Zoological Adjustments

Well, well, well. I guess you'd think I was pretty foolish if I went out and bought the first few books of Aristotle's METAPHYSICS just so I could fact-check Thomas Aquinas when he says there's an owl in it. But that's just what I did. And hold onto your hats! There's NOT an owl in it! Here's what it says in my brand spanking new (by which I mean 1933) translation of the METAPHYSICS: "just as it is with bats' eyes in respect to daylight, so it is with our mental intelligence..." That's right! It's bats! Not owls! NOW what are you saying? I bet you're saying "Money well spent!" I troubled myself to scrounge about halfheartedly on the "internet" to find out why Aquinas says owls instead of bats. And you know, I found out a couple of things, sort of. I skimmed over a scholarly article called "Power and Limits of the Human Mind: On the Arabic Reception of the Analogy of Bats and Daylight..." Look. There's more to the subtitle but I'm getting tired of typing. It's like an email I got from McNeil this morning. He was writing about the movie DOCTOR, YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING! but had the energy to type only "Dr. ... kidding" (ellipses McNeil's). And I mocked him for it! But look at me now. Anyway, if I'm reading it correctly, this guy (his name is Amos Bertolacci) says that when translating from Greek to Latin, people began subsituting "owl" for "bat." And he explains why, but I don't think I understood it. Here, I'll quote it for you: "The interpretations of the bats’ analogy in Latin philosophy and theology have a different character from the ones considered here: Latin translators from Greek made Aristotle’s text less problematic by means of zoological adjustments, i.e. by identifying Aristotle’s bats with other night animals (night ravens or owls)." Then he goes on to say that some people even substituted eagles for bats! That's just crazy. (The latter being my conclusion, not Mr. Bertolacci's.) The article led me to another "web" site containing, in full, Thomas Aquinas's critique of Averroes's gloss on Aristotle's metaphysics, where I read with my own two eyes and my own pea-sized brain Aquinas taking Averroes to task for his bat observations... leading me to conclude (and bear in mind "I ain't no doctor with a degree" to quote Aretha Franklin) that Aquinas knew very well that they were bats in the original, not owls! All of this is to come to the shocking point: for the FIRST TIME EVER, I am going to REMOVE a book from my BIG LONG LIST OF BOOKS WITH OWLS IN THEM. So long, Aristotle. You had your chance! And you blew it. To quote Bill Boyle imitating Robert De Niro in COP LAND, "YOU BLEW IT!!!!!"

You Just Got Bartlebyed

In today's installment of Jerky the Li'l Jerk, Jerky meets Melville's immortal character (well, he dies in the story, but you know what I mean) Bartleby the Scrivener. Jerky tells Bartleby the Scrivener to go to hell, because he's the rascally little boy who tells people to go to hell. Then Bartleby says "I would prefer not to." You know Bartleby! Ha ha ha. What a guy. Then, in the final panel, he adds, "You just got Bartlebyed." Anyway, I think it would have been great in the original story if every time Bartleby the Scrivener said "I would prefer not to" he would have added "You just got Bartlebyed." I did a search of the "internet" and found zero matches for the phrase "You just got Bartlebyed." As its inventor, I hope to get in on whatever money can be made from this exciting phrase.

All the Cokes Are Good

Last night, as I lay in bed reading THE PHILOSOPHY OF ANDY WARHOL, I was given reason to recall the time I tried to convince Sarah Lloyd (with partial success?) that Queen Elizabeth II ate a foot-long chili dog every day. Andy Warhol claims that Eisenhower took the queen to a baseball game and bought her a hot dog. While I do find evidence that FDR once fed the queen a hot dog, I have trouble backing up the Eisenhower story. That, however, does not detract from Andy Warhol's point, "that she couldn't have had delivered to Buckingham Palace a better hot dog than the one he bought for her for maybe twenty cents at the ballpark. Not for a dollar, not for ten dollars, not for a hundred thousand dollars could she get a better hot dog." He makes his point more forcefully, I think, in an earlier part of the section, when he says, "the President drinks Coke, Liz Taylor drinks Coke, and just think, you can drink Coke, too. A Coke is a Coke and no amount of money can get you a better Coke than the one the bum on the corner is drinking. All the Cokes are the same and all the Cokes are good." This is, according to Andy Warhol, "What's great about this country," which means that reading about Andy Warhol on the Fourth of July is arguably more appropriate than what I usually read about on the Fourth of July, which seems to be werewolves. In fact, Jerky the Li'l Jerk meets Andy Warhol in today's episode of Jerky the Li'l Jerk.

