I sat on our front porch, waiting for Heather to come home, while Maggie sat inside watching a particular episode of The Suite Life of Zack and Cody for perhaps the 10th time. Maggie doesn’t let me make suggestions for things to watch on television anymore—not after she noticed the DVD of Werner Herzog’s Heart of Glass on the table and asked what it was.
“Well, you want to watch it?” I asked. “It’s about this town where the people have all gone mad. And also, the whole cast, except for one person, is hypnotized!”
Maggie was intrigued, so I put it on. She actually made it a third of the way through before falling asleep (I, on the other hand, had seen it five or six times, and not once had I fallen asleep while watching it). Now, if you ask Maggie what’s the worst movie she’s ever seen, she always says, “Heart of Glass.”
“It’s so boring,” she explains. “And everyone’s hypnotized,” she adds, as the detail that once intrigued her is now the most horrible thing about it.
So I stepped outside with my early evening cup of coffee, not being in the mood to watch the scene where Maddie Fitzpatrick (Ashley Tisdale) takes in the suddenly penniless London Tipton (Brenda Song). Sometimes I bring a magazine to read when I sit on the porch, but other times all I need to do to entertain myself here is to watch the people going by.
I was on the porch for about five minutes when a young woman driving a beat up old boat of a car held out her middle finger as she drove by our house. I wondered what it was that offended her. Was it the Obama sign that we never took down after the election? Was that what pissed her off? Perhaps I had gained the ability to piss someone off just by sitting on my front porch. Or, I wondered, had the town suddenly gone mad, like in Heart of Glass?
But walking into view from the left was one of those young shirtless guys with the bad tattoos. As the car moved ahead he turned around and looked back at the woman in the car, then raised his own middle finger to salute her in return.
“Fuck you,” he muttered in disgust. “Fuckin’ bitch.”
I was embarrassed, having assumed that that middle finger was meant for me when it was meant for someone else. I was disappointed, too. I tried to catch the shirtless guy’s eye so that I might share in his sense of disgust, but he kept moving on. I guess he had shit to do. And probably other women to piss off.
Photo: Josef Bierbichler in Werner Herzog’s Heart of Glass.