Football and David Foster Wallace
I went to a barbeque yesterday. In true grand-final, long-weekend style we sat in my friend’s backyard and drank a whole host of liquid -wine, beer, champange and coke.
I hadn’t seen these friends for almost two months and I had been nervous before I arrived. I felt bad that it had taken me so long to see them and I was worried it could be uncomfortable.
In spite of my eagerness to make it on time and to cause the least amount of fuss, luck would have it that I caught the wrong bus. They had to drive 20 minutes to get me.
We hugged and stood out on the balcony of their local pub looking at the water, smoking and catching up.
Driving back to their place things seemed more comfortable.
They had been house-sitting a relative’s weatherboard cottage -the decor was a throw-back to the 1960’s.
Bar-be-que preparations were strewn across the kitchen table and two empty cartons of beer stood to attention by the sink.
We sat outside on the balcony that had been closed in by mosquito netting. The glass table was scattered with coasters and ashtrays. The television perched on an old Kelvinator that rested against the laundry wall and we smoked too much and ate steak.
Among the conversation which included the ins and outs of the game of football, which hardly any of us really understood, how cold it was getting, new jobs and the real estate market my friend turned to me and said, “Have you heard about that American writer, he’s got three names and he died recently..what’s his name um…er…is it John?”
I had just lit a cigarette and waved the smoke from my eyes, “Yes”, I exclaimed, “yes i know who you mean, my teacher told us all about him. I can’t remember his name either, is it David?”
We both looked at each other intently, trying to remember. “Anyway, whatever his name is, he’s fantastic,” she said. “I haven’t felt that way about any one’s writing for so long.”
“He’s just so raw. It’s like he writes pretty much how I think and I really like that. He makes everything seem OK.
“He wrote that say when you are sitting in traffic and you know there is no food at home and you have to stop at the Quick E mart and there is heaps of traffic, that instead of being the asshole that doesn’t let the person in in-front of you, you should be the first one to do it. You should realise that everyone in that heaped-up traffic jam at 7pm is exactly the same as you.
“Once you realise that, then everything just feels better.”
“But he killed himself,” I pipped in helpfully.
“He can’t have thought the world such a great place if he did that, right…”
“Everyone has bad days,” she said.
1 year ago • 0 notes