Square Bananas

Hey! On July 8 at 5:30, I'll be reading from my novel SWEET BANANAS at Off Square Books. You may "click" here for details, though I have just told you most of the details. Shall I tell you something else? Shall I? Hmm? That date is my birthday. So just think about what a tragedy that night might turn out to be. How can you afford to miss my ultimate humiliation? There will even be banana-flavored treats, which I cannot eat, because I take a medication that is high in potassium. A SINGLE BANANA COULD KILL ME! Okay, that part isn't true, as far as I know. But would you come to the event if I promise to eat a banana and see what happens? We'll have a countdown clock! Now, despite my glib demeanor, how this all came about starts with some sad news. Hingston & Olsen, the wonderful publisher who specialized in limited editions of marvelously intricate printed objects, has gone out of business. That's the only reason that copies of the very rare novel SWEET BANANAS are available. If you will pretend to recall, the original run was a limited edition of 365 copies with 365 different covers. Those are all gone. But there were a few extra copies in the warehouse - for safety, I suppose - without the covers. And they kindly asked me if I would like to have them and I said yes. And now I'm passing the savings on to you like some kind of mattress salesman. A box of 16 got lost in the mail, so you can look for those on the black market, I guess. But I sincerely doubt you'll beat my rock-bottom prices!

We Shall See

Let's cover a variety of topics! We have nowhere to go. 1. I was reading the New York Times on my phone just like a teenager and I saw they have made a list of the 30 greatest living songwriters. And I raged silently to myself, "I thought I solved this problem years ago!" The problem, that is, of people making lists of things. The year was 1999. People started making lists of everything. I think it was the upcoming century that had them in a panic. They thought if they made lists of things, they could stave off the death of the universe. That's just a theory. After a decade or so, I got really sick of reading lists. So I struck! Like a mighty panther! My hilarious anti-lists would put an end to all this listmania... ha ha, remember when Ken Russell made a movie called LISZTOMANIA? I enjoy peppering my interesting observations with pointless crap like that. What the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah! So I made my anti-lists, like "The 50 Greatest Things That Just Popped Into My Head" for THE BELIEVER magazine... and after PASTE did their own "Greatest Living Songwriters" (to which I admit I contributed a blurb on Chuck Berry, who was, it may amaze you to learn, alive at the time), I sent them a joke list, which they published, of "The Greatest Dead Song Writers"... I included, for example, King David from the Bible. You remember him! And then, at the top of the list of dead songwriters, I put Bob Dylan, who was alive, and still is, as of this writing, as far as I know. But I'm about to go on a walk around the neighborhood with Ace Atkins (so I was wrong about having nowhere to go, if you consider walking in a circle somewhere to go), and who knows what might happen by the time I come back to finish this "post"? I make no promises. Anyway! The exciting thing was that a USA Today interviewer told Bob Dylan that PASTE had called him the greatest dead songwriter, and he laughed! That's the main thing I wanted to say. I just wanted to remind you about the time I made Bob Dylan laugh. 2. Yesterday, I filled you in on what's going on in my nighttime book (horses are crying, natch) but I neglected to mention my daytime book, ANCIENT JEWISH MAGIC. Well, I'll tell you. Mostly it just says "In Chapter 6, we shall see" this and "In Chapter 6, we shall see" that. I've been hearing about how great Chapter 6 is going to be since the introduction! Something better happen in Chapter 6, that's all I can say. Because not much has happened so far, unless you count "more study is needed" as something. I checked the Table of Contents and Chapter 6 is the last chapter in the book. Well played, Gideon Bohak! 3. McNeil emailed me about Charles Fort. That was exciting! Nobody ever emails me about Charles Fort. McNeil called Charles Fort "Mark Twain's nutty cousin." As evidence, McNeil cites the lines that Fort sticks in about "once a page" (according to McNeil) as he catalogs various inexplicable phenomena: "In my own mind there is distinguishment between a good watchdog and the fleas on him".... "To have any opinion, one must overlook something." That's a great one! McNeil deduces imaginatively: "Fort found these on crumpled up pieces of paper in Twain's drawer" and concludes with a Fortean memory of a cloudburst he, McNeil, once witnessed, approximately 24 inches in diameter. 4. I told Ace I would give him three guesses which Elvis movie I had been watching this morning, and if he got it right I would give him a million dollars. His second guess was TICKLE ME. Anyway, now I owe Ace a million dollars. Unless... to quote Megan after she was informed of the incident, "Are you sure he just didn't want you to tickle him?"

