The Lion's Den

I cannot say for certain that my 90th birthday tribute to Jerry Lewis was what prompted Megan Abbott to go see CRACKING UP at the Museum of Modern Art yesterday afternoon, but I like to think I had a little something to do with it. I'm going to lay out the sequence of events through our correspondence, kind of like Bram Stoker piecing together all those documents for DRACULA. I noticed an email from Megan in my inbox at around twenty minutes before three o'clock, Central Time, asking whether she should go see CRACKING UP at 4 PM. New York City, of course, abides by Eastern Time. If you will do your math, you will see that time was of the essence! My response was measured: "YES! My God, I hope you're not getting this too late. You only have 20 minutes to get there, hurry, hurry!" I also rushed over to twitter, in case Megan was not checking her email, and tweeted like so:

@meganeabbott Got your email. The answer to your Q is YES! But I'm looking at the clock and fear I'm too late. God help you! God help us all

— Jack Pendarvis (@JackPendarvis) March 8, 2016

I soon received a heartening "I'm here" via email. Trying to prepare her, as I thought was only my duty, I quoted P.B. Shelley on things "semi-real" and Megan responded that she was having a beer to open her "doors of perception." (Can it be a coincidence that the movie was scheduled to start at what is known affectionately in Oxford, Mississippi, as "Megan Abbott Time?") A photo of her ticket stub appeared on twitter. I immediately emailed that photo to McNeil, who responded "Wow!!! WOW!!!" - sentiments I subsequently conveyed to Megan. Thus spurred on, she responded, "I couldn't even finish my beer; I was too excited!" It was at this juncture that communications were severed for some hours, as I had a doctor's appointment. When I returned, I picked up THE ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY, which has been lying there untouched for some time, and discovered that my bookmark lay, by another coincidence, at the beginning of a chapter in which Robert Burton explains why doctors are the worst (though his thoughts do not apply to my friendly and helpful doctor): "according to that witty Epigram of Maximilianus Urentius, what's the difference? How (he asks) does the Surgeon differ from the Physician? One kills by hand, the other by drugs; and both differ from the hangman only in that they do slowly what he does quickly." Then I was like, why am I reading this? Surely Megan is out of CRACKING UP by now. And so it proved. I had an email from McNeil, asking "What's up with the $0.00?" I could see it was tearing him up inside!

I explained some of Megan's benefits as a paying member of MoMA, which seemed to calm him down. In the meantime, I had also received two emails from Megan, one seemingly sent just before the movie started and one after it had concluded. BEFORE: "You should see all the other lunatics here!" AFTER: "Watching it was akin to sinking into psychosexual quicksand!" Now! I must tell you that as I first read that response, and again as I cut-and-pasted it just now, I could not help but notice that were TWO extra, unnecessary spaces between "sinking into" and "psychosexual quicksand." Implying what? I'm no Freud! But one may imagine that had Megan written this on a postcard with a pencil, we might have a fascinating palimpsest to analyze. I left Megan a phone message to ask whether there had been any learned introduction or if they had just shown the film ("like BOOM!" is the way I believe I put it). Then I got to thinking about her "BEFORE" response, the one about the lunatics in the theater, and I was seized with an awful vision of Megan as the only woman in a Jerry Lewis audience, surrounded by, I don't know, creeps in Jerry Lewis outfits, each more eager than the last to pledge his troth! So I left a message about that. "I sent you into the lion's den!" I may have yelled into the receiver. This morning I had more emails from McNeil and Megan. One implied that my phone messages had arrived during a "book event" that Megan was attending with Laura Lippman. I can only hope they discussed Jerry a little over wine and cheese! If so, you may look forward to a postscript. "He had me at the slippery office!" Megan wrote later. McNeil's email also mentioned it: "Damn! I would have loved to have seen that on the big screen. That psychiatrist's office..." and of course he went on to mention the green carpet that he is convinced Jerry has reused fetishistically in his films for decades: "that green carpet in the motel room...ooh la la" being his exact words. Megan went on: "I have to say, I've never heard a MoMA audience (more male, yes, but not heavily so) laugh more at any movie and I was loud among them. I can't recall seeing many movies that made me quite so vividly uncomfortable either! In his movies, there's just no ground under our feet, is there?"

