Saturday, June 04, 2011

Marcell and Me

Marcel and Me: The Proust Questionnaire
By Doc Walton

One day near the end of the 19th Century, Marcel Proust, he of the prodigious literary output that everyone knows of, but only one odd duck living in a double wide outside of Dubuque has read in its entirety, answered a series of questions posed in a journal that was popular at the time. The questions, which have appeared here and there ever since, have become known as The Proust Questionnaire for uncertain reasons, but probably because of its namesake’s fame. James Lipton, the host of the Inside the Actor’s Studio television show, uses a few of the questions in his interviews and the last page of each Vanity Fair magazine contains a shortened version of the questionnaire answered by one current celebrity or another. Because I too am a writer with an enormous volume of work – if by enormous volume I mean notes on stick-em pads – I have decided, being at leisure with time to reflect, consider and examine one’s inner heretofore untapped deepest thoughts, honest emotions and other hokum along those lines, to enter the fray and answer the questions along with Marcel. So, here goes that.
What is your favorite virtue?
Marcel: The need to be loved; more precisely, the need to be caressed and spoiled much more than the need to be admired.
Me: Well alrighty then Marcel! If “the need to be loved, caressed and spoiled” can be considered a virtue by anyone apart from the family dog, then I suppose you’re welcome to have it as a favorite. I’ll give you mine in a minute, but first I have to ask a question, because I am curious and curiosity is a virtue high on my list, and the question is, why can’t these frontal lobe ticklers start with something a little lighter? You know, what’s your favorite color or ice cream for instance.? Why can’t we be given a question or two to warm up with, before we get slapped with Final Jeopardy? I mean, already I’ve got a conundrum and it you’ve ever had one of those, you know how hard they are to medicate. (An aside that cracked me up: Wanting to be precise like Marcel, that is, as opposed to my usual methodology which is to just make shit up, I went to the dictionary and looked up conundrum. Definition # 1 reads: A riddle whose answer contains a pun. It then gives an example: What is the difference between a jeweler and a jailer? The answer is: One sells watches and the other watches cells. Really! I’m not kidding! There are jokes in the dictionary! Definition #2, the one I would have guessed at if asked for, is: Any puzzling question or problem.) My conundrum, which both Advil and alcohol failed to relieve even in combination, was simply, what qualifies as a virtue? Back to the dictionary I was driven by my conscience carrying a big stick and making threatening gestures. Virtue is: General moral excellence, right action and thinking. Well damn. I was going to go with “Good posture.” Now I have to completely rethink the question. That is, if what passes through my head can actually be defined as thinking in the first place. “Moral excellence, right action and thinking.” Wow! Who gets to decide what that is? Okay for the sake of argument, let’s say I do. I am the one filling out the questionnaire after all. I say moral excellence, right action and thinking is what I do 74.3% of each day. I’d be closer to 100%, but that “right thinking” part throws me. Is it okay to think The New York Yankees are evil and that members of the Republican Party’s far right wing should have pictures of them prominently displayed on Post Office walls, bounties included? I’m going to say these are, of course, certainties, so my answer to what my favorite virtue is…still undecided. Am I being asked my favorite virtue about myself or my favorite virtue in general? I guess I’ll just have to respond to the question both ways. About myself: I tend to see the good and ignore the bad. That’s a virtue right? I mean most of the time anyway. I realize that sometimes while ignoring the bad it sneaks up and smacks me upside the head, but I can live with that. Advil and alcohol ARE useful in the treatment of those injuries. As far as virtue in general is concerned, I think kindness and good intentions are my answer. What, I can only have one? Okay, kindness.
What are your favorite qualities in a man?
Marcel: Feminine charms. (He said that, really. I’m not making this up.)
