More Book Junk: Giggleswick Edition

I've been thinking about how one book always makes you read another book. I've been thinking about it for so long that I entered the "Who cares?" stage of my thinking, which consumes a large portion of my thinking process. I've been thinking of it (again) ever since that Lydia Davis book made me read a John Ashbery book. Another thing that happened... our most recent Million Dollar Book Club selection caused me to buy a 1923 edition of Lady Anne Clifford's diaries, with a long preface by Vita Sackville-West. Megan and I discussed whether the author made Vita Sackville-West's preface sound good or whether she tried to make it sound bad but it sounded good anyway. Or some variation on that. I can't explain the book club's intricacies! And anyway, the big news is that when I opened the 1923 edition of Lady Anne Clifford's diaries with a long preface by Vita Sackville-West, some old letters (1973-74) fell out! The letters were addressed to an E.M. Bottomley (familiarly known as Michael?) from a Cecil (I think) who lived at Huntsman's Cottage in Giggleswick. Giggleswick! It's a real place! And now I am imagining everyone from Giggleswick saying yes, so what, Giggleswick is an everyday name, why are you so bothered about Giggleswick, everybody knows about Giggleswick, why would you even think it is a funny name, or whatever it is that you think? Shut up about Giggleswick, these voices are saying in my head. Well, as I was about to "click" publish, I decided on a whim to see if I could find E.M. Bottomley, who obtained this very copy of Lady Anne Clifford's diaries on April 14 of 1946, according to his inscription on the flyleaf, and I am 100% sure, based on the content of the letters, that this ("click" here) is him. (See also.)

Big August Wrap-Up

Well, folks, it has been a busy August sure as you're born. For reasons related to employment and general health, we have experienced the highest volume of monthly "blogging" since April 2016, when the TV blew up and I decided to "quit" "blogging" forever. Just a couple of notes as we head into September, with all its "mellow fruitfulness" as Keats put it, I think, or at least that's what they told me at the University of South Alabama. I got out my Aquinas this morning - shut up! - and noticed for the first time a handwritten, carbon-copy receipt tucked inside, belonging to the original owner. Now, you know how much I love it when I have clues about who owned a book before I did. You remember when I read June Havoc's memoir in the Million Dollar Book Club, for example, and the previous owner turned out to live in the same house where Eleanor Roosevelt used to live! "Click" here for details. Oh, what a time that was to be alive. When I read June Havoc's memoir, I mean. Those were the days. My Aquinas, however, formerly belonged to someone named "Father Michael," a priest, I assume. The clerk must have known him on sight! Or did he ask the priest's name, and did the priest answer "Father Michael"? Like, "That's all you're getting out of me, chump." Or maybe that becomes your official name when you're a priest. No, I've known a couple of priests in my life, and they had last names. (One of them, Father Dorrill, was the person who taught me the Keats poem alluded to above, which is a coincidence I only thought about later. Then I came back and added this intrusive parenthetical information just for you!) Or maybe "Michael" is a last name. But I don't think so. I mean, I know Michael is a last name sometimes, but somehow I think this priest just went around calling himself "Father Michael." That's fairly routine, I think. Show your parishoners you're just one of the fellas! It's fine. You can read about similarly named priests in the works of Bill Boyle, whose birthday is today. Happy birthday, Bill! Anyway, Father Michael got a ten-percent discount! For being a priest, I assume. I was shocked at the price he paid, though. It was $76.21 with tax, even after the discount! And that was on July 16, 1990. We're talking 76 big ones in July 16, 1990 money! I got it for less than half that, used, at A Cappella Books in Atlanta, where I once saw Bruce Springsteen making his wallet-toting lackeys pay for some art books. What else? Well, I watched a bit of WHICH WAY TO THE FRONT? this morning, and do you remember how McNeil was always looking for obelisks in movies? That was his big thing for a while, and I guess I caught the obelisk bug! Speaking of health issues. Anyway, in WHICH WAY TO THE FRONT?, there's an obelisk in THE VERY FIRST SHOT! Not merely the first scene, THE FIRST SHOT. And let me state for the record, it is the largest decorative obelisk I've ever seen in a movie. It's bigger than Jerry!

