Butter Knife

Attention! My friend Sarah will appear in this "post." I happened to notice yesterday - Sarah would never mention it herself; she's too nice! - that I've been dropping the h from her name for how long? Months? Longer? I have decided to investigate no further. But I did want to record my shame here for all to see. Now we may move to happier matters. It's back! The precious little jotting book has been removed from its mothball-filled cedar chest. Now that I have stopped pretending to stop "blogging," I am allowed to take said jotting book with me to Los Angeles, California, and, upon my return, to transcribe my jotted experiences into the form of little numbered jottings. 1. Ace Atkins printed out my boarding passes for me! He said he had left them in his mailbox, and I was concerned, having noticed on our many walks around the neighborhood as we exchange wise thoughts, that the door had fallen off of Ace's mailbox. What if my boarding passes were to blow away in a gentle breeze? I discovered, however, upon my arrival, that Ace has a BRAND NEW MAILBOX! This is the biggest thing to happen in the neighborhood for years. And it reminded me that Dr. Theresa and I had driven past Tom Franklin's house not that long before, and I had admired their sleek, modernistic mailbox. I couldn't decide whether it was new or if I had simply never noticed it before. One day, I vowed, I'll get to the bottom of this! But such thoughts would have to wait, for I was on my way! To wherever I was going. 2. My chosen reading material for the airplane: NIGHTWOOD by Djuna Barnes. My friend Eugene recommended it. He's been dead for 26 years, but I finally got around to it! 3. The new jotting book has an interesting flap on it that it is not within my writerly powers to describe correctly. It also has a built-in ribbon bookmark, burnt orange in color. 4. So, we stayed at the Peabody in Memphis the night before my trip, because the plane left so damn early. Pardon my language! Anyway, I knew I would be rising before the Peabody started serving breakfast, so I ordered a pot of coffee the night before, thinking to down it cold in the morning. Guess what? When I poured a cup, 10 hours after having received it, the coffee was STILL WARM! Here's to the magic coffee pots of the Peabody Hotel. 5. I admit to eating half a Biscoff, my favorite airplane cookie, to help with my fear of flying... the first cookie or sweet of any kind in which I've indulged since the fun little medical incident I enjoyed in March. The king of cookies! The mighty Biscoff. 6. Should I boast that my old iPod is still working hard and well to provide my inflight entertainment? I seem to be listening to a version of "I Love How You Love Me" featuring bagpipes. I jotted as much during the flight. Only when the plane landed did a guy sitting behind me and across the aisle lean forward to ask if he had seen with his own eyes an actual iPod. I was proud to extol its existence, longevity, usefulness, and capacity. He was happy to hear it. 6. I found a Burbank hotel in which my accommodations included a full kitchen - you see, ever since my little medical hiccup, in which part of my human mind was zapped (despite my decision not to investigate further, I did investigate further, and, as I feared, I started dropping the h in Sarah around that point), it is much better if I cook for myself. But the full kitchen did not include any knives of a sufficent sharpness for the necessities of ordinary meal prep. Friends, that is how I ended up cutting up shallots with a butter knife! Let me tell you, it is no easy thing, attacking a shallot with a butter knife, even though a shallot presents itself as a small and tender thing. But don't we all? (See also.) 7. Stopped by the front desk in the morning to see where to get coffee. The "night auditor," as he called himself, was still on duty, a jovial man named Randy. When he asked if I had received my 10% off coupon to the restaurant, and I replied that I had not, he exclaimed, "What the devil!" which I found charming. The way he said "I'm Randy!" was reminiscent, without any of the unsettling atmospherics, of the way Steve Buscemi says "I'm Chet!" in BARTON FINK. 8. When I went to get coffee and asked about a kitchen knife, the server explained that they don't allow sharp things in the rooms. Hmm! She, like Randy, was very nice, and said they would cook anything I wanted, off the menu, to my specifications, so I wouldn't have to stand there brutally murdering a shallot with a butter knife like a chump. Her name was Lourdes, which I found to be a cool name, especially as I was sitting there reading a discussion of miracles in NIGHTWOOD. 9. Not until I returned to the room did I notice for the first time that it was decorated with a large photograph of Jayne Mansfield carrying Bob Hope down some steps (see above)! My powers of observation! They have never been great. 10. Saw a crow in a palm tree but failed to get a decent pic. 11. Elizabeth Ito brought me an illicit steak knife! Which I smuggled into the room, wrapped in a dishcloth (the steak knife was, not I). Elizabeth and I wound up in a photo booth. 12. In NIGHTWOOD: "He'll look as distressed as an owl tied up in a muffler." There! Unlike smiling or drunken owls, this is the type of owl comparison I can understand! Although I cannot approve of the owl treatment described.

