about waiting at the gate

The pilot pulled us up to our gate at Reagan. The old couple in the row in front of me immediately stood up. Husband had the aisle seat; wife had the middle. Deplaning is a slow process. One by one, starting in the front, the passengers stand up, gather themselves, step into the aisle, open the overhead bin, pull down luggage, check themselves one last time, and then head for the exit. So the old couple in row 14 waited.

The wife had to hunch over, as all middle-seat passengers do when they stand up. The husband, in the aisle now, stretched. And he shifted, readying himself, sort of, as if he was deplaning imminently. But the Southwest deplaning process proceeded as always: indifferently. The old husband lifted his hand to his wife's shoulder and made a rubbing motion. Then he gave her two slaps on the back as he would the Pontiac after a successful road trip. The slaps said, "You made it, and I respect that." She held steady, elbows propped on the headrest in front of her, and faithfully absorbed the wordless encouragement her husband offered. Welcome to Washington, D.C., and thank you for flying Southwest.

something about "A Gambler’s Anatomy" by Jonathan Lethem

Jonathan Lethem’s A Gambler’s Anatomy scratches out a few ideas but steers clear of story. The novel follows Alexander Bruno, an international, handsome-but-aging playboy who engages in high-stakes backgammon games arranged by his shady, mostly absent business manager. We meet Bruno as he contemplates his faded youth and a growing blind spot in his vision. The blind spot turns out to be symptomatic of a seemingly inoperable brain tumor that forces Bruno through the German healthcare system and into the office of an eccentric surgeon in California. On his rapidly unraveling journey, Bruno, suddenly broke and alone, is warily reunited with high-school classmate Keith Stolarsky, who is a wealthy California real estate owner. Of course, a few women hang around and complicate things. Although Stolarsky and Bruno have no apparent attachment or affection for each other, Stolarsky bankrolls Bruno's surgery and convalescence. The surgery wrecks Bruno's looks, forcing him to wear a mummy-like mask; the scalpel also destroys Bruno's telepathic powers, which have no consequence whatsoever in this novel. This surrealistic series of events lends the novel a Thomas Pynchon-like quality. I did not enjoy it.

something about "A Drinking Life" by Pete Hamill

A Drinking Life is a memoir by Pete Hamill, a New York-based columnist, journalist, and author featured in publications like the New York Post and The New York Daily News. I expected a deep-dive into alcoholism, but Hamill was never your bottoming-out alcoholic. Drinking, it appears, was something he did while killing time socializing in bars; it was not a preoccupation. This memoir, published in 1995, was born 20 years after his last drink. Hamill came to view alcohol as destructive and decided to quit. His sobriety does not sound like much of a struggle, which explains why addiction and destruction do not seem to be central themes in the arguably mis-titled A Drinking Life. Hamill's life, as relayed by the author, sounds mostly fine—so I found this a little dull and want to say only that there are far more interesting and compelling memoirs out there.

a note to self

a preview

Machines begin searching Earth for materials to build more machines.

something about "The Sweet Hereafter" by Russell Banks

I am a fan of the 1997 film, Affliction. In that film, Nick Nolte and James Coburn deliver rich performances depicting stricken men. The film is based on a book, published in 1989, by Russel Banks. Seeking other works by Banks, I found The Sweet Hereafter, which was published in 1991.

The Sweet Hereafter is divided into a series of first-person narrations of a fatal school bus crash and the devastation it brings on lives in a small town in rural Upstate New York. Most of the children on the bus die, but a few survive, along with the bus driver and a father whose daily commute follows the bus route. Lawyers, news media, and deep pain visit the town in the aftermath. The narratives are focused and contained, and the stories never get entangled. A gritty, emotional realism characterized by resignation imbues the novel—a feeling that is also prominent in the film adaptation of Affliction. This was a very good read.


Notes: 

The Sweet Hereafter is loosely based on an actual bus crash in Alton, Texas.
 
