Fierce Pajamas: An Anthology of Humor Writing from The New Yorker (35 page)

I BELIEVE my consumption has grown worse. Also my asthma. The wheezing comes and goes, and I get dizzy more and more frequently. I have taken to violent choking and fainting. My room is damp and I have perpetual chills and palpitations of the heart. I noticed, too, that I am out of napkins. Will it never stop?

IDEA for a story: A man awakens to find his parrot has been made Secretary of Agriculture. He is consumed with jealousy and shoots himself, but unfortunately the gun is the type with a little flag that pops out, with the word “Bang” on it. The flag pokes his eye out, and he lives—a chastened human being who, for the first time, enjoys the simple pleasures of life, like farming or sitting on an air hose.

THOUGHT: Why does man kill? He kills for food. And not only food: frequently there must be a beverage.

SHOULD I marry W.? Not if she won’t tell me the other letters in her name. And what about her career? How can I ask a woman of her beauty to give up the Roller Derby? Decisions . . .

ONCE again I tried committing suicide—this time by wetting my nose and inserting it into the light socket. Unfortunately, there was a short in the wiring, and I merely caromed off the icebox. Still obsessed by thoughts of death, I brood constantly. I keep wondering if there is an afterlife, and if there is will they be able to break a twenty?

I RAN into my brother today at a funeral. We had not seen one another for fifteen years, but as usual he produced a pig bladder from his pocket and began hitting me on the head with it. Time has helped me understand him better. I finally realize his remark that I am “some loathsome vermin fit only for extermination” was said more out of compassion than anger. Let’s face it: he was always much brighter than me—wittier, more cultured, better educated. Why he is still working at McDonald’s is a mystery.

IDEA for story: Some beavers take over Carnegie Hall and perform “Wozzeck.” (Strong theme. What will be the structure?)

GOOD Lord, why am I so guilty? Is it because I hated my father? Probably it was the veal-parmigian’ incident. Well, what
was
it doing in his wallet? If I had listened to him, I would be blocking hats for a living. I can hear him now: “To block hats—that is everything.” I remember his reaction when I told him I wanted to write. “The only writing you’ll do is in collaboration with an owl.” I still have no idea what he meant. What a sad man! When my first play, “A Cyst for Gus,” was produced at the Lyceum, he attended opening night in tails and a gas mask.

TODAY I saw a red-and-yellow sunset and thought, How insignificant I am! Of course, I thought that yesterday, too, and it rained. I was overcome with self-loathing and contemplated suicide again—this time by inhaling next to an insurance salesman.

SHORT story: A man awakens in the morning and finds himself transformed into his own arch supports. (This idea can work on many levels. Psychologically, it is the quintessence of Kruger, Freud’s disciple who discovered sexuality in bacon.)

HOW wrong Emily Dickinson was. Hope is not “the thing with feathers.” The thing with feathers has turned out to be my nephew. I must take him to a specialist in Zurich.

I HAVE decided to break off my engagement with W. She doesn’t understand my writing, and said tonight that my “Critique of Metaphysical Reality” reminded her of “Airport.” We quarrelled, and she brought up the subject of children again, but I convinced her they would be too young.

DO I believe in God? I did until Mother’s accident. She fell on some meat loaf, and it penetrated her spleen. She lay in a coma for months, unable to do anything but sing “Granada” to an imaginary herring. Why was this woman in the prime of life so afflicted—because in her youth she dared to defy convention and got married with a brown paper bag on her head? And how can I believe in God when just last week I got my tongue caught in the roller of an electric typewriter? I am plagued by doubts. What if everything is an illusion and nothing exists? In that case, I definitely overpaid for my carpet. If only God would give me one clear sign! Like making a large deposit in my name at a Swiss bank.

HAD coffee with Melnick today. He talked to me about his idea of having all government officials dress like hens.

PLAY idea: A character based on my father, but without quite so prominent a big toe. He is sent to the Sorbonne to study the harmonica. In the end, he dies, never realizing his one dream—to sit up to his waist in gravy. (I see a brilliant second-act curtain, where two midgets come upon a severed head in a shipment of volleyballs.)

WHILE taking my noon walk today, I had more morbid thoughts. What
is
it about death that bothers me so much? Probably the hours. Melnick says the soul is immortal and lives on after the body drops away, but if my soul exists without my body I am convinced all my clothes will be too loose-fitting. Oh, well . . .