13. I met Quinn's cat. He looked like a tiny human person! 14. Met Ashly Burch in Beverly Hills, where I was given a fork with a dramatically bent prong with which to eat my egg whites. No, it wasn't some sort of fancy Beverly Hills utensil for eating rarefied egg whites, it was just a peculiarly, even obscenely destroyed fork (see evidence below) and the egg place just didn't give a damn, presumably. I defiantly swallowed my eggs with the aid of the monstrous fork! You know, and this is true, the last time I ate with Ashly Burch, in January of 2022, as I sat on a wooden bench waiting for my "ride share" to arrive to take me to a fine sushi dinner, I glanced over and saw a fork lying there on the arm of the bench! I took a photo of it at the time, and no doubt shared it on "social media," but I see that it is no longer in my phone, so you'll just have to take my word for it, as I have quit "social media" to the acclaim of millions. What I am saying is that every time I eat with Ashly Burch, there is something weird about a fork. About the bent fork, I made a Uri Geller joke, prefacing it, or softening the blow, by saying, "Now, if I were Dennis Miller, I might say..." and also adding the caveat that Ashly Burch would have no idea what I was talking about when I presently mentioned Uri Geller, which turned out to be true, but she laughed anyway, because she is so nice. Later, I described the incident to Joe Wong, who said I had not really imitated Dennis Miller, because there were not enough allusions to obscure celebrities in my remark. So I gamely tried again, saying, "Looks like Uri Geller and the Amazing Kreskin had a brunch date, cha cha," which Joe kindly deemed passable, though I had added but one allusion. Or maybe "brunch" is an allusion of some kind to something or another. 15. That night, Kate was giving me a ride and I said, "I remember these seat covers!" She has these sheepskin (?) seat covers in her car. Kate laughed and said, "They're old!" She told me I was sitting on the same seat cover where Stan Lee had once parked his bony ass, though she didn't use such crude language, and neither would I, so I don't know what happened just now. Anyhow, it reminded me of the time ("click" here) that Kelly Hogan once touched William Faulkner's buttocks through the very fabric of time itself. I felt the power of Stan Lee's butt! 16. They have spectacular grocery-store brand frozen mango in California. Look, frozen fruits are part of my medically induced breakfast ritual now, okay? So Sarah with an h took me to the grocery store and I was walking around pouting and crying and knocking over huge pyramids of canned goods, as I believe happens in THE DISORDERLY ORDERLY and maybe BACHELOR IN PARADISE???? I am exaggerating my reaction to Sarah's favorite grocery store, but I really was going around saying, yeah, so what? We have these same eggs in Mississippi! And so on. But now I publicly admit that grocery-store brand frozen mango in California is plucked at the peak of flavor and texture. The stuff I'm getting here at home just doesn't measure up! 17. Going home, my inflight screen prominently announced BATMAN RETURNS as an entertainment choice and I felt it was a sign, because I had just been praising that film to Ashly AND Kate AND Adam on my exciting trip. Man, I was ready to watch it. It really struck me as the perfect airplane movie. But the screen was broken! The flight attendant, a very nice person named Davi, showed me that the kids' entertainment selection was working, anyway. "Wallace and Gromit are funny," she assured me, which might be true, I guess, but who cares? Wallace and Gromit can go to hell! I'll tell you what she did, though. I couldn't get my phone to connect to the wifi, so she entered her own password to give me special flight-attendant access to whatever the hell I was doing. I ended up watching Chaplin's A WOMAN OF PARIS, because my headphones didn't fit my phone, and a silent feature seemed to be a good option. 18. I had purposely arranged a 4-hour layover in Atlanta for reasons best left unexplored. 19. As the plane descended, the guy next to me asked if we were landing in Atlanta, which I thought was a funny question from a person on an airplane, but I said yes. 20. As I was leaving Cat Cora's airport restaurant, where the service was excellent - thank you, Ana and Winsome! (That's right, Winsome, another cool name... to Sarah, yes, Ana had but the one n in her name, I checked) - a guy stopped me and said he was a missionary. He said he could sense with his missionary powers (though he didn't put it that way) that I had had some health issues recently and he wanted to pray for me. He might have said "over" me. I said, "You can pray for me later, but I have a plane to catch now." He said it would take 10 seconds. I said all right. Wait! I should mention he was wearing a shirt that said "Fudgie Wudgie" on it. I asked him what "Fudgie Wudgie" meant. He said he was a chocolatier as well as a missionary. I said okay. He prayed over me as advertised. Then he said, "I can see the Holy Spirit all over you." I said thanks.