The Man Behind the Palimpsest

Hey so back in 2007 when I taught at a university for the very first time there was this here advanced graduate fiction writing class and one dude in it was not an MFA student, he was just some guy, some OTHER KIND of student, so some of the sensitive and perpetually offended MFA students regarded him with suspicion, alarm, and the bitter, smirking hatred that only a so-called fiction writer can call forth from his or her wizened soul, speaking for myself of course, though Will McIntosh - for that was the cleancut and decent young fellow's name - does not recall it that way, as I found out the other night when I ran into him on McKay's back porch before Good Idea Club. Will is not the type to indulge in such small feelings. And it is a fact that Elizabeth and Michael were in that class and they were warm and welcoming indeed, and so was everybody else, except those few who really, really weren't. I have to say they didn't dig me too much either. So perhaps my intentions are muddied here! I did make them read some kind of book-length rhyming poem about a knight, maybe. I had no idea what I was doing, it is true, but don't worry about your children's rotten education, I'm not teaching anymore. Someone else is giving them their rotten education now, just kidding, education is great. Last time George Saunders was in town, I introduced him to Will up at the City Grocery Bar, and told him all about a story Will had written for the class, one I never forgot, unlike so many others in the intervening years, especially the part where the mother gets sick from ******* *** ******** **** and, in the story's vivid climactic moment, ****** ** ******* into the ******. (I don't want to spoil it for you!) And I badgered Will once again, as I often did, to publish that story somewhere so other people could get a big kick out of it. And George Saunders gave Will a pep talk too. Because he's just as nice as Will! Then we went somewhere else and George Saunders ate a corn dog (something I never weary of typing) and we speculated about why maybe Will kept putting his story on the backburner, which is because of Will's real job, which is SAVING INNOCENT PEOPLE FROM BEING KILLED. Will is a lawyer for the Innocence Project, perhaps a more important job than "writing," ha ha, it is funny to call writing a job. Will is the person that I took to calling "The Man Who Says 'Palimpsest'" here, though I can't for the life of me recall why I thought it was important to protect his identity from the people who read this "blog," who don't actually exist. And now you can read his story ("click" here) in the old Lent Magazine, your one-stop shop for fun. It's a Christmas story!

