asked Tom, once again sporting a ridiculous German accent.
“Advertise? No, man, I was the whole deal. I was the ‘it’ camel.”
“I zee,” said Tom. “Allow me to offer you ze paradigm shift.”
“Ze what?”
“Ze shift. From ze model to ze role model. You zold cigarette and you did zis better than anyone, but you know what, ze cigarettes are kaput for your health and kaput for the environment, and you are actually doing ze right thing by not agzepting ze blood money of ze tobacco companies anymore.”
(Just got a call from my editor. She says, “There goes another possible sponsor and here comes another possible lawsuit. This is not what I mean by ‘product placement.’” She cracks me up.)
“Wait a minute,” Joe said. “So you’re saying that being good at something bad is bad, and when you stop being good at the bad thing, that’s good?”
Tom nodded sagely. “In layman’s terms, perhaps ya. It makes no moral sense to miss your former A-list lifestyle. You made ze righteous rejection of ze military-industrial-entertainment gomplex. You used to be ze big part of ze problem, now you are ze small part of ze zolution.”
“I’m part of the zolution!” The camel rose to his feet and I could visibly see his hump straightening, as if it were being inflated by an invisible bicycle pump. “Thank you for the … what did you call it?”
“Ze paradigm shift. That’ll be one hundred fifty clams. We made good headway today, but I think you should probably come back three times a week for the next thirty years or so…”
I cut Tom off. “Joe, I know you don’t like the fans anymore, but do you think you could be part of our solution and point us in the direction of Jerusalem?”
Joe paused, took a deep breath. “My fans will have to accept the new me. Everybody loves a reinvention. Everyone loves a comeback. I will not only point you, I will escort you.”
41
AND DID THOSE (PIG’S) FEET …
( see Blake, William)
There are two holy of holies in this part of the world. For the Muslims, it’s Mecca. And for the Jews, it’s the Wailing Wall.
As Joe led us into the Old City in the general direction of the Wailing Wall, we walked through some well-manicured residential neighborhoods on the way, and wherever we were, pleasant people sitting in the cafés gave us no smiles and pedestrians got out of our way or muttered things under their breath. “This is a bacon-free zone. It’s heaven.” Shalom giggled. “Eat me? They don’t even want to touch me.” He grabbed a menu from one of the outdoor cafés and read out: “See that, no ham, no bacon, no me! Kosher heaven, bitches!”
“But doesn’t it hurt your feelings a little to be so reviled?” Joe asked him.
“Sure,” Shalom said, “it hurts to be hated by my own people, but it’s a damn sight better than the alternative.”
Joe spat. “Sorry, bad habit, gonna quit. Really gotta quit the spit. I admire how you don’t need the applause of the crowd. I’m learning from you, pig. I have to be my own camel.”
I was getting the willies myself and I could see that Tom was too, because, while it’s true these people wanted nothing to do with Shalom, my brisket and Tom’s reputation as being to die for on rye were still most definitely on the Israeli menu. I was starting to sweat. It seemed like we were just going from wall to wall to wall. Luckily, at least for the moment, Shalom created a kind of treif force field around us and no one came near. I honestly didn’t know how he was going to live like this for the rest of his life. And even though universal disgust was keeping us safe at the moment, I could tell Shalom’s pig heart was slowly breaking.
More and more people started to give the swine downright hostile looks. I got a bad feeling there was no way they were going to let him near the Holy of Holies. As a response to the evil eyes cast his way, Shalom’s favorite rejoinder was “Bite me” or “I taste like
“Advertise? No, man, I was the whole deal. I was the ‘it’ camel.”
“I zee,” said Tom. “Allow me to offer you ze paradigm shift.”
“Ze what?”
“Ze shift. From ze model to ze role model. You zold cigarette and you did zis better than anyone, but you know what, ze cigarettes are kaput for your health and kaput for the environment, and you are actually doing ze right thing by not agzepting ze blood money of ze tobacco companies anymore.”
(Just got a call from my editor. She says, “There goes another possible sponsor and here comes another possible lawsuit. This is not what I mean by ‘product placement.’” She cracks me up.)
“Wait a minute,” Joe said. “So you’re saying that being good at something bad is bad, and when you stop being good at the bad thing, that’s good?”
Tom nodded sagely. “In layman’s terms, perhaps ya. It makes no moral sense to miss your former A-list lifestyle. You made ze righteous rejection of ze military-industrial-entertainment gomplex. You used to be ze big part of ze problem, now you are ze small part of ze zolution.”
“I’m part of the zolution!” The camel rose to his feet and I could visibly see his hump straightening, as if it were being inflated by an invisible bicycle pump. “Thank you for the … what did you call it?”
“Ze paradigm shift. That’ll be one hundred fifty clams. We made good headway today, but I think you should probably come back three times a week for the next thirty years or so…”
I cut Tom off. “Joe, I know you don’t like the fans anymore, but do you think you could be part of our solution and point us in the direction of Jerusalem?”
Joe paused, took a deep breath. “My fans will have to accept the new me. Everybody loves a reinvention. Everyone loves a comeback. I will not only point you, I will escort you.”
41
AND DID THOSE (PIG’S) FEET …
( see Blake, William)
There are two holy of holies in this part of the world. For the Muslims, it’s Mecca. And for the Jews, it’s the Wailing Wall.
As Joe led us into the Old City in the general direction of the Wailing Wall, we walked through some well-manicured residential neighborhoods on the way, and wherever we were, pleasant people sitting in the cafés gave us no smiles and pedestrians got out of our way or muttered things under their breath. “This is a bacon-free zone. It’s heaven.” Shalom giggled. “Eat me? They don’t even want to touch me.” He grabbed a menu from one of the outdoor cafés and read out: “See that, no ham, no bacon, no me! Kosher heaven, bitches!”
“But doesn’t it hurt your feelings a little to be so reviled?” Joe asked him.
“Sure,” Shalom said, “it hurts to be hated by my own people, but it’s a damn sight better than the alternative.”
Joe spat. “Sorry, bad habit, gonna quit. Really gotta quit the spit. I admire how you don’t need the applause of the crowd. I’m learning from you, pig. I have to be my own camel.”
I was getting the willies myself and I could see that Tom was too, because, while it’s true these people wanted nothing to do with Shalom, my brisket and Tom’s reputation as being to die for on rye were still most definitely on the Israeli menu. I was starting to sweat. It seemed like we were just going from wall to wall to wall. Luckily, at least for the moment, Shalom created a kind of treif force field around us and no one came near. I honestly didn’t know how he was going to live like this for the rest of his life. And even though universal disgust was keeping us safe at the moment, I could tell Shalom’s pig heart was slowly breaking.
More and more people started to give the swine downright hostile looks. I got a bad feeling there was no way they were going to let him near the Holy of Holies. As a response to the evil eyes cast his way, Shalom’s favorite rejoinder was “Bite me” or “I taste like
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