It Bleeped

Reading Tacitus, I get to a part where this guy dreams there's gold buried under his field. So he runs up to Nero like Chicken Little and says "There's gold in my field!" You can see where this is going. There's no gold. And Nero... well, you know how Nero is. Anyway! So! The translator, A.J. Woodman, is crazy in love with footnotes. There's hardly a page without multiple footnotes at the bottom... or "foot." And are his footnotes dry? I don't know. Is the Sahara dry? I'm assuming the answer is yes, although I can easily imagine a big smart nerd who would tell me otherwise. Anyway, A.J. Woodman's footnotes are so dry they make the Sahara look like the grotto at the Playboy Mansion, as Dennis Miller would put it, causing us all to throw up. But in this singular case, A.J. Woodman's footnote is... whimsical? I don't know what it is. Here, I'll quote it: "'Dream guided treasure hunter to Roman coins' (headline in The Times [London], 11 December 1998)." So that footnote gives us nothing, really. That's not like A.J. Woodman! And really, the Roman coins found in 1998 could not be more different than the gold dreamed of by Caesellius Bassus, which was "not in the form of money but in a raw and ancient mass." (Also, unlike the Roman coins found in 1998, it didn't exist.) I guess A.J. Woodman just thought it was a fun story. It's still a mystery, if so, why he suddenly and very uncharacteristically wanted to be "fun." And certainly it would be going too far to postulate that he put forth the headline from the Times of London as a counternarrative... as if to say, "Hey, sometimes a dream CAN lead you to buried gold! Never give up, kids!" I couldn't find the article (I didn't try too hard), but I found the same story reported in the Irish Independent a full day before the Times of London picked it up. Here's a paragraph: "'In my dream I could see myself in the middle of the field pulling up a haul of coins,' Mr Roberts (46), a plumber, told a treasure trove inquest in Newport, south Wales, yesterday. 'When I had the same dream again a few nights later I took a few hours off and went to the field. I took just two paces and my metal detector bleeped.'" A treasure trove inquest! I didn't know about those. You know what this puts me in mind of? The other day, McNeil told me he had dreamed of salmon patties. And that was weird, because the day before - that is, the day leading to the night of McNeil's dream - I had been thinking about salmon patties! AND... later that night (the night AFTER McNeil's dream), Dr. Theresa - having been privy to neither my salmon patty thoughts nor McNeil's salmon patty dreams - suddenly announced, "I'd like to make salmon patties!"

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.

I Really Shouldn't Do This

Hey! So, you know, I'm reading THE ILIAD last night, because I'm the biggest egghead going, and Helen says "my dog-face self." And I'm like, "Whoa!" I'm like, "What's going on here?" I'm like, "Be nice to yourself, Helen! What can I do to help?" Also, I vaguely recall reading something about Helen comparing herself to a dog... where could it have been? In Emily Wilson's introduction to her translation of THE ODYSSEY? So I get up this morning and take THE ODYSSEY off the shelf and open to the exact page I was thinking of! Because I'm some kind of miracle man, everyone says so. Anyway, last night, I flipped to THE ILIAD's endnotes to see what "dog-face" was all about. Appended to the explanation was an incidental remark about Athena's usual designation as "owl-eyed." We all knew about that, didn't we? (See also.) So I said to myself, I said, "Hey! Are you going to put THE ILIAD on your famous list of books you've read with owls in them? Which consists of every book you have ever read? Because every book has an owl in it? It's just a fact of science!" And then I was like, "Hey! But that's only an endnote! So far, in the actual part of this translation you've read, Athena's eyes have been 'bright' and 'flashing' but not owl-like. So what's the plan? You're going to put THE ILIAD on your list WITH AN ASTERISK?" Because I was like "That seems crazy! You know Athena is going to be owl-eyed sooner or later! You would be a fool to put an asterisk on THE ILIAD. Why, you'd look like the biggest jerk alive! Nobody puts an asterisk on THE ILIAD, as Patrick Swayze famously said in DIRTY DANCING." So I'm going to go ahead and... look. This could easily cost me my "blogging" license. But I'm going to go ahead and put THE ILIAD on the list, without an asterisk. I know I'm taking a risk here. This is like betting the house on a spin of the roulette wheel! Oh my God! I can't believe how tense I am all the time! I live on the edge! And the taste of fear is delicious.

