Writing / Andy Warhol's Sister / 1989 / Deep & Savage Way / Helen of Santa Zita / Moscow Film World / Guide

Something Interesting to Watch People rarely borrow television sets. Almost never, actually. This occurred to me as I was raking the leaves which had accumulated in crackling piles on my lawn. The previous day a neighbor, Joe Spinster, had borrowed my television set to "watch what interested him." I remembered his exact words because of their particular emphasis–although he had no specific program in mind, his viewing was not to be interpreted as casual. Joe lived two houses down from me in the oldest house on the block. It had an old–fashioned porch, complete with potted plants and a swinging chair. After I finished raking the leaves, had gathered each small pile and then confined them to a garbage bag, I went inside. Passing the living room, I looked to the shelving spot where my television set would have crouched were it not on loan to Joe Spinster. Television sets, when they were off, always reminded me of cats when they fold up their legs beneath them. When television sets are turned on, they recalled instead large dogs, tail wagging and tongue hanging, begging for attention. Two What kind of a man borrows a television set? From Joe Spinster, a man with whom I had not exchanged more than ten words in the previous five years, such a request demanded further elaboration. He readily answered my questions. "No, it's not broken. Matter of fact, I don't own a set, myself. Just never got around to it." Joe Spinster had what I would call a "studied ambivalence" to life. It wasn't that he didn't care. On the contrary, he merely cared too much about everything to ever waste a word, or a minute or an idea. Or even a joke. I didn't realize that he even had a sense of humor until the next day. I saw him walking, keeping exact pace with the leaves blowing along the ground. I hailed him from my doorstep and asked him how he was getting along with my television set. "Well, he's not the worst houseguest I've ever had. Shuts up when I want him to. Doesn't have the best imagination in the world, though. Likes to say the same thing over and over again." Joe Spinster didn't smile when he said this, and for all I knew, he had merely responded to my question in the most precise manner possible. I asked him if he had found anything that interested him. "Everything's interesting, in some way, whether it's intended to be or not. Of course, that doesn't mean that you should watch just anything put in front of you." And with that, he began his even pace again. Three I recalled our conversation a week later when I decided that I should ask for the set back, seeing as how I hadn't talked or seen him, in a week. When I reached his house, he was sitting on the porch, sketching. In front of the house, on a tree-stump, was a disemboweled television set. My television, with an ax still stuck in the middle of the screen. I looked at him, then looked back to what remained of my TV. I rubbed the side of my mouth, and shifted my stance slightly. "Mr. Spinster, is this your idea of some kind of joke?" As I said, I felt momentarily disembodied, realizing that what I said sounded like dialogue from a television movie. He set the sketch aside and leaned back in his swinging chair. "That is not a humorous act. It is a dramatic one." "Joe, I realize that you might not like television. But that hardly gives you the right to chop up mine." "The fundamental question of ethics," he said, "is whether it's right to interfere when someone else is doing a foolish or evil thing." As I walked back to my house, I realized that questions like that are never satisfactorily answered.