DID not have to break off with W. after all, for, as luck would have it, she ran off to Finland with a professional circus geek. All for the best, I suppose, although I had another of those attacks where I start coughing out of my ears.

LAST night, I burned all my plays and poetry. Ironically, as I was burning my masterpiece, “Dark Penguin,” the room caught fire, and I am now the object of a lawsuit by some men named Pinchunk and Schlosser. Kierkegaard was right.

1973

GEORGE W. S. TROW

I COVER CARTER

THE DEMOCRATIC CONVENTION

M
ONDAY,
J
ULY 12TH,
M
ORNING

Looked at U.P.I. Convention Daybook. Badly Xeroxed. Faint print. Hard to read. Thought about going to Connecticut Caucus 10
A.M.
Gave it up. Thought about going to Briefing for Pages and Podium Telephone Operators. Good color. The little people, etc. etc. etc. Gave it up. Thought about going to Democratic Women’s “Agenda ’76” Caucus, but thought again. Decided definitely to go to Latino Caucus, West Room, Statler Hilton, but too tired.

M
ONDAY,
J
ULY 12TH,
A
FTERNOON

Tempted by
El Diario
Open House for Latino Delegates—good chance to brush up on Spanish for later use at later Latino caucuses, etc. etc. Decided no. Tried to sort out aspects of the New Populism (Carter’s smile, etc. etc., Carter out of
nowhere,
etc. etc., possible
danger
of no political debts to Establishment, etc. etc.), but couldn’t focus.

M
ONDAY,
J
ULY 12TH,
E
ARLY
E
VENING

Much more confident. Had a drink—one of the new Wild Turkey Old-Fashioneds people are taking up.
Found slant.
Decided to do
instant book.
Follow one crucial delegation through caucuses, etc. etc. Through floor fights. Reaction to nomination, etc. etc. Juxtapose with human interest—Amy, Miss Lillian, etc. etc. Exhausting even to think about it.

M
ONDAY,
J
ULY 12TH,
N
IGHT

Went to Convention. Picked up credentials. Very authentic-seeming. Noticed that credentials said “News-Periphery.”

Very exciting at Garden. Little electronic security devices, etc. etc. Passed security check, observed by ten or twenty members of the general public. Members of general public had no credentials. Very satisfying. Decided definitely to go ahead with instant book. Maybe on journalists—observing the observers, etc. etc. etc. Media preconceptions, etc. etc.
Altering the event.
Men of action juxtaposed with the men behind the media.
Reversed,
though. Show man behind the medium as the
true man of action,
etc. etc. Thoughtful but irreverent. Follow one team of journalists from arrival through caucuses, etc. etc. Press-room infighting, etc. etc. Print vs. electronic, etc. etc. Juxtaposed with human interest—Amy, Miss Lillian, etc. etc.

News-Periphery area very depressing. Tiny concrete bunkers. Repulsive green curtains. Clots of provincial newspersons. Worse than a game show. Worse than anything. No drinks. Very pathetic to be a newsperson. Saw one newsperson take moving pictures of a row of telephones. Very sad. One newsperson got a quote from Patrick Moynihan. On a cassette. Played it over and over. Very sad. For him. For Moynihan. For everyone. Saw a newsperson interviewing a delegate. Delegate wearing white plastic belt. Saw clot of people
training
to be newspersons. So depressing I had to sit down. Decided to skip instant book. Decided to get drink.

Bar full of foreigners. Saw Italians with leather bags. Saw Frenchmen. Nothing lower than a European newsperson. Every European had hundreds of attractive credentials. Fabulous tags reading “News-Fulcrum,” “News-Podium,” “News-Crucial.” Not even the children had just “News-Periphery.” Tried to concentrate on the
issues—
the New Constituencies, the New Credibility, the New Outsiders becoming the New
Insiders,
etc. etc.—but too depressed.

M
ONDAY,
J
ULY 12TH,
L
ATE
N
IGHT

Went to big party. Spirits
way up.
Party given
by
staff of rock-and-roll magazine
for
staff of Jimmy Carter. Many people drinking the new Wild Turkey Old-Fashioneds, so felt right in place. Had insight, wrote it down: “Everyone here (at party) definitely born between Munich and Yalta.” Very pleased with insight. Decided to do piece about war babies molding the New Politics. The irresistible fact of
demographics,
etc. etc. Counterculture accommodations with Carter, Good Old Boys, etc. etc. Takeover generation, etc. etc. Noticed no rock-and-roll stars at party. Noticed rock-and-roll
critic,
though. Critic very upset, very
vivid.
Born about V-E Day, my guess. “Last chance to sell out,” he said. “Last chance to make your deal.” Afraid he’d steal my insight—war babies, etc.—so didn’t say a thing.

THE CAMPAIGN

S
EPTEMBER 6TH

Very depressed for weeks and weeks, but
much more secure
now. Very up for in-depth campaign-diary type thing. More detail than Teddy White, etc.
More thoughtful,
too. Work in old insights—war babies, etc. Wanted to begin right away at Warm Springs, Georgia, campaign kickoff (the Roosevelt Legacy, etc. etc.), but decided better not push my luck. Almost attended Southern 500 stock-car race in Darlington, South Carolina (the Raffish South, the Unreconstructed South, etc. etc.), but decided to make diary more
selective.

S
EPTEMBER 15TH

Tried to join Carter’s tour of Hans Sieverding’s farm, Sioux Falls, South Dakota, but
much too far away.
Couldn’t think how to even get there. Falling behind Teddy White now, I think, so a little blue.

S
EPTEMBER 23RD

Ordered big dinner, but just picked at it. Tried to watch first debate, but felt queasy. Whole thing very elusive. Might write analysis, “Elusive Politician” or “Politics of Evasion.” Might not.

S
EPTEMBER 28TH

Had
important insight
about Carter. Wrote it down: “Carter effectively combines virtues of Elvis Presley and Colonel Tom Parker.” Not sure that’s right, though. Should be
Glen Campbell
and Colonel Parker. But Colonel Parker doesn’t manage Glen Campbell, so hard to sort out.

O
CTOBER 6TH

Tried to watch second debate, but too tense. Tried to sort out Presley-Parker-Campbell image, but couldn’t.
Way
behind Teddy White. Decided to do
highlights:
strong vignettes to illuminate the whole. Tried to decide
which
vignettes, but had to give it up.

O
CTOBER 22ND

Decided to write little essay
strongly condemning
Teddy White approach. Wrote note: “Teddy White has done for politics what Anaïs Nin has done for women.” Felt very good to have written so much. Tried to watch third debate, but got the shakes and had to lie down.

O
CTOBER 24TH

Decided on whole new angle—for
novel.
Take
one typical politician,
juxtaposed to Presidential candidate, etc. etc.
Local issues
vs. national issues, etc. etc. Similarities,
differences,
etc. etc. etc. Hopes, dreams, etc. etc. A
governor,
maybe. Only thing is, must try to figure out
which
governor.

O
CTOBER 26TH

Found press release about a governor. So depressing I had to sit down. These people live lives you wouldn’t wish on a disc jockey. Decided to write
screenplay.
Long, lonely shots (definitely use concrete bunkers from Convention, etc. etc.). One man’s hopes
shattered,
etc. etc., in the midst of triumph of another man, etc. etc. etc.
Reversed, though.
Real triumph the inner growth made possible by defeat, etc. etc. etc. Human-interest figures based on Amy, Miss Lillian, etc. etc. etc. Could be big. On the other hand, could be ghastly.

N
OVEMBER 1ST

After months of thought, have definitely decided to do instant book.
Personal
approach—the election from
my hotel room.
Very pleased, because Teddy White won’t have it.

N
OVEMBER 20TH

Personal approach won’t work out, because
too grim.
Also worried about right hand. Right hand
won’t stop shaking.
Can’t write with left, so very down.

THE NEW ADMINISTRATION

J
ANUARY 20TH

Went to Inauguration. Tried to refocus on whole new free spirit, but got the jitters. Tried to
lighten up,
roll easily in the crowd, etc., but broke out in a
small red rash
(mostly on left hand) and had to go home. Best approach now: no-frills journalism. No gimmicks. Just good strong stuff. Chance to stress First One Hundred Days.
Amusing, though—
include little glossary of “cracker” terms so Washingtonians can understand Carter team, etc. etc.