Really Tight Relationship

Hey! You know how I am keeping a list of things about cigarette lighters that I find out too late to put into my cigarette lighter book! Here's a parenthetical statement from an article in today's New York Times: "Ms. Cyrus reclined at the lip of the stage while a woman dressed like a giant cigarette lighter frolicked behind her." That surely would have gone in the book! But now it can't. The article also recounts a speech Miley Cyrus made from the stage about her "really tight relationship" with her pet blowfish, and sometimes I think the reporter wants us to laugh at Miley Cyrus but I don't feel like it.

"Blog"trospective 17: Cigarette Lighter Appendix

My previous "blog"trospective, which covered the 20th century, wore me out. But last night I was watching an old episode of THE SIMPSONS, a flashback to the birth of Bart, and Bart's first act on the earth was to set fire to Homer's necktie with a lighter. And that's when I knew I needed, at long last, to manufacture a new "blog"trospective, a storehouse for everything I would have put somewhere in my cigarette lighter book if only it weren't too late to add anything to my cigarette lighter book. Here is that short but growing list: amazing, but who cares---ancient death ray of Archimedes---Aniston, Jennifer; burns a leprechaun's nose with a car cigarette lighter---Aykroyd, Dan; lights a whole pack of smokes with a blowtorch---Brown, Larry; spends four pages on the lighting of a cigarette---Chevalier, Maurice; fails to light a cigarette lighter---cigarettes and monocles in the early work of Lubitsch---Columbo borrows a lighter; a comically long flame shoots out---COUPLE OF COMEDIANS, A (novel by Don Carpenter)---Cummings, Robert; sets off a sprinkler system by holding a match under it---Dahl, Arlene; burns John Payne's hand with a lighter---Disney, Walt; makes a grown man cry and throw away his new lighter---Eastwood, Clint; mangles his cigarette in his lighter, a la Jerry Lewis---Eastwood, Clint; needs a light---Felix from THE ODD COUPLE mangles a cigarette---Fitzgerald, Barry; uses a small, unidentified cigarette-making (?) machine---Fitzhugh, Louise; lights Janet Gaynor's cigarette---five-foot-tall cigarette lighter---flint and steel of circumstances---Ghost Rider himself sets off a sprinkler system the way a lighter often does in popular entertainment---"Gotta Light" Guy from TWIN PEAKS: THE RETURN, The---Grant, U. S.; witnesses tobacco smuggling, corn husk cigarettes---guy gets lost inside his own cigarette lighter, a---guy shoots the ends off two cigarettes with a single bullet, a---heating Pop Tarts one bite at a time---Hope, Bob; cracks wise about lighters---Lewis, Jerry; can't find his lighter---lighter as clue---lighting a cigar with a burning house---lighting of cigarette as an accommodation to power---Mailer, Norman; narrator of overcome by the solemnity of a cigarette lighter---man scares panther with cigarette lighter---Martin, Dean; tosses his gold cigarette lighter out the window---musical cigarette lighter in FIREWORKS WEDNESDAY---newborn Bart Simpson sets fire to his father's necktie with a lighter (see above)---Northam, Jeremy; lighter of won't work at crucial moment---Novak, Kim; requests a light by means of Jack Lemmon's already-lit cigarette---O'Brien, Edmond; flirts using cigarette lighter---Powell, William; offered numerous lights simultaneously---Pryor, Richard; yells "Flick my Bic!" (was that the advertising slogan for the Bic pen or the Bic lighter? In any case, see "link" for rationale)---Quaid, Dennis; uses lighter to set off fire alarm---Russell, Kurt; blows an alien's mind with his lighter---STAR WARS robot gives a "thumbs up" with its built-in lighter---Stritch, Elaine; fills a cigarette lighter with secret booze---structurally significant lighter---Tati, Jacques; tosses lighter out of car window---undetermined pun based on the name of fire historian Stephen J. Pyne---use of lighter as spy communication---use of lighter to impress cavemen---Wallach, Eli; uses an imaginary cigarette lighter---what not to do with a lighter on the deck of a warship---woman asks for a cigarette; men come skittering from every direction, a---woman dressed as a cigarette lighter frolics behind Miley Cyrus, a. I'm forgetting something.

Hardboiled Kitten Story

I am finally reading THE NAME OF THE GAME IS DEATH by Dan J. Marlowe, an official Michael Kupperman recommendation. Mr. Kupperman kept talking about the thoroughly boiled hardness of it, and it's true! So far it's action packed: more action (and blood) in the first four or five pages than in some whole books. BUT! Kupperman did not tell me - and this is also true - that our protagonist's origin story, the way he becomes a loner and a remorseless criminal, is centered around how much he loves his kitten! But what do you expect from a book with the title THE NAME OF THE GAME IS DEATH? That's right, plenty of frolicking kittens. Here is a kitten sitting in a Pop Tarts box.