The film Affliction was directed by Paul Schrader and costarred Sissy Spacek and Willem Dafoe, who, as one would expect, were also great. I have always particularly enjoyed this short exchange in the film:

Rolfe Whitehouse (Dafoe): I was always careful around Pop. I was a careful child. And I'm a careful adult. But at least I was never afflicted with that man's anger.
Wade Whitehouse (Nolte): That's what you think.

something about "Letterman: The Last Giant of Late Night," by Jason Zinoman

David Letterman remains one of my favorite people ever on TV. So I read with great pleasure Letterman: The Last Giant of Late Night, by Jason Zinoman. Blurbs describe this effort as the definitive work on Letterman—and for good reason. A lot of research, thought, and care went into this account. I found myself remembering Letterman moments I had forgotten or not fully appreciated at the time. Like when the show returned from the night's first commercial break and the camera moved to Letterman as he pulled out a corded phone and dialed. Whatever happened next was good television. Letterman's guest interviews always promised a chance for the unexpected—an unscripted, awkward moment between the host and guest and the camera cutting to an uncomfortable older couple shifting in their seats in the audience.

Directors, writers, producers, and network executives are all accounted for here. Throughout this cohesive, substantive, fluid narrative, Zinoman offers his own judgements on aspects of Letterman's show and character. While I did not always agree with those judgements, they are always reasoned and offered in good faith. This was a very rewarding and enjoyable read.

Note: Zinoman writes comedy criticism for The New York Times.
 

an obvious point about Judge Judy

Here is a conversation piece, "Justice Served: A Conversation Between RuPaul and Judge Judy."

I did my first interview for 60 Minutes 26 years ago, and Morley Safer said to me, “What direction do you think it’s all going in, and will it get any better?” And I said to him, “It’s going to get worse. A lot worse.” It’s like what you said before—you watch my program because there’s linear thinking. But there is an element of dumbing down that has been embraced by others, which suggests to me that these rules of civilization are being dulled.

This so-called conversation has a few interesting parts, but this statement stood out to me. The whole civility discussion. When she was a real judge working in New York City's child welfare system, Judith Sheindlin was accused of being insensitive. Real Judge Judy was trying to scold and scare lazy social workers, addict parents, and wayward kids into doing what she thought was right. But it was only going to get worse, so she took her chance to cash in.

The people in Judge Judy's TV courtroom have histories and circumstances that figure into why they are fuck-ups getting sued for $2000 in back rent and $750 for caving in their landlord's car windshield with a brick. Real Judge Judy and the law cannot factor in any of that. The fact that the plaintiffs and defendants are mostly all fuck-ups is part of the formula to the show's appeal.

something about a human archive

I remembered a girl who thought of herself as scribblings on scraps of paper. Notes made here and there—notes that are only briefly relevant. When those notes are rediscovered after a time, they don't make sense anymore, and it is best to throw them away.

something about Truman Capote's novella, "Breakfast at Tiffany's"

In Truman Capote's classic novella, "Breakfast at Tiffany's," Holly Golightly often appears to be a mean, awful person. But she cries on Fred's shoulder the first time they meet. We quickly see that Holly is a contradiction, a "real phony." She feigns an aloof, carefree attitude to protect herself from rejection; she acts refined and educated to disguise the fact that she comes from extreme poverty. She is very vulnerable, which makes her very dangerous.

Capote is a sentimental literary genius because he knows how to cut edges around his open heart. During a crucial, heart-wrenching scene in which Holly reunites with her pitifully naive first husband, Doc, Capote inserts a scream from Holly's upstairs neighbor: "Shut up! It's a disgrace. Do your whoring elsewhere."

This novella's many wonderful lines include the following:

You can't give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they're strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky.

And

So the days, the last days, blow about in memory, hazy, autumnal, all alike as leaves: until a day unlike any other I've lived.

about a conversation at the office

A woman, Sue, from the policy division, stopped by the office Friday afternoon. She complimented Marcy on a photo Marcy keeps on her desk—closeup photo of a dog. Marcy said thank you. Then Sue reciprocated. She told us that she had her dog's DNA tested, and that the results revealed that quite a few varieties of dog contributed to its making. She provided us with her take on how each of the various breeds were represented in her dog's personality. Sue also shared some stories that illustrated each personality trait.

And a nearby coworker, Debbie, as it turns out, also has a dog. Of course, I knew this and much more beforehand, as she has mentioned it several dozen times. Debbie told us how her dog has started shitting on the two rugs her husband brought from Istanbul to the States. The dog wears diapers now. And, twice monthly, a patch of actual grass is delivered to Debbie's home; her odd son keeps this patch in his room for the dog to shit and piss on.

something about hearing things

A heart that beats but feels nothing at all. There are years and years that I don't recall.

something about "My Life in and out of the Rough," by John Daly

The first professional golfer to catch my attention was John Daly. He was fat and could drive the hell out of the ball. Golf television broadcasters alluded to Daly's unconventional ways, which, of course, invites the viewer's curiosity. My curiosity was mostly satisfied by a 60 Minutes profile in 2006. The profile painted, unsurprisingly, a pretty accurate picture. Daly's full story is told in his autobiography, My Life in and out of the Rough (I assume, given the timing of its publication, that the book likely inspired 60 Minutes to profile Daly for the show).