Me: Wait a minute. I need time to get over that feminine charms thing. Okay, I’m ready now. What man actually thinks about other men’s qualities? I mean, beyond his golf swing or strong throwing arm or maybe his ability to elude tacklers or smoothly turn the double play. I’m sure I don’t. I do notice, however, when some guy is tall, because I’ve always been envious of that. But are we looking for adopted qualities or the blind luck of genetics? I think the question probably wants an answer along the lines of, honest or steadfast, or loyal, don’t you? So with that in mind, my answer is…the willingness to buy a round from time to time. I’m serious. This quality demonstrates a spirit of camaraderie and friendship, the sharing of inebriation, raised glasses, song, dance and other good stuff along those lines. Come on, that answer beats the heck out of “feminine charms” if you ask me… and somebody should.
What are your favorite qualities in a woman?
Marcel: Manly virtues, and frankness in friendship.
Me: Well sure Marcel. I like my women to sport a good mustache and flex tattooed biceps too. If they go in for a bit of distance spitting or crotch clutching to demonstrate a point, that won’t hurt a thing either. I mean COME ON, BE SERIOUS MARCEL! Who are you trying to kid? Okay that part about frankness in friendship is good, but why single out women for that. Are they usually less inclined to be frank? Seems to me like maybe you’re the one not being frank. You’re the one, in fact, having us on as the British would say. But, since you’re not here to defend your responses, I’ll just say, “Sure. Whatever.” and get on with my own answer.
A woman’s ability to walk like she knows how to fuh…ah, dance, I find a very likable quality. Okay, it doesn’t rank up there with intelligence and sense of humor, but you know, it’s still a very likable quality. Truth is. I like all their feminine qualities. In fact I just flat like women. I like watching them and talking to them and seeing how they move, which they do in a much more interesting fashion than men - even the ones who don’t do the sexy walk thing – and they think differently than we men do. They have knowledge of entire subjects that never come to our masculine minds. Subjects like relationships and underarm hair removal. They use words like closure and intimacy and don’t feel silly when they describe something as lovely. Okay, I know, I’m supposed to narrow it down and come up with a single quality, so here it is: My favorite quality in women is that they like to have sex with men. Don’t laugh, I’m still being serious! I mean think about it guys. Think about having sex with a man. Disturbing, right? And yet women actually want to do it! I mean you can’t beat that quality with a stick.
What is your chief characteristic?
Marcel: (Marcel didn’t answer this.)
Me: Once, years ago, when I had just finished telling my soon to be wife all the wonderful things I loved about her, I finished my litany with “and why do you love me?” She paused for what seemed an awful long time, thinking, thinking, thinking. Finally, her face lit up with a surprised looking smile and she said, “Well, you’re friendly.” So there it is: I’m friendly.
What do you appreciate the most in your friends?
Marcel: To have tenderness for me, if their personage is exquisite enough to render quite high the price of their tenderness.
Me: Sure. What he said. No, I’m just kidding. I have no idea what he said. My answer, and this one is easy, is that my friends forgive me for my foibles. I have a tendency to break out in foibles on a regular basis and these can be bothersome to others. My friends shake them off though, which is a good thing because foibles can be catching, and then they continue right on befriending me. I love them for that.
What is your main fault?
Marcel: Not knowing. Not being able to want.
Me: I knew there would be a place where Marcel and I would come together. I mean we have so much in common. Both his first name and last name contain six letters and so do mine! It was only a matter of time before we would stumble upon the same answer. Well at least half of it anyway. I’m not sure about that not knowing part, which says, I suppose, that I am not knowing about not knowing, so that too makes us of a like mind. As far as not being able to want, I am right there with Marcel. And it is a fault. It’s a lack of ambition. I mean you gotta want something to go after it hard. You can’t just wander aimlessly along enjoying the moment like Marcel and I do. That’s downright un-American and probably un-French too. Still, that’s how we are; just a couple of slugs uninspired by commercials.
What is your favorite occupation?
Marcel: Loving.
