The trimming of the irises
June 1, 2009
Look, Pinsky is in fine form. Last night, I had to listen to him go on and on and on about this woman he used to live with in Canada, (not his ex-wife) who liked tidy irises. She would literally get out there in the spring with an assortment of scissors and trim away all the brown leaves. “It would take her hours,” Pinsky said. “This was how she moved through her life. Her car, the house, the garden, me…I don’t know how we lasted for two years.” He stopped and I could hear that he was drinking something. So, I put the phone down on my desk and poured myself a scotch. Why should I have to endure his ramblings without some sort of drink? When I came back, with a fine Bowmore in my favourtite whisky glass, Pinsky hadn’t noticed I was gone. “The thing is,” he was saying, “these anal-retentive binges or attention to detail were more than some sort of psychological disorder; I think she was meditating out there. Whenever she had a big decision to make, she would clean something. Or weed the front garden. This clarity she found undermined my notion that she was wasting her time out there. She was being holy. Or tapping into holiness. Very annoying. Oh I tried to find holiness in physical activity, mundane activity, like she did but nothing ever came. Once when I was doing the dishes, though, the background went away -- noise disappeared and I was standing there at the kitchen sink inside a peaceful bubble.”
“Did this woman have a name?
“Well, of course she had a name. Jesus, Trofimuk, everybody gets a name. She had the unfortunate moniker of Linda Sinner. Unfortunate because she was very far away from sinning…her love-making was more a grimace-and-bear-it. If I hadn’t been with a few fine women before old Linda Sinner, I’d have thought there was something wrong with me. And maybe there was. Maybe I just couldn’t crack the code. God and Buddha and Allah know I tried.”
I took a huge swig of the Bowmore and shook my head.
“She was a clean woman. I’ll give her that. Four days of backpacking and not a smell from her. I don’t know how she did it. Frankly, I like a good smelly woman. I think it’s in our nature to smell.”
At this point, I stretched out on the floor of my office. Pinsky went on for about ten minutes about the various women he’d been with and their smells. I drifted off. I actually fell asleep. It was just before 2 a.m. when I woke up to Pinsky’s singing – a sort of cross between Tom Waits and Tom Jones rendition of Waltzing Matilda. I’m not sure that Pinsky talked up until this point. He may have just powered through while I slept. I’ve noticed he doesn’t require an active listener. He more-or-less considers silence as a tacit approval of everything he’s saying. He really only needs the idea that someone may be listening. Anyway, I’ll probably get a letter from his lawyer for writing about this.
3 Comments
1. Daniel Poitras had this to say: Jun 08, 2009 ~ 14:43 ~ #
See that is why Pinksy will rule the world and I’ll just have to say, “Hey I used to know that guy when…”
I got to have an active listener when I speak. I will give the shittiest reading on purpose if I don’t have most of the crowd’s attention. Which is why I don’t do a whole lot of readings.
Pinsky’s the world and I’m just another fucker in it.
2. Ruby had this to say: Jun 09, 2009 ~ 13:22 ~ #
Pinsky’s singing voice was the one good thing about him. I miss him so much, I don’t even care about the dynamite, the bar or money any more…
3. thomas had this to say: Jun 09, 2009 ~ 14:54 ~ #
This just in from Pinsky’s Lawyer (I wonder what the “R” in his name stands for…. Hmmmmm). Here: “Thelonious R. Pinsky here by officially, and publically, apologizes to Ruby (Name withheld) and all the patrons at her bar, the (Name withheld), for the incident on the night of February 13th, 2009. Mr. Pinsky was unaware that the stick of Dynamite was in fact an explosive. He was under the impression that the said item (stick of dynamite) was some sort of fireworks charge. He thought it would be funny to set it off from the bar so that it might ignite over the beach. It was, in fact, Ms. Inka (Name withheld) who noticed, once the Dynamite’s fuse was lit, that it looked nothing like fireworks, and in fact was labeled “Highly Explosive” and “Danger”. We want to remind anybody reading this apology that it was Mr. Pinsky “screaming like a little girl” that emptied the entire bar before the Dynamite exploded. We will send a cheque to cover all damages to the North wall of Ms. Ruby (Name withheld)’s bar. Again, Mr. Pinsky deeply regrets that this error in judgment caused any damage. He has consequentially entered (and exited) an addiction program, with the sincere hope of avoiding further incidents such as this in the future. In closing, nobody died and we will be making financial restitution.”
Pinsky is an idiot, but he does have a nice voice…well, nice isn’t quite right. It’s “real.” He’s supposed to call later tonight to tell me how nice it is in Mexico….