All Bets Are Off

Lee Durkee heard about McNeil's trouble with the misprinted book, and McNeil's feelings of being all alone in the matter, so Lee wrote me with a message of encouragement to pass along to McNeil, a little story of something that happened to Lee, which I quote for you now: "I once, on a flight to Sri Lanka, was reading a book by Tobias Wolff, IN THE PHARAOH'S ARMY, and midway through the memoir due to a publishing error the book switched into a novel by a different author and kinda blew my mind. I thought Wolff had gone all experimental on me. Later I noticed it was a slightly different typeset. I left the book at a hostel where perhaps it is still bewildering people. It was really odd. I kept reading and reading trying to figure out how Wolff was gonna wrap this all together." Last night I saw Lee at a party, and he told me that what further confounded him was how the change happened between the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. I forwarded the email on to McNeil, who responded: "Well, obviously, what happened to Lee isn't at all the fault of the publisher, but rather a result of longitudinal chicanery by that longitudinal laugh riot of the universe - the globe. You see, in order to get to Sri Lanka, you have to cross the 'International Date Line,' which of course means 'all bets are off!' I forget who said that. Once you cross that imaginary (not so imaginary in my book!) line, ships often sink, standardized language melts away, gold flies out of your teeth, and typeface often changes type. I wouldn't be surprised if my Jerry Lewis book had been shipped from Hong Kong. It's a nice touch the way Lee left the novel in a hostel. Now someone we know needs to accidentally buy it used online and the circle will be complete." Cutting-and-pasting these messages for "blog" "publication," I note that both Lee and McNeil adhere to the elegant and traditional practice of following each period they type with two spaces. Classy! I gave up on that years ago. Think of all the energy I've saved. BUT AT WHAT PRICE? (I removed their "extra" spaces so that the "post" would "adhere" to "blog" "standards." Think of all the work I did to reduce the quality here. Is that "ironic"?) Hey, I'm just going to keep typing. "All bets are off!" as McNeil once observed. Nobody reads these long "posts," or the short ones either, but perversely that's what keeps me typing. Like, yesterday I wrote a long "post" containing the words and phrases "Joycean technique" and "Faulkner" and "palimpsest" and "portent" and "unspoken emotion" but then I deleted it. WHY? For all practical purposes, a deleted "post" is the same as a "posted" "post." It was about this sentence in Adrienne Barbeau's autobiography: "We were married four months later, on New Years Day 1979, in Bowling Green, Kentucky, by a one-armed judge who years earlier had lost his hand in the mixer at the bakery where we'd gotten our wedding cake." I'm way past that now. The marriage is over. Adrienne Barbeau has just met a man who has "the ability to alter bacteria with his hands." She says of him, "I wonder who gave him the huge pearl ring he's wearing. I wonder why the nails on his pinkie fingers are so long." In other book news, I was lurching around Square Books yesterday and found myself strangely drawn to a paperback of JUNKY by William S. Burroughs. I found myself wondering why I've never read it. I read the first couple of pages and thought they were pretty good. So I bought it. It was only afterward, going through the introduction as I sat at the counter at Ajax, that I put it together: Old Bull Lee from ON THE ROAD is Burroughs, as I well knew. What I didn't know is that this edition of JUNKY has, as an appendix, a whole deleted chapter about William Reich, fave theorist of Adrienne Barbeau and Norman Mailer! Who cares? Randy, the owner of Ajax, saw me eating a hamburger and asked, "Why aren't you eating a Pendarvis sandwich? I can't remember the right name." I reminded him that he was thinking of "The Osborne Sandwich." Don't worry! I still think it's going to catch on. Books! As you know, I always like to have a little pocket-sized book to carry around in my little pocket-sized pocket as I promenade about the town like Blazes Boylan. And the other day when I was at Off Square Books I found just such an item, filled with poems using the great old spelling I love: "YEE dainty Nimphs that in this blessed Brooke/ Doo bath your brest;/ Forsake your watry Bowers, and hether looke/ At my request." There are a lot of "hey ho's," so that even the most dire subject matter takes on a jaunty hue: "But whether in painfull love I pine,/ hey hoe pinching pain:/ Or thrive in wealth, she shall be mine,/ but if thou can her obtaine./ And if for gracelesse greefe I dye/ hey hoe gracelesse greefe:/ Witnesse, she slew me with her eye,/ let thy folly be the preefe." He's talking to his sheep. All the narrators in this book are talking to sheep. Pretty early in that poem, the narrator sees "the bouncing Bellybone/ hey hoe Bonny-bell:/ Tripping over the Dale alone,/ shee can trip it very well." Bellybone! I have no idea. Bonnibel (sp?) is Princess Bubblegum's first name, FYI.