Innocent Merriment

I was listening to Haydn's Drumroll Symphony... yes, I was! Shut up! And I grew curious about the almost modern-sounding melody line at the very beginning, so I thought I'd see if my quaint and trusty old MILTON CROSS ENCYCLOPEDIA OF THE GREAT COMPOSERS AND THEIR MUSIC had anything to say about it. Well, sorry to report that they devoted just one short paragraph to that work, containing nothing on the subject which had captured my interest. But! Underneath that paragraph was one on the Toy Symphony (now [and I use the word "now" loosely, considering the relative antiquity of the volume] attributed to Mozart's father), for which the following instrumentation was catalogued: "penny trumpet, quail call, rattle, cuckoo, screech-owl whistle, a little drum (in G), and a little triangle." This, Milton Cross and his associates conclude, makes for "innocent merriment to delight both young and old." It also makes the MILTON CROSS ENCYCLOPEDIA OF THE GREAT COMPOSERS AND THEIR MUSIC - Volume I, at least - a book with an owl in it.

I Couldn't Shut Up

As you know, I stopped "blogging" many years ago. For a while there, I would read a book with an owl in it and add it to my list, and that was the final vestige of my "blogging." But then I started getting inspired by phrases all the time. For example, I read the following in THE LUMINOUS NOVEL by Mario Levrero: "It's worthwhile reaching boredom, the rock bottom of boredom, because that's where the right impulses begin." I would like to take this opportunity to add that the narrator - who is indistinguishable from the author - reads a bunch of Little Lulu comic books at one point. You remember back when I was "blogging"! I couldn't shut up about Little Lulu, could I?

Seven Deadly Recommendations

The state of the recommendation shelf is... strong. Katelyn (not to be confused with Kaitlyn) took this pic for me just moments ago. You will note that David Simon (speaking at the Courthouse at 1:15 PM on Friday) and Seo Kim (speaking at the Overby Center at 10:30 AM on Thursday) are currently represented. Go to Square Books and get their books and MAKE DAVID AND SEO SIGN THEM WITH HEARTFELT PERSONAL MESSAGES. Did I ever tell you that David Simon's HOMICIDE: A YEAR ON THE KILLING STREETS has my favorite last sentence, but I think you have to read the whole 600 pages first for it to work, so I'm not even going to tell you and please don't peek or you'll ruin it for yourself? I mistakenly showed it to Kate (not to be confused with Katelyn) at the counter today without setting it up properly... by making her stand there and read the entire book first, I mean. (Then there's an epilogue and stuff, but I don't count that.) I was pretty happy to notice that SOMETHING HAPPENED by Joseph Heller had sold from my recommendation shelf. Now that's a book that has been unfairly forgotten. Has it been forgotten? I don't even know. Maybe I'M the one who forgot it! I probably read it last when I was in my 20s. Who do I think I am? Why don't I just shut my fat thought hole? I think during the brief time when Richard Ford lived in town the one conversation we had (that can't be right; it could be right) was about his approval of SOMETHING HAPPENED's placement on my recommendation shelf. I recall Richard Ford saying, "Well, Joe and I were..." and I don't know what they were doing because my brain snapped off. But I kind of think they were doing it in Paris, whatever it was they were doing. I was filled with rage and envy and maybe... sloth? I was like (silently), "OH I GET IT, YOU CALL JOSEPH HELLER 'JOE!'" What a petty, curdled soul I have. Hey, Katelyn has her first short story coming out soon! I'll keep you posted.

Shirley MacLaine Yells at the TV

Well, Bob Hope's hawkish attitude toward Vietnam is spicing up this bio a little. People are getting sick and tired of Bob Hope! Shirley MacLaine yells "Oh, shut up, Bob Hope!" at the TV screen. That's an actual event that is actually recounted in this biography. A critic writes that Bob "seems to be living a cruel fantasy that he's Dean Martin." Ouch! Speaking of Dean Martin, Bob takes some of Dean's dancers - "The Golddiggers" - to the White House to do a little performance. At dinner, one of the Golddiggers unfurls a napkin that says "STOP THE WAR." A kerfuffle ensues.