Li'l Henry James

I read in the New York Times the other day about some autobiographical writings by Henry James, in which James (I'll paraphrase and misremember freely now) recalled being a kid, tossing and turning in bed at night, wondering what secrets might be found in HOT CORN, a scandalous book his father wouldn't let him read. So I ordered a first edition of HOT CORN. There were print-on-demand versions available, but I've had very bad luck with those. I've read the first 49 pages of HOT CORN and maybe Henry James wasn't missing much. There's a good deal of padding. In fact, Chapter Two seems strangely similar to Chapter One. But what about the hot corn, you ask? There's plenty! "Katy, the Hot Corn girl... Hot corn! here's your nice hot corn - smoking hot... 'Hot corn, hot corn!' now pealing in the midnight air... what shall be my title? What better could I have than HOT CORN... the poor little girl that sits shivering by the path, crying hot corn... Take care, little hot corn girl, or you will be run over... She is nothing but a hot corn girl... And a pale-faced little girl sits upon the steps of the Bank of the Republic, adding to that constant cry, 'Hot corn! Hot corn!'... 'Hot corn, here's your nice hot corn!'... Do you think when I get a little bigger, the old woman is going to keep me in the street all day and half the night, peddling peanuts and selling hot corn?... Her children are in the street, filling the night air with an appealing cry, 'Hot corn, hot corn, who'll buy my nice hot corn?'... it is the hot corn girl... Julia is no older, and but little bigger, and she has often stopped in her walk to eat hot corn... they had begged, and stole, and peddled hot corn and pea-nuts together... Here's your nice Hot Corn, smoking hot, smoking hot, just from the pot!... This chapter was published under the simple title 'Hot Corn'... Here they live - barely live - in holes almost as hot as the hot corn... Hot corn! Hot corn! here's your nice hot corn... I discovered the owner of the hot corn cry... 'Some corn, sir,' lisped the little sufferer... 'give me some corn, you little wolf's whelp'... 'please buy some corn, sir'... Oh dear! now there goes a man, and I did not cry hot corn, what shall I do?... I dashed the corn in the gutter... I almost involuntarily cried, 'hot corn,' as I saw the hot spirit of that grain, under the guises of 'pure gin' - 'old rum' - 'pale brandy' - 'pure port'... crying 'Hot corn' to gain a penny for the purchase of a drink of the fiery dragon... from some side street, came up the cry of 'Hot corn! - hot corn!'... like a lost spirit on the midnight air - 'Hot corn, hot corn! - here's your nice hot corn - smoking hot - hot - hot - hot corn.'... send delicate little girls at midnight through the streets, crying 'Hot corn'... 'Hot corn,' then, be the watchword... the little girl whose wailing cry has been the inciting cause of this present dish of 'Hot Corn - smoking hot!'" That's just the first two chapters and I'm sure I've missed some of the hot corn. Retyping it I do fall under the spell... it's not subtle ("Hot corn, hot corn! - here's your nice hot corn - smoking hot - hot - hot - hot corn" stands out). One does begin to worry about the hot corn girls. I wonder whether HOT CORN influenced my friend Eugene's book JENNIE THE WATERCRESS GIRL, for which I'm searching around the house now (Eugene a "pure port" lover, coincidentally), though I'm sure Eugene was tapping into a whole subgenre with which I'm unfamiliar... there's Stephen Crane's MAGGIE (a favorite of Bill Taft's), which must be related, maybe even (wild speculation) inspired by the subtitle characters of HOT CORN ("Little Katy, Madalina the Rag-Picker's Daughter, Wild Maggie, &c")... and of course Hans Christian Andersen's "The Little Match Girl" (which appears in my cigarette lighter book). Now I also have the urge to finally read Upton Sinclair's book-length anti-alcohol sermon THE CUP OF FURY, which Hogan testified made her crave a cold martini.

