Instead of the requisite New Year's Resolutions post, I decided to regale you with an article I read in the January 2008 Smithsonian magazine called “28 Places to See Before You Die.”
The opening paragraph goes like this:
We are all of us resigned to death: it’s life we aren’t resigned to,” novelist Graham Greene once wrote. A growing number of Americans of all ages are embracing that idea by renewing a resolve to live life to its fullest. Exhibit A is the recent popularity of “life lists”—itineraries of things to do and places to go before taking the ultimate trip to the Great Beyond.
Here’s the Smithsonian’s list:
1. Mesa Verde (cliff houses of the Pueblo Indians/Colorado) 2. Pompeii (Italy) 3. Tikal (ancient Mayan city, Guatemala) 4. Petra (Jordan) 5. Pyramids of Giza (Egypt) 6. Taj Mahal (India) 7. Easter Island (2000 miles off the coast of South America) 8. The Great Wall (China) 9. Aurora Borealis (Alaska or anywhere above 60 degrees latitude) 10. Serengeti (Tanzania, East Africa) 11. Iguazu Falls (on the border of Brazil and Argentina) 12. Machu Picchu (lost city of the Incas, Peru) 13. The Louvre (Paris, France) 14. Zen Garden of Kyoto (Japan) 15. Uffizi Gallery (Florence, Italy) 16. Fallingwater (the Frank Lloyd Wright falls in Pennsylvania) 17. Yangtze River (China) 18. Antarctica 19. Mount Kilimanjaro (Tanzania, East Africa) 20. Grand Canyon (Arizona, U.S.A.) 21. Pagan (Myanmar, formerly Burma) 22. Parthenon (Athens, Greece) 23. Angkor Wat (Cambodia) 24. Ephesus (west coast of Turkey) 25. Venice (Italy) 26. Amazon Rain Forest (spans 8 South American countries) 27. Great Barrier Reef (Australia) 28. Galápagos Islands (off the coast of Ecuador)
I’ve been to nine of the places on the list; they’re marked in red in case you’re interested.
Iguazu Falls
When I was young, I spent all of my free time and disposable income roaming exotic places. However, traveling is more difficult than it used to be: crowds, long waits, security concerns. Maybe that’s why in recent years I’ve limited my treks to book tours and the occasional sailing trip. I recently received an invitation to visit the Galápagos Islands but declined because I was too busy. My friends are back now. They just sent me a photograph of the two of them sidled next to a giant tortoise, which left me wondering if I should dig out the old passport again.
The ancient theater at Ephesus where my recitation of Percy Bysshe Shelley's sonnet Ozymandias could be clearly heard from center stage to the nose-bleed section.
I'd love to visit all of those places on the Smithsonian's list. Sadly, even if I start booking tickets today, I probably won't have time to see every one before I kick the bucket. So, if you’ve traveled to any of the areas I haven’t seen, please tell me if it was worth the trip. And while you’re at it, tell me which of your most inspiring travel destinations is missing from the list.
Although I had traveled to the USA as a visitor on many occasions, it wasn’t until December 1990 that I came here for a more ambitious sojourn – yes, the six month “sabbatical” that went on for longer than I originally intended, and here I am now with a pile of papers awaiting attention on my desk marked “Application for Naturalization.” Well, there goes the Dame-hood!
But that isn’t what I had in mind this morning, as I reflected upon the waning festive season. The thing that most surprised me about the holidays here in America, next to the fact that people seemed to take most of their gifts back to the stores within a couple of days of December 25th to get a refund or to change the "stuff," was that as soon as the day was done, people began taking down their Christmas trees and decorations. Don’t they know this is bad luck, thought I? Where I come from the tree remained in place until January 6th, and then it came down. Admittedly, by that time it was looking pretty tired. You couldn’t walk across the room without getting a pine needle in your foot and the lights had either fused or had managed to take out every appliance in the house. Granted, when I was growing up the light problem was more to do with the fact that my dad overloaded the sockets, but you get my point. However, our tree was always the tree that went on giving, because as my Mum put it, “Now the birds have their Christmas.’ The tree, complete with the odd bits of tinsel that wouldn’t let go, would then be set up in the garden where we “decorated” it with bits of bread and turkey fat, threading them with twine and then dangling them from the branches where those baubles had been hanging just the day before. My brother and I would rush in and peer out of the kitchen window to watch the birds swoop down for their feast.
I don’t know if there’s a moral to that story, as they say. Just as when we read a book, we take from any story what we will, remembering the birds swooping to our leftovers makes me think about the swift passage of our season of giving, and that there’s still time to make (tax-deductible) gifts to the organizations that reflect the things I care about most. I know I’m getting boring about this, but hey – my next task this morning involves killing someone (in a writerly sense, you understand), so I know no fear. Here’s where I’ll be sending a few pieces of fat before 2008 comes in with its diaper flapping in the wind:
The Natural Resources Defense Council. Can’t stop thinking about drowning polar bears.
Medecins San Frontieres: Doctors without borders – they go where no man wants to go, and they get to work when they get there.
American Civil Liberties Union: It says something about free speech in that pile of papes on my desk, hence the donation.
The others on my list are more local organizations connected with literacy, the humane society, the homeless ... kind of reminds me of those words:
Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a lot of form-filling to get on with.
It’s the holidays and my blog days are jammed in after Christmas and on national hangover day. I have to resort to the oldest, most clichéd topics of all time. Makes me feel a little like I’m writing episode of Nash Bridges.
Let’s start with Christmas. An important day to most Christians, despite it’s origins and arbitrary date, it represents the birth of Christ and that’s a big deal to some of us. Whether it has meaning to you or not does not give you a reason to recuse yourself from this vital question: “What’s your favorite Christmas song? And what trivia can you give us about it?