Daly, with writing help from Glen Waggoner, turns in a breezy read. Daly's life is told in his honest, colloquial voice. A couple of chapters were just question-and-answer style, and one consisted only of bits of numerical trivia. The most interesting parts are when Daly declares that he does not think he is an alcoholic, despite the fact that he drinks a ton and has tried to cut down or stop. This is an autobiography that makes no demands and centers on a one-of-a-kind in his sport. I felt a little disappointed because Daly is not insightful in his thin moments of introspection. But, overall, this is not a bad read.

about a book he wrote

I wrote an awesome book about a guy, Johnny Blast, who has to drive a truckload of drugs somewhere to save his hot wife's life. He barely makes the delivery, and then he kills the bad guys and keeps the drugs. His wife dies, though.
 

something about "The Collected Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe"

I did not previously appreciate how much Poe wrote that was not macabre. A review of selections from this collection enlightened me. I particularly enjoyed "The Black Cat" and "The Man That Was Used Up." And there are a lot of poems in this edition, but I still haven't read a Poe poem better than "Annabel Lee."

Note: This was the Modern Library edition.

something about "Meditations" by Marcus Aurelius

Meditations is a collection of personal reflections written by Marcus Aurelius (121-180), the Emperor of Rome from 161 to 180 AD. The writings reflect the life of a Stoic. The Stoic philosophy is not like asceticism, which is a lifestyle of abstinence and frugality. Stoicism, as represented in Marcus Aurelius' writings, is closer to Zen; the Emperor-author emphasizes focus, moderation, self-control, and harmony.

I appreciate how Marcus Aurelius begins the day by focusing on the values he wants to live and exhibit through his behavior. I also love this lesson and promise: "From Alexander the Platonic, not frequently nor without necessity to say to any one, or to write in a letter, that I have no leisure; nor continually to excuse the neglect of duties required by our relation to those with whom we live, by alleging urgent occupations."

Note: The version I read was translated by George Long and was published in a Harvard Classics edition that also includes Plato's The Apology, Phaedo, and Crito, as well as Epictetus' The Golden Sayings.

about imagining

I peek outside, then I am drawn through a French door onto the patio. My eyes pull left to the neighbor's house. Through its large bay window I find the eyes of an obese killer, more monster than man. He is a horrifying blob stationed at a breakfast table. He wears women's lingerie—a black teddy. He wants to take my life now.

I briefly lose sight of him as he rushes out the back of his house and exits his garage. But, then, he is all I can see. Because he gushes into my yard and is closing in at a paralyzing speed. The impulse to run takes me.

Roaring nearer, he warns me that he will now begin asking questions, and if I answer correctly, I can live a few seconds more. Here's how it will go. First he will sing, and I must finish the lyrics. So he begins singing "Hallelujah."

I scramble onto a trampoline in the yard, and he corners me there. He is singing, and I think, "She tied you to her kitchen chair, and she broke your throne, and she cut your hair." He is at the edge of the trampoline now. I jump left, he moves left; I jump right, he is there. He is unbelievably fast, and he is singing, and his voice grows incredibly loud. I am in the air, and his singing comes out now in two voices—a high, loud shriek and a low moan. He disappears under the trampoline as I begin coming down, and he is right under me. I try to will my body forward, a lunge unpropelled, an attempt made weak with terror. I wake, bolting upright in bed, hearing my own pitiful, last groan.

something about "The Complete Stories of Truman Capote"

I read everything in "The Complete Stories of Truman Capote." These are shorts laid out by the famous, brilliant American author. The stories are wonderful, of course. But the introduction is ridiculous—almost hateful. It includes the following passages:

This man who impersonated an exotic clown in the early, more private years of his career and then—pressed by the heavy weight of his past—became the demented public clown of his ending...

And,

In his final wreckage, this slender collection of short stories may well have seemed to Capote the least of his fulfillment ... by his own refusal to conquer his personal hungers ...

Awful.