Hee Hee Hee Hee

After all my whining about books about kings, I finished that one Peter Ackroyd book about kings (and queens) and started the NEXT Peter Ackroyd book about kings (and...?). I broke down and bought it at Square Books the other day. Dr. Theresa planned to meet me there and we were to continue on our way to wherever it is we go, so I sat down with my newly purchased book in a chair that was cunningly placed next to the employees' recommendation shelf. And that's how I ended up with some poems by Stevie Smith, recommended by Katelyn (and seemingly disapproved of by the similarly named Kaitlyn, who rang it up). I don't know, the poems were making me laugh and Smith's drawings (like this one) made me think of Thurber's or, really, the doodles of my old friend Eugene. Finally Dr. Theresa showed up so I could stop buying books in short bursts. But none of this is my point. Yesterday, I opened up the Stevie Smith book and happened to read "Outside an owl hunts/ Hee hee hee hee/ Hunting in the Old Park/ From his snowy tree" and I maintain a list of books I read that happen to have owls in them and I don't know why.

The Leopard

I just watched a whole TV series that Godard made. And my main thought was WOW! This is what a TV series is in France! One part I especially loved was when Godard talked with deep love for Italian movies, and how they always shot the visuals first and added the audio later. This has never bothered me! My friend Eugene told me about it from personal experience! I was just thinking about it when I watched the movie version of THE LEOPARD. Because there is no way that dude sounds as magisterial as the actual Burt Lancaster. But I have heard a lot of dummies complaining about how the audio doesn't "match up" with the video in Italian movies. WHO CARES? That is just some fake rule some dope made up. And Godard put it beautifully, though I can't recall exactly: "The language of Ovid and Dante continued through the images." That's not it, but something like it! And at the very end of the TV series, Godard said, "If a man visited paradise in his dream, and received a flower as a sign of his visit, and he had this flower in his hand when he woke up, what can we say? I am this man." WHAT! I BELIEVE IT. I don't have that quite right either. And he was probably quoting somebody. He is always quoting somebody. Also, he uses the Jerry Lewis movie HARDLY WORKING as an important recurring touchstone, so go to hell.

Steamily Moist

He asks, "In what way would you say that ghosts are 'real'? Do you think this is a fair question?" And she replies, "Well, I am not sure at all that it is a question that makes sense." Ha ha! I love reading the excruciatingly polite debate of these dry British people about the existence of ghosts! Can there be anything more pleasurable? Another woman in this book has a theory that ghosts are just photographs printed on the atmosphere (I don't think I'm oversimplifying her position much). She claims that ghosts are "more common in moist climates rather than in the drier ones. Thus, Scotland and Ireland have a considerably larger number of apparitions than England. In some parts of India where the atmosphere is, at least for some months of the year, steamily moist, ghosts abound, both indigenous and foreign." Of course, the anthologist, while conceding to Dr. Murray that a ghost will "grow fainter in its later appearances," also takes issue with her: "I am not convinced that there is any true comparison to be drawn between fading apparitions and fading photographs," he huffs discreetly. "Flowers also fade, as do the colours in many textiles. The list could be extended." Ha ha! I love this guy so much. Funny thing, my friend Eugene had a similar theory to Dr. Margaret Murray's. He claimed to have heard a couple of ghosts making plans to catch a long-defunct ferry one night. He told me there were so many ghosts in Mobile because "it's so humid, things we do get stuck in the air." I think he compared it to a skipping phonograph needle.

Eugene Lighting a Candle

Dr. Theresa was watching THE PINK PANTHER on TCM just now and she said, "Hey, wasn't Eugene in this movie?" And weirdly, Eugene popped up on the screen just then, as the butler who is lighting some fireworks for Peter Sellers, who is dressed as a knight and thinks what he has is a regular candle. Mayhem is to ensue. So I got to put my finger on the TV screen and say, "Yes! That's him!" She talked to Eugene on the telephone once but sadly never met him in person. This photo I took of the TV is lousy but I am an old man and don't know how to properly use a computer to take a photo of a TV screen so go to hell.