I love Christmas songs, I admit it. But it has more to do with childhood memories than anything else. I like most of the remakes as well, except the ones where the current crop of singers feel the need to show off their vocal dexterity or deep soul. I call it the Alicia Keyes syndrome. It’s not enough to sing the words but to prove they can emote as well. Ms. Keyes is to singing what Charleton Heston is to acting. If a little is good, too much is better.
The my favorite two songs both come from sixties TV special still running on the network today. From Rudolph the Rednosed Raindeer is Burl Ives version of Holly Jolly Christmas. Love the simple message sung by a truly jolly voice.
Next is the somber Little Drummer boy. The broadcast of these puppet or whatever they were, stories signaled to all the Born children that Christmas was on it’s way. No school, good food and presents. (It was only later I grasped the deeper meaning in the holiday).
Here’s the trivia for Rudolph:
Although the animations were filmed in Japan, the entire soundtrack for "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" was recorded in a studio near Yonge Street in Toronto, Ontario; most of the singing and speaking cast were Canadian.
Burl Ives' "Holly Jolly Christmas" was a seasonal standard long before it was used in the film.
When Santa's sleigh finally takes off into the storm near the end of the film, it's being pulled by SIX reindeer instead of eight, with Rudolph leading the way.
Now it’s your turn.
What song do you like and what’s something we don’t know about it?
Here’s looking forward to the next Holiday, whatever you celebrate. Next week we’ll look at -- you guessed it – New Year’s resolutions.
Does anyone remember now whether it was Fran Liebowitz or Nora Ephron who wrote the great series of quizzes with titles such as, "So, You Want to Be the Queen of England..."
and "So, You Want to Be the Pope..." (My friends call me: a)Sparky b)Bubba c)Supreme Pontiff)
I don't currently have a clue, and I can't seem to find my copy of Field Studies to check, but I thought it would be good to offer a similar aptitude test for those considering a career in the Noir Services Industries(tm).
So, You Want to Write Noir...
1. Who killed Roger Aykroyd?
a. Ken Bruen b. Leonardo Da Vinci c. I can't tell you, it would be a spoiler d. The knitting cat
2. "They threw me off the hay truck about noon" is the first sentence of which classic novel?
a. The Secret of the Old Clock b. The Woman in White c. Princess Daisy d. The Postman Always Rings Twice
3. You come home to find your significant other doing the nasty on the kitchen table with the private investigator you hired. Do you...
a. Pour yourself a slug of bourbon while full of angst. b. Close your venetian blinds while full of angst c. Straighten the seams on your stockings, stand dramatically backlit in the kitchen doorway, take one deep drag off your cigarette, and then exhale while full of angst d. Slap yourself across the face repeatedly, yelling "My mother! My sister! My mother! My sister!" e. All of the above.
4. Your landlady, a slatternly old drunk, is banging on the door demanding the three weeks back rent you owe her. Do you...
a. Invite her in to join the party b. Shoot a man in Reno, just to watch him die c. Tell her you don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies d. Unbutton your shirt, open the door, chuck her under the chin, and ask her where she's been all your life
5. Of the following, who's the most noir?
a. Rita Hayworth
b. Jessica Rabbit
c. Gloria Grahame
c. Claire Trevor
e. Frances Farmer
6. In order to avoid bruising that might harm business, pimps often beat their "girls" employing
a. a towel filled with oranges b. a roll of nickels in each fist c. coat-hangers wrapped in cotton batting d. dressage whips
7. If you're "on the gooseberry lay," you have been...
a. stealing clothes from clotheslines b. picking fruit as a migrant worker c. trying to score some heroin d. breaking into chicken coops after dark e. Shooting men in Reno, just to watch them die
8. Of the following, who's the most noir?
a. Charles Bukowski
b. Tom Waits
c. Prince Philip
d. Sylvia Plath
9. The line "reader, I married him" appears in which novel?
a. Jane Eyre b. The Grifters c. They Shoot Horses, Don't They? d. The Magdalen Martyrs
10. Eddie Muller is
a. the fourth Pep Boy that Manny, Mo, and Larry don't talk about. b. the Czar of Noir c. The Sultan of Swing d. The bastard love-child of Barbara Stanwyck and Charles Willeford
11. Why does "she walk(s) these hills in a long black veil"?
a. because she shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die b. because her lover's alibi for the night of her husband's murder was "I'd been in the arms of my best friend's wife" c. Because she was a man in Reno, before the surgery d. Because she looks good in hats
12. How much does an eightball weigh?
a. one half pound b. an eighth of an ounce, give or take the weight of the baggie c. the same as a cueball d. two keys of Lebanese blonde hash, man
(Lucky Number) 13. What color is a typical nickel bag?
a. silver b. the same color as a Nation Sack c. green d. manila
14. What is the perhaps apocryphal real-life reason that Orson Welles included the word "rosebud" in Citizen Kane?
a. He was a fan of Miss Marple, and gardening generally b. He still missed his boyhood sled c. It was William Randolph Hearst's pet name for a rear nether-portion of Marion Davies' anatomy d. He was deeply moved by the poignancy of allegorical chivalric love poetry
Bonus question:
15. Complete the following sentence: "Third boxcar, midnight train..."
a. "...drinkin' wine, spo-dee-o-dee" b. "... destination: Bangor, Maine" c. "...falls mainly in the plain" d. "...beads and Roman sandals won't be seen"
Answers are written in white, below. Highlight them to check your score, giving five points for each correct answer.