Me: Can you get paid for that? Well, sure you can if you define loving loosely, but I don’t think Marcel goes in for that. And speaking of definitions, my mind apparently, and I say apparently because there is no real telling where a monkey mind will jump to next, went immediately to occupation as a way to earn a living and not just a way to spend time. If that was in fact what was being asked then I have no answer. I have never had an occupation that I would put in the favorite category. Picking one at random though, I would go with: Black Sheep Son Of A Billionaire Who Pissed Away The Family Fortune On Wine, Women, And Song. I’m sure, though, that the other thing, the way to kill time thing, is what is really being asked. My Uncle Fred used to say, “If you want to kill time, work it to death,” but I think, really, Marcel’s answer is the best. Problem is, to me, it’s kind of vague. I mean walking around loving is good, but you can do other things at the same time and I think it is those other things the question is seeking. Unless, of course, we are back to loving as meaning sex. My answer then, ignoring the sex interpretation, is being with friends. No wait! Golf. No, not golf. Reading. Not reading, writing! No, that’s not it either. Playing, smiling, laughing, oh, all right damn it, loving.
What is your idea of happiness?
Marcel: I am afraid it be not great enough, I dare not speak it. I am afraid of destroying it by speaking it.
Me: You gotta forgive Marcel, he’s a little superstitious. He’s afraid he’ll jinx his happiness by talking about it. Maybe it’s the seventh inning and he’s pitching a no-hitter. You don’t get that reference? You don’t know baseball? Well you see it is supposed to be bad luck if you talk about…nevermind, let’s get on with the question. My idea of happiness, eh? That’s a tricky one. After careful consideration, which is to say I’ve devoted a good fifteen or twenty seconds of heavy thought, a period of time that seriously pushes the envelope of my capability, I’d have to say I have no idea of my idea of happiness. I want to say it has something to do with being fully present in the moment, you know, “The Be Here Now” that Ram Dass suggests, but that doesn’t really cover it. I mean a bad tooth ache will get you “Here Now” in a heartbeat, but at that moment I, personally, would rather be somewhere else. Here’s a random thought and random thoughts quite often make me happy: Ram Dass, if pronounced like an American, that is, Ram like a male sheep and Dass as ass with a d in front of it, comes out rammed ass. I wonder if he was aware of that. Anyway, happiness, as I see it, is an internally generated state that I have had, fortunately, programmed into my DNA. I am as prone to it as others less fortunate are prone to sadness or depression. In general it takes very little to make me experience the feeling we define as being happy. Does that answer the question? No? Okay, happiness is a good cigar. No, wait! I’m not supposed to have that happiness anymore. How about, happiness is music. Yeah that’s it. Music.
What is your idea of misery?
Marcel: Not to have known my mother or grandmother.
Me: Now come on Marcel. That’s a hypothetical misery. I mean if you are going there, how about seeing your mother and grandmother cooked in a pot and served to cannibals? I mean we can all make stuff up, but we’re talking misery here. Just saying the word slowly and lowly should conjure something more painful than not having known your parent and her parent swell as they might have been. Take my idea of misery for instance. My idea of misery is standing in a long, slow moving line and not having a book with me. See what I’m saying Marcel. There’s got to be real pain not just the hypothetical kind. Let me give you another example. Misery is not being able to do what you want to do. I don’t mean not being able to play in a hot tub filled with warm tapioca pudding and naked supermodels, but things you could actually do if you were allowed to, but can’t because of circumstances like a broken leg or a debilitating illness. In fact, if I’ve got to narrow it down, and I’m sure that’s what I’m supposed to do, I’d say being sick pretty much defines misery for me.
If not yourself, who would you be?
Marcel: Myself, as the people I admire would like me to be.
