LAZY WISDOM 2

I am sitting at the bar sipping a Caucasian and trying to concentrate on the laptop. Louise, the bartender, mixes one for herself eyes me with dudely amusement.

"Still trying to come up with something to write about the supposium on lazy wisdom Moondog?"

"Supposium? What the fuck is a supposium Louise?"

"You say symposium...I say supposium. Supposing...what iffing...is what's been going on around here lately with all this deep philosophizing about your Lazy Wisdom...capital 'l' capital 'w'. Why don't you just stop thinking about it and let stuff happen...then sit back and dig it as it goes down...Moondog? That's my way of not doing lazy wisdom...little 'l' little 'w'."

Finally, my fingers begin to type and words begin to appear on the screen.

In the last dispatch from these regions I promised to fill everybody in on the doings and insights of the Duder Bar supposium on lazy wisdom, but I got distracted and didn't get very far...so here we go again...

As usual, just as I am about to elucidate a significant new strand and what have you, something happens...

This Armani suited stock broker looking guy glides through the door snapping his fingers and bobbing his head to music only he can hear. Everyone at the bar looks at him as he slowly intones...

"Dude be slow steppin', mang...threw away my 3G, multi-tasking smart phone, mang...don't want to talk to you while I'm downloading and gaming and trading at the same time no more, bub...smashed that fucking thing, Maurice..."

He slowly spins and, in a leisurely fashion, syncopates back out into the street.

I type some more...

Unbelievable! Louise was right...I'll get into what Louise said later. Synchronicity strikes again! Is Carl Jung hanging out around here somewhere? Slow dancing at high noon...stop thinking about it and lazy wisdom just dances through the door...

"Hey Moondog..."

Here comes Nancy walking down the bar from the back carrying a brown paper bag.

"Is this yours? Found it in the back booth where you were 'entertaining' last night."

She hands me the bag. I have never seen it before. I reach inside and pull out a book. Look at it in rapt wonder. Everybody at the bar cranes their neck to see.

Doing Nothing: A History of Loafers,Loungers, Slackers and Bums in America
By Tom Lutz

An advertising flier for the book for the book flutters out of the bag onto the floor. I pick it up and read it out loud to the congregation.

"Lutz eases readers into this sparkling cultural history of stylish American torpor with an anecdote about his 18-year-old son, Cody, moving into his house and bivouacking on the couch—perhaps indefinitely. Lutz himself spent a decade before college "wandering here and abroad," so his intense anger at Cody surprised him—and inspired him to write this book about the crashing fault lines between Anglo-America's vaunted Calvinist work ethic and its skulking, shrugging love of idling. An English professor who admits to being personally caught between these warring impulses, Lutz (Crying) has a gimlet eye for the ironies of modern loafing: that the "flaming youth" of the 1920s were intensely industrious; that our most celebrated slackers (Jack Kerouac, Richard Linklater) have been closet workaholics; that our most outspoken Puritans (Benjamin Franklin, George W. Bush) have been notorious layabouts. Lutz's diligent research on a range of lazy and slovenly subjects, from French flâneurs to New York bohos, ultimately leads him to side with the bums. Flying in the face of yuppie values and critics of the welfare state, his "slacker ethic" emerges over the course of this history as both a necessary corrective to—and an inevitable outgrowth of—the 80-hour work week."

"What the fuck!"

Louise is pointing up at the TV above the bar. She turns up the volume as everyone present does a double take in unison then stares at the TV.




Just as Bing and his motley crue are winding up their observations on the nature of things, John Lennon's voice rings out from somewhere down the bar...

"Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans...Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans..."

It is the ringtone on somebody's cell phone. Sheepishly, Doris, a newcomer to the Duder, answers her phone and hurries to the back of the bar so as not to disturb the proceedings at hand.

Now...at this juncture I think it only fitting to take a step back so as to be able to see the forest and not get lost in the trees...as they say. Obviously, The Duder Bar Supposium on Lazy Wisdom seems to be composing itself. The old Trickster is cracking the cosmic joke once again...reminding me who's who and what's what...and I might as well fuggetaboutit as far as trying to theorize and expound upon those matters "myself". The universe is doing me, I am clearly not doing it...life is living me...I'm not...well shush...you get the picture. During the past brief bit of time here at the humble ol' Duder Bar the DUDE himself is playfully wagging his finger at us sinners and saying...

"Chill...there's NOTHING to do...there's nothing you CAN do, really...when you take a giant step back and have a good look at the whole durn thing. Let go dudes! Chill...deeply...lazy wisdom... abide man..."