All-Star Entertainment Wrap-Up

Welcome once again to All-Star Entertainment Wrap-Up, your one stop on the "internet" for all the latest in excitement. ITEM! Dr. Theresa's brand new PhD was celebrated in style last night at the City Grocery Bar. ITEM! Who should be spotted chatting in a corner but the Man Who Says "Palimpsest" and Faulkner's niece? ITEM! Blair Hobbs sculpted the head of Lizzie Borden's stepmother (pictured) out of that greatest of all mediums: cheese. Gruesomely delicious! (Lizzie Borden is one of the subjects of Dr. Theresa's dissertation.) Continuing the criminal theme, Joey Lauren Adams provided "jail food": baloney sandwiches (seen below) and PBJ. There was food galore, in fact, provided by many thoughtful citizens! But I am old and unaware of how things work! And I used a digital camera for the first time last night, and the notion of a "memory card" was strange and frightening to me. After just a couple of pictures, I was ominously informed by the camera that my "internal memory" was "full." Something I have long suspected! So there is no picture of Theresa's favorite chocolate cake, which can only be baked by Beth Ann Fennelly. Last night's edition was decorated with a scarlet "A" (once again in keeping with Dr. Theresa's major themes). ITEM! Late in the evening, after the restaurant downstairs was closed, John Currence took the baloney sandwiches and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches - great enough already - into the kitchen and did something magical to them. They came back grilled or fried or toasted or something. Or maybe they were just sprinkled with love! Yes, that's probably it. Or he used one of those little blowtorches. But most likely, love. ITEM! Spirits flowed freely. Lovely decorations abounded. Dr. Theresa was laden with unexpected gifts, showered with good wishes, and covered with accoutrements. That's it for this edition "All-Star Entertainment Wrap-Up." We bid you adieu from the whirling social scene. Until next time, keep "reaching" for the "stars"!

Scent of a Langford

Jon Langford was in the air last night! First my neighbor (the mandolinist David Lonesome, who was providing the entertainment prior to my reading) mentioned him. I did not think of the next fact until this morning, when I "linked" to it in the previous "post," but Langford also did the artwork on the t-shirt I was wearing last night. More coincidences abound! I happened to have an extra copy of McSweeney's #34 (for details on that publication, "click" on the very first "link" in this "post"), so I decided to give it away in a contest last night. The trivia question was, "What was the name of the family cat in the novel PET SEMATARY by Stephen King?" (I should mention: the organizers of the event said I could read from whatever I wanted, so I read a lengthy passage from PET SEMATARY by Stephen King.) Someone shouted out the correct answer, which is "Church." The winner was none other than the Man Who Says "Palimpsest"! Is there anything he doesn't know? The Langford connection is that Langford's self-portrait appears in that issue. Later, the Man Who Says "Palimpsest" brought up Langford's band the Mekons. I cannot recall if this happened before or after that mention, but a friend of the "blog" who wishes to remain nameless revealed a tattoo of a rodeo rider based on Langford's design for the Sin Records label. So, much Langford. So much Langford. Langford was all around us. Here is another coincidence, unrelated. When, in the previous "post," I was searching for a "link" demonstrating some of my shim sham moves, I happened to find a clip of old-time Hollywood dance sensation Eleanor Powell, who is Dr. "M.'s" lookalike. Remarkable, because the "post" concerned itself a good deal with the subject of lookalikes. Speaking of which, my implications about Jack Black were needlessly critical. I have been looking at some pictures of him and he strikes me as a nice looking man, clearly much better looking than me. When I called him "a step up from Michael Moore," (among people like whom I have been told I look) I should have said "several thousand steps up from Michael Moore." I suppose I should also mention that students in not one but two of my classes have remarked upon my supposed similarity, in both appearance and mannerisms, to the comedian Patton Oswalt. If only a computer expert could meld together the visages of Patton Oswalt, Michael Moore, Jack Black, and Guillermo del Toro (and Max von Sydow????). Then I might find out what I truly look like. For some reason, I am reminded of a passage from the book I am reading for my special book club you can't be in: "A flash of lightning illuminated the object, and discovered its shape plainly to me; its gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspect, more hideous than belongs to humanity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch, the filthy daemon to whom I had given life." PS: I found the above Mekons album cover whilst searching for Langford's Sin Records logo. Given the "blog's" love of monkeys, I could not resist adding it to my exploding computer.

