Unexplained Surplus

You know how I usually tell you to buy my book from your local independent bookseller? I really mean it. But there's a problem I must address. There's no other way to say it: The Barnes and Noble on the corner of Caroline and Moreland in Atlanta has WAY TOO MANY COPIES of my book. Eight! There are eight copies sitting there, just gathering dust on the shelf. Somebody go over there and buy them, I can't stand it anymore. Why would they even have that many copies? To mock me? So anyway, when I found out that I was supposed to bring some of my own books to the library event, I started scrambling around town, seeing if I could work something out. I don't have any extra copies here at home. That's when I came across the inexplicable eight copies. They're just sitting there like a slap in the face! Or eight slaps in the face. If you like, you should buy them and donate them to one of your local independent used bookstores. Wouldn't that be nice of you? Redistribute the wealth! Well, the "B&N" guy was pleasant and thoughtful and gave me several business cards and said I could hand them to the people who came up to me after the reading. But he neglected to think of one thing: NOBODY CAME UP TO ME! That's not entirely true. The people at the library were as nice as could be. The organizers of the event even gave each reader a really nice, fancy Cross writing pen. But I didn't meet anyone who seemed so desperate for my book that I needed to shove a business card in his or her hand. Which is why I had the cards in my pocket earlier and one of them stabbed me. Actually, one guy came up to me and asked for my autograph, and took out a little pad. And I said, "You just want me to sign my name?" And the guy said, "Yeah." And I said, "On this pad?" And he said, "Sign it on your book." So I got confused and signed my own copy of my book and gave it to him. I felt glad about that, really. It was kind of fun. But I'm going to check that "B&N" again soon, and I expect to see some action, people. That's only if you've already tried A Cappella and they're sold out.

Business Card

Tonight I put my hand in my pocket and somebody's business card was in there and the corner of the business card went under my fingernail and stabbed the part of my finger that's under my fingernail.

No One Cares, Pendarvis

A prolonged, heated, pointless argument on the telephoning machine today. Jeff McNeil insisted that Jim Hutton (left) was the poor man's Dean Jones (right), whereas I contended that Dean Jones was the poor man's Jim Hutton. Only I kept calling Jim Hutton by the name of his son, the actor Timothy Hutton... and both of us were TRYING to talk about Richard Beymer, co-star of BACHELOR FLAT, whom we had confused with Jim Hutton. Looks like the joke is on us! Our old minds are going. Meanwhile, the donnybrook was repeatedly interrupted by an unidentifiable noise, which turned out to be Theresa's eyes rolling. I'm a sad old man.

Seeing Is Believing

Remember when I was boasting about the classiness of my "Blog" Buddies? One bit of proof I cited was the appearance of Amanda Stern's visage in a recent issue of the New York Times Magazine. I could not "link" to that photograph at the time, because that would have required you, the trusting "blog" reader, to "register" with the New York Times, filling out scads of legalistic forms and other assorted mumbo jumbo. And as you know, I just don't dig Big Brother, man. But now Ms. Stern has "posted" that photo on her own homepage, so you can see for yourself that I wasn't fabricating anything, and you can see it without the "man" trying to "bring you down."

Bachelor Flat

Just as I predicted, Jeff McNeil will be recording BACHELOR FLAT today, thanks to his grasp of modern technology, while I'm off somewhere getting my hair cut and missing the whole thing. Remind me to tell you about the book that Jeff and I want to write, entitled Hipster Hegemony (that title came to us courtesy of my pal DJ Gnosis). Then Jeff and I added a colon and a long, scholarly subtitle. It all had something to do with BACHELOR FLAT and the Bob Hope movie I'LL TAKE SWEDEN and a bunch of other stuff nobody cares about. Well, I can't get into it now because I have to go get my hair cut. Darn haircut! (Pictured, Terry-Thomas, star of BACHELOR FLAT.) Baby! This is what "blogging" is all about.