LAZY WISDOM

We Dudeists here at the old Duder Bar have been incommunicado for awhile because of all the mulling about and intense ruminating that has gone into our latest project, a small booklet entitled LAZY WISDOM: PROCRASTINATION AS SPIRITUAL PRACTICE, but I'm going to wait to elaborate further on that until a little later on. First, I want to bring to light a couple of fellers you may have heard about but, if not, will probably get a kick out of...natural born Dudeists both, and both probably sympathetic with our current frenzied quest for the key to profound procrastination.

The first, Wes “Scoop” Nisker, is a writer, radio personality, Buddhist meditation teacher and stand-up philosopher who, years ago, came up with the challenge, "If you don't like the news go out and make some of you own." Interesting concept. Anyhow among the books old "Scoop" is notorious for are CRAZY WISDOM, THE ESSENTIAL CRAZY WISDOM, and, most recently, CRAZY WISDOM SAVES THE WORLD AGAIN! Here's a quote from this last tome that speaks directly to our current cogitations as well as to the Dudeist modus operandi in general.

“If I were in the department of wisdom, I would call for an immediate moratorium on progress, to last at least a half-century. We had a whole lot of progress in the last couple of centuries, and although it brought us pain-killing drugs, space telescopes, and Velcro®, it appears we can no longer keep up with our own ingenuity. We now race madly around in our individual boxes of steel, chasing after satisfaction, and in the process we are throwing the atmosphere out of whack by burning up two or three geological epochs worth of the sun’s stored energy in one great choking bonfire of the vanities. We have spent the better part of our genius figuring out new ways to blow each other up or learning how to go faster, and in our fear and haste we forgot about who we are and where we are going. We need to relax, deeply, and let our hearts and minds catch up with out tool-making ability, which ha gotten way “out of hand.” What we need is a century of less doing and more “being.” The next revolution is a big slowdown."

“I also have some broad suggestions on how we might help heal our sick civilization and the ailing planet, based on the understanding of crazy wisdom, a long-running tradition of tricksters, saints, philosophers, self-proclaimed fools, and other disreputable characters, Rather than practical solutions, crazy wisdom offers a stance, an attitude to carry us as we proceed through these ominous days."

Just think of The Dude as a Crazy Wisdom/Lazy Wisdom master and things begin to fall...some sooner...some later...into place.

The other feller I want to call your attention to, name of Thaddeus Golas, wrote a 79 page book back in the late 60's called THE LAZY MAN'S GUIDE TO ENLIGHTENMENT which was an instant hit at that time. Here's what Amazon has to say...

"Originally published by the author in 1972, the underground classic Lazy Man's Guide to Enlightenment teaches how to improve the quality of life, to feel good, and to determine what's real."

And from an Amazon reviewer...

"I've never been interested in having a guru, and Thaddeus Golas was never interested in being one. He wasn't looking for converts, followers, or even agreement, and I've always felt free to disagree with the way he makes this or that point. So this book has long been perfectly suited to me and my somewhat iconoclastic/refractory temperament."

"This little book is one of a very small handful that I regard as the absolute cream of 'hippie spirituality'. Stephen Gaskin's 'This Season's People' is that literature's Diamond Sutra and Paul Williams's 'Das Energi' is its Tao Te Ching. Golas's slim volume comes very close to Gaskin's in its adamantine wisdom and so ranks as a close second in diamond-sutrahood, but I think of it as something like the Dhammapada."

"Its message is so easy to put across that, technically, you already know everything it says. The heart of the matter is: relax; just love as much as you can from wherever you are. When you come right down to it, you're already 'enlightened' and you don't have anything to prove."

"But somehow, the 'way' Golas puts this message (and the bit about "love as much as you can" is a direct quotation) has some major mojo in it, enough to knock your mind loose from your brain."

If you're interested you can read the entire book online HERE. Or...if you're even lazier...just keep reading...

A selection of reminders from the text (abbreviated):

No resistance.

Whether I am conscious of it or not, I am one with the cause of all that exists.

Enlightenment doesn't care how you get there.

Whatever you are doing, love yourself for doing it.

There is nothing you need to do first in order to be enlightened.

This, too, can be experienced with a completely expanded awareness.

I wouldn't deny this experience to the One Mind.

And on abiding...maybe...

When you learn to love hell, you will be in heaven.


And so fellow pilgrims, enough of homage...time to move on down the line toward LAZY WISDOM: PROCRASTINATION AS SPIRITUAL PRACTICE...or...
DOING NOT DOING...heh, heh, heh...

But first...before we expose the secret keys to the treasure chest containing our sacred doings and elaborations...I would like to share with you some other folk's pronouncements on the subject...