Further Reflections From the Man Who Says "Palimpsest"

Remember that part of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" when Hippolyta asks Theseus why he wants to see the bad play instead of the good one? And Theseus replies: "Where I have come, great clerks have purposed to greet me with premeditated welcomes; where I have seen them shiver and look pale, make periods in the midst of sentences, throttle their practised accent in their fears and in conclusion dumbly have broke off, not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet, out of this silence yet I pick'd a welcome; and in the modesty of fearful duty I read as much as from the rattling tongue of saucy and audacious eloquence. Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity in least speak most, to my capacity." Remember that? Well, I ran into the Man Who Says "Palimpsest" at Snackbar last night and he brought it up. We were discussing our shared admiration for ALL THAT HEAVEN ALLOWS, and moreover for director Douglas Sirk's pronouncement about the relationship between high art and trash. Shakespeare was expressing an astonishingly modern sentiment related to Sirk's, thought the Man Who Says "Palimpsest." (Though no one could accuse Sirk of simplicity, tongue-tied or otherwise, I think.) Anyhow, you ought to talk to the Man Who Says "Palimpsest" sometime. Because that's the kind of stuff he talks about in a bar. After a few drinks! (Pictured, a particular scene under discussion last night.)

Dr. "M.'s" Viola Korner

I asked Dr. "M." for a picture of herself playing the viola to go with our brand new feature "Dr. 'M.'s' Viola Korner." Here is the picture she sent. I don't think Dr. "M." is taking the "blog" very seriously! That is not Dr. "M." THIS is! But that is a viola, so I guess it's a start. Waiting on viola stories from Dr. "M." We're a long way from Dr. "M.'s" Palimpsest Korner, which was so effortlessly informative and packed with good-natured palimpsest-based fun. All the kids love palimpsests!

More Adventures With the Man Who Says "Palimpsest"

Last night, the man who says "palimpsest" was wondering aloud why the Ole Miss audio library includes the soundtrack to CLIFFHANGER. A clerical error, he decided.

Nice Snacks

I have just returned from the launch of Kitty Snacks, which the editors described this evening as a cross between a magazine and a zine. So I guess it's a gazine! Whatever it is, it's great. I pulled a "Sheri Joseph" at tonight's event. I am referring to the time Sheri Joseph read part of my novel to an audience when I could not be there. Tonight I read contributions from two Kitty Snacks contributors who were not present: Kent and McNeil. First I read the dialogue from one of Kent's comic strips out loud, and explained the pictures. A good time was had by all. Though perhaps it is best to read a comic strip for yourself! On the other hand, my stilted descriptions of Kent's panels may have added a certain unintended layer of fun. But chances are they did not! Luckily, not even I could ruin Kent's comic strip for the enthusiastic crowd. McNeil's story was a hit as well. Here is one of McNeil's lines that got a HUGE LAUGH: "They tried to take my memory away, but I said, 'Uh-uh. No way.' And then I don't remember what happened." Another part near the end made ME laugh (a high-pitched choking giggle, I fear) as I read, which I consider very unprofessional. In fact, on the PREVIOUS AFTERNOON by some stroke of irony I had instructed my graduate students NEVER TO LAUGH AS THEY READ. And a bunch of them were there to see me fail. But I was reading someone else's story, which is not as bad as laughing at your own story, which was the main thing under consideration in my prescient lecture. Or am I rationalizing? MAYBE! If YOU couldn't be there, why not buy a copy of Kitty Snacks for yourself? And then you can pretend! I was happy to see the man who says "palimpsest" there at the Kitty Snacks launch. When I told him that I have known McNeil since I was 13, he asked for some reason, "Does he like Jerry Lewis, too?" And I said, "Does he!" Then the man who says "palimpsest" said that he has rented CINDERFELLA and plans to watch it soon. It's going to be his first Jerry movie. And I was like, this is the greatest night ever. Thanks, Kitty Snacks!

