Hey!

As I'm sure you saw coming, the latest Million Dollar Book Club selection is the DIARY of Witold Gombrowicz. "Hey!" I hear you objecting. "Hey! Hey there! Listen to me! Hey! Isn't, by your own admission, the purlieu, if you will, of the Million Dollar Book Club the so-called 'celebrity tell-all'? And, if so, how do you figure Witold Gombrowicz fits in? How do you figure THAT, my good sir?" That's a great question, and I'm not going to answer it. I will say that the solution of the puzzle resides in the fact that I have no money. It stems from that. I can elaborate no further at this time. "Hey!" There you go again. "Hey! Isn't it 'ironic,' if that is the right word, for a member of the so-called 'Million Dollar Book Club' to have no money?" Well, maybe. Do you know what that reminds me of for some reason? Now, this is gettiing far afield, speaking of purlieus, of what I wanted to tell you about the diary of Witold Gombrowicz. But you know what? A distinct advantage of being broke and unemployed is how much time you have to ramble incoherently about whatever you want. So, as I was saying, your question somehow puts me in mind of... well, to explain it, we have to go back in time to when I was in the hospital and Tom Franklin brought me a bunch of old comic books to cheer me up. And after that, I was buying old comic books for myself, at least for a little while, and there was one comic book from my youth that it took me some time to track down, because I couldn't recall the name of it, nor of the characters within it. But I kept seeing flashes of the cover in my mind. And at last I figured out that I was thinking of something called "The Green Team," some adventurers who were "boy millionaires," just to show you how the insidious, curdled influence of the loathsome Richie Rich wormed its way even into the halls of the noble DC Comics corporation. And, the way I remembered it, there was one "boy millionaire" who kind of got into the club under the wire, on a technicality. So that's what I was reminded of. But the thing I wanted to tell you about the diary (or DIARY) of Witold Gombrowicz is that within it... and this is a first! Hold onto your hats!... within it, old Witold is reading the diary of Franz Kafka... itself a former Million Dollar Book Club selection! You heard right. For the first time, the subject of a Million Dollar Book Club selection is reading a different Million Dollar Book Club selection! I don't have to explain the cosmic repercussions to you, do I? Because I have time.

Ham-Fisted Doofus

After I finished reading the Apocryphal Gospels during the 11-day blackout, I turned to BLACKWATER by Michael McDowell, which seemed like a good, creepy thing to read in the dark. I had been previously impressed with the author's deep geographical and metereological understanding of the Gulf Coast of Alabama as displayed in his novel THE ELEMENTALS, so it was extra sad that in BLACKWATER, he misspelled the name of my hometown Bayou La Batre. One character suggests moving there as part of a scheme of vengeance, to which her husband replies, "What would you and I do in Bayou le Batre, that old place?" Which, if I am being honest, is something we used to ask ourselves, if only from time to time. The answer was to go down to Schambeau's or Red's Drugs and look at the new comic books! And to wander around in Schambeau's and wonder why Mr. Schambeau (his first name was Crum!) regularly stocked Purina Monkey Chow. Did someone in town own a monkey? If so, who? An unsolved mystery to this day! Truly, Schambeau's was a wonderful grocery store to stir the imagination. Well, when I first opened BLACKWATER, the title page popped right out in my hand! It simply removed itself from the book in what seemed, given the circumstances, an ominous sign. I was reminded of when McNeil called me a "ham-fisted doofus" because I once broke an egg in my hand in an attempt to remove it from its carton. This led McNeil to come up with the idea of chickens who lay eggs with edible shells. I could have sworn I "blogged" about both the thing he called me and his egg idea, but it turns out I put those two tantalizing pieces of the McNeil puzzle into two separate unpublished novels. Well, the hell with it. Here I am giving away these remarkable tidbits for free! I give up. Note for historians of the future: an email search indicates that McNeil called me a "ham-fisted doofus" on May 6, 2019.

And the Silently Silent Silence

Our electricity went out on January 24 and it's still not back! I don't think it's ever coming back. That's why I am daringly "blogging" without electricity. How? Magic, I guess. Anyway, remember last time we got snowed in? We all thought it was such a lark, a real hoot, such a giggly good damn time, as Ace went out with his 4-wheel drive and brought us back 100 chicken thighs and a single onion. This time it wasn't so funny! It wasn't so damn funny this time, was it? WAS IT! (Also, my use of the past tense is misleading.) For example, Dr. Theresa and I put out a house fire (not our house). I would tell you about the time Dr. Theresa and I put out a house fire (not our house), but I've already told Ace and Angela and Bill and Jimmy and Megan and McNeil and my mom and Adam and Hanna and Kate and Steve and Quinn about the time Dr. Theresa and I put out a house fire (not our house), and I probably told some other people I am forgetting to mention, considering how we haven't had electricity since January 24 and I am going insane. As I jokingly (not jokingly! As Rob Schneider, so renowned for his eloquence, once put it, I was "kidding on the square") told McNeil, at least not having power gave me time to finish reading the Apocryphal Gospels. Now, McNeil had purchased that book by mail on the basis of the single story I repeated from it about young Jesus killing one of his schoolteachers, but I had to inform him that, aside from the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, in which the latter story occurs, the only other "good one" was the Questions of Bartholomew. Bartholomew timidly stomps his foot on the devil's neck, for example! But in general I was afraid I had caused McNeil to waste his money due to my vivid descriptions of interesting things! After I sent the email, I did read another really good line, just one line, set off on its own, like a line of poetry - "and the silently silent silence" - in the Coptic Gospel of the Egyptians. It hit me as Joycean! Later still, I did find the Gospel of Truth, as it was called, to be full of the kinds of mind-blowing theological wackiness that McNeil and I used to speculate about in high school as we walked around in the giant sewer pipes with our friend J. P. near the Ossie's barbecue in Mobile, Alabama. But I don't know if that one will strike McNeil the same way. Look, I've done what I can. Ossie's is where I first became acquainted with and existentially scarred by the motif of a pig wearing a chef's hat. We have to thank Ace and Angela for a lot of things during this ongoing experience, including the time they helped us not blow up (unrelated to the aforementioned house fire). Thanks to Tom and Beth Ann for the hot coffee and hot shower when we neeeded it most... so far. The list goes on. Perhaps some would prefer to remain anonymous. Most importantly, Angela gave me a head lamp that allowed me to read the Apocryphal Gospels in the dark!