“Procrastination isn’t the problem. It’s the solution. It’s the universe’s way of saying stop, slow down, you move too fast. ”
Ellen DeGeneres

“Never put off until tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow.”
Mark Twain

“I love deadlines. Especially the whooshing sound they make as they pass by.”
Douglas Adams

“Procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday.”
Don Marquis

“Procrastinators: Leaders of Tomorrow”
Unknown

“The sooner I fall behind, the more time I have to catch up.”
Unknown

“Anyone can do any amount of work, provided it isn't the work he is supposed to be doing at that moment.“
Robert Benchley

“The two rules of procrastination: 1) Do it today. 2) Tomorrow will be today tomorrow.”
Unknown

“Don't fool yourself that important things can be put off till tomorrow; they can be put off forever, or not at all.”
Mignon McLaughlin

“Work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion.”
C. Northcote Parkinson

“Only Robinson Crusoe had everything done by Friday.”
Unknown

You know what? I think that by now...if you've gotten this far...that you all figure that you've read enough of my scribbling for one day, so I'm going to hold off on presenting any more from the Duder Bar Symposium on Lazy Wisdom till next time.

As the sign on Ken Kesey's magic bus said...FURTHER...LATER (my addition)...

Tao Soda, Man...

Ron and Nancy asked me to close up since the old Duder Bar had pretty well cleared out some time before I got back from seeing CRAZY HEART and they wanted to go home. I said OK and am now behind the empty bar looking at the clock...1:30AM...about that time. The door opens and this cowboy looking guy wanders in...somewhat dazed...and sits down. Maybe its late and maybe I've had a few too many and maybe I'm still under the influence of the movie, but I swear to god this guy looks just like Bad Blake as stunningly portrayed by Jeff Bridges. He squints at the bottles in front of the mirror behind the bar and points...not at a bottle, but at the mirror.

"I'll have one of them Tao Sodas, man," he drawls.

"Tao Soda?"

"Yep...one of them you got avvertised there..."

He points again. I look at the mirror and see what he is talking about...the reflection of the Oat Soda Brewery sign on the wall opposite the bar.

"Oh...OK...you mean you want an Oat Soda, huh?"

He laughs a friendly laugh.

"Yeah...if you say so bud...I guess Tao is just Oat spelled backwards ain't it?

"Never thought of it that way, but yeah...".

Whole new realms of odd philosophical inquiry suddenly open up. Who is this guy anyhow. I open an Oat Soda and give it to him. He reaches in his jeans for some money.

"Its on the house...er...mind if I ask you your name? You sure do remind me of somebody..."

"What if I told you my name is BAD?" He laughs as he drains the beer. "Since that damned movie came out I get stopped on the street every five minutes...people thinking I'm Jeff Bridges and wanting my autograph."

"Well, you might say you're his spittin' image."

"Yeah...I get that a lot..."

I look at him closely.

"Man, I could swear..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah...I look like the older country cousin of the Dude, right? I went into a bowling alley the other night and got that one for the millionth time."

"Well, Bad Blake's first gig in CRAZY HEART is in a fucking bowling alley and he DOES look like the older country cousin of the Dude in that scene. How do you account for that Mr....?"

"Mr. was my father...just call me...just call me..." The grins a mischievous grin. "Aw shush...jus call me that weird Stranger who came into your bar and wanted a drink of Tao..."

Things were getting weird all right. I look around...has the old Duder Bar slipped into the twilight zone...or worse...some Candid Camera ripoff reality show? I open another Oat Soda, look at the label then pass it to the Stranger.

"You know in CRAZY HEART Bad Blake asks Robert Duvall for a "barley pop". Sort of like calling a beer an oat soda but not quite. Do you think that's a reference to The Big Lebowski?"

"Do I look like a goddamed movie writer to you friend?" the Stranger slowly replies. "Why I haven't even seen CRAZY HEART. Feel sort of close to it though. Hear in the end old Bad sobers up and goes back to using his given name...Otis..."

The Stranger stands and finishes his beer. He grins that grin once again. as he leaves me with the evening's parting words of wisdom.

"Otis...Oat is...get it?"

There is a long pause. He laughs at his own stretched reference. A palpable volume of potential insight hangs in the air between us. He finally continues...

"Bad Blake abides, man. He almost dies of drink. He fucks up his relationship with the love of his life. He chews it up and spits it out as a hit song. He STAYS sober...walks away with that slight smile on his face...abides, man. Helluva movie..."

The Stranger wanders out the door of the Duder Bar and into the night.

I lock the front door and turn out the lights.

Outside, the Stranger's voice echoes down the empty street...

"One helluva movie folks! Golden Globes for Best Song...and...AND...the Jeffer wins for Best Actor, man...FINALLY, man..."

THE WEARY KIND begins to play somewhere in the distance...

