Wonderama

I'm currently reading "The Mezzanine" by Nicholson Baker. It's a book about a guy who goes out on his lunch hour to buy shoelaces and then goes on to relate his theories on why shoelaces break and how that's connected to the wear lines on shoes and the whole corporate clothing structure, which includes the traditional silk tie, similar to the silk ties his father used to leave on the glass doorknobs in his family's house, and why they don't make those kinds of doorknobs anymore, which were actually "knobs" as opposed to the handles they have on doors now, especially in commercial buildings, where style has taken on this kind of function-style, but what about the items that were not made in the style to function, but have evolved into a function-style all their own?

Like sugar packets.

I remembered when this book came out and how my friend Don praised it up and down, which led me to remember some funny things he's said, which led me to think of funny things most of my friends have said over the years. Such as:

Don -- on seeing Alex Chilton walk by us at the Coach House bar: "Kiss me, son of God."
Mal (after eating ... I think it was my meatloaf): "This tastes like pants."
Melissa Nickel: "I'll bet he was." in response to my describing another friend's phone call ("I couldn't hear a word because she was sucking on a Jolly Rancher while she was talking to me.")
Hugo: "Danny Bonaduce ... didn't he play with Mingus?"

All of these sayings hopelessly worn out with my repeating them to strangers on the street, current friends, unsuspecting family members, etc...

"The Mezzanine" is also making me realize that my own novel writing is sentimental crap. I bear the double scarlet S for Sentimental Shame. (or SCT for Sentimental Clap-Trap. I love that word/phrase, word-phrase: Clap-Trap ... as though you could really trap a clap)

Food Glorious Food

First, may I just say, in reference to the title of this entry, that I hate the musical "Oliver!" -- and it may be that you have to put the exclamation mark at the end or it may just be that "Who will buy this wonderful feeling" crap, because I just can't buy into it. That said, the few moments I've watched of the film version were spent RIVETED to Oliver Reed's face. Mein Gott, what an extraordinary human being. He was like a walking Picture of Dorian Gray, with each drink and bizarre habit etching into his face as he aged.

But I digress.

The point I'm making is I've just had the best food on this green earth and it was glorious. And I'll tell you all something else: food done right is next to Godliness, even when it's a bacon-topped maple bar. Hallelujah and amen.

That's all. It's a Bacon Wrapped Summer


I swear, it tasted just like licking a plate at Denny's

Wid and Mifune

No, I'm not speaking German - because that might come out more like Mit und Mifude - or one of those nutty NorweigieSwedie lingos. I'm speaking of the love that speaks it name over and over and over again.

I had a helluva day ... loud-mouth a-holes named Al yelling -- literally, not figuratively, yelling -- at me on the phone, that guy from Nigeria who kept calling every ten minutes ("Et's been 10 minutes. Do you have price?" without ever telling me what the hell he wanted a price on "Et's so hard to explain") and kept referring to me as "Karem" (not my effing name, man), and Maryrose Borda who insisted that mid-size was *not* smaller than large even though the measurements were 2" shorter on length and width ("But are you sure it's smaller? How is it smaller?") ... and I come home and I'm cranky and I just want a little love, ya know?

That's when I turned on the television and saw Richard Widmark. Zut! He's the best. I love that creepy laughter, the way his mouth takes that weird corner when he's tough-talking, the vulnerability that turns into fury when he's double-crossed ... It was a double-feature on Fox Movie Channel: "Panic in the Streets" ("You've got the PLAGUE!") and "Pickup on South Street", and part of me wants to say that "Pickup on South Street" is my favorite, because Thelma Ritter is so good in it and Jean Peters -- flippin' A, the way no one believes her when she tells the truth, and that low voice that is so un-50's-Hollywood -- but I think I'm going to have to say that "Night and the City" is the best Wid.

It's like how I feel about Mifune. I love "The Seven Samurai", I could watch it all day, but my favorite, absolutely, is "Throne of Blood."

I've figured it this way:

Wid in "Night and the City" - conman who thinks he's got this great racket set up with the wrestler, but is in way over his head
Mifune in "Throne of Blood" - warrior who thinks he's got this great deal set up in his castle, but is in way over his head
Wid - led on by a dame that runs a nightclub
Mifune - led on by his scheming wife (who's fantastic!)
Wid - incredible death (very moving)
Mifune - even more incredible death (everything is moving)

So work = paying for cable.

Sometimes the payoff really is worth it.