!!

Come on, Knicks!! But please note that I'm supporting the Knicks because I live in the same city as the team's arena, which is a distinction as arbitrary as what players are assigned to what team!!! That is, I could just as easily be supporting the other team were I to live in their arena's city!!!

Melo, you suck! And in some cultures you would be revered for such behavior! The Yanomami tribe, for example, will affect a sucking motion to indicate safe passage to a neighboring tribe!!!

Ref, are you blind?! If so, it would be amazing that you've been so accurately officiating up until this last play, which, for vantage reasons, appeared to me to be called incorrectly!!!
Of course, I'm judging this as a layman and you have a far more appropriate view to fully evaluate what just occurred!! I honor your craft and insight and, in a way, I
value
your incorrect calls! It means you're human, and that's healthy!! Feel good about yourself and, in moments like this, remember how many calls you got right!! The world is complicated!

DEFENSE! DEFENSE! But also, OFFENSE! OFFENSE! Lest we forget how quickly the offense becomes the defense! These frameworks are constantly in flux!!!

FOUL?! Are you kidding me?! If you are, I will say, simply, thank you! Laughter and joke telling are healthy and can be used to convey messages that may otherwise be too difficult to express!

Get your head out of your ass, you must be the most flexible person I've ever seen!!!

Go for a three!!! I want to see this game go to overtime! I know it's difficult to hear, but I believe there is a future for you both!!! Right now, you're in the thick of it, you're blinded by anger, which is normal and understandable! Frankly, I'd be surprised if you
weren't
upset! The wounds haven't yet healed!

There were flagrant fouls, yes!! And there were missed opportunities!!! But there were good moments as well! The national anthem! The jump ball! The halftime show! These were good and
right
and real!! And to discount these good moments is as irresponsible as to count only the bad moments!!!

In fact, may you both win, regardless of the “score”!! What is a “score” anyway?! An arbitrary number assigned in accordance with how many times a ball goes through a hoop?! How silly compared to the amount of times you've overcome
adversity together! Why don't we count those times?! Like when there was a loose ball, and everyone tried to pick it up, regardless of allegiance?! There were no “teams” then!! There were no egos! There was just a ball that needed picking up!

If we're going to count the “score,” why not count smiles?! Or pats on the back?! Or simple gestures that tell the other person, “Hey, I get it”?!

What's that?! I'm being kicked out of the game?! Why?! What'd I do?!

I'm talking too much?! I'm being too loud and ruining the experience for those around me?!

Well, that's perfectly understandable! Here we are trying to enjoy a sporting event, and I'm distracting everyone with my misguided enthusiasm, unending commentary, and meticulous analyses that conflict with the spirit of the game!!!

I can totally understand where you guys are coming from and I will leave on my own accord! In fact, I thank you for your blunt dismissal of me! I don't think I deserve to explain my position as my actions have already indicated my lack of regard for the other fans, the teams, and, frankly, the sport at large!!!

Okay, okay, I'm leaving!!!

I hope you all enjoy the rest of the game!!! May the home team prevail! Or the visiting team! Or, if possible, may they both prevail by transcending the false notion of prevailing!!!

VII.

SELF-HELP

SMILING TRICKS YOUR BRAIN INTO THINKING IT'S HAPPY

When I was a little boy, my mother told me that if I feel sad, I should force myself to smile because it will trick my brain into thinking it's happy.

And she was right.

Now, whenever I feel sad, I just smile and suddenly, magically, I'm happy.

And I discovered that it's not just limited to happiness. I can convince myself of anything just by making a face that corresponds to the feeling I want to have. For example, when I'm tired, I make an energetic face and I immediately feel a surge of vitality. And when I'm feeling hungry, I make a bloated face like I just ate too much birthday cake and then my brain is tricked into thinking I'm stuffed to the gills!

Last month, I was really down in the dumps. My fiancée
left me for my boss, who then impregnated her and fired me. Needless to say, I was pretty depressed! So what did I do? That's right: I smiled and, although it took a few minutes, I eventually felt better.

But even though I felt better, I still had some problems. For example, after I lost my job, I couldn't pay my rent. But instead of feeling sorry for myself or frantically looking for a cheap sublet, I just made the face of someone who
had
paid their rent and, though it didn't happen right away, I started to feel like I actually
did
pay my rent. And you know what? I felt a whole lot better. My mother really was right! It felt great!