Famous Doors of History

Slade over at Square Books saw that I was reading THE FIGHT by Norman Mailer. It's Mailer's account of the Ali-Foreman bout in Zaire (as it was then called). Slade thought I might like SHADOW BOX, George Plimpton's book that covers the same fight. So he brought it up to the store and loaned it to me. Wasn't that nice of him? And here's what I noticed right away: SHADOW BOX has an owl in it, and therefore goes on our fascinating, comprehensive list of books with owls in them, of which you need to make a lifetime study. I noticed it right away because the owl is in the epigraph. That's just about as early as you can stick an owl in your book. George Plimpton doesn't waste any time making sure his book has an owl in it. "He was not born in the woods to be scared by an owl." I guess I understand what that epigraph means. Don't I? Hey, once I held a door open for George Plimpton. My friend Eugene, who was a friend of Plimpton's, had convinced him to come to an event at a bookstore where I worked in downtown Mobile, where nobody ever went. George Plimpton did not acknowledge me in any way, and why should he? You know for whom else I held a door (different door, different day) in downtown Mobile? Dizzy Gillespie (pictured). He said thanks.

Road Movies

More comedians in ON THE ROAD: at least four mentions of W.C. Fields so far and two of Groucho Marx. The character Dean Moriarty is compared to both Fields and Marx. As we have seen, McNeil thinks of him more as Dean Martin ("Their names are almost the same," he remarked on the phone last night.) My friend Eugene referred to Fields as "the great surrealist poet" (Kerouac similarly - I guess - emphasizes his "saintly" qualities). Does somebody want to write a scholarly article about the influence of movie comedians on "literary" writers? George Saunders once told me about how Steve Martin had inspired some of his work. Barry Hannah felt the same way about Jonathan Winters and Richard Pryor. Movies are all over ON THE ROAD. I found it interesting that when the narrator talks about OF MICE AND MEN, it's the movie he means, not the Steinbeck novel as you might expect. Nature is described in terms of film: "the gray, dirty dawn, like the dawn when Joel McCrea met Veronica Lake in a diner..." I'm sure everybody knows this already, but I just now got around to reading ON THE ROAD for some reason, so I beg your pardon.

Kate Hudson Is Eugene

Hey, my late friend Eugene played the American journalist in the Fellini film 8 1/2, and I saw in the newspaper today that Kate Hudson is playing a journalist in the musical remake "9" which is coming out soon for some reason. And Kate Hudson is from the United States of America, right? So I think she is playing Eugene in the movie. Somebody tell me how to feel. Rather than the usual random illustration, I will give you an appropriate picture by "Blog" Buddy Kent Osborne, from his comic book THE DAY IS TODAY.

But It's Not Midnight Yet

THE PINK PANTHER (the original one) was playing on TCM tonight but I wasn't really watching it. I was reading a book - sometimes I do that! Suddenly I heard the very distinctive voice of my old friend Eugene coming from the television. I had heard people mention from time to time that he was supposedly in THE PINK PANTHER, but I always assumed he was just standing around in the background in one of the big crowd scenes. Thanks to the satellite TV, I was able to rewind his part and watch it a couple of times. Eugene says, "But it's not midnight yet." Then he says, "Eh, all right." Then he says, "Be careful, I can't see a thing." That's it. Not much, but he puts a clever spin on all three lines. He's not lazy! He carves out a mini character for himself. I don't know why I've never noticed this part of the movie before. It could be that I haven't watched THE PINK PANTHER all the way through since I was a kid, before I knew Eugene. Well, it was great to hear his voice and a real surprise. It certainly got my attention.