Of the earlier Capote works collected here, "A Diamond Guitar" strikes a chord. But the best of all the stories was the later work, "Mojave," written in 1975. The protagonists' detachment makes the exotic and strange seem sadly familiar.

something about "The Government Inspector" by Nikolai Gogol

Nikolai Gogol's play, "The Government Inspector," satirizes political corruption in Imperial Russia. Russia is incurably corrupt, so while the play, published in 1836 (and revised in 1842), is presumably set in the mid-19th century, it remains relevant—and not just in Russia. In the play, small-town corrupt local officials receive news that a high-ranking, undercover inspector general will investigate the town's corruption problem. The locals mistake a pathetic, lowly civil servant, Khlestakov, for the inspector. Khlestakov and his servant take full advantage.

I read a version that included stage adaptation notes written by director Michael Langham. Langham's introduction emphasizes, among other things, that the corrupt mayor, rather than Khlestakov, is the central figure. I appreciate book editions that include notes like this. Sure enough, the mayor has the best lines. I found the work a quality read.


Notes: It is understood that corruption threatens all nations. Populist movements are perhaps most susceptible.

about zealots

Think of someone you love, whose love for you is such a given that you sometimes take them for granted.

Imagine that person far away, the hostage of a violent zealot. Imagine your loved one, dressed in an orange jumpsuit, forced to their knees. Imagine that person positioned before a high-definition camera in the desert. Imagine, dressed head to toe in black, the zealot crowding in the picture with a highly polished knife.

The zealot speaks to the camera, his hand on your loved one's shoulder, telling you there is no choice. He tells you that forces beyond all three of you have forced this moment. The zealot tells you that your loved one will die, and that, although he will slit your loved one's throat, he did not choose to.

Imagine the zealot puts the knife to the throat of your beloved and cuts through the skin, tears into the muscles, saws through the tendons, and hits bone. Imagine your loved one gurgling, blood urging out. That's how they die.

something about Denis Johnson's short story collection, "Jesus' Son"

The episodes in Jesus' Son hang on degenerates, but the narrator's simple, intimate diction conveys a sense of peace rather than anxiety about or perverse fascination with the damaged scenery and people at issue. This collection of short stories by American author Denis Johnson is quite good. I learned of Jesus' Son by reading the essay, "Does Recovery Kill Great Writing?," published in The New York Times Magazine in March 2018. The essay includes this quote from Johnson's collection: “The sky was torn away and the angels were descending out of a brilliant blue summer, their huge faces streaked with light and full of pity.” I was intrigued. Then the essay's author reveals, "While I was studying at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, I spent my nights at the writers’ bars on Market Street, and I spent my days reading the other writers who had gotten drunk in that town before I’d gotten drunk there: John Berryman, Raymond Carver, Denis Johnson." Having read this, when I picked up Jesus' Son, I expected Johnson's stories to boil up in America's less populated stretches of shadow and pain. Not so.
 
My favorite stories include "Dundun," "Emergency," and "Dirty Wedding." In a scene in "Dirty Wedding," the narrator, having accompanied his girlfriend to the abortion clinic, is asked to wait outside the building among pro-life protestors. Johnson writes: "It was raining outdoors and most of the Catholics were squashed up under an awning next door with their signs held overhead against the weather. They splashed holy water on my cheek and on the back of my neck, and I didn't feel a thing. Not for many years."

Note: Jesus' Son was published in 1992

something about Richard Yates

This reading of The Collected Short Stories of Richard Yates was my first exposure to the author's writing. A few years ago, I saw and very much enjoyed the film adaptation of what is perhaps Yates' most famous work, "Revolutionary Road." Hard to believe and somewhat sad that I lived this long without reading this brilliant American writer.

Yates (1926–1992) masterfully crafts poignant stories in which personally profound events happen quietly. These are moments the characters will likely relive with feelings of melancholy or bitterness. This book includes stories from previous collections Eleven Kinds of Loneliness and Liars in Love, plus several stories under a chapter heading named "The Uncollected Stories." Of these short stories, I loved "A Glutton for Punishment," a brilliant study of a pathological failure drawn to graceful defeat. I also loved "The B.A.R. Man," a story in which the tension rises until the last word. Yates' stories sometimes end with a feigned punch, and I flinch. "A Convalescent Ego," the last story in this anthology, does the opposite; I laughed as I read it on a plane, and the end warmed my toes.


Notes: Revolutionary Road, the 2008 movie directed by Sam Mendes, stars Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet; but Michael Shannon owns it, of course, with his performance.

dialog from Kojak, "Tears for All Who Loved Her"

Kojak: You know, in a way, I admire her. A little kid, out of the sewers by her fingernails. No father, a lush for a mother.