UFOs For Every Mood

Okay. Let's compare a couple of the self-published UFO conspiracy books I keep checking out of the library for some reason: THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND SAUCERS vs. that weird document in a loose-leaf binder. In the former, the aliens are always happy and smiling widely and speaking words of comfort to the author (Calvin C. Girvin) when he is feeling low: "We Space Men have a way of 'getting around' as you would say and making friends in a great many different ways in different places." When the author is not hanging out with "Space Men," he is usually walking around enjoying the beauty of nature: "I encountered several rabbits and other wild animals frolicking around in the snow, as small animals like to do on such a night." The overall tone is cozy: "We found a secluded corner in the lobby of the hotel and talked about flying saucers till well past midnight." Though Mr. Girvin's heart is so full, a hint of gentle melancholy hangs over his self-published book: "I saw much of the girl Helen... She possessed a kind of beauty that is difficult to put into words... her big expressive eyes made me fall deeply in love with her at once. I spent many evenings with her and thought I wanted to be with her always, but strangely, in my silent moments when I pictured my future she did not seem to be in it." And sure enough, after he buys a diamond ring, his alien chums sadly inform him that marriage is not in their plans for him. And the book ends with him sobbing! So it is not all fun and games. Okay, now let's move on to the weird "book" in the white vinyl binder. It's like rummaging around in someone's brain, a feeling both unpleasant and compelling. Hey, remember that guy who wrote that manifesto about how fiction is for suckers? I think this is what he has in mind as a replacement, this sort of found object or mad collage. It's the work of a highly focused and very angry man, including news clippings he has scrawled his opinions on and photocopied. You're not going to get this experience with your "kindle," brothers and sisters! (By the way, speaking of the fiction manifesto guy - not the UFO guy - I recently found out that a story from my first book will be in an anthology he is co-editing, which just goes to show you how unlike fiction my fiction is.) But back to the UFO guy! He's not a UFO guy! He's just a really angry guy who wants to get back at some people who have wronged him, and he has put it all in an "affidavit" in a three-ring binder like a homework assignment that can somehow be checked out at the University of Mississippi library! He is not shy about naming his enemies, but I won't do that here. A sample sentence from page 1: "Despite ______'s cultivated image as a swashbuckling pilot and serious UFO researcher, he is, in my opinion, and others', an irresponsible, self-centered, loutish thrill-seeker who truly has no business in the latter field, and questionable competence in the former, given his record of hard-drinking and womanizing." Later the author fights back against the way his enemies are trying to discredit him: "For the record, it is true that I was arrested for 'soliciting a prostitute' in 1982 in Seattle in a police 'sting' operation - I have told the story many times to friends with gusto... For a huge percentage of international travelers and businessmen, journalists, and covert operators, it is not at all uncommon to purchase the services of a female escort to 'maintain appearances' when necessary... But I have been blessed with an appealing countenance and have never yet had to pay directly for the 'services' of a female." Soon, the UFO angle shunted aside, we're smack dab in the middle of the Kennedy assassination! And so on. Features a cameo by aging huckster and object of "blog" curiosity G. Gordon Liddy!

Busy Butterflies

As I write my 1,000-page sprawling fantasy epic (I'm on page 143 and nothing has happened yet, so I think I'm doing it right) I continue to look for inspiration in this other 1,000-page sprawling fantasy epic. That guy can really stretch a figure of speech over several pages. Of one character, it is said, "Butterflies the size of hedgehogs frolicked in her stomach." That deserves one of these: (!). Then, two pages later, "The butterflies in her belly were beating kettle drums, now." Four pages after that: "The butterflies were still gamboling in her stomach." Anyway, it seems like those butterflies were having a great time. I have to say I cannot imagine butterflies the size of hedgehogs frolicking. It seems to me they would be depressed and lethargic. I hope I do not sound too harshly critical of the author, who as I have mentioned was a very nice man and highly successful at his profession and beloved by his fans. Plus I am not sure if the kick I am getting out of his book is despite or because of the way it's written. I am reminded of when I saw this dialogue tag in Mickey Spillane: "I said observingly." I sort of thought that was the worst adverb I had ever run across. Wouldn't "I observed" be a lot better? And "I said" even better than that? Yeah, but Mickey Spillane used to sell almost as well as the Bible. So shut up, Pendarvis.

A Frolicsome Romp!

