A Swarm of Bees

I was reading THE ILIAD last night and here come Diomedes and Odysseus, sneaking off to spy on the Trojans. As encouragement, Athena sends along a "dark night heron." And I was like what? No! It should have been an owl! I don't mean to tell Homer how to do his job. And now I'm going to tell you something else, but wait. What about this Diomedes? I had no memory of him from however much I made it through THE ILIAD last time. This guy! I don't know. His self-confidence gets on my nerves. He just goes around spearing everybody like they were Vienna sausages. And when you get him out of bed, he puts something on: a whole lion he happens to have "lyin'" around, ha ha. That's my own clever wordplay, not Emily Wilson's. When I typed it, I thought, "I must be exaggerating!" So I double checked. And (now I will quote Emily Wilson's translation) "Diomedes wrapped around his shoulders a massive golden full-length lion skin." Okay! Gross! Later on, he's tormenting a poor Trojan who's wearing a polecat on his head. What a contrast! You can see why Diomedes irritates me. You strut around in your lion suit running your spear through everybody you meet and this other guy's wearing a polecat for a hat, give him a break! Now, "polecat" is Emily Wilson's word, and it's what my grandfather in Alabama called a skunk. I was like... is this guy wearing a skunk on his head like Davy Crockett? (I know Davy Crockett didn't wear a skunk on his head. But if you ever really study the TV show, he is wearing an ENTIRE raccoon on his head. Freeze a frame and you can see its poor exed-out eyes. But don't do it! It's very troubling.) So I looked it up, even though I long ago vowed never to look anything up, and I assume she means... well, I don't know. I didn't look up much after all. I did see that the European polecat has anal scent glands, so good for him. And I don't think Emily Wilson implies the guy is wearing a whole polecat. But really what I want to mention is that I finished Gombrowicz and returned to Tacitus as promised. So you can breathe a sigh of relief! Over here in Tacitus, Rome is having some bad times, accompanied by the usual signs and portents. You know how that is! "The Capitol was occupied by ominous birds." I know what you're thinking! You're thinking I wish or assume that these ominous birds were owls. But I don't care. You don't know me at all! I just like the phrase: "The Capitol was occupied by ominous birds." A little later, some more bad times come up and "on the pinnacle of the Capitol a swarm of bees took up occupation."

Mom Right

When I was growing up, there was a local grocery store Mom didn't like. It's still there and she still doesn't like it. But now that I am adult man with sophisticated opinions, I am always like, "Mom, it is just a grocery store like any other. Why do you go so far out of your way for groceries?" And then I continue to lecture my mother on a variety of topics. I'll tell you, though... I have a single vivid memory of this grocery store from childhood. I don't know why it should be vivid. It involves a cigarette. It was the late 1960s or early 1970s. Cigarettes were everywhere. So that's not why the memory is vivid. Three of my four grandparents constantly blew cigarette smoke into my cherubic face. Benignly, I add! But anyway, I saw the back of a guy kneeling in a white uniform at a dairy case... putting in milk bottles... he turned, and I saw his face... he had a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, a cigarette with, probably, the longest ash I had ever seen. Or ever have (when not deployed comically, as in the case of Nathan Thurm or a 20-year-old infomercial for a blender)! It seemed miraculous that the ash hadn't fallen off his cigarette - which was mostly ash! - and into the whipping cream... anyway! Somehow it filled me with uncanny horror. I don't know why we were even in that grocery store, the one Mom didn't like. None of this is the point. Some of it is the point. Now I'm going to reveal the kind of personal detail that has security experts quaking in their boots. Sometimes, Dr. Theresa and I like an apple and an orange at night. We have been off desserts ever since some medical shenanigans. So, yes, sometimes an apple and an orange will hit the spot. For whatever gendered reason, it is Dr. Theresa who peels the apple and orange as part of the elaborate ritual. She likes peeling an apple! What do you want me to do? So... oh! I forgot to say that Dr. Theresa and I frequent the forbidden grocery store when we are visiting my parents. And this time, we happened to bring back some apples. So... afterward, when we would have our apple and orange, and the apple turned out to be insipid, I would say, "Is this one of those ****** apples?" (Here, I named the grocery store Mom doesn't like.) And every time, yes! The flavorless apple came from that grocery store. Finally, I was obliged to call Mom on the phone and say, "Mom, you were right!"