Me: That’s good Marcel, pretty tricky, but good. Nowadays we would say I want to be as good a man as my dog thinks I am. Thing is though, I think the question is looking for a name. That said, I’ll throw out a couple before I settle on one. Nick Charles. You know the Nick of Nick and Nora in the Thin Man series. Here’s a guy married to a beautiful and wealthy babe who spends his time between drinks solving mysteries and giving bad guys their comeuppance. That would be a good choice I think, but, alas, he’s not real. Nor are Tarzan, James Bond, Sherlock Holmes and a dozen other fictional characters I would seriously consider if they were real and I could actually be serious. Then of course, as the two bit word mechanic that I am, there are a whole slew of writers I think it would be fun to be. I’m thinking probably one of the modern guys because longhand writing seems a mite tedious to me and I would still want sports on television. It would probably be fun to be in P.G. Wodehouse’s head or maybe that of Tom Robbins or Dan Jenkins. They are a few of my favorites. Still, I’m thinking an historical figure is being asked for; someone I’ve admired. I think I’ll pick Bobby Jones the great amateur golfer. Either him or FDR. No, I’ll go ahead and make it Bobby. His swing was a thing of beauty and he was a true gentleman.
Where would you like to live?
Marcel: A country where certain things that I should like would come true as if by magic, and where tenderness would always be reciprocated.
Me: And where, pray tell, Marcel, would that be? For a guy who has a famous questionnaire named after him, you sure can be vague. Fortunately, I’m here to supply specifics so readers won’t have to scratch their heads and wonder what the hell does he mean by that? They can go to my answers and see that here’s a man with concrete responses to these difficult queries. For instance, my answer to where would I like to live? I have no idea. You see this is a really hard question for me. Okay, that’s not surprising when you consider that at any given moment a really hard question for me might be, what is your name? But even so, how could I know? There are so many places I haven’t been. In general – and now I see why Marcel shucks and jives, - I’d have to say a place warm and sunny. A place where birds sing me awake and the view from my every window is a landscape painting. A place filled with love and dogs. Or is that the same thing? A place with internet, cable, a good chair and a comfortable mattress. A place I can share with a special woman. However, if these aren’t readily available, just park me in the Playboy Mansion. See, I’m not all that fussy.
What is your favorite color and your favorite flower?
Marcel: The beauty is not in their color, but in their harmony.
Me: Just answer the questions Marcel. They didn’t ask you where the beauty could be found, they just want to know your favorites. Come on, is that so tough? Here, watch me. Green and Daisies. Sheesh!
Who are your favorite prose authors?
Marcel: Currently, Anatole France and Pierre Loti.
Me: Now you’ve caught the spirit. That’s a nice succinct answer. I like P.G. Wodehouse, Jim Harrison, Richard Russo, Tom Robbins and a dozen others. There are so many great writers around now, not to mention all those like P.G. from the past, to choose from, that my favorite is probably whichever one I read last. Yeah, I know, Marcel, now I’m the one getting wishy-washy.
Who are your favorite poets?
Marcel: Baudelaire and Alfred de Vigney.
Me: Ah you’re just showing off. I like Wordsworth and Robert Frost for the serious stuff, but give me Ogden Nash and Shel Silverstein to lighten and brighten my day.
Who is your favorite hero in fiction?
Marcel: Hamlet.
Me: Hamlet’s a hero? Since when? A protagonist yes, but a hero? I don’t think so. I mean I love David Copperfield but I’m not going to list him as a hero. Heroes are people who save the day, rescue the puppy from the maelstrom, free the maiden from the railroad tracks, and make the world a better place. Hamlet? I’m sorry, I just don’t see it. As a kid I would have said Tarzan. He came to the rescue several times a book and there were many books. He was also very frugal with his allowance. I mean his clothing budget was next to nothing. As a grown up serious student of literature, though, I think I will have to say Nick Charles. No! James Bond. Wait! How about Sidney Carton or Gunga Din? “Tis a far far better thing I do today...” “He was a better man than I, Gunga Din.” This is too tough, you decide. What’s that you say? I can have more than one? Alrighty then, all of the above.
Who are your favorite heroines in fiction?
Marcel: Berenice.