By the way, everyone is still keeping strangely mum about when my overdue book - the text of which is just languishing at the printer - is going to be printed. Ordinarily, that would depress me. But my brand new gimmick of adding completely random illustrations to each and every "post" transforms even the most frustrating news into a frolicsome romp!

Squonk Informant

My squonk informant (we'll call her "Informant J2") tells me that the entire text of FEARSOME CREATURES OF THE LUMBERWOODS by William T. Cox is available on the "internet," much like THE COMPLETE BOOK OF CHEESE by Bob Brown. The former is where she gleaned her squonk information, and there are some hodags in there as well. I have leafed through the electronic pages and must say that I part ways with Mr. Cox on the subject of leprechauns. If I am reading him correctly, he is saying that leprechauns were jolly and prone to innocent frolicking in the old country and turned surly when they moved to Canada. If I may quote, "Teamsters toting supplies across swamp roads have been attacked by the animal, which would bound clear over the load, snapping its teeth at the driver and reaching for him with its villainous claws." But in my readings the "little people" were never that nice to begin with. For example, THE SECRET COMMONWEALTH, a book of folklore compiled in the late 1600s by Robert Kirk, contends that such "subterranean and for the most part invisible people" are "ever readiest to go on hurtful errands." According to Reverend Kirk's research, they also live in "continual sadness." (Pictured is "Bloggy" the "Blog" Mascot, as always the exception that proves the rule.) In other monster news, our friend Sepsey writes in to say that there was recently a good monster story in THE NEW YORKER magazine.

Pink Dolphin, Rabid Fox

Just back from a wonderful engagement party for my little sister and future brother-in-law. The OLD brother-in-law (Theresa's brother, that is) was there, and full of tidbits gleaned from the "internet." It is because of him that I am now able to "link" you to separate reports of a pink dolphin and a rabid fox who ultimately met the business end of a crutch. My suggestion is to end with the dolphin story. The fox story, while lively, is violent - though filled with admirable moxy on the part of man, child, and yes, possibly even beast (you just can't get a rabid fox down!). But the dolphin story is... happier. Plus there are photographs of a frolicking pink dolphin! I was going to put a picture with this "post" but I guess I don't want to spoil it for you.

Dr. "M.'s" TV Korner: Uh-oh!

We were hoping to end Friday the 13th with a perfect 13 "posts," but something has just come over the transom that cries out for immediate dissemination. Dr. "M" has taken umbrage, yes, we are not afraid to admit that umbrage is what she has taken at our brash quibbling of earlier today. We can do no less than allow her to justify herself in her own fiery words: "I beg to differ with the blogger's bracketed rebuttals to my assessment," she writes, just getting warmed up. "First off," she continues, "the final look of Juliet (or ette, if you will--I do!) [Ouch! replies the "blog," allowing itself a set of brackets] was not one of evil but of indifference, in my humble opinion. She doesn't care about The Others or...what would be the word for these island folks if they aren't The Others?? The Ones?? (discuss...)...Anyway, she only cares about herself and getting home, thus the characterization of the Lone Vigilante. If I am wrong, I will drink two Buttery Nipples in less than 2 seconds. (For those of you who enjoy said Nipples, you will know that this is not as arduous of a task as I make it out to be! Yum!) I still thinks she wants to 'do it' with Jack--as implied in her 'Nude Eating Ice Cream' scene, she does like to 'frolic.' [The "blog" breaking in again. Does it strike anyone else that Dr. "M." has taken to "lampooning" our "style"?] I digress... [continues, elliptically, Dr. "M."] in response to another comment made, was it ever really proven until this episode that that had not orchestrated certain traumatic events? When those events happened, we knew that they were 'surprised,' but I had always thought they knew it was coming...but perhaps not 'when.' ??? On another note, I am not yet ready to divulge my SECRET thoughts on THE SECRET. I get very worked up about it, and that is not good for anyone, even Matthew Fox!" The "blog" stands bested... and a little hurt that Dr. "M.," in her fury, did not mention how we personally thanked the purveyor of her favorite commercially available chicken salad.