1. a2. d3. d4. b5. e6. c7. a8. d9. a. And you lose five points for knowing that.10. b11. b12. b13. d 14. c 15. b
How you rate:
0-10: Stick to "cats that knit" as protagonists 15-25: Cheese it, you're about as noir as Nanny and the Professor 30-40: Go home and memorize some Bukowsky 45-55: Pack your bags, you've won a free trip to Angst-erdam 60 and up: Step away from the bourbon... and don't ever go back to Reno
Check out this December 20, 2007 New York Times article by Amy Virshup, in which she displayed her impeccable taste in books by mentioning two upcoming releases written by the Nakeds:
THE CRAZY SCHOOL By Cornelia Read 328 pages. Grand Central Publishing. $23.99.
At the start of Cornelia Read’s new novel Madeline Dare is teaching at the Santangelo Academy, a “therapeutic boarding school” for troubled teenagers run by the charismatic if more than a bit loony Dr. David Santangelo. Madeline is not without troubles of her own, as she tells readers early on: “I wanted to believe Santangelo could fix me, while he was at it. Who among us does not want to be shriven, to confess all, in the hope of being made clean and whole and new?” But when two of her students reveal their secret to her, Madeline gets drawn into a whole new set of complications.
LAST CALL By James Grippando 326 pages. Harper. $24.95.
After taking a break from his Jack Swyteck series, James Grippando returns with another tale featuring Swyteck, a defense lawyer in Miami, and his best friend, Theo Knight, a former gang member, falsely convicted death-row inmate and now owner of Sparky’s Tavern (“a true dive, but it was his dive,” as Theo thinks to himself). Theo’s life seems to be on track, until Isaac Reems, one of his former gang compatriots, shows up at Sparky’s, fresh out of prison. (“I put myself on the early-release plan,” he tells Theo in the course of robbing him.) But who is going to believe that Theo had nothing to do with the jailbreak? Certainly not Andie Henning, the F.B.I. agent who just happens to be Jack’s former girlfriend. Both Mr. Grippando and Cornelia Read are members of the Naked Authors blog group.
Yay!!!! Go Team!!!!!! You make us proud. Coming up: Jacqueline Winspear's next Maisie Dobbs novel AN INCOMPLETE REVENGE and James O. Born's BURN ZONE are both set for release in February 2008.
A CREATURE OF HABIT: WHAT I'M SERVING FOR CHRISTMAS DINNER
Every year I throw a dinner party on Christmas day for a group of friends—the same friends. This has been going on for more years than I can count. And every year I waste a good deal of time reviewing recipes and contemplating a menu that I will never serve. This year I seriously thought about spiced crown pork roast with glazed root vegetables, mainly because of an article by Russ Parsons in the Los Angeles Times that began like this:
“It’s late Christmas morning and all of the presents have been unwrapped. Even if just for the moment, the kids are lulled into quiet. Southern California’s bright winter sunshine floods in through the window. Now it’s time for the grown-ups to relax into a long, slow afternoon celebrating their own holiday. And that, of course, means dinner.”
His scenario sounded so much like Walden Two, that it almost lulled me into a butcher shop. But who was I kidding? That doesn’t even come close to describing my household. Relaxed? As if. There's food flying in my kitchen. The floor, not to mention my apron, is crusted with gravy, flour, and olive oil residue. The green food coloring I just added to the frosting on my Christmas ginger cookies has gravitated beneath my fingernails, resembling jolly holiday fungus. Trust me. It's not a pretty sight.
The truth is I always serve turkey with Mrs. Cubbison’s dressing, cranberries, and Minnesota wild rice with mushroom duxelles. I make the gravy from scratch, starting with the stock. The only thing I change from year to year are the vegetables and the dessert. I'm feeling a little green beany this year, and instead of my usual plum pudding with rum sauce, I’m making a traditional pumpkin pie.
Perhaps the reason I never change the menu is that my friends seem to love the food. I'm not a brilliant cook, but I know how to follow a recipe. I find most of mine in Julia Child's book The Way to Cook.
Of course, the positive reviews of my cuisine might be attributed to all that vermouth Julia makes me add to almost every dish. By the time my guests leave the table, they’re so tipsy they can’t remember what they ate, only that they want to eat it again and again. And it's all good.
Wishing you peace, health, and happiness this holiday season and always. And here's hoping you've made your LAST last-minute trip to the grocery store before tomorrow's dinner.
I once had a conversation with my friend Diane, about the virtues of the computerized calendar/address book – your Palm Pilot, Treo, Blackberry, or whatever – in comparison with the more traditional pen and paper method of keeping your life straight, which for both of us was the trusty Filofax. At that point I was on the verge of transferring my allegiance – I know, me, of all people – but Diane made me think again when she said, “You know, the thing that worries me is that, when I’m flicking through my Filofax to get to a certain day, I suddenly come across the name of someone I haven’t seen for ages, so I give them a call, or I see that note I made about a book I wanted to read, or a play I meant to get tickets for. I’m afraid I’ll miss those things if I have a means of going straight to a date and the time.” Good point.
I was reflecting upon Diane’s insight this week when, surrounded by a box of Christmas cards, my current Filofax and two old address books, I began to write my cards. You see, I’m a collector of people. Not in a Terence Stamp in “The Collector” sort of way – you won’t find anyone locked away in my garage – a but in the way of wanting to keep people with me even when it’s time to let them go, even when they’ve gone. It could be this reflective time of year, but I get rather sad about it, sad that they’ve moved on, that I’ve moved on, and we’re just memories to each other now.
