Synchronicity

When I was a kid, a friend of mine had a bat fly into his house while he was watching a Christopher Lee vampire movie on tv. His brother, wielding a broom and remembering the common wisdom about bats getting into people's hair, donned a football helmet and wrangled the thing outside.

Years later, I was watching, "Play It Again, Sam" for about the fifth time at the Harvard Square Theater. The film reached a scene in which Woody Allen's character, looking for love in a San Francisco art museum, attempts to chat up a beautiful woman who proceeds to give Woody an existentialist, depressing earful. (Woody: "What are you doing Saturday night?" Woman: "Committing suicide." Woody: "How about Friday?") During this particular viewing, just as Woody asked the woman what a certain Jackson Pollock painting meant to her, and she replied, "It restates the negativeness of the universe," the image on the screen dissolved. The film had melted in the projector!

Members of the audience were yelling for refunds, but I just laughed and left. I'm planning to see "Strait-Jacket" at the Brattle later this week, and I'm hoping for an appropriate sideshow.

Bob White's Birthday

You know for years, I was convinced you had to be dead. You and many of your fellow residents of Queensbury street were not living lifestyles that were conducive to longevity. Then when we reconnected so you could be interviewed for the film I was rather impressed. You seemed to have made it through the gauntlet.
I wonder now what you would think if you could hear all the discussion, war stories and respect people had for you. You were not my favorite person Bob. You had an unpleasant side to you that I wanted to avoid at all costs. But you were an Icon. An Original. And One Of Us. I am amazed at how sad and empty i felt when I heard you were gone.
I hope you have finally found peace. We are all thinking about you, on your birthday.
And yes, I know you would hate what i have written cuz it's stupid, sappy and sentimental. Fuck You Bob!
Photo by Eric Systrom

Speaking of Reptiles. . . .

I have an idea for an adult film in which Flo from Progressive Insurance romps with a man-sized Geico gecko. The ancillary expenses would merely entail a simple set, a lizard costume, and some red lipstick. Having the gecko remain small would be more perverse, but this would require special effects and would be blatantly derivative of the story, "Six Inches" by Charles Bukowski.

I am jesting as I write, and yet I blush. Blessed Solanus Casey, patron of weird old bachelors, pray for me.

Cold Blooded

According to today's Boston Herald, a 4-foot long female alligator was captured yesterday along the banks of the Charles River, on the Dedham-Needham line west of Boston. There have been 22 alligators found wandering New England since the beginning of the year, and it is believed that the creatures were imported into the Northeast illegally and abandoned by their owners.

I know that there are folks who like exotic pets, but I'm still trying to fathom the ferret craze. ("Would you like to come up to my place and see my weasel?") Keeping a personal alligator is beyond the pale. Do people like gators because they're easier to keep than crocodiles? Does one feed them Purina Alligator Chow? Are they good with children?

In Florida, where the alligator is a general nuisance, the latest trend in animal companions is the Burmese python. These massive snakes often escape, or are dumped, into the Everglades, where they wreak havoc with the ecosystem. They also occasionally visit suburban neighborhoods and swallow cats.

When there are millions of fellow mammals in animal shelters awaiting adoption, why does anyone choose instead to smuggle a latter-day dinosaur from Boca Raton? Enough already with the reptiles! Just get a damned dog. If they were good enough pets for Neanderthals, they're good enough for you.

Calls from home

Dad was at his girlfriend's because she can't go out, being on an oxygen tank. Why did he call during the day, in the middle of the week? News of suicide, an overdose. That's the second this month ... not that I was close, like the last one. But she was a year older, and lived a few blocks away. Our fathers are still tight, old boxing cronies, and her younger sister and I were best pals in second grade. She was the "tuff" girl that the other girls emulated, but never mean.
At the end of the conversation we discussed another suicide, this time a jumper, who I only remember as a tiny kid, from the next street over. I've taken to reading my hometown paper and it was reported as a homeless man jumping from an abandoned mill. It's hard to picture that in my mind.
Six blocks, two deaths. