Half-Assed Guide to “I Remember”
I remember suddenly everyone started talking about “I Remember,” by Joe Brainard – you remember? – and I remember rushing to the bookstore to get a copy of “I Remember,” but I remember finding it unimpressive.
I remember everyone saying it was genuine and charming, while I found it pretentious and boring.
I remember, although I thought the sex fragments could be intriguing, if selected, and perhaps developed…
…it was the piece’s naiveté that for me was strained – artificial.
Platitudes like: “I remember I liked strawberry ice cream best. I remember the first snow that winter. I remember smelling my grandpa’s tobacco” – OMG, phony… Pho-ny!!!
Calculated, not authentic! Pretentiously unpretentious.
Pre-ten-tious-ly unpretentious, I’m saying.
I remember Gina Lollobrigida and Frank Sinatra and Marilyn Monroe and James Dean.
I remember Frank Sinatra’s shoelaces and BB’s cleavage and MM’s behind and how she wiggled it while she walked.
I remember John Travolta wearing rectangular black rimmed glasses with silver wired horns at their corners with little diamonds embedded.
I remember John Travolta doing a jig dressed as the Pope, the mitre and the pallium and all.
Some people like their bed sheets in solid colors, while others like their bed sheets printed.
Some of those folks who like their bed sheets solid would only choose white, while most would pick delicate pastels, but only the brave minority would prefer sharp neon hues.
I remember John Travolta playing a Vishnu deity, waving his four arms over Bollywood.
Of those who like their bed sheets printed, some hate floral designs, while others would always pick floral designs, but still perhaps the majority would at least from time to time buy somewhat abstract patterns, like checkers, stripes, dots or irregular blotches.
I remember Dave Lee Roth dancing and singing “Just a Gigolo,” having his pants ripped off to show his white undies covered with hundreds of bright red lipstick kisses.
And on and on and on and on and on. And on! Though at the end somehow I liked it better.
(Previously published in Wakat )