Take Jennifer, my friend from the age of six. Jenny protected me at school when I was teased about my lazy eye and, loyal to the core, she was waiting at my house when I came home from the hospital after the corrective surgery, complete with bandages around my eyes. My mother had taken down all the mirrors so I wasn’t scared by my own painful reflection, with bloody eyes and bruises from my eyelids to my cheeks, and she told Jenny to try to not show surprise when she saw me. I remember arriving at the house and when mum took off the bandages, Jenny pressed her lips together and said, “Oh, Jackie, what beautiful eyes.” Then when I went to the bathroom she buried her head in my mother’s lap and cried her heart out. She emigrated to Canada when we were both thirteen, but we managed to keep a friendship alive until we were about thirty-two. I last spoke to Jen about twelve years ago, and it was wonderful. I’d love to see her again, would love to have a chat. But I don’t know where she is now, just that she still lives somewhere in Ontario, I think.
Then there’s Helen and John, and along with them, there’s Ade. We were all caught up in one of life’s hurricane’s about eighteen years ago. I don’t know what I would have done without their friendship. It was the worst of times, to tell you the truth. But talk about laugh! John and Helen were two of the wittiest people I have ever met – thank heavens they married each other. There were times when we laughed until we cried, and there were laughs when we should have been crying, and we all did just that too. What I wouldn’t give to have just one more silly dinner with those lovely people. I remember once, driving to an appointment with Ade – I was the marketing exec and he was the designer, and our client was in the business of “women’s sanitary wear.” So, along with Ade’s designs (this was before you simply sent a computer link), multiple copies of my proposal and boxes of aforesaid sanitary wear, off we went to the big meeting to make our pitch. The weather was dreadful and although I was zipping along, I also had to keep my eyes peeled to the road. We were bantering a bit, talking about this and that, and suddenly Ade says, “Let’s just hope we don’t get into an accident with a condom lorry – can you just imagine the headlines?” So we did, and it was all we could do not to giggle throughout the whole meeting. We got the job though.
I miss Peggy because she was my first real friend when I came to America. She knew my brother and he’d said that if she wanted someone to ride her horse when she couldn’t, well, his sister would do it. We became firm friends, going to movies together, taking her daughter to Catalina Island for the day, riding horses – nothing spectacular, but lots of fun. Peggy eventually went back to Minnesota and within a couple of years she was married. We traded a few letters and calls, then one day I realized she was one of the lost ones. Her name and the last address I have for her are still in that book, though. Just in case.
Then there are the people I miss because they just aren’t here any more. The ones who’ve died, and whose addresses are still in my book. I find that quite surreal, in a way. My very dear friend, Pat, passed away last year at the age of 73. I had known Pat and her husband, Ken, who died a couple of years earlier, since I was a toddler. They were like family to me. I loved going to their cottage, which seemed not to change from the time I first ever visited as a small child, to my last visit, a woman in her middle years. The cottage itself was Ken and Pat, it was part of them. I remember Ken saying to me, just before he died – we’d been reflecting upon the fact that they had lived in the house some 42 years – “People just don’t seem to stay long anymore, do they?” I wish they could have stayed longer.
All my people are still in my address books, though more recently I seem to collect email addresses rather than those of actual bricks and mortar homes. Perhaps that’s what we are now – people who carry our addresses with us, like snails or turtles. I miss them all, my past people, but know that – as I said at the beginning of this post – not all relationships are meant to last forever. Yet, at the same time, when I send out my cards to friends and family I look at those old names and addresses and hope the ones who I’ve lost, perhaps, out of the blue might recall a laugh, a joke, a good time shared, and know that they are remembered and memories are cherished.
I did finally get a Palm Pilot, but managed to drop it in the driveway and ran over it in the car. So I went back to my Filofax. Much better. You never know who you’ll find as you flick through those pages.
Holy Crap, It's Christmas. I know where you can buy a great present; An Independent Book Store.
I’ve talked about how I love librarians, and I do. If they get behind an author you feel like you can accomplish anything. Another group that’s vital to a new writer is the independent bookseller. I wrote an article a couple years ago about one of the most endangered species in Florida: The Independent Bookseller. We’ve protected the rare Florida Key Deer, slashing the speed limit in their tiny sanctuary in the lower Keys, teaching the pubic about this small, genetic offshoot of the White Tail Deer and regarding them with a sort of awe and wonder with which we really should view all of God’s works of art.
But the independent book seller is also dying out. The wonderful Black Orchid of New York was the latest to slip into the La Brea Tar Pit of retail stores. Joe and Bonnie made me feel special when I would visit. More than once I’d meet someone who bought their first James O. Born novel from the Black Orchid.
I travel a lot now, especially when I have a new book out. The stores in Florida are universally supportive. Circle Books in Sarasota and Haslam’s in St. Pete push my books all year long. And I appreciate it. Joann Sinchuk of Murder on the Beach near my house has me speak to large book clubs all the time. I’m on great terms with most Florida booksellers through my travels and attending the Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance trade show. SIBA gives publishers a chance to introduce their writers to the people who’ll be selling their books and it’s a great chance to get to know one another.
All of these stores are just great. McKenna Jordan and David Thompson of Murder by the Book, are true crime fiction experts. To give you an idea of how they hand sell and push good books, our own Paul Levine had all four of his Solomon VS. Lord series on their yearly bestseller list. If that’s not good taste, I don’t know what is.
What can we do to help these fierce, non-corporate stores? It’s simple, shop there. If you’re an author, when you’re on tour, stop at one. Recommend them to your friends. Barnes & Nobles will understand. I’ve never met a B&N manager that was in favor of crushing a local, independent store. Spend a few minutes thinking about ordering a book from your own local independent bookseller rather than logging onto Amazon. I’m not a communist but Jeff Bezos has enough money.