"...abide, man...the Dude abides..."

HAPPY HOLIDAYS DUDES!

At The Angel Eyes Lounge

I’m taking a nap on the sofa in the back room of the Duder Bar, right, and I’m dreaming and then things get very strange because I realize I’m dreaming like the dream yoga guy, Chogyam Dada, was talking about the other day and I say...to myself...well fuck me...so this is what that guy was talking about. Where the fuck am I anyway...looks like the parking lot of some nightclub or something...big neon sign with a martini glass...some broad’s sexy neon eyes above it...some neon spike heels...some words…

ANGEL EYES…COCKTAILS…BOWLING…POOL…GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS…

You gotta be kidding...a topless bowling alley?


An early 1970s vintage LAPD black and white pulls up and parks in front of the joint. A big Orson Welles looking cop...overcoat and fedora...gets out of the driver’s side and slams the door. A rangy, hippy type...fedora also...off the wall Hawaiian shirt...gets out of the front seat and out of the back piles...swear to god...The Dude...also going Hawaiian...and Walter Sobchak in his Walter uniform. They all head inside ANGEL EYES talking and gesturing. Looks like they know each other.

I decide to check this out myself. A cab pulls up and a grinning Chogyam Dada gets out waving to get my attention.

“Hey, Hieronymus...glad you could make it...I told you you could...”

I wake up...look around. The back room of the Duder looks kind of peculiar.

“What the fuck was that!?”



I look for the number Chogyam gave me for the Dream Yoga Institute.

A couple hours later I am sitting at the bar trying to sort things out with Chogyam. We are both several cocktails into the conversation.

“So...what you're telling me is that you were dreaming that little scenario last night at the same time I was...and that we were both THERE...at this topless bowling alley...and the Dude and Walter and these other guys pull up...and you wanted me to go in and just sit down and order a round and then just nonchalantly chat with THE DUDE like nothing fucking was even a little OUT OF THE ORDINARY?”

“I would have introduced you Hieronymus...they would have been cool with you joining us.”

“Joining US?...you rolling with the Dude these days Chogyam? Would you mind filling in some blanks...connecting some dots. I know all the fictitious character as independent thought form bullshit...and hanging out in your “Imaginal Realm” bullshit...but man I was THERE ...somewhere. It was REAL Chogyam”

“Yes Hieronymus...it was real and still is. We can go there again if you want to.”

“How did I get there in the first place?”

“I have been leading you in your dreams. You don’t remember...weren’t going lucid yet... ”

“You’ve been in my head without asking? You hoodoo asshole! I should . . . ”

Louise brings us some more drinks and then quickly moves away.

“I thought you wanted to meet the Dude...”

After a long silence, during which I attempt to get some kind of grip on all this, I calmly speak again.

“So Chogyam...tell me about this Angel Eyes Strip Joint and Bowl...and who was the cop and the other guy.

With his Mississippi accent in full bloom....thickening on account of the Jack Daniels...Chogyam fills me in...


“Angel Eyes is a fictitious place. The cop is a hardon LAPD detective named Bigfoot Bjornsen and the other guy is a private eye named Larry “Doc” Sportello. They are both characters in a novel called Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon which came out a few months back. Book is really about Doc and his world. Here...I got an unauthorized copy before it hit the street."

He takes the book out of his bag and shoves it across the bar.


Angel Eyes now sits where the fictitious Club Asiatique once was located in fictitious San Pedro ...not real San Pedro…not far from fictitious Gordita Beach...where Doc lives...not real Manhattan Beach…where Pynchon lived in the 70s. Angel Eyes has stuff from Doc’s world and from the Dude’s world so, naturally, it got dreamed up so they would both have a place to hang. Welcome to the Dude’s Otherworld my friend. It has gotten more solid…more stable…with all the attention the book has gotten plus the continuing exercising of the Lebowskians by the fans like I was telling you about the other day. All the reviewers are saying that Doc and Inherent Vice are REALLY a lot like the Dude’s world. Rolling Stone even called it The BIGGER Lebowski. Don’t know about that, but, anyhow…looks like the Dude and Doc and their cronies are hanging out. How’s about a visit?”


Much later…I wake up inside Angel Eyes. Lots of blue-green and pink neon. Long bar full of customers…a mixture of fictitious characters and dreamers I figure. Some of the faces seem oddly familiar…create little ripples of déjà vu. Chogyam joins me grinning. We order our usuals. There is a stack of Angel Eyes postcards on the bar. I put one in my shirt pocket. There is a translucent blue green plexiglass stage with a pole at the far end of the room. A g-stringed, spike heeled dancer twirls to the throbbing music. Many other barely clad, to good to be real looking girls mingle with the customers. The wall opposite the bar is glass. Beyond the glass is an outrageous, neon bedecked bowling alley. The lanes are made of the same translucent blue green material as the stage. The bowling balls liquidly streaming down the lanes glow with colors not normally found in nature.