What I Was Like Inside My Head

How did I spend my weekend, you ask? Oh, I don't know. Just hanging out with Laura Lippman and David Simon, that's all! I do not believe it would be too unseemly or gossipy to report that I dined with them at City Grocery and Taylor Grocery (not to be confused with City Grocery) and the Ajax Diner, at the latter of which I had the privilege of hearing a disagreement between them over the meaning of a specific line of dialogue from THE WIRE. And in my head, I was like, "Wow! I'm having the privilege of hearing a disagreement between Laura Lippman and David Simon over the meaning of a specific line of dialogue on THE WIRE! I have never been happier and also I am freaking out!" But on the outside, I was all, "Hmm. Interesting point." But I didn't say it with words! I used the method of concerned and thoughtful nodding. (I will also mention that at the City Grocery bar, David Simon wrote down something John Currence said on a napkin!) We went to Rowan Oak as well, where we were allowed to manhandle Faulkner's personal possessions with obscene abandon. For example, I found a copy of the Italian literary magazine BOTTEGHE OSCURE, which at one time was edited by my friend Eugene Walter. I opened it up and sure enough there was Eugene's name on the masthead. I showed it to Tom Franklin (who also knew Eugene, and who was hosting Lippman and Simon for the weekend) and we stood there and marveled for a minute and thought about deep stuff. I can't speak for Tom but he was probably thinking something like, "Isn't life interesting!" (though he is not inclined to use exclamation points). Hey, do you know someone else with whom I went to Ajax and Rowan Oak? Neko Case, that's who! Remember, she took a picture of me sitting at Faulkner's typewriter? Read all about that, and more, in the brand new Oxford American 10th Anniversary Music Issue, which should be at your local newsstand right now. I could not possibly list all the fine writers and musicians paired up in this extraordinary package of wholesome goodness, which has a great cover photo of Jerry Lee Lewis (not to be confused with Jerry Lewis) looking as if he's on the set of the final episode of TWIN PEAKS. So what I will do is just list any musician or writer in the issue who has been mentioned on the "blog" before. There are lots of musicians and writers in there that I SHOULD HAVE mentioned here before, but to list them now would be cheating, and anyway I do not want to spoil the fun of discovery. But here, let me whet your appetite for the brand new Oxford American 10th Anniversary Music Issue by tossing out these names: Roy Blount Jr. -- William Gay -- Elvis Presley -- Greil Marcus --Peter Guralnick -- Kevin Brockmeier (wait until you read his piece!) -- Michael Martone. Well, I don't know what to say. That's not too many, and nearly all writers. May I cheat and mention just three perennial "blog" "faves" that have never been mentioned here before? Mose Allison, Little Walter, and Love....With Arthur Lee. And there are so, so many more. So many you won't believe it! Many you and I will hear for the very first time and with whom we shall fall in love. And I believe I forgot to mention that a double CD comes with the magazine so you can hear all the music you've been reading about. Down below, Jerry Lee. Up above, Love. (But not the same Love. It's complicated! Read the magazine.)

Grits & Hope

Speaking of Eugene Walter's DELECTABLE DISHES FROM TERMITE HALL, I just found a grits recipe from it right here on the "internet." Oh, "internet"! You can do anything. For example, I notice that this edition (left) appears to be a reprint, as it contains "an introduction by Pat Conroy," which I don't believe was in the original. This gives me hope! I've been moping around for years thinking I'd never see a copy again. Speaking of hope, I learned from Dyna Moe's "blog" about this (below) "takeoff" of the Obama "Hope" poster. I include it here - with absolutely no disrespect toward Senator Obama, who I happen to like a lot! - to demonstrate my affection for Mr. Bob Hope.

Adelaide Trigg

I was sad to get the news from a "myspace" friend that Adelaide Trigg, an old, fond acquaintance from back in my Mobile days, has passed away. You can "click" here to read a remembrance of Ms. Trigg by my friend Katherine Clark. Here's a little quotation from it: "Adelaide had been one of the founders of The Haunted Book Shop, a social as well as literary gathering place in downtown Mobile. She had hosted book-signing parties for Harper Lee, Truman Capote and even Thomas Mann. Then there was the family homestead, popularly known as Termite Hall, which began as an inn in the late 19th century and is now on the National Register of Historic Places. Adelaide and Eleanor [Marston, Adelaide's sister] had grown up there as children, later lived there together as adults, and Adelaide died there last week." I got to go to Termite Hall a few times, once for a barbecue with my late friend Eugene Walter. (Clark's piece also contains a nice, quick sketch of Eugene.) I remember Eugene arguing with Adelaide's sister Eleanor over whether orange juice was a proper ingredient for barbecue sauce. I mean, they were serious! It got ugly. Eugene wrote a great, weird cookbook called DELECTABLE DISHES FROM TERMITE HALL. I stupidly gave away my copy back when all these fine people were still alive (John T. has a copy, I think. It seems to be hard to find now), so enthusiastic about it and wanting to share. I worked at the Haunted Book Shop for a few years, too, and my favorite days were always when Adelaide dropped by. I think she was the nicest, most interesting woman in the world, always kind and dignified. She tracked down strange old out-of-print books for me, like a first edition of A MAP OF VERONA by Henry Reed. I'll see if I can find a poem from it on the "internet" and "link" to it here in honor of Adelaide Trigg.