In short, tell your local independent bookseller how much they mean to you and, if they don’t think it’s too creepy, give them a hug.
File this under "Never Eat Anything Bigger Than Your Head." World's smelliest fruit. Like, so smelly you're not allowed to bring it into taxis or hotel rooms in most Asian countries.
And seriously, doesn't it look like something that would attack Sigourney Weaver in space? Why would you eat that? We make Intrepid Spouse consume it outdoors. Preferably in the rain.
2. The Smarmy Child-Molester Way That Televangelists Smile.
Even when they're dead. (Thought I pity the cat.)
3. Zamfir...
...And "Spa Music" generally. Reminds me of being forced to listen to WPAT ("Beautiful Music for Beautiful People") in the back of my Grandparents' Lincoln, as a kid.
4. Palmetto Bugs
Your basic flying durian.
5. That Hotel Skank Who Shall Here Remain Unnamed.
Never thought I'd miss Cornelia Guest. Enough said.
6. Movies With Roman Numerals in the Title
If it feels like you should microwave it before you watch it, it never should have been greenlighted.
7. Captain Beefheart
Ewwwww.
8. Kissinger
Yes, still.
9. Robert Moses
The guy who destroyed the South Bronx, drove the Dodgers and Giants out of New York, and whose underlings boasted they could keep African-Americans out of public swimming pools by "keeping the water too cold." But most of all, the guy who got Penn Station torn down.
I mean, who in their right mind would sacrifice this:
and this:
for this:
What a maroon.
10. Creationists
William Jennings Bryant: what a baboon.
Ten Things I Don't Hate
1. H.L. Mencken
"I never lecture, not because I am shy or a bad speaker, but simply because I detest the sort of people who go to lectures and don't want to meet them."
"It is now quite lawful for a Catholic woman to avoid pregnancy by a resort to mathematics, though she is still forbidden to resort to physics or chemistry."
2. Roz Chast Cartoons
3. Todd Snider
For writing the following lyrics:
Conservative Christian, right wing Republican, straight, white, American males, Soul savin’, flag wavin’, Rush lovin’, land pavin’ personal friends to the Quayles. Quite diligently workin’ so hard to keep the free reins of this De-mo-cracy From tree huggin’, peace lovin’, pot smokin’, barefootin’ folk-singin’ hippies like me. Tree huggin’, peace lovin’, pot smokin’, porn watchin’ lazyass hippies like me.
4. The Idea of Hillary in the Whitehouse
Because nothing would tick off your average conservative Christian right-wing Republican more, and I totally love that.
5. Raclette
Because nothing says "Winter" like hot cheese.
Except latkes
But do yourself a favor and don't have them at the same meal.
6. Barbara Stanwyck
I just saw Double Indemnity again for the first time in years. The woman rocks.
7. Gustavian furniture
Kicks mid-century butt.
8. The Royal Tenenbaums
Watched it tonight on DVD. Exquisite. Like a Franny and Zooey visual cocktail.
9. Sally Mann's Photographs
10. Money
I finally got my advance check, and Wells Fargo finally took the hold off it. As Sophie Tucker used to say, "I been rich, and I been poor, and rich is better."
"Rich" is of course relative, but let's put it this way: I gave a buck to a homeless guy a couple of months ago, and he had a cellphone and I didn't. So at this point I been down so long it looks like up to me.
And as my sister Freya once said, "better nouveau riche than no riche at all."
Unless you're a Hilton.
What are you guys hating and not hating, at the moment?
True story. Yesterday, I'm driving on Cahuenga Boulevard in North Hollywood, talking to a pal on the phone. Earlier in the day, I'd been reading David Montgomery's Crime Fiction Dossier and noticed that Charlie Huston's "The Shotgun Rule" was on one of the "favorites" lists of 2007.
Just as I asked my friend if he'd ever read Huston, I pass a street sign.
Yep, Huston Street. Same spelling and all.
Okay, no big deal. Not yet, anyway.
Call waiting beeps. My son Mike-the-Pipes is on the line from "The Stadium Formerly Known as Joe Robbie" in Miami. He's covering the Baltimore-Miami game for ESPN Radio. Weirdly, the 0-13 Dolphins, vying for the coveted title of Worst Team in History...win in overtime! Holy W00T!
How did they win? Unheralded receiver Greg Camarillo inexplicably scored on a slant that went for a gazillion yards.
I look up. The street sign says "Camarillo."
I am not making this up.
If these things come in threes, what's next? ******************* I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU, BUT I ALWAYS ROOT FOR THE STEER
PERFECT CHRISTMAS GIFT FOR JIM BORN
Jim's been waiting 20 years! Finally, Rhino has come out with this boxed set of DVD's: "Barry Manilow: The first Five Television Specials." (Here's Barry with Penny Marshall. Not pictured: Jim Born).
********************** WORDMEISTER AT A LOSS FOR...WORDS
I know there's a great caption for the Hatton-Mayweather weigh-in, but I can't come up with it. Cornelia? Anyone? ********************************* JIM BORN SCARES UP GREAT REVIEW Joe Hartlaub at Book Reporter names Jim Born's "Field of Fire" one of the ten best mysteries of the year. And good thing. As regular readers know, Jim is always heavily armed.
In case you missed his "Literature & Lead"" video last week, here's another peek. Warning: Not for the squeamish...or for that matter, the sane. *************************************** CONGRATS TO LADY LION SPIKERS
Volleyball is a great sport. I tore up my knee (the first time) playing beach volleyball on Key Biscayne, FL. I was thrilled to watch the Penn State women's team claim the national championship last Saturday night by defeating six-time winner Stanford. Thrilling match with Penn State winning the first two games, Stanford roaring back with two games to tie, and Penn State taking the fifth game 15-8.
