I Don't Get It

Before he passed away, my grandfather --- a contrary, crotchety old man --- used to say with great disdain and with great frequency, "I don't get it. I just don't get it."

It was kind of his personal catch-phrase.

Now, he didn't have a line of T-shirts or bumper-stickers featuring the slogan, because he actually did get most things. The contrarian in him simply used that line to express his displeasure with change, a concept that many older people in addition to my late grandfather seem to have a problem with.

Instead of saying he felt some new process or technology was not viable because of drawbacks A, B, and C, and because of dangers 1, 2, and 3, he would just shrug and with a disgusted look on his face say, "I don't get it."

"Papa, what do you think of these cool, new 8 track tapes?"
"I don't get it. What's wrong with LPs?"
"Papa, what do think of my new cross-training shoes? They're called Nikes."
"I don't get it. Who's going to pay $20.00 for a pair of sneakers?"

Well, I never thought I would become my grandfather. Hell, I thought if anything like that did happen, I would at least become my father first. But I've skipped right over old Dad and landed squarely in the Crazy Land of Papa.

I'm looking at David Blaine living in an aquarium for a week, and I just don't get it. This buffoon is submerged in a fishbowl, breathing and communicating through an umbilical, shitting in a vacuum tube, and I just don't get it.

And I've really tried, too.

I mean, I figure perhaps he wants to test the limits of his physical endurance in some new and wonderful ways. Hey, great. But if that's the case, why does he have to do it in public? Why does he feel it necessary to force people to care? Can't he just submerge himself in a washtub locked in a barn so his shriveled hands and feet aren't the only things I see in my newspaper and on my television?

Years ago, I used to play with a friend's scuba tanks when I lifeguarded at a neighborhood pool. I would strap on the tanks and some weights, and just go sit at the bottom of the deep end until the air was gone. But did I do it with a pool full of kids? Did I call radio and television stations all over the country to get them to cover the amazing and important event?

No.

I waited until the pool was empty and saw to it that no one outside of the other lifeguards was going to find out, because what I was doing was annoying at best and just plain wasteful and stupid at worst. Not only that, but it was about as important and interesting as Tom Hanks' new haircut. I couldn't imagine that anyone in their right mind would care that I was just sitting underwater.

Many will point out, however, that Blaine is doing his "stunt" outside the performing arts center in New York, and as such, it qualifies as performance art.

Okay. But you know what? I don't get performance art either. Well that's not entirely true. Some of it I get just fine. That doesn't mean I'm enamored of it, but I get why it's performance and why it's supposedly art. I get performance art in that I understand that "performance art" is a euphemism for "what the mainstream views as crap".

Think I'm being too harsh?

Aside from the Blue Man Group, try naming three performance artists and what performance/exhibit they are famous for. Performance art is simply not a mainstream hot ticket.

At any rate, I understand that Blaine is supposed to complete the "experiment" later today with a world record attempt at breath holding. He plans to hold his breath for 9 minutes. This finale is going to be broadcast on ABC, one of the big three television networks.

The other two networks have to be ecstatic about ABC's choice of programming. NBC's Deal or No Deal and CBS's King of Queens have to compete with a man holding his breath!! Whoa . . . talk about a dog-eat-dog ratings war.

Now, I suppose the Blaine finale could be interesting. I mean there's more of a chance that someone could wind up dead on David Blaine: Drowned Alive than on taped broadcasts of a game show and a sit-com. Our bloodlust is a very influential factor in making viewing decisions.

Still, barring any such delightful tragedy, Blaine will probably hold his breath for a while, and then step out to uncertain applause, and I'll be in front of my set going, "You know what, I don't get it."

Maybe someday, he'll do a magic trick. At least then, I'll know I'm supposed to say, "I don't get it."