Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Damn!

I was reading David Limbaugh's article "It's not about me" - about Obama's narcissism and how his constant refrain "it's not about me" sounded so phony... And then it struck me - I've read about the character just like that when I was a kid in Russia - it was in Salinger's famous novel "Catcher in the rye". Well, it pays to read the classics, doesn't it? I've copied the appropriate passages from the good old Salinger on my blog. You'd have to have a heart of stone not to weep with laughter when you read them...


Ernie's a big fat colored guy that plays the piano. He's a terrific snob and he won't hardly even talk to you unless you're a big shot or a celebrity or something, but he can really play the piano. He's so good he's almost corny, in fact. I don't exactly know what I mean by that, but I mean it. I certainly like to hear him play, but sometimes you feel like turning his goddam piano over. I think it's because sometimes when he plays, he sounds like the kind of guy that won't talk to you unless you're a big shot....

Even though it was so late, old Ernie's was jampacked. Mostly with prep school jerks and college jerks. Almost every damn school in the world gets out earlier for Christmas vacation than the schools I go to. You could hardly check your coat, it was so crowded. It was pretty quiet, though, because Ernie was playing the piano. It was supposed to be something holy, for God's sake, when he sat down at the piano. Nobody's that good. About three couples, besides me, were waiting for tables, and they were all shoving and standing on tiptoes to get a look at old Ernie while he played. He had a big damn mirror in front of the piano, with this big spotlight on him, so that everybody could watch his face while he played. You couldn't see his fingers while he played--just his big old face. Big deal. I'm not too sure what the name of the song was that he was playing when I came in, but whatever it was, he was really stinking it up. He was putting all these dumb, show-offy ripples in the high notes, and a lot of other very tricky stuff that gives me a pain in the ass. You should've heard the crowd, though, when he was finished. You would've puked. They went mad. They were exactly the same morons that laugh like hyenas in the movies at stuff that isn't funny...

Anyway, when he was finished, and everybody was clapping their heads off, old Ernie turned around on his stool and gave this very phony, humble bow. Like as if he was a helluva humble guy, besides being a terrific piano player. It was very phony--I mean him being such a big snob and all. In a funny way, though, I felt sort of sorry for him when he was finished. I don't even think he knows any more when he's playing right or not. It isn't all his fault. I partly blame all those dopes that clap their heads off--they'd foul up anybody, if you gave them a chance.

And I can only repeat after Salinger - I feel sorry for poor Obama - I don't think he knows anymore when he is saying the right things or not. And it's not all his fault. I partly blame all those dopes that clap their heads off - they'd foul up anybody if you gave them a chance...

9 comments:

Anonymous said...

Love It!

plainjane said...

Salinger must have known BO in another life. He got the guy and his audience exactly.

Sophie said...

Perfect!

Anonymous said...

Ernie=Obama=Narcissist=mental disorder

Anonymous said...

there is none so blind as he who will not see.
thanks, america, for giving us obama. could you please put away the kool-aid and do the right thing in november?

Anonymous said...

And here I thought that all of those English Lit courses were just fluff to pad out my overall GPA in engineering.

蘭蘭的 said...

幸福不是一切,人還有責任。 ..................................................

MichaelSSEC said...

That's a fine example of why I couldn't stand Salinger and thought Catcher was the worst book I'd ever read. Even though his description of Ernie and the audience is eerily similar to Chairman Maobama and his acolytes, as literature it's just second-rate bitching and whining for the sake of bitching and whining. Was there anything young Holden ever found positively impressive? Was there anything he did not insult, mock, ridicule or tear down? He was the sort of character who would look at a lovely, delightful, cheerful scene from Christmas morning and describe it as "a bunch of hung-over grownups spoiling their ungrateful brats with useless junk fished out of their socks." If he won the lottery, he'd grouse that he had to split the pot with three other winners. Holden never does figure out that it's a compulsion, that he's only hiding in that negativity in order to dodge having to participate, to escape the risk involved in taking part in the grand adventure that is life. And that's exactly why Leftist English-lit professors have been assigning Catcher to their students for decades.

OldMcFarlane said...

Ha. That is kind of funny.