Library

Don't forget to come see me at the library tonight. I've just been told I should bring some books to sign, but I don't have any on me. Pick one up at a friendly local bookstore and I'll be glad to sign it. But I won't be mad if you'd rather not!

By Gad, Sir!

Jim Whorton drops us a line to report that his grandfather was in the habit of saying "gad" whenever he bumped his head. Whorton is contributing, of course, to our recent discussion of "dag". Gad, like gosh and jeepers creepers, is one of the ways in which we avoid taking the Lord's name in vain. Whorton is quite correct to link "gad" to its mirror image. In the South, one sometimes hears this reflexive impulse overtly, in the phrase "God dog!" or "God dog it!" More often, the blasphemy is better disguised, with a dad ("dad gum it"), or a dag. Gad (as in gadzooks, a safer form of "God's wounds," itself often abbreviated as "Zounds!"... oh, now I'm actually boring myself). Let me just end by observing that James Joyce, in Finnegans Wake, enjoyed confusing God with Dad with Dod, as in Charles Dodgson (Lewis Carroll), Joyce's foreFATHER in dream language, and a recurring father/God figure in the book (with Alice as one of the many daughter figures).

Dagnabit!

Another possible origin of "dag" has been called to our attention. It may derive from "dagnabit," a euphemism favored by old-timey prospectors.

Speaking of Lizzie Borden...

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

Clarification

Y'all know what "dag" means, don't you? People have been writing in to ask. It's like "dang," or maybe it's a shortened form of "dadgum." The "blog" regrets any confusion.

Corrections

The song Jeff McNeil liked to play on the jukebox was "Dream On," not "Toys in the Attic," as was previously reported. Also, McNeil was banished to Pizza Hut five days a week, not two. He ate pizza until his stomach hurt.

Scholarship Uncovers Trove of Tidbits

Academia is abuzz with reports of Theresa's upcoming class. Whilst doing some research for that very class today, Theresa ran across a journal completely devoted to the study of Lizzie Borden. It sure is a crazy world we live in! Speaking of which, do yourself a favor and read up on the pioneering criminologist Frances Glessner Lee (pictured), the "wealthy grandmother" who founded the Department of Legal Medicine at Harvard and, in the 40s and 50s, built intricate dollhouses that exactly duplicated real-life crime scenes. A showcase of her work, compiled by Corinne May Botz under the title THE NUTSHELL STUDIES OF UNEXPLAINED DEATH (the greatest title ever), is among Theresa's favorite curiosities.

Jukebox Confession

Our "post" on Penderecki continues to result in an astonishing flood of heartfelt responses. Jeff McNeil chimes in today, moved by Jim Whorton's reflections on the matter. It seems that at age 13, McNeil was dropped off twice at week at Pizza Hut, to bide his time for an hour while his sister was in gymnastics class. His only solace in this repeated abandonment? Playing Aerosmith's "Toys in the Attic" over and over on the jukebox. "I'm one of those people Whorton was talking about," laments McNeil. Lament no more. Here's today's "blogging" tip: It takes all kinds to make the world! McNeil has done no less than provide us with the kind of dialectic upon which the "blog" thrives.

"Blog" Running at Full Capacity

Amid concerns over recent misfires and kinks in the production line, The Place Where Jack Pendarvis Has a "Blog" has achieved a new watershed moment, according to a written statement released today by B. Proctor Weems, CEO of "Blog" Industries, parent company of the Pendarvis "blog." Weems' contention, not yet verified, is that yesterday, November 14th, The Place Where Jack Pendarvis Has a "Blog" broke its own record for most "posts" "posted" on a single day. "I attribute it to a return to core values," Weems says. "Now we're going to put the rumors behind us and get on with the business of 'blogging.'" Pendarvis could not be reached for comment.