And although I was kicked out of my apartment for not actually paying my rent and I started living under the Verrazano Bridge, clutching a hobo and his pet rat for warmth, I just made the face of someone who was living in a big mansion with two swimming pools and my own helipad. And you know what happened? I started feeling like I was living in Beverly Hills, 90210! (I even made a face like I bought my mother a new car! And, judging from my face, she loved it!)

And when the scurvy set in due to a severe lack of vitamin C and I started gnawing on the hobo and his pet rat in an unconscious attempt to nourish myself, I just made the face of someone chewing on a fancy steak dinner with a heaping side of mashed potatoes. Yup, sometimes all you need is to believe and you could convince yourself of anything! They were delicious!

And my mother's advice really got me out of a bind when I started stalking my former boss and pregnant ex-fiancée. I would just make a very casual face of someone not stalking
anybody while I waited outside their house. And when they left the house to go to dinner, I followed them in a car that I had hot-wired and stolen, careful to make the face of someone who would not hot-wire a car.

And then I waited outside the restaurant and, when they ordered dessert, I stuffed my hobo's pet rat inside a mason jar and threw it through the restaurant's window, shattering the glass and sending the hobo's rat scurrying through the restaurant, bloodied and frantic.

At this point, I made the face of someone who didn't do all of those things and I immediately relaxed. Yep, sometimes the simplest solutions are also the best!

Then, when the patrons started running out of the restaurant, I made the face of someone not tackling my former boss and pregnant ex-fiancée and not stabbing them all over their bodies with a shiv I made from gnawing on a metal spoon I stole from the hobo's pocket.

But what I didn't realize was that the hobo had followed me to the restaurant because I had stolen his pet rat and favorite spoon. What a crazy coincidence! But instead of getting flustered, I just calmly made the face of someone who was happy to see a vengeful hobo. And then I actually
felt
happy to see him. Crazy, right? Fake it till you make it!

And while I was making the face of someone not killing a hobo with his own spoon, I felt totally at ease!

And when the police arrested me, I just made the face of someone who definitely didn't murder my former boss, my pregnant ex-fiancée, and my new roommate, who was a schizophrenic hobo, and even though the police didn't believe
me, my brain was tricked into thinking I was innocent and that felt great! I guess sometimes, if you tell yourself something, you really can believe it!

And throughout the trial I made the face of someone who didn't insist upon stroking my newly acquired pet rat on the defense stand. And when the jury read the guilty verdict, you know what I did? You got it! I smiled and thanked them for acquitting me and I actually started to feel like I
was
acquitted. Wow! It's like magic!

And as I was being marched to the electric chair, I made the face of a man who was being marched to Disneyland and then my brain
believed
it was going to Disneyland and I was so happy because I love Disneyland. And when they pulled the lever and forty thousand volts of electricity surged through my body, I made the face of someone who was riding Space Mountain. And I smiled and smiled and smiled!

I know it sounds totally corny, but sometimes all you need is a little faith.

IF SHE RAN INTO ME NOW. . .

If she ran into me now, she would definitely fall in love with me.

I mean, it would be a little difficult not to.

I am the best version of myself at this very moment, and if she saw me like this, if she saw me right now, she would fall in love with me, probably forever.

I did laundry this morning so my clothes smell good. But more than that, when I wash my jeans, when I wash
these
jeans, they look particularly good on me. But only on the day that I wash them. The fibers seem to coalesce, to tighten a bit, creating a more formal fit around my leg. But because they're blue jeans, it shows that I'm casual. Formal-fitting blue jeans: highbrow and lowbrow. She's gonna love that.

If she ran into me now, she would see my jeans and she would think: “He's a serious person.”

If she ran into me now, she would see my arms, she would see the veins in my arms. I did a hundred push-ups this morning. Three sets of thirty-three. Which is only ninety-nine. So I do one more at the end, which I kind of half do, but it still counts. So the veins in my arms are protruding a bit more than usual. The veins look amazing, frankly. It's like right on the cusp of heroin addict. If she just saw my veins, she'd think I was a goddamn linebacker, frankly.

She'd probably notice my veins and think they're always like that, they're always protruding because I'm just naturally strong. I won't mention anything about the push-ups. Let my body speak for itself.

And I only drank stuff that would make me smell good. There was a fancy iced tea on sale this morning at the bodega. It had spearmint in it, so I smell like the spearmint. I think it was only a tertiary ingredient, but that's what makes it so perfect. If we ended up kissing tonight—and I don't mean to presume that that's what would definitely happen—but if we ended up kissing—and I don't want to rule that out—I'd taste just a little like spearmint. And she'd probably just think that's how I naturally taste.