According to ESPN announcer (and famed player) Kirch Kiraly, there were a probable six U.S. Olympians on the court for the finals. So, now looking forward to Beijing. ***************** Finally, in the words of Captain in "Cool Hand Luke" (Script by Donn Pearce and Frank Pierson), "What We've Got Here is a Failure to Communicate."
First of all, here’s a NakedAuthors holiday greeting from all of us to all of you. If clicking on the link doesn’t work, you may have to cut and paste. Trust me. It’s worth the effort just to see Jim Born and Paul Levine in elf slippers. Here's the link: http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=1430339331
Onward. Over the weekend I was sorting through my expenses for 2007 and noticed that I’d driven over 2500 miles on Southern California’s highways and byways this year, visiting bookstores and speaking at various events. Most of the time I’m driving alone at night in unfamiliar territory. That’s why I have only one requirement in a car—it must have a navigation system. My current ride is German, and it has a nav system that uses a disembodied woman’s voice. My friend Karen Olson calls her “Sonja.” I call her She Who Must be Obeyed.
Sonja and I don’t always agree. She may be good at directions but I have my finger on the pulse of L.A. traffic. As a result, I sometimes make a turn she doesn’t like. I know this because after a moment of confusion, she will say in a tone that can only be described as clipped and authoritarian, “RECALCULATING!” (I guess you can take the girl out of Stuttgart but you can’t take the Stuttgart out of the girl.)
Sonja thinks she’s perfect, but she’s not. Sometimes her directions sound like a dachshund’s shrill bark, making it difficult to decipher if she wants me to turn left or right. Last Thursday, I was on my way to do a radio interview in Studio City. Sonja wanted me to go east on the 10 Freeway. It wouldn’t have been my choice, but to keep the peace, I complied.
“In two-tenths of a mile,” she said, “exit at La Cienega Boulevard.”
And there’s another of her flaws. She can’t pronounce La Cienega. She says, “La sin NAY ga instead of La see N ega. It’s irritating, because as many times as we’ve been down that road before (so to speak), she should know better by now. On the other hand, I appreciate her telling me “You have arrived at your destination” and on what side of the street the address is located. All of this reminds me once again that relationships are all about compromise.
All of the navigation systems I’ve ever heard use women’s voices. I find that curious because experience tells me men don’t like women telling them to “safely make a U-turn when possible.” So what gives? Do you guys secretly like back-seat driving or are you just looking for a little dominatrix action during those long, lonely commutes to and from work?
Maybe we entrepreneurial Nakeds should start a business of customizing the voices on navigation systems. We’ll call it Naked Navs. Voice Option 1: the kind and socially conscious voice of Our J, with the added bonus of that lovely British accent of hers, telling you to veer left and for the sake of the polar bears, shouldn't you really be driving a Prius? Voice Option 2: the James O, tough guy kick ass and drive safe or I’ll plug your book with my Glock sort of voice. Voice Option 3: Paulie’s wise-cracking directional patter that will keep you laughing even in the worst traffic snarls. As a bonus, it will also highlight all of the anti-war rallies along the route. Voice Option 4: Miss Cornelia’s hip, irreverent social commentary, advising you to “Hang a U-ey, Dude, and while you’re at it, let's load and listen to that CD of the Oranim Zabar Israeli Troupe, singing about the new highway from Beersheeba to Elath.” Voice Option 5: Me—at least I know how to pronounce La Cienega.
To pre-order, please press “comments” and leave your credit card number in the box to the right.
Reading the New York Times just after Thanksgiving, I had a quick scan through an item on the front page regarding predictions of it being a pretty tough holiday season this year. The US economy is held up by the Chinese, who aren’t exactly enamored of the good old dollar any more, houses are in foreclosure and the price of gas is going up and up, even if it does fall back every now and again. In the midst of this gloom, the general feeling was that many people would be passing by the high-end stores as they went about the spending of their money, and would instead be patronizing stores where they would get more bang for their buck. In fact, to start me off on a Sunday morning, one woman said, “I’m shopping at Target and Best Buy this year – it’s going to be a hard, hard Christmas.”
Hard, hard Christmas, thought I? Has this woman just lost the last marble in her head? Hard Christmas, when you can afford to go shopping at Target and Best Buy?
Something, somewhere is out of whack. Anyone reading the newspaper or viewing the latest on CNN will know what a hard holiday season is about.
My prickly response to this article was reignited a couple of days later when I was driving along listening to NPR. Robert Frank, author of Richistan: A Journey Through The American Wealth Boom and the lives of the New Rich, was being interviewed. He was giving examples of a mindset of wealth that is not new, but is definitely different from the wealth waves of the past. He recounted sitting on the 100ft yacht owned by a well-known jillionaire, and was asking him how he felt about his wealth. Turns out that this man did not consider himself wealthy, in fact, he thought he was verging on poor, and pointed to another yacht in the same marina – a 200ft gin palace (my words, couldn’t help it) that he coveted.
Something is waaaay out of whack here. And one of the problems is stuff. Most of us have got too much stuff. We expect even more stuff at holiday times, and we are breeding new generations addicted to stuff. And why are we all grabbing more stuff than we can possibly ever need? Arguably, it's to fill that great big hole somewhere inside that can’t be filled by all the money and stuff in the world.
It’s the hole inside kids who hardly see their parents, but have every new this, that and the other available to purchase. It’s the hole inside people who don’t have time for each other any more, racing against the clock, for the train, along the freeway. It’s the hole that began over a hundred years ago with the American dream of personal independence. Only we went too far.