The Dude, Doc, Bigfoot, Walter and several girls are sharing a lane. Walter and Bigfoot are talking and gesturing to each other excitedly. The Dude and Doc seem to be sizing each other up. Chogyam is watching me stare at them. He provides a running commentary…

“Bigfoot and Walter are talking about going in together on some new private bodyguard thing. Doc wants the Dude to get his act together and join his operation…L.S.D (Location…Surveillance…Detection…dig…) Investigations, but the Dude wants none of it. They all like the attention they are getting in the press but aren’t sure they agree with everything that’s being spread around town. Tabloid headlines are beginning to appear in The Realm. Fictitious Hollywood scandal can’t be far behind. Are undercover reporters illicitly dreaming their way into Angel Eyes they wonder?”

The Dude drains his drink and walks away from the others toward the bar. He nudges his way up to the bar next to me and Chogyam, looks at us and smiles, then orders…

“Another one of those Caucasians please and a tequila zombie for my friend Doc.” Looking at me, “I don’t know, man…no accounting for some people’s tastes…” Recognizing Chogyam, “Hey, man…did you get home all right last night? You looked a little pale…”

“Yeah…I managed to make it OK Dude…”

“Good, man…we were worried…”

Finally, I manage to speak, “Can I ask you something Dude?”

“Oh…you know who I am?”

“Yes Dude, I do…your reputation precedes you…”

“That’s what I hear, man…what do you want to know?”

I look around at the scene at Angel Eyes, “How do you like the Angel Eyes spot here?”

“Kinda different from your usual neighborhood lanes, huh, man…but the Dude makes the best of it, man…you know. They even let me name it, man…”

“Oh yeah…Angel Eyes?”

“Its not all Creedence all the time, man…”

The Dude’s drinks arrive and he picks them up, turns and heads away.

“…sometimes its Creedence sometimes its Sinatra…great for P.I.s and sentimental cops, man…you know? You guys come on down and join us, man…having you guys around sort of ties the evening together…(suspiciously) undercover eyeballs, man, huh?…intrigue… like the man said…Come On Down!”

He is gone. Our surroundings fade for an instant, then return. We follow the Dude into the VIP bowling salon of Angel Eyes not knowing what is in store for us as we approach this spooky crew…

I hear a loud “pop” and jerk myself awake. I am in the back room of the Duder Bar sitting up now on the sofa. Dazed. I reach into my shirt pocket and pull out the Angel Eyes postcard.

ANGEL EYES…COCKTAILS…BOWLING…POOL…GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS…



TO BE CONTINUED...

Fucking Chuang Tzu, Man! (A Modest Proposal)

Its is open mic night at the Duder Bar and things are getting stranger and stranger. Some regular who will go nameless brought the World Famous Bushman into the bar, proceeded to get him drunk and then got him to go on stage and do his thing. The audience is presently going nuts. The Bushman is not used to working indoors. Reminds me of a typical night at the Holy City Zoo back in the day...early Robin Williams and all...Rob Schneider and such... I'm not really comparing the World Famous Bushman to Robin or Rob, of course, but...



As a fitting end to his act, the Bushman lunges at a group of customers who have been taunting him and tumbles off the low stage into their laps. The crowd applauds wildly as chanting begins at the other end of the bar..."GorillaDude! GorillaDude! GorillaDude!..."

First Bushman now GorillaDude...figures...

Actually, getting GorillaDude to the Duder is my doing. GorillaDude is a street theater guy who has gotten people's attention around here lately...gotten a following...article about him in the entertainment section of the paper and all. GorillaDude, among other things, does a dead on impression of Jeff Bridges playing the Dude in the movie...voice, mannerisms, costume...the whole thing. When I first saw this I introduced myself, naturally, and told him to come on down. He immediately recognized that the Duder would be the perfect place to premiere this new take on the Dude he has been working on...plus make a surprise announcement that he knows will "make the entire entertainment industry beat down my door...or maybe just go bowling, man."

Duder DJ Ron finally retrieves the microphone, which is being passed around in the crowd...

"And now folks...live on our stage...direct from Fisherman's Warf...the living legend you've all been waiting for...stand-up philosopher...'Pataphysician...the King Kong of performance art...GorillaDude!"

