Public Health Transportation

S: Are there trains that run from Chicago to Champaign?

W: Ah, yeah.

S: Are there any that run straight to your door?

W: Ah, no.

S: Why not?

W: Because a whole lot of savvy businessmen have misplaced resources and put a lot of our resources go into developing cars.

S: And the oil companies, and the rubber companies, and the steel companies have conspired to keep us free from public transportation.

W: That’s right… The government owes it to its citizens to provide reliable, safe, clean public transportation.

S: Free.

W: Ideally, yeah.

S: And health care too.

W: That’s a different issue but yeah.

S: No, I—I think it’s the same issue, William.

(Rustling of microphone.)

S: Actually, what I would envision would be a public transportation system that is also actually a public health system. You’d have trains running anywhere, you know, within ten blocks of walking distance anywhere in the country, and on those trains there would be hospitals, where anyone could get on, take a ride, say, from here to Gary, get an appendectomy, and be back within ten blocks of their dwelling within, say, three hours.

W: Reliable, safe, clean and free.

S: On the trains.

W: Public Health Transportation.

S: You could get to the hospital anywhere… It could be kind of bad in emergency situations, I suppose.

W: Not at all. You’d have a hospital coming to your door.

S: Yeah, but what are the schedules gonna be like? I guess maybe they’d have to have little train ambulances as well. Or they could use helicopters. And loading docks on the trains for the helicopters. So you could be airlifted, and put down some kind of a chute, on the train, safely, right into the rolling hospital.

W: Then the highway system can be converted into bicycle and footpaths.

S: With ponds.

W: So people can get from one place to another, and see all the places they’ve been to eat, and this will rebuild a sense of community in America.

S: And there will be vendors with mangos. And ecoles. Ecoles?

W: I’m not sure.

A: Elotés.

S: Sweet corn with cheese and red pepper and—

W: All the good things… And no more Kinko’s or Starbucks.

S: Yeah, no more Starbucks. Kinko’s would need to be replaced with by lots of Mom and Pop Hi-Tech Hi-Speed printing facilities.

W: And in the America that I envision, you would never be alienated from the labor that went into the making of anything that you use. So something like a cup of coffee, you would start by picking the beans and preparing them and grinding them.

+

Division of Labor

S: Um, no division of labor whatsoever?

W: Um, no, well—

S: —I don’t think that would work out. There’s only so many things you can do like that. For instance, it’s very difficult to grow coffee beans in Chicago. I mean, you wouldn’t be alienated, so you wouldn’t have any Columbian workers, you know, getting paid peanuts for coffee beans, but—

W: If you wanted a home computer, you would have to design and build and program it yourself. Which would be hard, but—

S: —That would make people’s lives very short, William.

W: Why?

S: Because they’d get on these projects and that’s all they’d ever do. Say I’m going to design some kind of a multimedia VRML workstation. I’d have to gather all the materials, and blow the glass for the, ah, monitor tube or gather all the liquid crystal for the liquid crystal display, uh, it would get very complicated and time-consuming. And we wouldn’t have the kind of sophisticated technology we have today.

S: I think people should be more concentrated on sharing their labor. Rather than sort of this I don’t know ah, Hobbes, thing you got going on, dog eat dog, don’t be divided from your labor, divide and conquer kind of Hobbesian—

W: It’s also kind of a vaguely Marxist and Buckminster Fullerish kind of notion that we had to have had a lousy society in order to get the kind of society that we want, so things like the highway system were built for people to drive their own car and, ah, be alienated from the wilderness and from their fellow travelers. Even though it was a bad idea, it was necessary, so that we could have the highway system, which will now be the public bicycle paths that I described earlier.

S: So are you trying to say that these Asian Longhorn Beetles infesting the trees all over the Chicago area, eating them from the inside, turning them into firewood, that that’s a good thing?

W: What does that have to do with it?

S: Well, because that will bring down one element of society in Chicago and necessitate something to take its place. People planting trees or just adapting to streets without any trees whatsoever. Is this the kind of nightmare dystopic future that you envision?

W: No. My nightmare dystopic future is different from that. We’re passing the, ah, stadium, of the Chicago Cubs.

S: Wrigley Field. Have you ever been there, William?

W: Yes I have.

S: Do you like baseball?

W: No.

S: Why not? Not even at Wrigley?

W: There’s just enough people who like baseball that I feel that the world would be better off if I concentrated my interests in areas of knowledge that were less well developed.

S: Is that part of being hip? Not liking baseball?

W: No, well, at some point it, well in some—No. Not at all.

S: You did stumble on that. Kind of as if it were revealing one of the chinks in your alternative armor.

W: I thought it was, but then I found out Paul Auster likes baseball. Now I don’t know what to think.

S: Well.

W: Speaks French fluently, and he likes baseball.

S: How fluent is your French?

W: Not very.

S: You’re of French origin, though?

W: I don’t think so.

S: Not at all? What would your ancestral origins be?

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William’s Ancestral Origins

W: Missouri, Iowa.

S: Missouri and Iowa, ah, before that? Back eight generations?

W: I think Scotch, and Ireland.

S: Scotland and Ireland. When your people first came to this country, did they conquer and slaughter Native Americans?

W: I don’t know. They probably—they probably did something more like—stand in long lines at Ellis Island, doing a lot of paperwork, being poor, and working in meatpacking plants.