Discussing Literature

Our friend J. was passing through town. I believe it is okay to mention him without permission on the "blog" as I am protecting his anonymity to some extent. I happened to run into him at Square Books. He was with his friend Cary, who directed a movie version of JANE EYRE that I liked a lot. J. mentioned that he and Cary were having dinner with Wright Thompson later in the evening. Well, then I went to City Grocery Bar to meet Ace Atkins and Bill Boyle, where we, uh, discussed literature. It was just after four, "Megan Abbott Time" as we call it around here. Ace left at one point and walked next door to Square Books and bought each of us a different Travis McGee novel tailor-made to our individual tastes. Square Books has sold so many books to drunk people! You sit up there at the Grocery and get excited talking about some book you love and next thing you know you're somewhere else and the old cash register is ringing. Not to say that Ace was drunk. In fact he was in more of a sipping mood. Sipping and contemplative. My own mood was somewhat different. I got home and told Dr. Theresa about J. being in town - they once bonded over the horrific experience of going to see COWBOYS AND ALIENS together, and really it has united them in a way that few can fathom - so she wanted me to bring him a little note saying how sorry she was to miss him. So I went to the restaurant with the note in my pocket but no one was there so I had no choice but to drink some more. We have reached 8:30 in the evening in our tale. Wright showed up and politely asked me whether I'd like to join the table, and I impolitely - boorishly, even - accepted the invitation. Then I babbled about JANE EYRE to the director for a million hours without managing to produce a single insight. Stuff like, "You did a great job!" At a lull in the babbling, J. said, "Hey, Jack? Did you know he directed a version of JANE EYRE?" A chuckle was enjoyed by all. Why, only that day I had seen Kaitlyn at Off Square Books and one of the books there reminded me of the sad death of Meriwether Lewis, which I started babbling about, and Kaitlyn said, "I heard it might have been murder!" And then she realized, "Oh, I think it was you who told me that." And I realized that I have only two or three topics of conversation, one of them being the sad death of Meriwether Lewis. Another is crows, as I discovered at a dinner party when everyone gently hinted that I should shut up about crows. Wow, I'm learning a lot of miserable things about myself as I type this. And yet I have no feeling that I might ever become a better person. Things reached such a state at the dinner last night, the JANE EYRE dinner, that we decided to drunk dial Jerry Lewis. I think it was Wright's idea. So Wright called Dr. Theresa to ask her to read him Jerry Lewis's phone number, which I have taped to my office wall, natch, but luckily Dr. Theresa did not pick up the phone because Dr. Theresa never picks up the phone, so we didn't call Jerry Lewis. Oh my God! That was a close one.

What's John Lyly Got Against Owls

Noticing that this John Lyly play (CAMPASPE) has TWO entirely different prologues, one for us normal jerks (which I quoted yesterday) and one for the fancy royal people at their fancy royal court with all their fancy royal ways. But in both cases, he's really sticking it to the owls. This is from the prologue at court: "We are ashamed that our bird, which fluttered by twilight seeming a swan, should be proved a bat set against the sun. But as Jupiter placed Silenus' ass among the stars, and Alcibiades covered his pictures, being owls and apes, with a curtain embroidered with lions and eagles..." Ugh, first of all, why did that dude have all these pictures of owls and apes if he was just going to cover them up with a dumb curtain? Here's a idea, stop buying pictures of owls and apes if you hate them so much. If you ask me, owls and apes have got it all over lions and eagles when it comes to good party times. Lots of people who appreciate owls and apes would be happy to get their mitts on those pictures, and you're just like, "Come on in, oh, wait a second, I need to throw something over these awful pictures of owls and apes I have lying around everywhere, sorry." Also, yeah, yeah, we get it, John Lyly. You're fishing for a compliment! Okay, okay, your play is great, it's not a bat or whatever, it's a beautiful swan, shut up, gee whiz. But I really do like his turns of phrase "a bat set against the sun" and the "ass among the stars."