Agent "M.'s" TV Korner: Special Guest Columnist, Jack Pendarvis

Hello, and welcome to the latest episode of Agent "M.'s" TV Korner. I'm Jack Pendarvis, and today I'll be sitting in for Agent "M.," who is on assignment. Tonight's episode of LOST was impeded somewhat, in the Pendarvis Building, by the charming escapades of our always impish and mercurial upstairs neighbors. It seems that they have given their dogs a bag to play with, a bag most probably containing, based on aural evidence, a large number of human heads. I am sure there is a logical explanation! No doubt the heads were obtained quite legally, as part of a scientific experiment for the betterment of humankind! So of course we cannot in good conscience be upset about what appears (or sounds) to be such an altruistic gesture. In fact, the torturously methodical way in which the heads were pushed around the room, over and over, by the noses of the tireless dogs in question, is a sure sign of some sort of highly specialized and regulated test. Good for our upstairs chums! I salute their enterprise! But it was a little hard to keep up with LOST with all the excitement and industry taking place right over our heads. At one point, I went so far as to bang on the ceiling with a broom handle as a hearty and enthusiastic show of support for the "scientific method," well known as a boon to all! This got the frolicsome pups worked up all the more! Here's an interesting detail: The dogs began cavorting with their sack of skulls (or what-have-you) just before LOST began airing at 10 o'clock EST. At 10:54 p.m., they briefly curtailed their rambunctious task, which had been going on NON-STOP, to engage in a spirited fight, complete with frightening yelps and growls! At around 10:56, things grew ominously silent, allowing us to view the last two or three minutes of LOST in "peace," yet overcome with suspense and worry about our erstwhile jolly canine pals! A mixed blessing to be sure, this strange "peace" we "enjoyed"!

The Year of Hunching Dangerously

I had a "hunch" that my long nightmare of hunching was over. Having finally received the proper equipment to alleviate the problem, I eagerly called up the friendly "computer" people who had sent me that equipment. The first fellow helped me for awhile and decided that I should be transferred to a supervisor. I heard some lively classical music, a concerto grosso if I am not mistaken, and was suddenly disconnected after ten minutes of edifying contrapuntalism. I called back and by coincidence was sent to the very first fellow again. He transferred me a second time, and the call went right through, but it was, alas, to the wrong department. That second fellow transferred me to another department, where I encountered another nice fellow who wanted to help me, but we finally figured out that he was an expert on the wrong brand of "computers." So he transferred me to another man, and this man told me right away that he was the wrong department but would try to help me anyway. I explained that I would rather speak with someone in the correct department for some reason. This fourth fellow gently chided me, explaining that yes, he would probably have to transfer me at some point, but first he wanted to give it a sporting try just as a frivolous lark. He asked me for all the same information I had given to the first three persons to whom I had spoken. I explained that I would rather just be transferred to the correct department right away, rather than persisting in this impish charade, however frolicsome and blithe. We parted amicably, I think. True, nothing was "accomplished." But why does something always have to be "accomplished"? Can't we just enjoy meeting new friends like the four I met today in two short hours? Four new friends in two hours... not bad! Not bad at all. It augurs well for the year to come. I suggest calling up your "computer" company whether or not you have a problem, just to shoot the breeze. The best part is, I am learning to use back muscles I never knew I had! Perhaps at the turn of 2008 I will pull a freight train along the tracks by means of a harness, as part of an "internet" stunt.

I'm Just Like Marcel Proust and Here's Why

Eventful visit to the neighborhood coffee shop. First I saw one of the philosophers. He's getting ready for a two-year trip to India! If things work out, and he attains the rank of "Blog" Buddy, perhaps we'll have some "Dispatches From India" on the slate in the near future. Next item of note: They have a turntable there in the coffee shop, and the frolicsome baristas were playing some Dead Kennedys, which to them was an ancient relic of a strange and wonderful time. Suddenly I was transported, as if bodily, back to the old college dorm, where I sat on the floor with L. and our friend, the French girl who smoked cigars, listening to the Dead Kennedys, Zappa, Oingo Boingo, and the Fabulous Poodles. Truly I thought that the Dead Kennedys were the scariest thing I had ever encountered. Those were the days! Now people listen to them in coffee shops and nobody complains because it's really kind of quaint. (I do not mention "Blog" Buddy L. by name because she works in an office with a bunch of men who bother her, and she may soon begin to contribute anonymous tidbits from the corporate workplace. For example, just the other day some guy in L.'s office said that Judy Jetson was "hot," an observation perhaps better suited to a Bud Lite commercial from the early 1990s, though we should not cast stones here at the "blog" where we have been known to pine sadly for the glimmering crud of the past - in this very "post" it so happens!) Finally I would like to note that in spite of the hyperbolic title, I am not just like Marcel Proust. "Blog" Buddy Jim Whorton (the "Upstate New York 'Blog' Buddy") tells the "blogging" staff that M. Proust was, how shall we put it, rather unkind to his four-footed friends. Maybe this is untrue! We hope so! We want to think the best of our geniuses! Anyway, we don't traffic in "facts," necessarily, here on the "internet," so I think it's okay to say anything that pops into our heads.