And for the purposes of this post, I am not even going to touch the people who are making us feel less than worthy if we don’t have all that stuff.
A few years ago, I became quite sickened by the pre-holiday indulgence in shopping. I went out to buy some gifts and came back feeling a bit queasy, to tell you the truth. People, wide-eyed and manic-looking (and I know, any mall can do that to you), were just going round grabbing as much stuff as they could as if the world was going to run out of ... stuff. Men, women and children were going in and out of stores with as many plastic bags of more stuff than they could ever use or have reasonable sized closets to hold it all in. I felt as if I were witnessing a dreadful gorge-fest, and I went home, tired and sad.
No one received gifts that year. I sent cards, and in each card I included a letter informing my dear friends and family that, believe it or not, I had more stuff than I could possibly use already. The stuff I really needed was very specific, and I could buy it myself. I let them know that I had sent all my gift-buying money to four organizations as donations. And I said that if they really wanted to buy me a gift, send the money instead to a non-profit they believed in. That didn’t make me a saint – we all do what we can. I was just so sick of the spend, spend, spend culture of the festive season.
The holiday season has its roots in Saturnalia, the winter pagan festival that was really all about gratitude and hope. (Those clever marketing whizz-kids, the early Christians, moved the celebration of Jesus' birth to winter, to bring more pagans over to their side). The festive foods of today still reflect that ritual: Sweets and puddings made of dried summer fruits are a reminder of a bountiful harvest and the sweetness of life. The evergreen Christmas trees and yule log were worshipped and signified everlasting life, and big fires were lit to give strength to the sun, for it was at the heart of life.
So, what is at the heart of life, and how can we celebrate it by not going crazy at Target or even – for those who can afford it – Neiman Marcus this year? How can we spread the festive season around a bit, so that others taste the sweetness of life? Me? I’ll probably go out to buy a few small gifts late on Christmas Eve, not to a mall, but somewhere with a main street and colored lights and I’ll feel a bit like an extra in one of those old movies about the meaning of the season. But by then I will have already sent out the more important gifts to the organizations I like to support. And no, I’m no angel – it’s just so much easier than the stuff-acquisition (even taking into account internet-ordering). And I never could belt out a carol on a full stomach.
I've not quite cracked the task of adding a video link, but if you go here, you'll find my favorite holiday song:
I did something different this week. I even put some effort into it. I made a short video. That’s right, I’m gonna let this five minute movie do the talking for me. If you’re a crime fiction fan or writer and want to see what guns can really do- have a look. If you want a chuckle – have a look. If your curious and wonder what I do with my free time – have a look. It's called Literature and Lead, Where Books Meet Bullets. And yes, some books were hurt during the filming of this video.
But if I draw in some rednecks or hunters to the world of reading, it'll all be worth it. Once you’ve had a chance to see it, leave me a comment here or at my website, http://www.jamesoborn.com/ . I’d love to hear what you think. This thing was a lot of work. My friend Jeff Shelby gave me the idea and helped. It was fun. A lot of fun and I hope it shows in the movie. Don’t worry, I’ll write something for the blog next week. This week I want you to indulge me and look at this damn movie. And maybe tell a friend or two.
I want to thank Joe Konrath and Jeff Shelby for their help in this endeavor. They're good sports and we talked about it before I made the movie. For the record, I really liked both of these books. I even blurbed Bloody Mary. I wrote a review of Jeff's first book, Killer Swell, and rank it and Wicked Break among my favorite novels. After all the jokes these two have played on me it did feel good to plug away at their books. Finally, all those years on the SWAT team paid off.
The movie might be at the bottom of the post but I've had problems uploading it. If not its posted at Youtube at:
It has been a very, very long time since the government has done anything I was happy about. I'm not happy about the war, or the No Child Left Behind fiasco, or the lame-ass response to the ginormous growth in autism cases, or anything else they've done since, like, forever.
But about two months ago, the government made me very, very happy.
I was lying on the sofa minding my own business, wondering if it was worthwhile to turn off the TV at the end of Jeopardy, when the phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but luckily turned down the volume on the opening theme of Wheel of Fortune before I picked up.
The guy on the phone said, "Hello, Cornelia?"
I said, "Um. This is Cornelia."
And he said, "This is Dana Gioia, from the National Endowment for the Arts."
I swallowed kind of hard, thinking "wow, am I EVER glad I turned down the volume, because how embarrassing would it be to have someone shriek 'I'd like to buy a vowel, Pat!'" In the background while you've got the chairman of the NEA on the phone, you know?
Here is what Mr. Gioia then proceeded to tell me:
As of several days ago, I can actually tell people that it happened. YAY!!!!! I AM SO EXCITED!!!!!
Here is the official version:
The 2008 Literature Fellowships recognize... writers of prose, encouraging the production of new work by affording these writers the time and means to write. Each literature fellow receives a $25,000 award.
This seems like a great deal of money to me. I am tremendously grateful both to the NEA and to my fellow taxpayers for their largesse. I feel kind of guilty.
I keep reminding myself that the war in Iraq costs about $300 million a day.
And that assuages my guilt a little, you know? I mean, writers are cheap, compared to the price of war.
And then I get to thinking about what the WHOLE war is going to cost. I'm hearing something like $1.2 trillion dollars. Let's write that out all the way so we can look at all the zeros, shall we?
$120,000,000,ooo,ooo
Got that?
Think about how much cancer research that would buy. Or college tuitions. Or teacher salaries.
Or how much of, say, New Orleans it could rebuild.
Or how many kids it could feed.
