Well now home entertainment was my baby’s wish

So I hopped into town for a satellite dish

I tied it to the top of my Japanese car

I came home and I pointed it out into the stars

A message came back from the great beyond

There’s fifty-seven channels and nothin’ on
–Bruce Springsteen, from “57 Channels (And Nothin’ On)” (1992)

I came to the US in 1975. Back then, Americans had four television channels to kill their time: ABC, NBC, CBS and PBS, not 500 like today. During football season, you could watch three NFL games a week, two on Sunday, one on Monday. Now, you can stare at six games simultaneously, if you go to the right bar or if you have enough televisions. In Vietnam, there were two channels, one in Vietnamese, one English, both of them broadcasting for only half a day. With little on screen, people entertained each other by talking face to face, at home, in the café and in bed, where up to four bodies might lie together. Story telling was a much appreciated skill, developed early. People didn’t read but recount tales they’d heard, made up or modified. As a young child, I yearned to hear and experience more so I’d have many more stories to tell. For kids, the old standbys were folktales such as this:

Cat Becomes Mouse
Once there was a man who thought his cat particularly clever and beautiful, so he called his animal, “Sky.”
A friend came by, heard the cat’s absurd name and asked, “Why do you call your cat ‘Sky’?”
“Because my cat is unmatched, incomparable and nonpareil, it would be a crime and an insult to call such a indescribably magnificent creature a mere cat. Sky is much more appropriate, don’t you think?, because there is nothing beyond the sky.”
“Ah, but a cloud can easily cover the sky.”
“Fine, I’ll call him ‘Cloud.’”
“But the wind can shoo away the cloud.”
“Fine, I’ll call him ‘Wind.’”
“But even a thin wall can block the wind.”
“Fine, I’ll call him ‘Wall.’”
“But a mouse can chew through a wall.”
“Fine, I’ll call him ‘Mouse.’”

What a stupid yarn. I didn’t narrate it quite right. It’s been decades. The moral of this story: You should always sleep four to a bed and tell each other tales until dawn or until there’s something more educational or invigorating to engage you. Move closer, here’s another:

A Soldier and a Sweet Potato
After many years at war, a soldier was allowed to go home with three coins in his pocket. Starving, he walked through a village market fingering his badly-minted base metal. When he passed a roast duck seller, she invited him to dine but he shook his head, “No thanks, greasy food doesn’t agree with my stomach.”
When he passed a rice gruel seller, she invited him to sit down but he replied, “No thanks, I don’t much care for watery food.”
Finally, he passed a leprous old woman squatting behind a mess of sweet potatoes on the trash-strewn ground. “How much for one?” he asked after much internal deliberation, syllogism and anguish.
“Three coins!”
“Three?! You must think I’m a fuckin’ idiot!!! Two. Take it or leave it!”
“All right, two coins.”
The soldier paid her, peeled his sweet potato and wolfed it down with a spiteful relish. Done, he asked for a glass of water. As she walked away, he grabbed the potato peeling and ate that too. Returning, the leprous old woman scowled, “You’re eating the potato skin. How pitiful! Here, have another sweet potato on me, you pathetic, subhuman, scum pond creature of a man.”
Actually, she didn’t say any of that but shouted, “Why are you still chewing? I saw you finish eating, you thief! You must have grabbed another potato of mine. You owe me two more coins.”

06.01.08 PERMALINK | ONE COMMENT

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