Witold Gombrowicz Is Like Jim Gaffigan

Time and time again we have established that I am wrong about everything. Here, let me give you a recent example! So, remember when I said I remembered going to Square Books and... wait. Please remind yourself that my brain was zapped by mysterious forces just a couple of years ago. But remember when I said I had seen a version of THE ILIAD blurbed by Emily Wilson but not translated by her? That can't be the case. Because I went to Square Books yesterday and saw with my own eyes Emily Wilson's translation of THE ILIAD, which I had convinced myself did not exist. And why would she blurb an ILIAD when she had a fresh new ILIAD of her own? I said to Mevelyn... wait! Let me tell you about Mevelyn. Mevelyn is from Cuba. She is a great bookseller. Case in point, she has forced me to buy a lot of Alejo Carpentier with her hypnotic powers. She tells a good ghost story. She knows everything about books! You can ask her about the different translations of DON QUIXOTE, for example, and she'll point out all their strengths and weaknesses. I always hope that Mevelyn will be working when I visit Square Books so I can hear a good ghost story or a nightmare she had about Karl Marx. Anyway, I grasped Emily Wilson's translation of THE ILIAD in my wizened paws and I says to Mevelyn, I says, "Hey! Mevelyn! Wasn't there a recent version of THE ILIAD with a blurb by Emily Wilson, but she didn't translate it? I feel like I'm going crazy!" So it sounds familiar to Mevelyn, too! She feels like she saw it recently. So we stand there a long time trying to figure out what the hell we are talking about. We are having one of those folies à deux that people enjoy so much. Anyway! When I got home, I realized what I had seen was a new translation of THE AENEID for which Emily Wilson wrote the introduction. Not a blurb! An introduction! Not THE ILIAD! THE AENEID! The important thing is that I had a coupon, so I was able to get Emily Wilson's translation of THE ILIAD for free, just about. That's the thing! Get yourself a "Constant Reader Number" at Square Books! Then you too will be able to grab an almost-free book once in a while. And so it came to pass that THE ILIAD is my current "nighttime book" and the DIARY of Witold Gombrowicz is my current "daytime book." I have reached the point in the diary where Gombrowicz has begun to attack himself, sotto voce, the way Jim Gaffigan does in his standup act. You know, Jim Gaffigan will tell a joke and then he'll switch to a soft, high-pitched, almost strangled voice, pretending to be an audience member, questioning his own premise. Is that a good description of what Jim Gaffigan does? No? How the hell would you know? Anyway, now Witold Gombrowicz is doing what Jim Gaffigan does... in diary form! It's like when Milhouse said that ALF was back in pog form. Everything is like when Milhouse said ALF was back in pog form.

I Gave Up

I thought I should tell you I stopped reading that giant hardcover "omnibus" of comics I mentioned yesterday. Why? Why did I give it up, I mean, not why did I think I should tell you. I don't have an answer for that one. Maybe because I'm unemployed and don't have anything else to do? As to the former question, however, it's not because I had shamed myself by mentioning it. It's because this "omnibus" is no damn good! The comics are too goofy. Yes, yes, I know I have often boasted perversely of loving the uncool, goofy comic book characters (not to be confused with the Disney character Goofy) the best... your Captain Marvel (the version often called "Shazam" by dimwits, for reasons I could get into here if I felt like it), your Metal Men, your Plastic Man, and so forth. But this glossy pile of junk I was reading was goofy in the wrong way. The goofiness it poured forth seemed born of bitterness and irony. The bitterness and irony of persons who have placed themselves high above goofiness. That's 1989 for you! There's a reason I originally stopped reading comic books when the price went up to 30 cents. Well, the reason was it became too expensive. Thirty cents is a lot of money! But the point is that the goofiness I like, the goofiness of your Plastic Man, your Metal Men, your Captain Marvel, is sincere and joyful... an embracing mechanism, not a distancing one. Anyway, I'd put this volume in the big overflowing garbage box of books they have for urchins to pick through in the park, but it's too damn big.

