‘We’re here because we’re here. And since we’re here, we might as well be warm.’
Pratchett, Terry; Stewart, Ian; Cohen, Jack. The Science of Discworld: A Novel. Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SISTER MARY ANNE
A. POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN EL DORADO HILLS:
In between nanny duties when HRM was off on a play date, I slipped into the man cave ordered up a lemonade and a hand rolled regular panatela and watched Planet of the Apes: The Beginning on their wall sized TV screen. A few days later Dick, HRM and I went to see Dawn of the Planet of the Apes at the local movie emporium. Andy Serkis deserves an Oscar nomination.
I’ve been in a bit of a funk for about a week or so. No reason, it just happens now and then. During that time I pull a Garbo and withdraw from contact with others or become snappish when I cannot. I have not been able to exercise much during that time so I thought another trip into the darkness of the man cave would help my attitude. I sat there in the dim light listening to some classic rock and thought about the music I used to listen to many years ago as jazz began to give way to rock. It has been about 60 years since the heyday of Miles, Coltrane and Bill Evans. Sixty years are a long time ago, except for we alters. Sixty years before Miles popular music consisted mostly of polkas, hymns and rag time. Now in the second decade of the 21st Century streaming is strangling music as we know it as it is also killing literature. H shows me many strange things he finds on u-tube and the apparently popular games he likes that allows people to create their own universes and share it with one another. Perhaps future art forms will grow out of those. But what happens to music? Are future generations destined to forever to simply mine the endless lists of streaming music from the past?
B. SNIPPETS FROM OLD T&T’S:
A bar in Ft. Lauderdale with the Golden Vagina:
The next day Frank and I went to a place in Boca Raton called the Royal Pig (owned appropriately by the original promoters of Hooters) where we met up with a friend of his named Dorian. We ate a lot of bar foods including a tasty fried sweet potato snack. I drank a lot of different fruit juice based cocktails and got a bit drunk.
I remember we talked a fair amount to the bartenders; one a short young woman originally from Cambodia and the other a tall blond girl from Columbus Ohio. Being three Italian-American males of a certain age, we inevitable got around to discussing our ethnic cultural icons, in this case Dean Martin. The bartender from Columbus who is of Italian-German heritage and who’s father pitched for the Mets, shockingly (to us at least) acknowledged she had no idea who Dean Martin was.
Marlena, the director of a local cultural center of some sort, then arrived. She is an old friend of Dorian and Frank. Dorian mentioned that one of her current boyfriends recently had bought her an expensive house, cash. When I enquired how she had managed to accomplish that remarkable feat, she responded, “I owe it all to my golden vagina.”
I also learned that Chuck the Banker who I had met once in San Francisco on some deal or another but who disappeared after scoring some coke, was sitting in his car outside of the bar but refused to come in. We discussed his peculiar behavior patterns for a while.
18 Papa Joe 0001
C. BOOK REPORT:
Whenever I am in a funk (see above), I often dive into reading reams of escapist stuff. During past few days I read the seven books by Kevin Hearne in the Iron Druid series (one cannot get much more escapist than swords and sorcery literature. They operate like a mental laxative. Once your emotions and your mind become so constipated they freeze up rock solid, a good fantasy induces mental diarrhea leaving your brain an aching vacuüm.)
Anyway, our hero a 2000+ year old Druid the last of his kind is on the lam from the celtic god of love who for some reason or other (I forget why because it actually makes no difference) wants to kill him. I enjoy the books because the author peppers them with obscure quotes and historical ephemera. I especially liked one of the books where our Druid and a vampire talk to each other using obscure quotes from Shakespeare.
Oh, he also has a giant Irish wolfhound that talks only to him and says things like:
“I think life is like a ham bone if you live it right. You enjoy it and then you bury it when you’re finished. If you don’t enjoy it and you let it go to waste, you still have to bury it, so you might as well savor everything you can.”
Hearne, Kevin. Shattered: The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Seven (p. 63). Random House Publishing Group.
Not to be outdone on flinging bon mots our 2000+ year old druid (who looks only 21 years old) opines:
“Making a good omelet is like living well: You have to pay attention to the process if you want to enjoy it.”
Hearne, Kevin. Hammered: The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Three (p. 93). Random House Publishing Group.
“Corporations might be harder to kill than gods.”
Hearne, Kevin. Tricked: The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Four (p. 247). Random House Publishing Group.
Pookie says check it out.
1961 – Chico Marx and Carl Jung die.
(Carl Jung’s final words were, “Does Chico yet live?”)
A Irish Father’s advice to his son:
“A man’s supposed to shit himself after he dies, son, not before. Try to remember that, lad, so that when your time comes, you won’t make a right girly mess of it. Now fuck off and go play in the bog.”
Hearne, Kevin. Tricked: The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Four. Random House Publishing Group.
“It used to be that crazy people were more-or-less evenly divided between the (northern) Republican Party and the (southern) Democratic Party. Now they are concentrated in the Republican Party. This matters–and is a source of great terror and dismay for the non-crazy Republicans, and for us all.”
“The world is a ball of dung and we are the worms that live in it and eat each other. The one who eats all the others wins — but he is still the last living worm in a lump of shit.”
Tad Williams, Shadowrise.