Crocker: Why did you walk away from her?

Kojak: (Laughs) You know, I remember seeing a picture once. About this guy, came out of the streets, made it big. When he was a kid, used to have holes in his soles. So now he's got 200 pairs of shoes, he's rich. But he'd still cut a guy's heart out for a pair of shoes. That's why.


Note: 20 November 1977

about having no communication

Sitting on the front porch in the middle of the night and debating whether a tree needs trimming. I wish I could make those limbs disappear. I wish I could make other things happen. I would start with that tree. But I should think bigger. Surround myself with a giant wall? Bring lots of people over here? Go somewhere else? No. Would I want to just lie on the couch at my parents', watching a movie with mom and dad? Would I want to live forever? Be young forever? Have billions of dollars just to live and die comfortably? Maybe there is nothing else anymore.

something about "Riders of the Purple Sage" by Zane Grey

I started reading Zane Grey's Western novella "Riders of the Purple Sage," but I could not stand the unworldly prose. Bits of it were salted goodness; most of it was sour. For example, the good:

The life of his eyes dulled to the gloom with which men of his fear saw the approach of death. But death, while it hovered over him, did not descend, for the rider waited for the twitching fingers, the downward flash of hand that did not come.

But the sour dialog included this:

"Oh! Don't whip him! It would be dastardly!" implored Jane with slow certainty of her failing courage.

And prose like this:

Jane's subtle woman's intuition, even in that brief instant, felt a sadness, a hungering, a secret.

There have been many Western-genre works that I have enjoyed. But, I decided, as I sometimes do, that I did not want to spend my time trying to push through this one. There are many other works worth the time.

Notes:
I had just started chapter three.
The word "sage" (and "purple") was overused and worked into the prose unnecessarily. 

something about "The Hellbound Heart" by Clive Barker

Horror novella "The Hellbound Heart," published in 1986, was the basis for the 1987 film, "Hellraiser," which became something of a horror franchise. The novella, written by Clive Barker, opens with a devoted hedonist solving a puzzle box that introduces him to the Cenobites, a religious order dedicated to extreme sensual experiences. The Cenobites immediately own Frank, the filthy bastard, and doom him to an eternity of unfathomable pain and misery--which, I guess, gives them pleasure. That event sets up a silly story about how Frank's sister-in-law, who became infatuated with Frank upon marrying his brother, discovers and almost rescues Frank, so to speak, by murdering a couple of guys. The writing style, plot, and characters were ridiculous. This is a twisted story, really, but aside from coming across a few good phrases describing some intense sensations, I felt silly reading "The Hellbound Heart."

something about "Believer: My Forty Years in Politics" by David Axelrod

David Axelrod emerged on the national political scene as Barack Obama's invaluable strategist during the 2008 campaign. After the campaign, Axelrod stayed on as Obama's senior advisor for half of the first term. He returned to the campaign trail for Obama in 2012. While these events, covered in Axelrod's memoir, Believer, are momentous, I enjoyed the beginning of Axelrod's story most of all.

When he was a child, the future strategist, born in New York City, witnessed a John F. Kennedy campaign speech. Axelrod cites that moment as a formative experience. He had caught and internalized the political optimism of the day. He recalls the experience with undiminished sincerity.

I also enjoyed his brief recount of Chicago's modern political history. This memoir also offers a little of the guilty pleasure of gossipy criticism, such as when Axelrod criticizes Elizabeth Edwards for micromanaging the 2004 presidential campaign of her husband, John.

Axelrod went to college in Chicago, then started as a journalist investigating Chicago politics and corruption. He had his own column in a city paper by age 18. Axelrod was friends with Obama long before they campaigned together, both having built careers out of Chicago politics.
 
Axelrod keeps the narrative moving. He could have written a whole book on just the first week in the White House, with the whole country groaning under the weight of the the financial crisis. But Axelrod gives those monumental days only the standard highlight reel. His writing is crisp, clever, and often funny. His forty-year career goes by too fast at times. He is an underrated and undervalued figure in our national politics. His enduring belief in the promise of America is precious.

about being a city brotherly love

I know there were moments there when I told myself, "Hold on to this feeling." But all I remember is how I felt seeing the seven-day outlook on the local news of a city I was about to leave forever. And, out on the sidewalk, under the old church awning, all that regret and anguish stored up in a man's face.

(posts) the warning that was taped on the refrigerator in the break room