How many veterans it could provide honest-to-goodness healthcare for.
As the Beach Boys used to sing, "wouldn't it be nice?"
(WARNING: the above is NOT the Beach Boys. It is Country Joe and the Fish. Saying "fuck." A lot.)
What would you buy with $1.2 trillion, if we could end the war and stuff?
Not only that, he respects ALL religions, blowing kisses at:
"[T]he profound ceremony of the Catholic Mass, the approachability of God in the prayers of the evangelicals, the tenderness of spirit among the Pentecostals, the confident independence of the Lutherans, the ancient traditions of the Jews, unchanged through the ages, and the commitment to frequent prayer of the Muslims."
Forgive me my trespasses, but what a mouthful of pandering claptrap.
Do you think Mitt was sitting at the breakfast table with his wife and suddenly blurted out, "Ann, I was just thinking about the confident independence of the Lutherans?"
Or do you think some speechwriter flak said, "How can we smooch the most butts?" On a personal level, however, thanks for the appreciation of Jewish traditions. What's your favorite, Mitt? The weirdly paganistic circumcision rite known as a bris, or Bar Mitzvahs costing six figures and headlining the Beach Boys?" ROMNEY CLAIMS MORMONS DON'T EAT CHILDREN
Frankly, I don't care if Romney believes that an angel directed a teenager named Joe Smith in upstate New York to a set of golden tablets containing the true words of God, including the admonition to marry often, Joe himself taking a couple dozen wives, two of whom were apparently fourteen years old on their wedding night.
When Liberty University Chancellor Jerry Falwell Jr. introduced Republican presidential candidate Gov. Mike Huckabee at Wednesday’s convocation, he said Huckabee told university leaders during a visit here last year that “if this candidacy really took off it would have to be a God thing.”
It seems God has done his thing.
The junior Falwell was referring to Huckabee's surge in the Iowa polls. Apparently, God was so busy passing out I-Love-Huck buttons in the heartland, He (or She) fouled up and let that 7.9 earthquake hit Peru.
Hold your fire! Is this the same God who voted for George W. Bush -- several times in Ohio in 2004?
The Huck surge is coming from evangelicals, a group not known for its sense of humor. I mean, when's the last time you saw an evanglical wearing a t-shirt that said: "What Would Scooby Do?" Some believe that the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints is a "cult." Excuse me, but aren't all religions? Thanks to The Los Angeles Times, we just learned that Huckabee believes in freeing rapists and putting AIDS patients in prison. Okay, so I exaggerate. But, here's what's true. As Arkansas Governor, Huckabee twisted the arms of the Parole Board to free a convicted, violent rapist because the man had accepted Jesus and been saved while in prison. The rapist was released, and before you could say "Norman Mailer and Jack Henry Abbott," the man killed two women. Whoops. Back in 1992, as a candidate for the Senate, Huckabee opposed increasing federal funds for an AIDS cure and endorsed a plan to "isolate" AIDS patients.
THIS NAKED SCRIVENER'S FAVORITE RELIGIOUS INJUNCTION
Chapter 24, Verse 2 of the Koran gently admonishes:
"The woman and the man guilty of adultery or fornication, flog each of them with 100 stripes: Let no compassion move you in their case, in a matter prescribed by Allah, if you believe in Allah and the Last Day."
Wait! My wife, Renee, has just interrupted this BLOG. Background info. Renee is a graduate of Archbishop Curley High School in Miami. (Or, as some wags call it, "Archbishop Larry, Moe & Curley High School." Hence, Renee has a religious upbringing. She is also an alum of the University of Florida, where the religion is football.
Actual Renee/Paul dialogue of two minutes ago:
"Don't write about religion. You'll make people angry."
"That's my job."
"When are you going to get over the Spanish Inquisition?"
"When you get over the Crucifixion."
WE RETURN YOU NOW TO THE BLOG, where we will follow Renee's advice and move on. ***************************************** PAL PENS THRILLER
My Miami pal, former TV Anchorgal Jennifer Valoppi, has just published her first novel. It's "Certain Cure," an end-days thriller that bridges the gap between science and religion – where Judeo-Christian prophecies intersect with modern physics and nanotechnology. Yes, religion again!
You can read an excerpt here, and order a signed copy here. **************************************** THIS MAKES ME FEEL OLD... Caroline Kennedy, daughter of JFK, turned 50 last month. Hitting the Big Five-Oh 50 in 2008: Prince. How can this be? To steal the lyrics from Tevye: I don't remember growing older. When did they?
At the other end of the spectrum, Diablo Cody, screenwriter of the lavishly praised new comedy, “Juno,” is 29, sports tattoos, swears she mutters “cock ring” in her sleep, refers to herself as the “prodigal C_ _ T” (Renee will not let me type the word), and says the first movie she saw in a theater was “E.T.”
Diablo's blog is entitled "The Pussy Ranch" and is worth a visit. [I have it on good authority that Romney and Huckabee surf Pussy Watch daily]. And yes, she's the author of "Candy Girl," an account of the year she spent working as a stripper in Minneapolis.
With joy to all and malice to none, except a few people I'd like to "flog with 100 stripes,"
Iguazu Falls
The ancient theater at Ephesus where my recitation of Percy Bysshe Shelley's sonnet Ozymandias could be clearly heard from center stage to the nose-bleed section.
Aurora Borealis
Iguazu Falls
The ancient theater at Ephesus where my recitation of Percy Bysshe Shelley's sonnet Ozymandias could be clearly heard from center stage to the nose-bleed section.
Aurora Borealis
But if I draw in some rednecks or hunters to the world of reading, it'll all be worth it. Once you’ve had a ch