Dr. "M.'s" Yak

Ha ha! Dr. "M." does not really own a yak! But wouldn't that be something? No, "Yak" stands for "Young Adult Korner," in keeping with our hilarious practice of spelling "corner" with a "K." Ah, Dr. "M."! Our TV critic, food expert, and palimpsest aficionado! It seems she has taken up reading "Young Adult" novels, adding a new layer of authority to her "blog" presence. Now, you know I have a problem with "YA novels," stemming from the fact that I have been perversely and incorrectly designated a "YA writer" by Publishers Weekly for no reason whatsoever and they don't even care no matter how many times I email them through a blur of tears. So my dander rises when I hear the term "Young Adult"! There is also the fact that being an old adult, I hardly have time for my old adult activities, much less any side trips into whatever it is that young adults do to pass the time. The idea does not appeal to me much, I confess! I blanched at the thought of reading Harry Potter, and resisted that whole phenomenon quite easily, though I knew many trusted and intelligent non-young adults who read and enjoyed those books. The thought of it still puzzles me! Then again, I watched the Gilmore Girls every Tuesday without fail so I have no room to talk. And then there are my Jimmy Olsen comic books. I'm getting around to the point, which is that Dr. "M." recommends a "YA novel" called TWILIGHT. She says: "I read Twilight over the last couple of days, and I think I felt flush throughout most of it. Whew! While I doubt Twilight is as good as Faulkner's vampire story," she continues, "it does make for an indulgent diversion!" I had never heard of the book before Dr. "M.'s" email, so I did some "Googling" and found out something surprising. According to the New York Times, the author wrote the book "in a flash after she had a dream about the characters, who then inhabited her mind and dictated the novels to her." See, I want some of that! Why can't things come to me in a dream, like they do for everybody else? All I ever dream about is Leonard Maltin. About the "YA" TWILIGHT, all I can say is, if I ever were to read a "YA novel" it would be because Dr. "M." recommended it. She is trustworthy and true blue! In the meantime, I CAN personally recommend TWILIGHT, the old adult novel by William Gay, if you like gothic, necrotic literary thrillers about mad undertakers who are a little too "into" their work. William Gay's TWILIGHT does feature two young or young adult protagonists beset by terrible grisliness but you would be crazy to let your young adult read it. Finally I will remark that the Dalai Lama eats yak meat. I base this on his autobiography, which I read a long time ago. But according to my recollection, the Dalai Lama is not a vegetarian! He tried for a spell, after seeing something bad happen to a chicken, but he got sick while on his all-vegetable diet and had to start eating meat again. Growing up in Tibet, vegetarianism is not an option. There are hardly any vegetables! Yak is a staple! I should really do some research before making such assertions, but this is a "blog" and nothing matters. Well, hold on, let me grab the book. I'm throwing around guff about the Dalai Lama, after all. Okay. Here's what the Dalai Lama says: "I was instructed by my doctors that not only must I take less greasy food, cut out nuts and reduce my consumption of milk, but also I must start eating meat again... so reluctantly I returned to being non-vegetarian. Today I eat meat except on special occasions required by my spiritual practice." This sort of ties in with the "YA novel" TWILIGHT, which is, as I understand it, about vampires who have given up human blood. Anyway, I bet you thought the Dalai Lama was a vegetarian! That'll teach you to question the "blog."

Dr. "M.'s" Palimpsest Korner

Welcome once again to Dr. "M.'s" Palimpsest Korner, our latest and most stimulating regular feature, in which Dr. "M." informs us whenever she runs across the pleasant and useful word "palimpsest" in the course of her daily life. It appears, she reports, in Chapter One of Michael Elliott's book CUSTEROLOGY. Palimpsest! P.S. When I was looking for an illustration with which to adorn this "post," I ran across an article called "Ethical Considerations for the Conservation of Circus Posters." I haven't read it, but the title is great, which is the most important thing.

McNeil Beaten?

Remember McNeil's idea for a TV movie? We have received an email here at the Module implying that McNeil has been beaten to it. Let me spend several hundred words explaining from whence the email came. Remember the man who says "palimpsest" (not to be confused with Dr. "M.," who also likes palimpsests)? The person who sent the email, a gentleman I have never met, is a friend of the man who says "palimpsest." Let me go further. The man who says "palimpsest" is also the man who has seen only one episode of STAR TREK, and the stranger who ingeniously figured out my email address and sent a message to McNeil is the person who showed the man who says "palimpsest" his one episode of STAR TREK. Are we clear on this? Very well. Now go back and review McNeil's idea for a TV movie. Done? Good. Then, if you are McNeil, "click" here to find out all about another TV movie, "link" courtesy of the STAR TREK friend of the man who says "palimpsest." If you are not McNeil, please ignore this "post" and go on about your business as if none of this had ever happened.