There are cheers and then the house falls silent as this spookily accurate incarnation of the Dude shuffles to the stage, a large glass jar in one hand and dog-eared movie script in the other. His cheesy robe has a Chinese landscape pattern printed on it. He secures the script under one arm and unscrews the top of the jar. A large number of butterflies flutter into the air...the audience oohs and ahhhs. GorillaDude grins...props his shades upon his forehead...looks the audience up and down...and then speaks...

"Fucking Chuang Tzu, Man!"

People flail about, trying to catch the butterflies, but cannot. Someone cracks the back door of the bar open and the butterflies escape into the night...applause.

"Fucking Chuang Tzu thanks you, man...and I thank you! You guys remember Chuang Tzu, right? Chuang Tzu said he didn't know whether he was dreaming he was a butterfly, or it was the butterfly that was dreaming it was Chuang Tzu. You guys might have just helped some freaky reincarnation of ol' Chuang Tzu escape this crowded bar, man...so Chuang Tzu thanks you! If Master Chuang IS a butterfly, he's got better things to do than hang out here! Fucking Chuang Tzu, yeah... womanizer...trickster..maybe even the first bonafide reality hacking P.I....betcha didn't read about THAT in your Taoism for Dummies didja? Or about how he used the OTHER Butterfly Effect which he was hip to, naturally...to tweak the Tao in favor of his main 'client', King Xuan of Qi. Or...you guys are gonna really dig this, man...howz about his dreaming up of the first Human Flesh Search Engine? Got your attention yet?"

Bemused mumblings in the crowd. I pull out my cell phone and call Joey Zhuang, dudeist P.I. to the max and self proclaimed great "plus 100 generations or so" grandson of Chuang Tzu himself and tell him what's happening. Joey Z. says he'll be here in 15 minutes. GorillaDude holds up his script.

"So here it is folks! FUCKING CHUANG TZU, MAN!...the definitive feature length life story expose' movie of the great chi kungerino Dude himself. Set 2500 years ago, man...but with up to the minute street style verbalizations, of course..."

"Did Chuang Tzu abide, man?" Somebody yells out.

"What you talking about broham? You talking about fucking abiDANCE, man...but not just the 'tolerate and withstand' thing, which is just fine when the usual shit hits the fan, but also...the MAYBE, man...fucking Chuang abided in the MAYBE...Chuang was into paying attention. You guys may have heard this old Taoist tale, but here it is again anyhow...

"There was this old hippie pot grower...they DID have hippies and pot farms in ancient China you know...(laughter)...who had worked his hidden fields for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. Such bad luck, man...they said sympathetically. Maybe, the grower replied. The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. How cool is that?...the neighbors exclaimed. Maybe, replied the old hippie as he lit up another one. The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on this latest misfortune. And again, the grower answered...maybe. The next day, the sheriff showed up looking for the young man who had run off into the woods after being discovered making it with his daughter. Seeing that the son's leg was broken, the sheriff figured it could not have been the grower's boy and left. The neighbors congratulated the old grower on how well things had turned out. May...be, said the grower...

"Far out, man...what did Master Chuang have to say about taking er easy, man?" Another dude inquires.

"He had plenty to say about taking er easy...getting things done without doing anything...your basic archetypal effortless...ness, bub. Why to NOT EVEN TRY to amount to something special...all that hyper-casual Dudesmellow stuff...you name it. One more quick take from the script...then I'm going to pass along to you boys and girls the REAL news I have for you tonight.

"There was this guy who was so upset by the sight of his own shadow and so pissed off with the sound of his own footsteps, that he decided to get rid of both. The brilliant method he hit upon was to run away from these aggravating affronts...so he got up and took off. But every time he put his foot down there was another step, plus his shadow kept up with him with no problem ...heh ...heh. He attributed his failure to the fact that he was not running fast enough. So he ran faster and faster, without stopping, until he finally dropped dead. He spaced out the brilliant insight that if he merely stepped into the shade, his shadow would vanish ...poof! ...and if he sat down, poured himself a Caucasian and took er real easy...chilled deeply...there would be no more footsteps..."

"Caucasians! Cuacasians!" The crowd begins to chant. GorillaDude motions for quiet.

"Thank you all for you attentive appreciations and what-have-yous. I think you all agree that old Chuang Tzu deserves the best...so here it is...you guys can say that you heard it here first. Somebody get Variety and the Hollywood Reporter on the phone. Here's the pitch...drumroll please..."

"Fucking come with it GorillaDude! Come on, man..."

Joey Z. taps me on the shoulder just as GorillaDude segways into an unerring Rod Serling introducing The Twilight Zone impression.