Bo Diddley!

Bo Diddley died! I was just thinking of him this morning, no kidding! I was thinking how great he was and I played some of his songs while I was drinking coffee. This very morning, I said! I had no idea he died! He was on my mind. Yes, he was just making me feel fine earlier today with his music. A CD of his I particularly like is called RARE AND WELL DONE. There are some wild things on there, wild and exciting things. Acquaint or reacquaint yourself with Bo Diddley! The "blog" commands it. We feel you will be surprised and amazed and comforted. My friend Eugene used to call W. C. Fields "the great surrealist poet," and I might say the same about Bo Diddley. For a brief time I used part of his big hit "Who Do You Love?" as one of multiple epigraphs for AWESOME. Let me lay it on you and you will see what I mean: "I walk 47 miles of barbed wire, I wear a cobra snake for a necktie, I got a brand new house on the roadside, made out of rattlesnake hide."

Literary Matters

Just finished PICTURES AT A REVOLUTION, in which the feeble fleshly casing of Bob Hope serves as a repository for all that is evil in the world. I'm so sensitive! I just take up for Bob because he's not around anymore to do it for himself. Aside from my tenderness on that subject, I found it a most agreeable book and do recommend it to one and all. Next up, not that you care, the novel RAVEL by Jean Echenoz, who I believe once wrote a novel set in heaven, using Dean Martin as a character. I need to find that one. Not that you care, but I bought RAVEL at McNally-Robinson in NYC, where I was doing a reading with Pia Z. Ehrhardt, who happens by coincidence to love the composer Ravel, after whom the novel is named. I could just "blog" like this all night long. For example, I could tell you that while I was rummaging around for the next thing to read, I almost settled on one of those books I got for next to nothing at a yard sale right before our move: THREE WAYS OF THOUGHT IN ANCIENT CHINA by the delightful old-school translator Arthur Waley, whose work was first introduced to me by my late friend Eugene Walter. If I did intend to "blog" all night, I would go on to say that I used a snippet of a Waley translation in the title novella of YOUR BODY IS CHANGING. And I might even go on to say that I opened tonight's Waley book to a passage, attributed to Chuang Tzu, which seems to fit in with the philosophy of the "blog" as expressed by Jasper Johns: Chuang Tzu and a pal of his are talking about the uselessness of a big old gnarled tree and Chuang Tzu is like, "What does not invite the axe/ No creature will harm/ What cannot be used/ No troubles will befall." And I was like, "Yeah." In our final literary matter, I received mere hours ago a surprise phone call from the great David Simon, co-creator of THE WIRE, to whom I could only babble in wonderment, but who was very nice to me, advising that I should keep doing what I do, "even if it ends in tragedy." He was, he reported, at the same bar, drinking the same thing (sangria) he had been drinking when he called me last year. I'm going to expect a call every year now, like a new holiday. I had the extra special pleasure of speaking with the great and equally kind Laura Lippman as well. I took the opportunity to congratulate her on being included in the "Tournament of Books" over there on The Morning News "web" site. An impressive short list on which to sit, though she was genuinely modest about it. These conclude our literary matters. Forever.

Food

Speaking of Dr. "M.," as I was several hours ago, yesterday's book purchases included the foodways volume of the New Encyclopedia of Southern Culture, containing Dr. "M.'s" elegant, witty, and informative article on Krispy Kreme. Aside from the pleasure and privilege of reading that entry in its entirety, there were other items of immediate personal interest to the "blog," as was evident at the earliest stages of browsing - everything the layman would ever wish to know about sorghum, for example, as well as a nice, long piece on my late mentor Eugene Walter (called in the encyclopedia by his full name, Eugene Ferdinand Walter, probably to distinguish him from Eugene Walter the early twentieth century playwright). I think Eugene would have been pleased and amused to find himself wedged alphabetically between Waffle House and George Washington. For a recording of Eugene reading one of his poems, "click" here.