Dr. "M.'s" Palimpsest Korner

Today's "bloggery" is turning into A Salute to Dr. "M.," and we couldn't be happier. For those of you who assumed "Dr, 'M.'s' Palimpsest Korner" was a one-shot deal, shame! As we like to remind you from time to time, Dr. "M." doesn't ONLY watch television. She is also a fancy lady with a doctorate degree who does research at the Smithsonian and other classy things! So in her class the other day, she laid this particular palimpsest (pictured) on the kids and blew their minds!

Dr. "M.'s" Palimpsest Korner

The word "palimpsest" figured heavily in a chapter of Dr. "M.'s" dissertation, she would have us know. She also found use for it in a recent job interview. Uncannily, mere minutes after relaying that information in an email, Dr. "M." ran across "palimpsest" on page 11 of Frederick Jackson Turner's "Significance of the Frontier in American History." "I am being taken over by palimpsests!" cries Dr. "M.," if one can cry via email. Dr. "M." would like us to know also that there is "another kind of turtle called a cooter." Please note our restraint given that we did not title this "post" Dr. "M.'s" Cooter Korner. Pictured, a cooter.

Return of the Man Who Says Palimpsest

Yesterday I went to see the doctor (some things are none of your business!) - not Dr. "M.," the regular doctor! Anyway, she used the word "violaceous." And I was like, "Good one, Doc!" It reminded me of the time a few weeks ago when I ran into the man who says "palimpsest" at the City Grocery Bar. During a brief conversation on amiable bar-related topics (specifically, the trough system employed in the men's room), this fellow quite casually used the words "expatiate" AND "interregnum." And he had had a few beers! But he didn't let that stop him! I meant to tell you before.

The Time Has Come to Speak of Pastor Melissa Scott

Yesterday afternoon, a friend came over to the house. We discovered during the course of casual conversation that we share the habit of stopping on the religious channels to see what's up in the world of televised religion. Yes, at last I had found a fellow devotee of Pastor Melissa Scott. When I brought her up, my friend said, "You mean the woman who strides around in front of a twenty-yard dry erase board?" He stood up and demonstrated the way in which Pastor Melissa Scott strides around in front of her magnificent white dry erase board. In the process, he scared one of our cats. But I had been put into a forgiving mood by his apparent knowledge of Pastor Melissa Scott. Let me pause to make it clear THAT I DO NOT ENDORSE, NOR HAVE I MADE THE TINIEST EFFORT TO UNDERSTAND, THE THEOLOGY OR POLITICS (IF SHE HAS ANY OF THE LATTER) OF PASTOR MELISSA SCOTT, NOR DOES THIS "LINK" TO HER "WEB" SITE INDICATE ANY ENDORSEMENT OR UNDERSTANDING. I am interested ONLY in the SPECTACLE of Pastor Melissa Scott. I watch her in the way that Jasper Johns asks us to look at his paintings. She strides around, as has been described. She appears to wear a duster like Henry Fonda's in ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST. She is tall and thin and her hair is very long. She writes in markers of many colors on her big board. Behind the big board is an even bigger American flag, perhaps the largest I have ever seen. Pastor Melissa Scott writes in Aramaic, Greek, and Hebrew on her big board. According to my friend, she speaks 18 languages. I will take his word for it. My friend also described the way in which Pastor Melissa Scott makes a "palimpsest" (his accurate and pleasant word, which I hardly ever hear anyone use in conversation, it seems) as she continually erases and rewrites things in Aramaic, Greek, Hebrew, and, apparently, 15 other languages. She talks and talks but nothing she says seems to sound sensible to me because, perhaps, of my inability to pay attention to anything but the awesome spectacle (in this case I think I am using the word awesome "correctly") of Pastor Melissa Scott. I was glad to tell my friend something about Pastor Melissa Scott that he did not know: the other night I saw her in front of her big board and gigantic American flag singing a gospel-tinged number with what appeared to be her very own rock combo. What CAN'T you do, Pastor Melissa Scott?