Banana Hole

Lisa Howorth and I went over to Lee Durkee's last night to watch a production of DOCTOR FAUSTUS, and both Lisa and I swore that we heard the devil (I think) mention a "banana hole." The more Lee objected, the more Lisa and I convinced ourselves that the "banana hole" was an important aspect of DOCTOR FAUSTUS. Tonight at City Grocery Bar, Ace was buying everybody Jack Roses, which is a cocktail Hemingway loved, made with apple brandy and grenadine and who knows what. Bill Boyle gave me the startling news that EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND was part of the inspiration for his brutal novel GRAVESEND. Then Lisa came in and we talked about banana holes some more. Lisa claimed that she looked up banana holes and they are a legitimate oceanic geographic feature, is that what she said? God knows what she said. But I was proud because she repeated to Dr. Theresa what I, inspired by the banana hole, had told Lisa the night before: that on different occasions Dr. Theresa has rightfully said to me, "Shut your truth hole!" and "Shut your manhole!"

Get Some Stan's

Last night I was watching that TOP CHEF show because my favorite show NASHVILLE (pictured) wasn't on and Good Idea Club is shuttered for the season - what is Good Idea Club, you ask? None of your damn beeswax, that's what it is, chump, now go to hell! - and I got hungry even though I had had dinner, not that anything on the TOP CHEF show looked especially good, everything looked fairly crummy in fact, they were slopping food to college students, what a horror, so I can't explain it, leave me alone, okay, it was my famous suggestibility that I never shut up about, I guess, I'm weak, okay? Is that what you want to hear? It's what you've been thinking all along but you don't have the guts to say it. I got out a little chunk of cheese and a long, flat cracker and a slice of bresaola - okay, two slices of bresaola, why am I lying to you of all people? - and I ate those things and washed them down with a glass of red wine because that's how I do, what a swell. Yes, "swell" is a noun, too, fool. Read a dictionary! I felt pretty good. Yes sir, I was sitting there feeling pretty civilized with a cracker crammed in my mouth, watching TV. Bresaola! It's a delicious cured beef. You probably knew that already. I guess you know everything, you're such a big shot. I got it from Stan's, do I need to remind you about Stan's? This is not a paid advertisement, I am just telling you like it is. Get over to Stan's. It's a must! Support small business! Small, awesome business. Or if you don't feel like driving clear to Batesville, do what we do and get your Stan's stuff at the little grocery story up on North Lamar, "Farmer's Market," it's called. You can call Stan's and they'll send anything over there and you can pick it up the next morning or so. Like, Dr. Theresa has been known to order a pork shoulder chopped up just so when it gets cold and time to make her famous pork stew. I think it is too late to order a whole duck for your holiday meal - a whole damn duck! - but just calm down. Cripes! You're such a baby sometimes. I think the deadline was the 18th. So why did I wait just this long - EXACTLY A DAY LATE - to tell you? Was it Freudian? Just what kind of hideous monster have I become? Maybe I'm lashing out because I'm frightened you'll sneak over there and get all the bresaola. Who are you? ARE YOU MY SHADOW SELF? Hey and look I'll include a photo of some "Billy Jack Stew" I made the other night when Ace Atkins came over to watch THE TRIAL OF BILLY JACK because now my goal is to be one of those people who puts pictures of food everywhere. Mission accomplished.

Now I can face the dwindling twilight of my years with something like peace. (Hey but remember when Dr. Theresa and I stayed in a Ramada Inn that had a graveyard attached? Dr. Theresa saw Connie Britton of TV's NASHVILLE strolling blithely down the street in a nearby town! She's also fairly certain Tea Leoni once asked her for directions in the parking lot of a Blockbuster in Atlanta.)