S: Did they work in meatpacking plants?

W: I don’t know.

S: Did they ever grow potatoes?

W: Yes.

S: Did they ever make scotch?

W: Don’t know.

S: Or poteen…

W: Maybe there’s a little Welsh.

S: Well, you’re pretty much Anglo, then.

W: Basically, yeah.

S: Well there’s nothing wrong with the English. I, for instance, think that your people buying Amoco, well that’s just fine. I mean sure this guy, the new owner’s sort of hung on rebuilding the British Empire by buying up all our gas reserves, and then recolonizing us and making us pay fealty to a Queen Mother. That’s fine. They write good poems.

W: Sorry, I’ve lost the thread.

S: Oh, I don’t know. It is a hypertext.

W: There’s a good place for some grass.

S: Right there on the abandoned El tracks?

W: It’s an excellent place. Never in shade.

S: Yeah, but they might want to put that train back.

W: Not after they see the grass.

S: That could be the train that goes straight to your door.

W: Kind of dangerous for the kids though, I guess, to plant it up there.

S: Yeah, but I think it’s good for the kids, in Chicago, to face a little danger. It, ah, builds character.

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On the Plane to London

SCOTT: Would you stop vomiting? For fuck’s sake, William. I’m the one who should be puking. You’d think you’ve never been on a transatlantic flight before.

WILLIAM: Ugh. I haven’t.

DIRK: The stench is unbearable.

WILLIAM: I think it was the eggplant, ugh.

SCOTT: Never order the vegetarian entrée on a plane. Stewardess, another barf bag, please. And another gin and tonic for me. And some Lysol. And paper towels. Dirk?

DIRK: Another peach nectar and vodka, please.

STEWARDESS (Jane Kelly): Terribly sorry, but we’re out of peach nectar, sir, you’ve quaffed our last can.

DIRK: Damn. Whose idea was it to fly BA? Can I ask you that? Whose idea? My steak was too tough, and the sautéed mushrooms were cold and my biscuit was stale. Well please bring me a Coke, a glass of ice water, and some bourbon. You do have bourbon?

STEWARDESS: We have scotch, sir.

DIRK: Fine. Single Malt Barrel Aged 20 years?

STEWARDESS: Yes, sir.

DIRK: Well, chop, chop, then.

STEWARDESS: Right away.

DIRK: If you’d have let me bring some of my acolytes, we would not have encountered such diff—

SCOTT: Look, Dirk, I’m telling you that kind of shit is bringing us negative publicity. This is meant to be a literary movement not a cult of—a cult of—what am I thinking a cult of—

WILLIAM: Personality. A cult of personality. Ugh. Water.

DIRK: You can’t protest that I’ve not brought us somewhat into the limelight.

SCOTT: Limelight? Dirk? Hard Copy is not fucking limelight. It’s lime-green-shitlight. It’s notoriety. Fucking enquiring minds want to know—I don’t want to get harassed at every fucking airport we—We don’t need a bunch of fucking guys in robes following us around spouting your poetry as if it were the fucking word of—Goddamn is it hot in here. I’m sweating like a fucking pig—

DIRK: Withdrawal?

SCOTT: You know it, fucking methadone. Why did you ever get me on this stuff—It’s been hours—

STEWARDESS: Your sixth round of drinks, gentlemen.

SCOTT: It’s great that they’re free, Jane, right? Jane, could I get another handful of those great English chocolates?

STEWARDESS: I’ll have to charge you sir, you’ve already had—

SCOTT: Right, whatever, just please bring me those chocolates, bill me, no? I’ve got cash, whatever, and can you take that—away, sorry about that, he’s—

WILLIAM: Ugh.

SCOTT: Not accustomed to flying. We usually drive but—

STEWARDESS: Not to worry, sir, it’s my job.

WILLIAM: Ugh, we appreciate.

DIRK: humhabillahumhabillahumhabilla humhumhabillahumhabillahumhabillahumhumhabillahum habillahumhumhabilla—

SCOTT: Would you, Dirk, would please fucking stop the goddamn fucking humming?

DIRK: It’s my mantra.

SCOTT: Look, Dirk, I don’t give a solid fuck if that’s your chant or your chakra, or your mumbled satori, or some kind of acid reflux reaction or your mother’s fucking maiden name, okay, it’s just driving me fucking nuts, is what it is, alright? The movie’s about to come on.

WILLIAM: Bwaughh.

SCOTT: Shit. Shit William. This is a brand new suit, dammit.

WILLIAM: Bwaurry.

SCOTT: Oh great, another fucking talking animal movie. I can’t watch that. Fucking Hollywood. Jane, sorry, sorry Jane.

STEWARDESS: Your handful of chocolates, sir.

SCOTT: Thanks, Jane.

STEWARDESS: That will be ten pounds, sir.

SCOTT: Right, whatever, here, keep the change. And I’m sorry, could I get some, I don’t know, more towels, and some, shit, some English Leather, or whatever. For the stink. And, ah, do you have anything that would, you know, sort of, uh, put him out, for the remainder of the flight.

STEWARDESS: A tranquilizer sir?

SCOTT: Excellent. Yes he needs one, and yes, I’ll, uh, yeah, I’ll take one as well, Dirk?

DIRK: May as well.

STEWARDESS: Gladly, gentlemen. No charge for that, courtesy of British Airways.