You ain't gonna find this on Oprah's Book Club.
- Thanks, Michelle for the link to your site. You know what else hurts coming out of your nose? Nose hairs!!
- I read this rebuttal of Christopher Hitchens in the New York Press yesterday and thought it might be worth sharing. I've had the opportunity a couple years ago to meet Chris Hitchens, when he was on a book junket promoting The Trial of Henry Kissinger, an novel that uses many polysyllables to describe what political wonks already know about Kissinger. Hitchens was so stewed in scotch he couldn't stand straight without assistance. Hitchens emptied this bar of single malt scotch, then tried to verbally castrate the bartender for not carrying more. The bartender ignored Hitchens, which took all the sting out of his words.
Maybe that's the key to being a contrarian: go through life blind stinking drunk but with enough higher brain function that you can impress people with your vocabulary. The key to fighting one is to ignore his commentary, as with that bartender. If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.
I know I'd like George Will better if he was a drunk.
- Today begins Fitzgerald's annual American Music festival, which is always a great way to wind up the first half of the calendar year. Two years ago some of us went to see Junior Brown and Billy Joe Shaver. Shaver kicked ass, Brown by then was fully in bar band mode and just there to collect a check. My friend Betty, who used to be the band's pill dealer back in Austin, got a little rowdy and called for someone to shove Junior's "guit-steel" hybrid guitar up his ass since he wanted to "play like a bitch." That's another great title for a book: "I Shoved Junior Brown's Guit-steel Up His Ass."
Anyhoo, in an early version of "Second City My Ass" show up Sunday for the She Demons of Rockabilly and Eric "Roscoe" Ambel and The Roscoe Trio.
- Note to Blaise: Thanks for the reference in your post yesterday. Concept costumes are hard to pull off, but when people grasp the concept, they'll remember your costume for years. You pretty much have to live the concept all night, which is why I've never dressed as Harpo Marx on Halloween. I just can't keep quiet that long.
For Halloween in '98 I dressed as a down-on-his-luck version of the Cat in the Hat who resorted to writing stories for Penthouse Forum in order to keep himself afloat. To put the concept over I didn't shave for a week, drank Brass Monkey all night, and ate some mushrooms before I hit my first party. I was so in character (read: stoned and foul-mouthed) people still fill me in on details I can't remember years later.
Ah, the glorious days of misspent youth. I'm off to see "Spider-Man 2" again.
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