Me: Sorry Marcel. I don’t know her. What did she do? Lizbeth Salander pops into my mind because I’ve read of her exploits most recently. Let’s see, I like Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple and I like Catwoman from the comics. Jeez, who am I forgetting? I’ve read thousands of books, there must be women heroes in some of them. Alas, I am at a loss. And I’m embarrassed. Man, what a chauvinist I am! Whoa. Chauvinist? That’s from your day, eh Marcel?
Who are your favorite painters and composers?
Marcel: Da Vinci and Rembrandt. Beethoven, Wagner and Schuman.
Me: Okay, we are now getting some straightforward questions, so I’ll give some straightforward answers. I like Wagner too. And Tchaikovsky. I also like Carole King and Billy Joel and whoever writes Carlos Santana’s stuff. As for painters my tastes are very pedestrian. I like Boris Vallejo and that other guy, Frank Frazetta, who do fantasy covers. You know, Conan the Barbarian style. And to think, you thought I wasn’t sophisticated.
Who are your heroes in real life?
Marcell: Mr. Darlu, Mr. Boutroux.
Me: Great guys, no doubt. I’m going to refer to that quote about the unnamed, unknown, everyman who lives his life in quiet dignity and who performs small acts of kindness everyday with nary a thought of reward. There is a quote like that, right? I mean if there isn’t, feel free to use my words and claim them as your own. If you need a name, I’ll go with my Uncle Horace. He’s ninety two, still sharp, still active, married to the same woman for longer than I’ve been alive, and if that doesn’t mean much to you, consider that the Sphinx was constructed from a sketch I drew as a kid. I also, at the moment, like Barack Obama. I think he really wants to do the right thing.
Who are your favorite heroines in real life?
Marcel: (No answer.)
Me: Your silence speaks volumes Marcel. And you’re a guy who knows from volumes. The safe answer is, my mother or my wife, depending on whose wrath you fear the most or whose approval you most want, and I’m inclined to go with my wife for her sheer unlikely doggedness in hanging out with me for so many years despite countless reasons not to. Safe, though, is not always the best direction to follow unless you’re talking snake handlers, parachutists and the like, so I’ll take door number two, the one with the lady or the tiger choice and say my favorite real life heroine is…still my wife, but not for the reason given above. She’s my favorite heroine because all her children and friends love, admire and respect her and that’s saying something because in reality she’s clearly looney tunes. I mean there’s a combination you don’t find every day.
Who are your favorite heroines in World History?
Marcel: Cleopatra.
Me: Cleopatra eh? What exactly was her contribution to history? Eye shadow? I mean if we are going to go with hotties, how about Helen of Troy, the face that launched a thousand ships? I’ll take the low road and select Eleanor Roosevelt, the face that launched a thousand quips. Eleanor defined the role of First Lady and because of her we have had a succession of good deeds from subsequent White House women. What I’m saying is, aren’t we all glad that U.S. highways are free of ugly billboards and fat kids? Eleanor deserves some credit for that. If you don’t agree with me, just say no to drugs. You’re using way too many.
What characters in history do you most dislike?
Marcel: (No answer.)
Me: For crying-out-loud Marcel, if we are allowed to skip answers I might have bagged this whole questionnaire. Responding to these queries is your idea, not mine. All right, I’ll carry on for the both of us. Disregarding Hit, Stal, Musso, Tojo and the other obvious nere-do-wells from the Twentieth Century, history’s bloodiest, I’m going to say the guy who ordered the cover up at Roswell. I’m totally serious and I say totally with all the emphasis of a teenager in full conviction mode. TOTALLY! Think how interesting the world would be right now if we knew for a certainty that other planets had life capable of space travel. Would mankind still be mired in the conflicting superstitions of religion? Would it? Nevermind, of course it would. Mankind in general is dumber than a box of retarded, I mean learning challenged, rocks, if that’s not too insulting to the rocks. With that in mind, change my answer to Hitler. In addition to his heinous crimes against humanity, he looks like he smelled bad.