She should be walking by any second. Any second now.

Yeah. I'll give it another few minutes.

If she ran into me now, we'd be together forever. If she could see me right at this moment, everything would make sense. She'd see I'm not the same silent loser from high school. The same little pipsqueak kid whose mother came early to
every game and sat in the front row with her camcorder. She'd see I've grown up into a person, into a human being. And a pretty phenomenal human being.

I mean, look at how my day's gone. It's irresistible. If she met me exactly at this moment, she'd probably ask me what I was up to today and I would tell her the truth, which is so unbelievably interesting that she would be overwhelmed with adoration and we'd run off together and probably end up getting married pretty quickly. If she would just walk by! Jesus!

She'd probably ask me where I've just come from, what I'm doing uptown. And I'll tell her: “I was with my aunt. She's ninety-four and needs some company. So I was just hanging out with her and then I thought I'd sit in Central Park for a few minutes. My aunt's the coolest.” Then I'd say, “She's kind of my best friend,” pretending to be embarrassed at having a ninety-four-year-old best friend. She'd think it was sweet how I looked embarrassed and I'd shrug.

And she'll probably ask what I'm doing tonight. Once again, I'm in the perfect position to tell the truth. I got tickets to a Knicks game. That's too lowbrow for you? Well, I'm actually going with my friend who's a cultural anthropologist. That's the kind of people I hang out with. Now who's lowbrow? Knicks game, cultural anthropologist. Lowbrow, highbrow. I'm hard to pin down. I'm all over the map!

Where is she? I really thought she'd be coming by about now. I mean, I'm pretty sure she's in the city. Jerry mentioned that she'd be in the city this weekend. I'll wait a little bit more. She'll be here.

And when I see her, I'll act surprised and say hello and
then take the tiniest of pauses before I say her name to give her the impression that I was scrolling through a Rolodex of other names. “I've got a lot going on these days, you understand.”

She'll probably ask me where I'm living. And, again, I'll just tell her the truth, which happens to be fucking awesome:

I'm living in Queens.

Just moved there. If that doesn't seal the deal, I don't know what will. If that doesn't make her completely reevaluate me, I don't know what will. I mean, it's Queens! It's the most interesting of the boroughs.
What is it?
It's so mercurial! Queens!

If I lived around this area, in
Manhattan
, she'd think I'm stuffy and elitist. Manhattan! Like I've retired or something. Like I was given a golden parachute that I decided to land in the center of the universe. It's so obvious.
Manhattan.

And the Bronx? The Bronx! It'd seem like I'm trying to make some kind of violent statement. Why would I live in the Bronx? Who am I trying to impress? What kind of battle did I lose in life to wind up in the Bronx?

And Staten Island? Telling her I moved to Staten Island? I may as well tell her I moved to Jupiter or Kansas, or I'm shooting myself in the face tonight because I have absolutely nothing left to live for and no one would give a shit if I suddenly fell off the face of the earth by moving to Staten Island!

And Brooklyn. Move to Brooklyn? That is the worst of the boroughs. It's such an awful borough that I'm embarrassed to live in Queens because it's also a borough and that tenuous association is enough to humiliate me. Brooklyn! Overtaken by hipsters with thick-framed prescription-less glasses and ironic banjos and graphic designers who work for Saatchi
and Saatchi but call themselves postmodern artists. If there was a draft, and Brooklyn was in Canada, and I could either go to Brooklyn and be safe or Vietnam and be killed, I'd go to Vietnam and I'd gladly be shot down instead of going to that hellhole that God would forsake, except it would mean that He would have to step foot in Brooklyn!

But I'm in Queens. Queens. It's so perfectly diverse. Queens:
Who am I?
I can interact with anyone! That's what Queens says. I'm open-minded;
I don't see color
. She'd probably want to come over to my house. Just to
see
Queens. “Hey, can we go to a little midnight diner?” she'd probably ask. Sure, we can go to Astoria. There are little midnight diners on every corner. “Can we go dancing?” Absolutely. Let's go to Corona, there are Latin Quarters on every block. There are so many Latin Quarters in Corona, we call them Latin Dollars! That's a little joke we make in Queens. It's silly. It's a Queens joke. Wanna see a Mets game? Sure! Why don't you take a few more days before you gotta head back up to school and we'll stay in bed late and check out a Mets game together. We can eat a late breakfast at this little hole-in-the-wall where the Greek guy knows my name and we could rent bikes and head out to Citi Field and hold hands in the bleachers and she'll say something like, “These seats are actually amazing because you can see the whole park.”

