Joe T. wouldn't let the "parody" criticism die. He obsessed over trimming the excess from his tragedy-laden life, as if this were as easy as changing jobs or getting a haircut.
If life was that easy, that is, could humans change inveterate ways, could in fact become better human beings, we couldn't become parodies of ourselves!
"It's hopeless, then," he concluded.
Humans have finite options. Maybe within those options there are near infinite permutations to keep us sane. Here the parody surfaces and can best be seen in the work of artists, writers, and actors. How many actors, sooner or later, in movies or television, play themselves playing themselves in an established characterization? Writers produce dozens of books, stories, poems, and essays over several decades and the themes remain basic and, soon, become repetitive. The self-parody is usually unintentional. The rose can't become a chrysanthemum; a flower, a tree.
A few readers believe the Sardine's his own worst enemy.
Dear Sardine,
Your pessimistic view of life reached an unbearable pitch in last week's column. Rather than offer a counter-argument, which would be unduly mocked in a future column, I will pose the main reason why you are pessimistic.
Although you have mentioned a previous girlfriend or two, there's no evidence of a moderating female force in your life now. This absence in your life has allowed your negative attitude to filter into all of your opinions and characterizations.
The reader has a point, and the Sardine's surprised that the L-I P hadn't reached this conclusion earlier. It might disappoint many to know that the Sardine has had a longstanding relationship with a woman.
L-I P: We were at your house and didn't see anyone.
She went to the movies that night.
"You're at the bar nearly every night," said Joe T.
"I thought he might have a honey," said Frank Weathers, "but who would want to live with the Sardine? What's her name?"
Melinda. I mentioned her once before.
L-I P: Can we meet her?
No.
"How do we know she exists?" asked Wal-terr.
Have to trust me.
"Why didn't you mention her?" asked Joe T. "We're your friends, aren't we?"
She's not a factor in these columns.
"He's trying to protect her from unwanted public attention," declaimed Frank.
L-I P: She has to affect the way you are.
Melinda's the great love of my life.
"That's nice," Honey said to McNulty.
McNulty was reading a book and didn't answer.
Maybe she affects the Sardine outside the column. But here she means very little. She's not a non-factor in my life. The column represents a small claim on my time. There are many things unrelated to the contents of this column; some of those things, however unrelated, probably support my ability to produce it each week.
L-I P: Like what?
My regular job.
L-I P: You have a job? When? We thought this column was....
It's not important for you to know how I spend my time in the tin can.
L-I P: Then you're not always on vacation.
Since I've been writing the column, yes, all of my life has been a vacation.
L-I P: What?
"What other things should we know about you?" asked Joe T, now replaying his whole relationship with the Sardine through his memory.
You know what the Sardine wants you to know. Nothing else is important. Yet, he doesn't want to leave them with the impression "non-factors" are unimportant. In fact, they are usually more important in shaping human actions than most of the things written in history books.
L-I P: If it's not in history, how can it be important?
Not important enough for a story to be told. Usually, these non-factors are too intangible to be reckoned with. Stories represent the prejudices of the storytellers, directing whoever is reading or listening to particular circumstances at the expense of others. It's the start of mythology and distortion.
"So I can improve myself," Joe T. expostulated, "and become more acceptable to Uncle Creon if I concentrate on the things that aren't so important."
In a work of art, what remains unsaid but not completely unperceived could be called the aesthetic values, which, to the Sardine represents the ultimate in non-factors. Some people, present company not excepted, are incapable of seeing the aesthetic, only strictly observing what they perceive as important. The same remains true for history. The greatest part of the past remains unspoken, a compendium of dark ages, a vast unhistorical mold. The most vital part of the unhistorical is its aesthetic. The events in time are shaped into a subtle pattern, a shape of life as it has been lived at the moments of recorded events.
Where is everyone?
L-I P: They went home, except McNulty. Even Honey left and took the car.
Wal-terr had given last call. McNulty still had fifteen pages and one and a half drinks to finish. The Sardine had plenty of time to explain.
L-I P: What do you mean?
I'm driving McNulty home.
The Sardine's essays, articles, and stories have appeared around the Internet in the last few years at 3 A.M., Facets, Eclectica magazine, Fiction Funhouse, The Fiction Warehouse, 5_trope, and several film journals. Who and what he is probably will be revealed at various points through the articles appearing at this site. The first fifteen installments of his saga can be viewed at the old Unlikely Stories.