Whoo-hoo! I’m on WordPress! Doesn’t everything look so much nicer? I think it does.
Right. I am no longer blogging on The Graduate. It was fun, but I don’t identify with good ol’ Benjamin Braddock as much these days; I have a job.
Everything that was posted on The Graduate can be found here on Dorky Days. All my posts were imported directly. So that’s good.
Why “Dorky Days”?
There is a book — a novel — called The Fan Man by William Kotzwinkle. It is about a hippie named Horse Badorties who lives in New York City. To the reader, he has no job, no life, no direction, no this, no that, etc. To HIM, he is a very busy, important man. Think of The Dude, and then take away the White Russians and the car and replace them with bottled Piña Coladas and a stolen school bus. You end up with Horse Badorties.
I first read this book during the summer between ninth and tenth grade. I was fifteen-years-old. The person who handed it to me? The same person who turned me on to The Velvet Underground, and played me the second side of Lou Reed’s Berlin one Saturday afternoon; the same person who handed me a copy of Trainspotting and said, “Don’t tell mom.”
It was my dad.
I wonder if he instinctively knew that I’d go wild for The Fan Man. Maybe he figured that my recent fascination with nostalgia was a good indication that I’d love Horse Badorties. Whatever the reason, he handed me the book, I devoured it, and it has been a very important part of my life ever since.
I am all alone in my pad, man, my piled-up-to-the-ceiling-with-junk-pad. Piled with sheet music, with piles of garbage bags bursting with rubbish and encrusted frying pans piled on the floor, embedded with unnameable flecks of putrified wretchedness in grease. My pad, man, my own little Lower East Side Horse Badorties pad.
Horse Badorties spends a lot of time recruiting fifteen-year-old chicks to join The Love Chorus, a choir he instructs at St. Nancy’s Church. Horse Badorties is also very much sexually preoccupied with fifteen-year-old chicks. He isn’t a pervert — he just likes ’em that way. In fact, I think that Horse Badorties just prefers to assume that every attractive woman he sees is fifteen-years-old.
Not a pervert.
The Super Hot Dog Mission of Horse Badorties, man, is slowly taking shape. For an entire year, man, I have held the Love Chorus together, dragging the valuable precious contents of my body here every night for rehearsal, and now, man, we are almost ready for our first performance.
Horse Badorties is dead set on making sure that The Love Chorus gets to perform a concert live on television. This book has no real plot (fuck plot), but if any Hollywood asshole ever gets his hands on a copy of this book and decides to make a movie, I’d say that the bit about The Love Chorus going on TV would probably be distorted and exploited in all sorts of bullshit ways. Anyway, our hero manages to tell the head of NBC about the concert. How? He’s Horse Badorties.
Horse Badorties may also be a drug dealer. Well, I guess he pretty much is. Throughout the book he makes phone calls to various people regarding recent shipments of “carrots,” or how he’ll be by later with the “Swiss Chard.” He and a beautiful girl smoke “alphabets”…
All right. I say I don’t identify with Benjamin Braddock anymore, and then I go on this long tangeant about a transient named Horse Badorties. First of all, he isn’t a transient — by the end of the book he has four “Horse Badorties pads.” Second of all, I don’t identify with Horse Badorties, but I dig his dogma: every day is an adventure, nothing is that big of a deal, and every woman in the world is a beautiful fifteen-year-old chick with a voice like a lark.
There is nothing wrong with the book. The book is perfect. It’s hilarious and irreverent and unpredictable and unpretentious. It’s about packing up your Horse Badorties satchel, getting on the subway, and seeing where the Hell the day takes you. It’s about playing bizarre musical instruments with people on the street and making thousands of copies of rare sheet music. It’s about freedom and love and hope and nirvana.
Sometimes, it’s also about loneliness.
So what the Hell is Dorky Day? Once a month, Horse Badorties spends an entire day repeating the word “dorky” over and over. Out loud. This day is called “Dorky Day.”
Constant repetition of the word ‘dorky’ cleans out my consciousness, man, gets rid of all the rubble and cobwebs piled up there.
Take that for what you will.