Stat Counter

Saturday, October 31, 2015


A priceless opportunity was missed--priceless, priceless!--in this crime drama when, after dispatching the bad guy's wife and two sons with bursts from an automatic rifle as they're at table for the evening meal in retaliation for his daughter having been thrown into a vat of acid and his wife's head cut off, Benecio says to said malefactor:

"Keep eating."

Mistake, mistake, mistake.


There is one line and one line only that should have been used at this moment, and had it been used, it would immediately have gone down as one of the best all-time cracks in cinema history. What the inimitable incomparable ultimate actor  Benecio should have said, cooly, politely, is:

"Don't let me interfere with your meal."

Torsos of wife and two sons flat on the tablecloth, bleeding profusely.

Saturday, October 24, 2015

In the Back

In a recent review of a Gore Vidal biography in the New Yorker, the subject is reported to have asked a friend to name the three saddest words in the English language, then supplied the answer himself:

"Joyce Carol Oates."

Now that's uncharitable.

One has never actually read the Reigning Queen of U$ Letters, but her ceaseless waterfall production of novels and whatnot has always made one feel uncomfortable. One is supposed to sweat blood, live like a pauper, drink to excess, wander the streets in a private cloud of alienation and self-pity, etc., etc., in order to be a novelist, and here's this person who turns out novels with the effortlessness of someone sneezing, all the while collecting a salary from Princeton or wherever that enables her to wear silk pajamas and have her bread buttered on both sides.

I've always thought one might be walking down the street with Joycey and she would duck into a rest room and come out fifteen minutes later and when one asked if she was okay, as a way of inquiring as to what took her so long in the restroom, she would hold out a ream of typescript and say, with a wide grin:

"I just wrote another novel!"

"Oh Joycey, you're so wonderful!"

"Aren't I?"

I'm sure she's a wonderful person and a gifted stylist, etc., etc., and has made significant contributions to the evolution of the American Novel, etc., etc., etc., but still, when one has been assaulted by a waterfall for the entirety of one's adult life, one unthinkingly starts throwing stones at it at some point. Like this morning, October 24, 2015 @ 6:55 AM.

Sat verbum.

Sunday, October 11, 2015

September 9, 2015 @ 8:52 PM, Manhattan

Those whom the gods love, they take home early.

Always in my heart always always closer than ever before close as a tight vest thank you for teaching me you are my teacher always always I cannot live without you I will not live without you, in the aqua skies across which clouds proceed with the iceberg slow-motion of the permanently beautiful the comfort of that dimunitive tree in front of the Ctr. for Adult Ed through which you spoke to me gentle breezes on a scorching day everything good in the world always always here and now you sweet sizzler always. You taught me what I did not know. 

The Bluntness of Strangers

I met an undertaker at the bar in Jigg's one night last year when we drove down to hear Chris and the Project play (cf. The Chris McNally Project on iTunes). Undertaker said:

"I'll be the last person to let you down."

Saturday, October 10, 2015


A novelist on tee-vee, can't remember who, said to someone, can't remember who:

"I knew literature was more than something to write essays about."

As to career critics, why anyone would knowingly condemn themselves to a lifetime of writing secondary materials I'll never understand. Could it have something to do with their inability to . . . you know. I mean they are people who, like everyone else, have an opportunity to try out for the varsity football team in high school, and plead with the coach to let them play JV instead.

One of the best put-downs of the parasitical trade, which never, ever, under any circumstances, speaks of its underpinnings, occurs at the end of the stream of insults Gogo and Didi hurl at each other standing in their Nowhere Land, going on and on as they try to find the most offensive possible term to degrade the other, until one of them comes to the grand climax, after which the contest ends:


Beckett had a brass set and did not keep them hidden under a basket.

Monday, October 5, 2015

Thursday, October 1, 2015

How Depraved Was Machiavelli?

Oh he was fairly depraved, yeah.

"A prince, therefore, must have no other object or thought, nor acquire skill in anything, except war, its organization, and its discipline."

Now who is it he reminds me of?