Arts, Briefly

Welcome to our occasional feature with the stolen title. First, MGMIEET is causing a big stir in the mainstream media. It was only a matter of time! We don't entirely agree with the reporter's assessment of the funny-ha-ha/funny-peculiar dichotomy: the important thing is to look at these clips the way you would look at a plant or a rock. Or a rainbow! Finally, I've been asked to participate in another anthology, this one collecting "comic writing from Alabama." I'm going to be in there with Truman Capote, Eugene Walter, and Barry Hannah. Couldn't ask for better company. More details as they come in.

Cactus Flower

Some things just beg to be "blogged" about. One such thing is the movie CACTUS FLOWER. When I turned it on today (thanks to a tip from McNeil Central) I saw Goldie Hawn, as a record store employee, standing in front of two large smiling heads of Buck Owens (they were on album covers). As you know, Mr. Owens has been a serious object of "blog" contemplation - or "blog"templation, as I call it in my special language of "blogging." But the astounding coincidences didn't end there. Next thing you know, Walter Matthau and Ms. Hawn were off to see a movie: the Zefferelli version of ROMEO AND JULIET, which happens to be a film on which my friend Eugene Walter worked. CACTUS FLOWER is a perfect example of what Jeff McNeil and I would like to discuss in our non-existent coffee table/scholarly research book HIPSTER HEGEMONY, which is, of course, about the way that "subversive" culture was absorbed and repackaged by mainstream comedies of the 60s. I have been told by many people that it's a terrible idea for a book... but you know, it's fantastic for "blogging." Consider the scene in which Goldie Hawn, Ingrid Bergman, Walter Matthau and Jack Weston end up at a hip new joint, The Slipped Disc. Listen to the fake rock-n-roll in the background. At several points, including this one, a muzak version of "I'm a Believer" crops up in the score of CACTUS FLOWER. We could talk about the Monkees for awhile in a similar connection, but I see that this is already becoming one of those "posts" that "need" paragraph breaks, because people become so weary and confused in this lonesome desert we call "blogging." What was I saying? Oh, yes. Someone should compile a CD box set of fake groovy rock from swinging sixties movies. A band that particularly fascinates Mr. McNeil is this sort of mushy psychedelic gang called The Comfortable Chair. I believe Mr. McNeil was on the losing end of an ebay auction for their LP, which was produced by a couple of members of the Doors. The Comfortable Chair play a key role in the Bob Hope/Jackie Gleason film HOW TO COMMIT MARRIAGE, a seminal text in Hipster Hegemony studies. According to HOW TO COMMIT MARRIAGE, The Comfortable Chair live together in a single apartment and share all their belongings communist-style. This is not an accessible Bob Hope film. He made many legitimately hilarious movies, and some decent, pleasant workhorses, then some that are wonderful in a "bad" way... and then there is HOW TO COMMIT MARRIAGE. It may be truly abominable. And I love Bob Hope. It's hypnotic, is what it is. Mr. McNeil may have more to say on the subject of HOW TO COMMIT MARRIAGE in the future.

Speaking of Lizzie Borden...

My friend Eugene knew someone who knew Lizzie Borden: the actress Nance O'Neil. Lizzie Borden was her biggest fan, and invited her out to Borden's "mansion on the Hudson" according to Eugene. In his oral autobiography, MILKING THE MOON, Eugene recalls O'Neil telling him that Borden delighted in hearing O'Neil recite dialogue from Medea over tea and cucumber sandwiches in the living room, particularly this speech: "They ask me why I have not slept. Why in the morning I will touch no food... Because, I tell them, this house smells of blood..." Okay. That's enough about Lizzie Borden. The "blog" has taken a gruesome turn. Ms. Borden is now excused from "blog" duties, like the Gilmore Girls before her, and for similar reasons.

Pendarvis Urges Calm

Don't worry, everybody! I'll only be gone from the "blog" for a few days. I'm on my way to the Eugene Walter Writers Festival to do my thing. Even if you can't be there, you can join in through the magical world of imagination. Just buy my book THE MYSTERIOUS SECRET OF THE VALUABLE TREASURE and pretend I'm reading it to you. It's easy and fun! Get it from one of the usual places on the internet, or wouldn't it be nicer to give your business to a fine independent bookstore like Turnrow, Lemuria, Square Books, Changing Hands (where I received the t-shirt I'm wearing in the picture above) or A Cappella? Email or call! You'll find them all quite as personable as any computer. That's the Pendarvis guarantee! Well, this is what my sister tells me every day that a "blog" is for. I hope she's happy! She also told me to link to something I've written.