You Go Uruguay

The title of this "post" alludes to a Groucho Marx joke which I will not explain or contextualize because I know you don't care. And you know what? It hurts. Another thing you don't care about is a certain kind of coincidence I like. "Like" is a strong word. Anyway, I'm going to tell you about it. So, I was reading in this Witold Gombrowicz book about his reaction to the works of Simone Weil, and I was thinking, I don't know anything about Simone Weil. And then I watched a Godard movie the same day and a character repeatedly brought up Simone Weil! When I emailed Megan with this exciting news, I put an extra L in Weil... that's just how little I know about Simone Weil, which is just a bonus detail especially for you not to care about. Later that day, or maybe it was the next day, my brother told me that he had purchased one of my books from a used book store, and he texted me a photo of the inscription, in which I had praised the previous owner of the book to the high heavens. You wouldn't believe how lovingly I inscribed this book. My brother was incensed that the guy had ditched it. Though the the book was inscribed to him using his first name alone, I am almost 100% sure I know who the guy is, though I was surprised by how seemingly devoted I was to him at one time, or maybe I just tend to gush. I wondered to myself with my simple childlike brain, gee, where is that guy now? Whatever happened to him? So I looked him up, and he moved to Uruguay some years ago. I wasn't mad to begin with, but if I had been, how could I have stayed that way? I wouldn't pack up any books by me if I were moving to Uruguay! Okay. We're not to the end of this story yet! So then I picked up Gombrowicz again and he's taking a little trip on a boat, during which (from the translation by Lillian Vallee) "we practically reach the green shores of Uruguay." Now, I bet you think those are all the things you're not going to care about. But there's more! Here's where the ouroboros comes in. So! As you may not care about recalling, the diary of Witold Gombrowicz is an official Million Dollar Book Club selection. All right! Here's the thing... the guy who unceremoniously (I assume... or maybe there was a ceremony!) dumped my lushly inscribed book before moving to Uruguay is the editor of one of our future Million Dollar Book Club selections! (We have a list.) Or I should say he was the editor of one of our former future Million Dollar Book Club selections, for I immediately made a motion, which was seconded and passed (as there are just two of us) for him to be crossed off all of our lists until the end of time. I wasn't mad, but it was what Witold Gombrowicz would have done. Half his diary consists of taking stuff like that personally!

Events Spiral Out of Control

What's a typical day like for me, you ask? What? You didn't ask? Who are you? Where am I? Most days I sit around looking up stuff like how many calories in an apple. Yesterday was different. I went out to see Beth Ann Fennelly onstage at the launch event for her latest book THE IRISH GOODBYE. I got into town a little bit early because the tradition is to have a quick drink at City Grocery Bar before the reading, at least that has always been my personal understanding. And look, I don't make it out to the bar as much since the famous unpleasantness of almost two years ago. So I was disinclined to miss out on my special treat. But get this! City Grocery Bar was closed for a private party! That happens from time to time, enraging me. It can strike at any moment! The private party, not the rage. Although that can also strike at any moment. There is no warning for either one. Anyway, Bill Boyle arrived early as well, so, with a little more than half an hour to go, we departed the venue (Off Square Books) and walked around the corner to Proud Larry's, which even the bartender there referred to as the "backup" for literary whatever the hell it is. Life? Bill didn't want a drink. He was just keeping me company and keeping tradition alive. So important! That's what I said to the golden-brown liquid in my glass so it would know it was not being consumed in vain. Anyway, we had a nice talk (Bill and I, that is, not the glass and I, though we got along great too) and then we moseyed back over at 5:31 PM, just one minute after the event's official start time. And let me tell you something: we couldn't even get in! Not only was every chair occupied, the rear of the store was packed with a standing-room-only crowd AND there were people kind of smushed up in the doorway and spilling out onto the sidewalk. Well! I wasn't really surprised by the turnout, especially for Beth Ann, though I have long assumed that literature is dead. An unsuspecting Dr. Theresa, meanwhile, was on her way, having just finished teaching a class, and I had to tell her to come pick me up at Proud Larry's instead. Please be assured I had already purchased my copy of THE IRISH GOODBYE upon my arrival. Anyway, back around the corner we went and I sat at the bar with Bill again and ordered some to-go food for Dr. Theresa and myself... our go-to order at Proud Larry's, yes, our to-go go-to, that's right, or our go-to to-go would probably be a more proper way to put it, two grilled chicken salads with the lemon-red wine vinaigrette. And, if we're really feeling daring, we cheat and split a quesadilla. And boy were we feeling daring last night! And look, you're not going to believe this incredible tale, but I had already ordered the quesadilla before looking at my phone to discover that Dr. Theresa had texted her request for a quesadilla. Yes, you read that right! That's the kind of magic that thirty years of marriage will get for you. What a night. What a world. What times we live in.

