Last night I had one of those vivid dreams I’ve been experiencing the past few years. It’s as if my subconscious is making up for decades of unremembered ones. In this one I was complaining about a college grade, a B, which is absurd, as I was a fake as a student. If my entire 16 year academic career were averaged out it would come to a C, smack dab in the middle of the world population. I know exactly what triggered the dream. I’ve been self-evaluating a bit more than usual these days, and I’ve come to the grudging conclusion that my life has been a C -- cognitively, athletically, behaviorally, financially, artistically and probably in a lot of other categories that escape me at the moment. I can think of only two that are an A: perseverance and memory. The former is often a nuisance, especially regarding the futile quest for literary success. While my memory is no longer stellar, it still hums. As I woke at 5 AM and lay pondering the dream, I recalled moments that are dear to me. I was a sophomore in the fall of 1968. That school year I enrolled in
Arts & Ideas, a required course, my favorite of my college career. The instructor, Mrs. David, who was about 40, was like sunshine. Her husband was some sort of big shot. She didn't have to work. “If I didn‘t I‘d be home eating Bob-Bons all day,” she once said. This was an era of accelerated change in America. One class was devoted to a “Happening,” wherein all students were free to do as they pleased. Like many ideas of the time, it was silly, although it may have been quite telling regarding me. We had recently viewed
Krapp’s Last Tape, a short work by Samuel Beckett, whose
Theater of the Absurd play,
Waiting for Godot, is on the bucket list of most serious actors. I was at the height of my sexuality. It would not be much of an exaggeration to say I thought of sex 24/7. I approached the blackboard and wrote: “Krapp’s philosophy: Every girl is a possible lay.” Fortunately, the only fallout was a cold shoulder from a co-ed who I saw regularly in the dorm cafeteria. In another instance, we had an exam in which we were to write an essay. I cited Picasso’s
Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, a painting of prostitutes, of course. When the exam was returned, there was a note in the margin: “I’m impressed.” Mrs. David was surprised I’d nailed the spelling. Decades later, on a museum kick, I visited MOMA and was stunned to see the painting, which was much larger than I’d imagined, hanging on a wall. My eyes swelled with tears to an embarrassing degree. The work had rich meaning for me. Such is the power of memory. The loss of it may be my biggest fear. Here's a pic of the painting:
Several versions of
Krapp's Last Tape are available at youtube. The running length of the full version is about 45 minutes.
My thanks to the young Asian male who purchased Machiavelli's
The Prince, one of the most influential works of non-fiction in history, and the Russian gentleman who bought two books on George Bush and said: "I love him -- and Reagan." Special thanks to Natasha, who took a chance on
A Hitch in Twilight.
Vic's 4th Novel:
http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh Vic's 3rd Novel:
http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3 Vic's Website:
http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/ Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle):
http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb Vic's 2nd Novel:
http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6 Vic's 1st Novel:
http://tiny.cc/94t5h Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle:
http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3 Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle:
http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp Vic’s Short Story on Kindle:
http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx
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