Read The Fran Lebowitz Reader Online
Authors: Fran Lebowitz
When it comes to sports I am not particularly interested. Generally speaking, I look upon them as dangerous and tiring activities performed by people with whom I share nothing except the right to trial by jury. It is not that I am totally indifferent to the joys of athletic effort—it is simply that my idea of what constitutes sport does not coincide with popularly held notions on the subject. There are a number of reasons for this, chief among them being that to me the outdoors is what you must pass through in order to get from your apartment into a taxicab.
There
are
, however, several contests in which I
do
engage and not, I might add, without a certain degree of competence. The following is by no means a complete list:
As you can see, these are largely urban activities and, as such, not ordinarily regarded with much respect by sports enthusiasts. Nevertheless, they all require skill, stamina, and courage. And they all have their penalties and their rewards.
There are many such activities and I, for one, feel that the time is ripe for them to receive proper recognition. I therefore propose that those in charge of the 1980 Olympic Games invite New York to participate as a separate entity. The New York team would be entered in only one contest, to be called the New York Decathlon. The New York Decathlon would consist of four events instead of the usual ten, since everyone in New York is very busy. It would further differ from the conventional decathlon in that each contestant would enter only one event, since in New York it pays to specialize. The four events would be Press Agentry, Dry Cleaning and Laundering, Party-going, and Dog-owning.
Traditionally the Olympic Games open with a torch-bearer followed by all the athletes marching around the stadium carrying flags. This will not be changed, but in 1980 the athletes will be followed by seventeen Checker cabs carrying the New York team. The first cabby in line will have his arm out the window and in his hand will be a torch. The passengers in this cab will be screaming at the cabby as sparks fly into the back seat. He will pretend not to hear them. When the parade concludes, the first cabby will fail to notice this immediately and he will be compelled to stop short. This will cause all the following cabs to run into each other. The cabbies will then spend the rest of the Olympics yelling at each other and writing things down in a threatening manner. The athletics teams will be forced to start the games even though this collision has occurred where it will cause the greatest inconvenience.
The two contestants enter the stadium from opposite sides, having first been assured by the referee that both sides are equally important. They kiss each other on both cheeks and turn smartly toward the crowd. They do not look past the first ten rows. They then seat themselves on facing Ultrasuede sofas and light cigarettes. Two moonlighting ball boys race in with coffee black, no sugar. The contestants pick up their ringing phones. Points awarded as follows:
Two fully equipped dry cleaning and laundering establishments are constructed in inconvenient areas of the stadium. Several innocent people enter each establishment. These people serve the same function in this event that the fox serves in a hunt. They place upon the counters piles of soiled clothing, receive little slips of colored paper, and leave. Points awarded as follows:
A room exactly half the size necessary is built in the center of the stadium. Too many contestants enter the room. Points awarded as follows:
There has been erected in the stadium an exact replica of a fifteen-block section of Greenwich Village. Twenty contestants leave buildings on the perimeter of this area, each walking three dogs who have not been out of the house all day. The object of the game is to be the first to get to the sidewalk directly in front of my building.
When all of the points are added up, the contestant with the greatest number of points enters the stadium. He is followed by the two contestants with the next greatest number of points. The two runners-up go off to
one side with the referee. The referee takes out a stopwatch. Each runner-up has five minutes in which to explain in an entertaining manner why
he
did not receive the most points. Whichever runner-up is the more arrogant and convincing is presented with the gold medal. Because in New York it’s not whether you win or lose—it’s how you lay the blame.
There once appeared in a magazine a photograph of myself taken under obviously youthful circumstances. I assumed that it would be readily apparent to all that this was my high school yearbook picture. I neglected, however, to take into consideration that I number among my acquaintances some people of decidedly lofty background. I was first jarred into awareness of this by a well-born young fashion model who, in reference to said photograph, offered, “I really loved your deb picture, Fran.” Had that been the end of it I would undoubtedly have forgotten the incident, but later on that very same evening an almost identical remark was made by a minor member of the Boston aristocracy. As far as I was concerned this constituted a trend. I therefore felt faced with a decision: either snort derisively at the very idea or create an amusing fiction appropriate to such thinking. Being at least peripherally in the amusing fiction business, I chose the latter and thus have prepared the following genealogy.
Margaret Lebovitz, my paternal grandmother, was born in Ghetto Point, Hungary (a restricted community),
at the very dawn of the Gay Nineties. An appealing child, she was often left in the care of trusted family retainers (my Aunt Sadie and Uncle Benny), as her father’s far-flung business affairs—which were mainly concerned with being conscripted into the army—frequently kept him away from home. Although her mother spent most of her time amusing herself in the cabbage fields, she nevertheless made it a point to visit the nursery every evening and stand guard while little Margaret said her prayers. Margaret’s childhood was a happy one—she and her chums exchanged confidences and babushkas as they whiled away the carefree hours picking beets and playing hide and seek with the Cossacks. Tariff, the family estate, where the Lebovitzes wintered (
and
summered) was indeed a wondrous place and it was therefore not surprising when Margaret balked at being sent away to school. Her father, home on a brief desertion, took her into his straw-lined study—which was affectionately called “Daddy’s hideout”—and explained patiently that unbreakable tradition demanded that girls of Margaret’s class acquire the necessary social graces such as fleeing demurely and staying properly alive. Margaret listened respectfully and agreed to begin her freshman year at Miss Belief’s.
Margaret was a great success at Miss Belief’s, where her taste in footwear quickly won her the nickname Bootsie. Bootsie was an excellent student and demonstrated such a flair for barely audible breathing that she was unanimously elected chairman of the Spring Day Escape Committee. That is not to say that Bootsie was a grind—quite the contrary. An irrepressible madcap, Bootsie got herself into such bad scrapes that the fellow members of her club, the Huddled Masses, were frequently compelled to come to her rescue. Fond of outdoor sports, Bootsie longed for summer vacation and happily joined in the girlish cries of “Serf’s up!” that greeted the season.
Upon reaching her eighteenth birthday, Bootsie made her debut into society and her beauty, charm, and way with a hoe soon gained her a reputation as the Brenda Frazier of Ghetto Point. All of the young men in her set were smitten with Bootsie and found it absolutely necessary to secure the promise of a waltz days in advance of a party, as her dance pogrom was invariably full. Bootsie’s favorite beau was Tibor, a tall, dashing young deserter and two-time winner of the Hungarian Cup Race, which was held yearly in a lavishly irrigated wheat field. Tibor was fond of Bootsie, but he was not unmindful of the fact that she would one day come into her father’s great plowshare, and this was his primary interest in her. The discovery that Tibor was a fortune hunter had a devastating effect upon Bootsie and she took to her bed. Bootsie’s family, understandably concerned about her condition, held a meeting to discuss the problem. It was concluded that a change of scenery would do her a world of good. A plan of action was decided upon and thus Bootsie Lebovitz was sent steerage to Ellis Island in order that she might forget.
It may come as somewhat of a surprise to those who know me only as a woman of letters to learn that I am quite fond of dancing and not half bad at it either. I am not, however, fond of large groups of people. This is unfortunate, for it is not feasible to bring into one’s own home all of the desirable accoutrements of discothèque dancing such as a deejay, several hours of tape, and the possibility, slim as it might be, of meeting one’s own true love. I am therefore compelled to spend night after night amongst hordes of strangers, many of whom conduct themselves without the slightest regard for the sensibilities of their fellow dancers. This has led me to compile a short list of helpful tips to ensure more pleasant dancing for all.