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!

Advances in Boiling

Well, I'm reading another book with an owl in it but let's talk about something else first. I'm unemployed, so I can make this "post" as long as I want. So, McNeil emailed me a photograph of a physical newspaper-like object he was reading, and he said the byline belonged to Anya Groner. He wondered whether this could be the same Anya Groner I used to teach. I strained my eyes but could not discern individual letters of the font displayed in such a miniscule fashion by McNeil's photograph. Still, I could tell the article was about bears. And in my heart, I knew that Anya would love writing about bears. So I said "Yes!" before I even asked her. So then I asked her. And... "Yes!" Yes, Anya wrote the article about a bear attack (content warning: bear attack!) and sent me this "link" ("click" here) that even my old eyes could read. Check it out! Another thing McNeil and I emailed about was how I dreamed about him betting on horses and wearing a tuxedo and doing a duet with Paul Simon, in which they played saxophones as well as playing guitars and singing. McNeil contended that I was really dreaming about myself, because I used to play the saxophone and I have bet on horses... once! But I was ashamed for McNeil to think that I only used his face in order to dream about myself... though I've heard it said (haven't I?) that everyone in your dreams is really you. So! I did not mention this to McNeil at the time, but in the dream I was sitting around near a guitar and Paul Simon walked up and asked whether I played, and I was like, "No, this is my friend McNeil's guitar. He'll be back in a minute." In the dream, then, I did make a distinction between myself and McNeil, who really does play the guitar. All right! I'm reading and very much enjoying THE ELEMENTALS by Michael McDowell, whom I am happy to claim as a fellow native of Alabama. And allow me to quote: "Big Barbara complained it was hotter than a boiled owl." Now, in our previous literary encounters with owls of the boiled variety, we have observed them to be drunk (as in "stewed") most often, but also tough or sore. I do believe this is the first time we have heard of a boiled owl being "hot," but I guess a boiled owl would be hot indeed, especially right out of the pot. I should mention that the illustration for Anya's bear article is by Blair Hobbs, who also made the iconic cheese ball that illustrates my recent "blog"trospective about my work on ADVENTURE TIME.

Say No to Chiromancy in 2026

Well, Kate Tsang sent me an amazing present - a tiny replica she fashioned of my novel SWEET BANANAS. I placed a penny beside it so you can see just how tiny a replica it is. In the foreground, that's Bob Hope's ashtray, but that's another story. I was going to photograph the tiny replica in the palm of my hand to emphasize its tininess, but then I decided I didn't want the palm readers of the "internet" to know everything about me and my future. Hey! You know what that makes me think of? The time Dr. Theresa and I went to a dinner party and the host had a few drinks (or maybe that was us) and told us that he had belonged to a secret society in Greece with 13 members, and each member specialized in a different occult art! And his was palmistry. I'm sure he read our palms that night but I don't remember what he said. All I remember is that his wife, who was from Italy, made a big pot of spaghetti with tomato sauce, which everyone ate except for the chiromancer, who sat at the head of the table nibbling on a lettuce leaf.

Victory Through Insomnia

So the Million Dollar Book Club chose J Dilla as our current subject - specifically, DILLA TIME by Dan Charnas. Hey! Before I go on with the really exciting part of whether or not this book has an owl in it (it does), I want to tell you about buying it. So... whenever I'm in Los Angeles I like to stop by a bookstore (usually Skylight) and if I find some nice things, I have them shipped to me so I won't have to carry them on an airplane. You can't get content like this anywhere else, folks! Anyway, I hadn't had time to visit a bookstore, but on my last night in town I was set to have dinner with Ashly Burch and Mort Burke way out in Culver City. And I was like, "Hey, if I get there early, are there any bookstores close to the restaurant?" And Ashly recommended a place called Village Well Books. So, I got there early, and I had a long time to poke around, and the longer I poke around, the more books I buy. On this occasion, one of those books was DILLA TIME. And, as usual, I had the books shipped to me. But guess what? They never showed up! And here's the part of the story where I really have to thank the good people at Village Well Books. They completely replaced my order for free! Even though the fault lay with the USPS, as I mention reluctantly, because most of the time they're on the ball, out there carrying stuff around so we don't have to. But what was I talking about? Oh yes. It will come as no great shock to you that J Dilla is described as a "night owl." Wait! I thought of something else! So, Mort and Ashly and I go to this sushi place and Ashly says, "I've never been here before." And I say, "It seems familiar." And Mort says, yes, we've all been there before, together... when it was a DIFFERENT sushi place where Ashly had never been before! A different sushi place in the same location. And both times, to be clear, Ashly said "I've never been here before." And in a way, she was right. Wow, this is amazing stuff. Oh. So the reason you will not be shocked that J Dilla is described as a "night owl" is because a lot of the people we read about in the Million Dollar Book Club are described as "night owls." So many, in fact, that I am beginning to think that if you want to be the kind of successful figure who gets a book written about you, you need to stop sleeping right now.