RBG

Tonight's episode has aired (except in the Pacific Time Zone, but I don't think there are any spoilers here), so I thought someone might stumble across this "blog" while struggling to answer the vexing question, "Who is this jerk and how did he get to do a voice on ADVENTURE TIME?" I am that jerk and I will tell you. I started writing for the show way back in October of 2012. My old friend Kent Osborne, who is the "Head of Story" for ADVENTURE TIME, called out of the blue and asked if I wanted to give it a try. My first instinct was to say no! I didn't know how to write for cartoons. I knew Kent worked for the show, and I had watched and enjoyed a few episodes with my nephews, because it was their favorite show, but I didn't feel qualified. Kent said not to worry, it was just a two-week freelance job. So I said okay. I have hardly ever turned down a quick freelance job! I didn't know that those two weeks were secretly a kind of audition to see how I got along in the writers' room. I got along fine because everyone was nice as pie. And so the assignment turned into steady employment, for which I am grateful. It's the best job ever! I live in Mississippi. Three times a week I meet with my friends in Burbank by video. We just make up stories and talk about feelings and that's about it. Well, there is also a good deal of typing. One of the coolest parts of the experience for me was when my dad helped out with the "We Fixed a Truck" episode. For some reason I recall with special fondness and clarity a chat that Adam Muto and I had about Klarion the Witchboy and his mystical cat Teekl, two characters from Jack Kirby's comic book THE DEMON, not that it yielded anything for use in the show, nor was it meant to. But as often as not the germs of episodes are contained in such random digressions. Very occasionally I will travel to Los Angeles and go to the office in person. (And once Pen and Kent came to Mississippi.) I flew out to read my "Root Beer Guy" lines for tonight's episode. ADVENTURE TIME is recorded mostly like an old-time radio play, with a bunch of people standing in a booth together, stationed at separate microphones. But how did I get the part? Kent suggested I do it, that's all. I didn't think it would really happen. The name "Stephen King" was bounced around as another possibility, but he was never approached. I think Adam asked me during a conference, "Do you think you could do it?" And I answered with joking bravado, "I AM ROOT BEER GUY," paraphrasing Flaubert on the subject of Madame Bovary, ha ha ha, oh boy, what fun we're having now. I should emphasize that the idea for the Root Beer Guy story was all Pen's - that's Pendleton Ward, creator of the show - and brilliantly fleshed-out and brought to life by storyboard artist/writer Graham Falk. Incidentally, I met Owen King, one of the writer sons of Stephen King, at City Grocery Bar during the annual book conference we have in my town. You should come! Kent came to the book conference once! I almost said to Owen King, "I beat out your dad for a role!" But instead I didn't say anything. ("Click" here for another example of something I didn't say.) In the first place it wasn't strictly true, and in the second place it is usually best to keep your fat mouth shut. The only reason I even thought of it was because of how much Mr. King's voice resembled his father's. Now, how did Anne Heche end up playing "Cherry Cream Soda"? After we finished the outline I blurted (fairly inaccurately) that Cherry Cream Soda's part was something like Anne Heche's in DONNIE BRASCO. And Kent cried out, "Let's get Anne Heche!" Because he's kind of obsessed with her, I guess you'd say, though it is a harsh word with which to describe Kent's gentle fascination. And then they got her! And she did it. She was amazing! The genuine emotion with which she imbued her lines gave me no choice but to actually try. So I tried. And now you know as much as I do about life. How sad.

Shut Up, Gandalf

There's a Laurie Anderson lyric that goes, "You know, I think we should put some mountains here. Otherwise, what are the characters going to fall off of?" I thought of that last night when I couldn't sleep and the newish HOBBIT movie was on and the characters were just constantly falling off of mountains, at least in the little bit of the movie I saw, they just kept going from mountain to mountain, falling and falling, falling off the edge, falling into crevasses and abysses and whatnot, sometimes just tumbling all the way down the mountain, and I learned an important lesson: you will never, ever get even the tiniest injury from falling off a mountain. When they tumbled to the bottom of one particular mountain a bunch of giant wolves started chasing them and this one dude was like, "Out of the frying pan..." and Gandalf bellowed theatrically in response, "And into the fire!" Ha ha! That was pretty unnecessary, Gandalf.

Nobody Asked You

I know you don't want to see more old photos of McNeil and me, but nobody asked you. "We have our t-shirts tucked in!!!" McNeil notes with altogether appropriate punctuation.