"...imagine if you will...The Coen Brothers produce and direct FUCKING CHUANG TZU, MAN! starring Jeff Bridges as the Dude as Chuang Tzu, John Goodman as Walter as King Xuan of Qi, Steve Buscemi as Donny as the Ghost of Lao Tzu, with distribution consultation by Jeff Dowd, spiritual consultation by Oliver Benjamin and the Dudeists, extras by the LebowskiFest guys, writing consultation by me...GorillaDude...and overall deal massaging by you, sir..."

GorillaDude nods in my direction. I yell over the crowd's enthusiastic rumblings regarding GorillaDude's dazzling, killer box office bound proposal...

"Double White Russians for all!"

GorillaDude bellows back, "White Russians!? This is a fucking CHINESE picture, man..."

His protests are drowned out by the chanting of the crowd..."Dude Tzu!...Dude Tzu!...Dude Tzu!..."

Joey grabs my arm and leads me toward GorillaDude, "Introduce me to this guy H. P....tell him who I am..."

*****

From somewhere...out there across the sands of time...Chuang Tzu smiles...then whispers conspiratorially...

"Howzaboutit you guys?"

Dude Standard Time

I’ve agreed to meet this guy at the bar at three. I walk in at three on the dot, not knowing whether I will find the guy a couple drinks into his afternoon, or not there...but a message saying he’s running 15 minutes late…its always 15 minutes, or just not there.

This guy is one of my more unique old friends…Joey Zhuang…or Joey Dude as we have taken to calling him for the past few years. Joey grew up in the neighborhood, is half Italian and half Chinese, is a private eye with a reputation, and, as we have all told him on many occasions, inhabits his own time zone, which moves along with him like some strange bubble, spacing out anyone within a few hundred yards. Its not that Joey is always late or always early, its just that he does not wear the same watch as others in the general population. We call this anomaly in the space-time continuum Dude Standard Time…DST for short…and I must admit that the old Duder Bar probably inhabits this zone as much of the time as Joey Z…as does The Duderino Lebowski, of course…the father of DST. I guess we should not be too surprised at the way JZ handles reality, of course, since he claims that he can document that he is the "great...plus 100 generations or so later...grandson of Zhuangzi ...Chuang Tzu, to you...", notorious Taoist innovator, incorrigible prankster, and some say, early prototypical op for the King (ostensibly!)...a real "under the radar" way behind the scenes kind of guy.

Joey Z. became Joey Dude after we noticed that he was beginning to greet clients and other visitors…e.g. us…in his home/office, dressed in much the same way that brother Jeffer was dressed at the beginning of the movie. What clinched it was what is now considered an epiphany laden situation, which occurred a few months ago, during which I and a couple of others from the Duder went to the local Safeway to buy half and half, and encountered Joey in the dairy section obliviously dressed in full regalia…robe, jellies, shorts, and so on…sniffing at an opened carton of the designated liquid. He was shocked and embarrassed to see us, and…we truly believe…did not realize he had left the house in his bathrobe. He stammered that he was on the verge of a breakthrough and hurried away toward the checkout. From the point on, Joey Z. was not just Joey Dude to us, but Joey Dude…the Bathrobe Shamus.

Later the night of what has come to be known as the “Bathrobe Shamus Incident” he showed up at the Duder unquestionably looking the part of the near-celebrity tabloid darling…the solver of bizarre, off the wall cases…the notorious San Francisco P.I. that he is. Looks a little like Jackie Chan, FYI. We all had a huge laugh. Joey never took himself too seriously…and still does not.

But I’m going on and on…back to NOW. I enter the Duder and look around. No Joey.

Louise yells, “Joey called. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

I walk on in trying to figure out where the familiar, booming, sonorously London accented voice is coming from. Hadn’t heard this voice for a couple years, but the lilting scotch/rocks laden tones are unmistakable…Reginald “Reggie” Hamm is in the house…

"Extreme BUSYNESS is a symptom of deficient vitality, and a faculty for idleness implies a catholic appetite and a strong sense of personal identity. Robert Louis Stevenson said that my dear friends.”

Reggie is holding forth at the far end of the bar. His small but captive audience is enthralled. He sees me and beams his Falstaffian grin.

“Hieronymus…you’ve finally arrived.”

“Reggie…you old fraud. I wish I had known you were coming, I’d have…”

“…half baked a…”

We hug. Reggie is a great champion of The Idler…that across the pond publication that self applies the following…

' The Idler is a bi-annual, book-shaped magazine that campaigns against the work ethic.

It was founded in 1993 by Tom Hodgkinson and his friend Gavin Pretor-Pinney. The title comes from a series of essays by Dr Johnson, published in 1758-9 in the Gentleman’s Magazine. The intention of the magazine is to return dignity to the art of loafing, to make idling into something to aspire towards rather than reject. As well as providing a radical and thought-provoking read, the Idler is also very funny.'