Fork News

I am sure you recall my favorite fork, Forky. Let's stop right there! I am aware that TOY STORY 4 had a character named Forky in it, though I never saw it. That's why I am going to sue the makers of TOY STORY 4 for everything they've got! The "blog" will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I called my fork "Forky" as early as March of 2007. I think I made up the name "Forky" to be funny for the "blog." But then I started calling my fork "Forky" in "real life." You know how that is. Once, someone was over for dinner - I'm pretty sure it was John Brandon, though maybe not - and I referred out loud to my fork as "Forky" and I saw the sadness in his eyes and I thought, oh, maybe I shouldn't do that around other people. Anyway, I have been eating with that fork for close to 60 years, I guess. And now FORKY IS MISSING! I emailed McNeil about it, not that I think he had anything to do with it, and he asked whether Forky was a "baby fork" since I've been eating with it for so long. I told him that Forky was a man fork! A fork for a man! Anyway, Forky is gone. What a load to drop on you on Christmas Eve! I hope I haven't ruined your Christmas again. Katie's mother said I should pray to St. Anthony.

I'm Like Ladyhawke

Above, that's Adam Muto's tribute to my beloved characters Frowny 'n' Smiley! But more of that anon. First! I know you are so interested in how I switch from my daytime book to my nighttime book. My process, if you will. How do I stop reading one book during the day and start reading another book at night? Well, it's just like in the movie LADYHAWKE! Except instead of turning into a wolf as Rutger Hauer does with the setting of the sun, I put aside my daytime book and pick up my nighttime book! It's just that simple, folks. And before we go on, I'd like to mention that I repeatedly brought up LADYHAWKE in the Adventure Time writers room, and yet, somehow, we never stole anything from LADYHAWKE to use in the show, no matter how much I begged and cried. All right! But that's not the point. There isn't a point. But I'm sure you remember how sometimes my daytime book will blur into my nighttime book... like the daytime book will mention Gogol and then the nighttime book will mention Gogol, and so on (please "click" for a full catalog)... anyway! Yesterday, as my daytime reading was coming to a close, I read (in THE LOST STEPS by Alejo Carpentier, translated by Adrian Nathan West) "... the grave-faced toucan flaunts his breastplate..." at which point I opened up my nighttime book (a scholarly analysis of the roots of oral epic poetry) to see, of all things, "Rade's sword strikes fire from the captain's breastplate." Now, what does this mean? Nothing. I guess breastplate is an everyday word. Personally, I don't think about breastplates too much. But what is the universe telling me? To buy a breastplate? I don't know why I am reminded of a recent incident... yes I do. Anyway, I was at Square Books and I saw a new volume of previously unpublished Dream Songs by John Berryman. And I was like, well, he's been dead a long time. I asked Richard, who was standing there, whether they were any good or just some garbage someone swept up from John Berryman's floor and Richard said, and I do think this is an exact quotation, "Let's do the test!" And he opened the book at random and stuck his finger in and read the lines he found that way and they were good and so I bought the book. That's how Richard gets you! And this is related too, as I am sure you will agree: tonight, if you watch the special THE ELEPHANT on Adult Swim, you will see, in the commercial breaks on your ordinary television set, some extremely short "Frowny 'n' Smiley" episodes by me. So... when we were in one meeting during the making of THE ELEPHANT, Pen happened to mention that it was the 100th anniversary of the exquisite corpse, an art-making game which inspired the structrue of THE ELEPHANT. So, anyway! Today, in the New York Times, there is an article about the 100th anniversary of surrealism, and it includes the origin story of the exquisite corpse! Isn't that something? Today of all days? And I just thought of another thing: Matthew Broderick appears in both LADYHAWKE and ADVENTURE TIME: FIONNA AND CAKE! Okay, I am going to buy a breastplate.