Mercy

Remember Jeff McNeil's plan to punish his child through a dose of Jerry Lewis? It didn't work out as planned. His daughter's counterattack, prior to the viewing, was simply to read him the back of the video box. According to McNeil, the performance began with deadpan sarcasm as she intoned the all-cap headline: "JERRY LEWIS GOES BONKERS IN A LAUGH-A-MINUTE DELIGHT." So it went for a few paragraphs. When she got to this part, however - "Lewis plays 10 various roles, including a 6-year-old boy, a 15th-century coachman, a southern sheriff and a bearded guru" - the unfortunate girl cracked. By the end of the litany, she was reportedly near to tears. McNeil relented. A wise man. She'll find Jerry when she's ready, like all of us.

Dag!

Hey, remember when I said that "blogging" could bring people together? That was awesome when I said that. Now I have proof! The novelist James Whorton, Jr., felt compelled to respond to a recent "post," which reminded him of his own callow youth. "When I was growing up in Hattiesburg," Whorton writes, "someone used to call in to the classical music request show every week and request 'Bolero.' The host of the show would say, 'And I guess I am going to play "Bolero," since it was requested again.' He didn't hide that he was sick of it. And that reminds me further-when I was 11 years old and a student in the 6th grade at Ft. Clarke Middle School in Gainesville, Florida, there was a jukebox in the cafeteria and someone used to play 'Hot Child in the City' on it every day at lunch. Every day! At first people would groan when it started, but then it sort of became the lunch theme song and people would dance to it. To this day, whenever I hear that song I think of sausage pizza and milk. One more. When I was in college in Swansea, the song that got played on the jukebox in the college bar every night was 'Lady Elinor' by Lindisfarne." Thus ends Mr. Whorton's remembrance. I know we're all thinking the same thing: Dag! He had a jukebox in his middle-school cafeteria!

"Blog" Celebrates 100th "Post"

A keen-eyed "blog" fan has written in to say that this was our 100th "post." What better time to look back on some Pendarvis Building "classics"? Remember the time I almost sneezed? That was a close one! And when I reflect upon how excited I was when I discovered how to put a picture on a "post", well, I shed a bittersweet tear for lost youth. Speaking of which, I'll never forget that time I got nostalgic. Those were the days! And to think that "blogging" has been decried as "self indulgent." Heaven forfend! It is, rather, a chronicle of our shared history as human beings on this crazy planet we call earth. Are you with me, people? Who's with me?

Bob Hope, Hee Haw, Ice Cream, French Literature Among "Blog" Reforms

I haven't "blogged" about Bob Hope yet, but I just know I'm going to. And with the recent spike in insights on Hee Haw, we have to face the facts. It's time to revise the obsolete mission statement that has been holding back the "blog" from achieving its full potential. Recent lay-offs and restructuring at the Pendarvis Building, while devastating personally, have opened up a new world of possibilities. Expect big changes at the "blog"!

Stable Boy

I was right about the stable boy. That reminds me of a great New Yorker cartoon I just made up in my head. There's some aristocrat talking to a stable boy and he's saying, "Are you a stable boy?" And the stable boy says, "Not very." Ha ha ha! I'm a genius. And they're drinking martinis at a fancy shindig.

Penderecki

The Penderecki ST. LUKE'S PASSION will make the hair stand up on your arms! It's the thinking man's Carmina Burana. I don't mean to disparage Carl Orff. That's not in the spirit of the "blog." But it says something, I suppose, that Carmina Burana has been used in so many commercials about eliminating soap scum and so on. It's overexposed, maybe that's it. It has become a shortcut, like the PSYCHO theme or that scary organ thing by Bach, the one that goes, "Doodle-doo, doodle-do duh DUM DUM." You know the one. When I was a lad, there was a request program on the classical music station on Saturday afternoon. Every week some joker would request Carmina Burana, and for some reason they would play it every week, the whole thing, biting a big old chunk out of the request show and spoiling everyone else's fun. So maybe I have a personal problem. But I say, if old Carmina Burana doesn't provide the "kicks" it used to when you were 12, step up to Penderecki and his ST. LUKE'S PASSION. You'll be glad you did! And tell 'em the "blog" sent you.