What are your favorite names?
Marcel: I only have one at a time.
Me: And it is? Come on Marcel wake up. Nevermind, his eyes are glazed over. You’d think a guy who wrote dozens of books could answer a simple question. Yo Marcel, watch me. Jennifer and Josh. See how easy that is? I like Jennifer because it sounds pretty and I like Josh because it means to kid around, a thing I’m inclined to do now and again. I also like my own name, Donald Lancelot/Willingham Walton the Third. Okay that’s not my real name but it will be as soon as soon as my yacht is delivered. So come on Marcel, give it a try. What’s your favorite name? Still at a loss? Sorry, we’ve got to move along.
What do you hate the most?
Marcel: What is bad about me.
Me: I’m beginning to hate that too. Let me see, what’s to choose from? Ignorance, intolerance, bigotry, war, cattle mutilations, cruelty, long par fours and the New York Yankees. I could do dissertations on all of these and more. I am, apparently, just full of hate, a walking pile of hate. I never woulda thunk it. Well…but… anyway, if I’ve got to pick just one, I’m going to ignore all these petty hates and go with the big one. I hate not getting a good night’s sleep. Waking up tired depresses me and I hate being depressed. Depression takes the joy out of life and I hate being without joy. No joy means no fun and I hate not having fun. When I’m not having fun I don’t really appreciate anything which means everything. So there you have it. I hate everything and now I am going to go eat some worms.
What is the military event you admire the most.
Marcel: My own service!
Me: I want to say none because none should be necessary. Problem is, that’s not the case. The Allied victory in WW 2 was the culmination of a cause that seems just, so I’ll say that is it. I also like earth’s victory over the aliens on Independence Day and Star Trek’s Next Generation’s defeat of the Borg, but those are in the future, so they’ll just have to wait. Are we through yet? No, there’s more?
What is the natural talent you’d like to be gifted with?
Marcel: Will power and seductiveness.
Me: Now there’s an answer Marcel. I’m proud of you. That seductiveness thing definitely needs to be considered and who would have known that about you, you horny old dog? Okay, throw that in at the end of my answer too. Right after, let me see, musical talent. No, I don’t want to be a rock star, that’s way too public for me, but I would like to play something well enough to while away an hour or two here and there. I mean wouldn’t you Marcel, or would you be too busy seducing your neighbor? So there you have it, piano, guitar, violin; anything but wind instruments. With those you can’t sing along, which, in my case is probably a good thing, but I’m going to do it anyway.
How would you like to die?
Marcel: Improved…and loved.
Me: Those are good Marcel, but I want to add old, fit and healthy. I want absolutely nothing wrong with me. I want experts to say, we have no idea why he died. He just died. No heart attacks, stroke, lingering illness or any such nonsense along those unpleasant lines for me. Just here today, gone tomorrow is what suits me to a T. And speaking of tees, following a good round of golf would be an excellent time to check out. Are you listening Death? Don’t screw with me Death. If you want me, those are my conditions.
What is your present state of mind?
Marcel: Boredom for having thought about myself to answer all these questions.
Me: Is happy a state of mind or a state of being? I don’t mean to get all heavy or complicated here, Marcel, but I can be bored, apprehensive, nervous, or run a considerable gauntlet of other mental and emotional states and still be happy. That surface thing that plays about the mind is always so transient that… what? You mean right this minute? Like now? Alrighty then, my state of mind is… engaged and… amused. It has to be or I couldn’t, make that wouldn’t, answer these all too many questions. I mean really, favorite names? Flowers, painters, composers? Favorite military event? Are these necessary Marcel?
What is your favorite motto?
Marcel: I should be too afraid that it bring me misfortune.
Me: Marcel you’ve got to man up and get over your superstitions. Me, I’m going to throw a little salt over my shoulder, cross my fingers, rub my rabbit’s foot and say, hang in there. That’s all, just hang in there.