Fun Times with Humorousness

You've heard of humor! And you've heard of gender! Now see what happens when humor and gender are combined in a "panel" on "Gender and Humor." I'm happy to announce such a panel will take place on October 29 at 6 PM at the Overby Center right here in town. The great Laraine Newman is coming! And I will sit on the stage with her mostly keeping my mouth shut, but occasionally squeaking out a probing question like, "What do you think of gender and humor?" This time I won't be drunk when I talk to her. OR WILL I? There's only one way to find out. The reception is being thrown down by Shannon Adams of Honey Bee Bakery! Co-sponsored by the Sarah Isom Center, the University Lecture Series, the MFA program, AND the Theater and English Departments. Join us as we pitilessly dissect human laughter.

Whistling Benchley

Hey! I have to tell you something super important about one of our cats, so drop everything and shut up. Yes, that's right, I'm talking about the cat who loves the sound of whistling and does amazing tricks when said whistling occurs. Recently that cat embarrassed me during an ADVENTURE TIME meeting when she jumped up on my chair here in Mississippi and everyone saw her in Los Angeles - but that is not the embarrassing part (the "link" shows the same cat in a different meeting) - and I told them to start whistling and watch what happened and everybody started whistling for the entertainment of the cat but nothing happened because the cat didn't care. And though that might be the embarrassing part THAT'S NOT THE IMPORTANT PART. See, I had forgotten that the cat loves the sound of real human in-person whistling but has never enjoyed fake whistling by some reproduction of someone on some dumb screen somewhere. Cats are all about reality and the real thing, man. Cats can tell the difference! UNTIL LAST NIGHT. Robert Benchley started whistling in a movie on TCM. I believe he was giving us a snatch of Mendelssohn. And the cat was really into it! REALLY INTO IT! Robert Benchley broke through. Across the boundless sands of time and even scoffing at death itself, the late Robert Benchley and his magic puckered ghost lips of destiny whistled to our cat with a seductive trill and our cat was there to heed the call. (See also.)

Do Look Now

Hey I stuck in a quick allusion to the Nicholas Roeg movie DON'T LOOK NOW when I was typing up the original outline to last night's ADVENTURE TIME episode, "Sky Witch." Ako Castuera and Jesse Moynihan did their usual incredible job and transformed that moment into something even scarier, if you can believe it. I can say no more! Because I don't want to spoil either "Sky Witch" or DON'T LOOK NOW for you... but here's a frame of the scene to which I was alluding, so when you do see it you'll know what I'm talking about. And as I say, Castuera and Moynihan worked a magical transformation, so it's not really an allusion anymore: when you see it, it will be a little secret between you and me. All right! Last night was the first time an ADVENTURE TIME episode I worked on has aired, so I'm really happy. You probably don't care and I don't blame you but so what? Okay you win I'll shut up. Goodbye forever.

Gonna Prove to You That Love Is Groovy

Man, I couldn't sleep at all last night! Was it because I watched a scary ghost movie yesterday afternoon? Well, that's really none of your beeswax. And anyway, I also had a huge iced tea at Taylor Grocery, so shut up. So anyway I got up in the dead of night and turned on the TV and there was cynical city slicker Sarah Jessica Parker forced into wholesome country living by contrived circumstances, learning a little something about life by milking a cow. Ugh! I watched the whole thing, of course. At the end, Hugh Grant is saved from an assassin by Mary Steenburgen, Sam Elliott and Wilford Brimley. Wow! So I was sitting there thinking, "Wow." I thought, "Wow, everybody's schedule worked out perfectly to make that happen." Then I looked out the window and saw a fox in our front yard! (See also.) It was cleverly negotiating a white paper bag - one of several dropped nightly after the bars close by young, starry-eyed drunkards whose well-to-do mommies and daddies have sent them off to college without enough God-given sense to use a trash can - to retrieve the leftover chicken-on-a-stick nestled within. Have I told you about chicken-on-a-stick here before? It's a disgusting "local delicacy." I once wrote a whole long article about my complex love-hate relationship with chicken-on-a-stick and even discussed it in an intellectual "panel" format, to the delight of none. But that need not concern you! All you need to think about right now is the fox I saw last night, trotting happily down the sidewalk with his hard-won chicken-on-a-stick in his mouth. So really I should thank the li'l drunkards, who unknowingly arranged such an unexpected treat for my weary eyes and mind! Then it was 3 AM and WAY... WAY OUT was coming on! I can't tell you how many hours I spent on the "internet" this morning looking for stills of Connie Stevens's apartment in WAY... WAY OUT. I found nothing truly suitable, despite all my expert "googling." Above you can see Jerry Lewis and Connie Stevens on her couch, in front of what I first took to be a mural of some kind: please note the strange bubbling texture of the purplish material... at least we are afforded a good look at that. But, you know, I think it is supposed to be a window. In a wider shot, a huge orange-red moon is visible, and at the end of the scene, Connie Stevens, who is an astronaut, shouts to the moon, "Well, what do you know? I'm coming!" or something like that, indicating to me (along with a nearby telescope) that it is supposed to be a window, some kind of futuristic window (the movie, from 1966, takes place in "the future"), and she is addressing the actual moon. In another "screen grab," which you will find at the end of this "post," you can see more of the crazy couch and pillows and yellow-and-orange striped carpet and other furnishings - dig that lamp! - of the type McNeil loves so well, but the image is blurry and faded, and not in the good way, so you're missing the odd vibrancy of the scene. I had more to say about WAY... WAY OUT, lots more (the title of this "post," for example, comes from the theme song to WAY... WAY OUT, about which I planned to wax rhapsodic; would it interest you to know that only moments ago Dr. Theresa, driven past the breaking point, finally said, "Okay, you're going to have to start humming something else now"?), so much more, and it seemed like a great idea, like something about how Dennis Weaver's turn in WAY... WAY OUT is a gloss on his twitching, weeping, writhing weirdo from TOUCH OF EVIL, but who cares? Honestly.