“And so Reggie…what brings you to our fair city?”

“The Long Now…”

“The what? Oh…you mean Stewart Brand and Brian Eno’s thing?”

“Of course Hieronymous…you and your Dudeists…I have heard the whole story, you know…you guys must attend the Long Now fund raiser. Tomorrow night. You guys claim to inhabit the long now, don’t you?”

“You could put it that way Reginald…without so much snark in your tone. Has The Idler Time Investigation Team discovered just how long NOW is yet…by the way…as they announced they were about to do?"

“Progress Hieronymus…progress. All in good time. I dare say, more progress than you and your Dudenicks are making, I’ll wager.”

“Sorry I’m late…”

Joey Z. strides through the door and heads down the bar with that “I just got laid and you didn’t” smile on his face. He extends his hand. I grab it and do one of our complex, over the top handshakes. Reggie marvels.

“You must teach me the secret handshake Hieronymous…”

“Reggie Hamm say hello to Joe Zhuang…”

Reggie seems to recognize the name.

“Private investigator Joseph Zhuang?”

“Yeah…that’s it. Have we met?"

“I’m afraid not. Read about you in the Weekly World News though.”

“Oh fuck…here we go again…I’ve been able to stop most of that shit. When did you see it?”

“Yesterday…at the airport…”

“What was it about?”

“You. Sounds like you get some interesting cases Mr. Zhuang.”

“You can drop the “Mr.” Reggie, “ I say. “This is Joey Dude, man…fuhgeddaboudit Z. Fuck it Joey! I told you you ought to write about your stuff yourself. Some drinks Louise…for the king of the tabloids.”

Joey look at me and glowers for a second before he cracks up.

“What the fuck…good for business, right? Long as they spell my name right...am I right?”

“Maybe my organization could hire you,” Says Reggie.

“Which organization would that be, Mr. Hamm?”

"Reggie, please, 'Mr.' Hamm was my father. The organization to which I refer is a branch of The Idler magazine...you might have heard of..."

"The Idler has BRANCHES? Yeah, I've heard of The Idler...buddy of mine in London turned me on to it years ago when it ran an article about a relative of mine..."

"Here we go," I mutter.

"No...really...not Chuang Tzu Hieronymus...another relative. Lin Yutang. Great piece in the Idle Idols section, or something like that..."

"Oh, how marvelous...Lin Yutang was your relative?"

"Great, great uncle, once removed..."

At this point, Reggie's un-natural memory kicks in.

"As I recall...that article...'Lin Yutang’s main principle is that the freedom to enjoy life is the ultimate spiritual good. The question of happiness – “entirely neglected by Christian thinkers” – is not to be deferred in the name of abstract rewards. What reward could be greater than a life enjoyed as it is lived? Play without reason; travel to see nothing; a -perfectly useless afternoon spent in a perfectly useless manner – these are the kind of activities that redeem the art of living from the business of living. Lin was tormented by the perception that...all nature loafs, while man alone works for a living...'

Joey rolls his eyes and looks at me, "He was also an inventor, you know. Wanted to live off of royalties. Patented a Chinese typewriter, but it never flew. Too bad. Didn't The Dude live off some invention in the movie?"

"Rubik's Cube inheritance...but it never made it into the movie"

"Too bad. Too bad uncle Lin's typer never...oh well. So Reggie...what would your branch of The Idler need my services for...seems kind of strange that..."

“Something we have to find. How long is the Now? Sounds like it would be right up your alley.”

“For a fee, I’ll tell you that right NOW Reggie. Fuck it…I’ll answer this one on the house…since you’re a buddy of my good friend here and all…”

“Indeed!”

“Now can be measured by measuring the time between just after before until just before after…OK?”

After a respectful pause...uproarious laughter. I request more drinks from Louise.

Much later, after Reggie has said his goodbyes, Joey whispers/slurs two pieces of information to me in what he calls "black op level confidence". First, he tells a tale about a mutual friend of ours finally relenting and taking him on an excursion into the mythical labyrinthine city of vice beneath Chinatown and North Beach…maybe even beneath the building we are sitting in now. Second, he says that...unbelievably...yet another distant relative has passed along to him a set of, up to now, unknown writings of grandpa Zhuangzi/Chuang Tzu...frighteningly ancient knowledge which could "change everything". We are both a little fucked up by this time and he knows that what he is telling me sounds like some hallucination. He manages to write the url of what he says is a TOP SECRET SITE before he stumbles out of the Duder and down the street.

“You mean you’re putting this stuff on the INTERNET?” I yell after him. “Even if it IS private you gotta be NUTS! Private for what…30 seconds after some kid bumbles his way into…”

Joey Z. has disappeared into the night.