Jesus, what time is it?

I should probably just head home. Where is she? How could she not walk through Central Park? Who doesn't walk through Central Park when they're visiting their parents on spring break? Who doesn't think to do that?

This is the best park in the city. Maybe the state. I don't know. But this is definitely a good park. I mean, I don't think anyone would be disappointed by this park. I don't think anyone's ever walked out of Central Park and said, “Not For Me.”

So I'm sure she'll probably amble through here in a bit. In high school, her parents were on Seventy-Ninth Street. I'm sure they're still there. So she'd most likely enter through that north gate. Unless they moved. I can't imagine they would have moved. Unless, with the economy and everything. But they probably paid off their apartment; people don't rent up here. They were pretty rich. She always dressed so nicely. Like everything was tattered, but it was somehow still nice. Her little woolen pea coat, her torn little woolen pea coat. She was able to make wool sexy somehow. She was able to bring out the animal side of the wool, which makes sense 'cause it's from an animal. But people don't do that with wool anymore. It's latex that's supposed to be sexy. Or spandex. Or something else totally unnatural. Not for me! I like what's real. I like what's honest. I like her. I'm sure she'll be here any second.

I'll just wait it out. I'll just be ready. That's all I can do. “When opportunity knocks, you gotta be ready.” Who said that? I think it was my father. No, it must be somebody more famous. I think it's a famous quote. I must've paraphrased.

I can't imagine she's still dating that idiot, that abstract painter idiot. That couldn't possibly last. It was going nowhere. They both knew it. Last time I saw her, at that stupid party, she said, “He's sweet. You don't know him, he's actually really sweet.” What the hell is “sweet”? I'm “sweet.” Anybody could be “sweet”! That's literally the easiest thing to be
to someone else.
Sweet.
What a douchebag loser idiot.
Sweet.
I suffer for my life! I suffer every day! And for what? To mean something! To contribute, which I plan on doing. But oh no! He's
sweet.
Go sell car insurance!
Sweet.
He should be shot and he knows it!

And what the hell am I doing here, letting all these people pass me by who aren't her! What the hell am I doing? Who are these idiots who aren't her, just passing me by! I'm being wasted on them! They don't care that I'm going to a Knicks game with an anthropologist! They don't care that I just came from my ninety-four-year-old aunt's house! They're not her! They don't care that my dark blue jeans are perfectly fitted right now and my veins are protruding in the best possible way. No! They're just going on with their dumb day like their lives are important, while I'm sitting here EXPIRING!

And they'll pass me by not noticing everything I've done, everything I am right now, everything that, from this moment on, will be less and less good as my life expires and I start to die without her, without ever getting to show her that I, at one point, was great! That I am, right now, before the fibers of my jeans begin to loosen and the veins recess back into my emaciated arms, great! That I am, now and only now, great! And for what?!

What's the point of going to my aunt's house? What's the point of living in Queens? I hate Queens! It's nowhere near anything! I have to take three fucking subways just to get to the fucking subway! I hate doing push-ups! I hate basketball! And I hate my dumb cultural anthropologist friend – all he ever talks about is Samoa! I am at my goddamn peak and no
one is even looking! LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! You non-entities! You stupid morons! You imbeciles! You blind moron tourist imbeciles! Where the hell is she!?! This is so ridiculous!!! Where the hell is she? I'm getting furious!!! I am in my jeans!!! I AM IN MY JEANS!!!

Okay, relax. Calm down. Stay positive. You have no idea what her life is like. You have no idea what she's doing. She's probably sitting somewhere waiting for me. If anything.
She's
probably waiting for
me
. That's the irony of it all, right? That's the irony of life, right? The cruel irony of my life.

No, I'm sure she'll be here any minute.

Yeah.

I'm pretty sure Jerry said this weekend. Although, next weekend is Easter, I think, so maybe that's what he meant. Maybe it's next weekend, I never actually celebrated Easter. No. No, I'm pretty sure it was this weekend. I should give him a call.

Or I could just give it another few minutes. That's probably the best thing to do. Just give it another minute or two. And then I'll head home.

Yeah, just another minute.