A Long Series of Jumbo Salesmen

Lydia Davis wrote a wonderful story collection called SAMUEL JOHNSON IS INDIGNANT but I am starting to think Samuel Johnson is just kind of a pill. Right now he is making fun of Oliver Goldsmith's coat. Shut up, Samuel Johnson! How much longer can I go on? Shoot me some encouragement, Burke! But I am still reading Portis for my class, so naturally I have come across some sentences worth stopping to "blog" about, this time from Portis's article recollecting some motels of his past. 1) "I gave the desk bell my customary one ding, not a loutish three or four." 2) "These clerks are trained in their motel academies to watch for furtive movement in the back seats of cars, for the hairy domes of human heads, those of wives, tykes, and grannies left crouching low in idling Plymouths." 3) "That central crater in the mattress hadn't been wallowed out overnight, but rather by a long series of jumbo salesmen, snorting and thrashing about in troubled sleep."

Smoke It

February is almost over and I almost forgot to thank Dr. Theresa and Laura Lippman for inspiring my column in this month's BELIEVER magazine. But this tweet from a stranger (embedded below) reminded me! My column contains two new characters: Rye-Head and Baby Mystique. Rye-Head came from reading the OZ books (recommended by Laura Lippman) while drinking rye (also probably recommended, or at least approved in retrospect, by Laura Lippman). He's a combo of Jack Pumpkinhead, the Glass Cat and rye. In an unrelated incident, just before the column was due, Dr. Theresa shouted the striking phrase "baby mystique" at the television for some reason, and that's where the character Baby Mystique came from. (I have used a lot of things Dr. Theresa shouted at the television in my writing, including "Shut up, ugly" and "Fatty's gonna get it.") And now somebody has used "Baby Mystique" as a hashtag, the way the kids love to do on the twitter with their twitterings. I was trying to explain to Dr. Theresa that she had inspired a hashtag, but she doesn't know what a hashtag is, which is just one of the things I love about Dr. Theresa. I said, "Do you know what a hashtag is?" And she said, "No, do you smoke it?" It looks like this: #BabyMystique. Look!

The February issue of @believermag is so full of awesome stuff. Currently chuckling at @jackpendarvis' Musin's & Thinkin's. #BabyMystique

— Tracy Woodley (@TracyWoodley) February 26, 2013

So Serious!

I keep getting on and off of facebook because who cares? But look! Here's something from there: "blog" buddy Kelly Hogan (photo by Rick Holcomb) back when she was in The Rock*A*Teens, one of my five fave bands of all time. Did I ever tell you about them? Well, I wrote about them once for the New York Times, so shut up.