Constant Taras Bulba Updates

Remember when I live-tweeted KING RALPH? Well, your good friend Elon Musk certainly put an end to all that, didn't he? Now I just text Ace Atkins my descriptions of movies. :(

Big Peanut Inside You

Speaking of M&Ms and unpublished novels, one of my unpublished novels contains this paragraph: "I thought up a commercial where a doctor shows an anthropomorphic M&M an x-ray and says, 'You’ve got this big peanut inside you. I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do.' And the M&M bursts into uncontrollable sobs, but he eventually gets a grip. He walks out in the waiting room and there’s his wife sitting with her pocketbook on her lap. She’s an M&M too. She has this beautiful, expectant look on her face. Close-up on the M&M. His eyes are vacant. He’s in total shock. What’s he going to tell her? His life is spinning out of control!" End of quote. Scientists of the future will be able to piece together all my unpublished works from the pathetic shards provided here over the decades. By the way, I am proud to confirm that, yes, March 2026 is the month with the most "blog" "posts" since April of 2016, infamous as the period in which our TV blew up and I stomped my little hoof and swore never to "blog" again. Then we had the pandemic, leading to what I have creatively taken to calling "these times we live in," during which, little by little, I began to "blog" more and more, just to put a little smile on the face of the world. How’s that going?

No One Tells Me Anything

I just saw a commercial indicating, or so I thought, that there are purple M&Ms. I felt very upset because no one tells me anything. Then I looked it up and I guess you can't find a purple M&M in the bag. She is just a fanciful mascot for promotional purposes. I know this will be a "zombie" "link" one day, but on the M&M "web" site you can examine her workout routine and the advice she would give her teenage self. That's right, this M&M was once a teenager. I would have expected their life cycle to last three years at most. Oh, this really takes me back! The Hawaiian Punch FAQ upon which I doted once is just a "zombie" "link" now. Thank God, then, that I had the foresight to quote it: "Punchy has been revamped with contemporary fashion and music to appeal to modern consumers. He still has the punch! ... The long-time spokesman for Hawaiian Punch was given a more contemporary look that appeals to teens." That's my favorite kind of writing, which may clue you in about why most of my novels remain unpublished.

High-Profile Fans

Here's something that blew my mind and maybe it will blow yours. But I doubt it! Your mind can't be blown, can it? You've seen it all! Your mind has crusted over with blow-proof grit. Anyway! I was watching BONJOUR TRISTESSE yesterday, and I texted Megan something about it - Megan Abbott, that is, as her surname will become significant in the following tale. So, the movie is over and I'm responding to a text from Megan about something else... Andre Gregory, if you must know. Yes, yes, Andre Gregory is the sort of subject we text about, that's how we are. Not that it matters! Because I had recorded BONJOUR TRISTESSE from a showing on TCM. So after the movie, host Ben Mankiewicz gets on there to remind me what I just saw, in case I forgot. And this time, he says how BONJOUR TRISTESSE was not a big critical hit upon its release but now it has... and here I will quote... "high-profile fans such as The New Yorker's Richard Brody, writer Megan Abbott, and actor Amy Poehler." Wait! Back up! Did you notice that middle one? I was texting Megan at the same time Ben Mankiewicz yelled her name from my TV. Maybe he wasn't yelling.

Sleeping and Dreaming of Dreaming and Sleeping

You know, and these are the words you've been longing to hear, I believe I will tell you something about McNeil's dream of Dolores Hope after all. To wit, in McNeil's dream, Dolores Hope was concerned about her napping habits. And that brings up something important for everyone to ponder. It seems to me that McNeil is always dreaming about sleeping and dreaming. To be clear, people in McNeil's dreams themselves sleep and dream. Is that "normal"? I mean, do you dream about sleeping? Do you dream about dreaming? I don't think I do. Do I? I need some reliable statistics. My friend Mevelyn has described the "blog" itself as being like "a dream within a dream," but she was referring to its intentional ourboros-based design as a byzantine labyrinth of frustration and woe. What I'm talking about here, though, is real sleep! Real dreams! Within real sleep! And real dreams! My use of the word "real" bothers me a little, but isn't a dream inside a dream just a dream? That is, as "real" as the dream within which it... aw, screw it. Pardon my bold use of the vernacular! Do I even have evidence to back up my analysis of McNeil's dream content? You bet I don't! I tried corroboration for a few seconds, but do you know how many hundreds of thousands of times the word "McNeil" appears on this "blog"? It stymies both research and sanity. All I can offer is the anecdotal scrap that in December of 2021, McNeil dreamed about Carol Channing having a dream. Are you happy now? Can I get on with my life? Ace and I are supposed to walk around the neighborhood when he finishes his cereal. Do you know how long it takes Ace to finish his cereal? It's like Waiting for Godot around here. One day I want to see this magical cereal bowl that never empties.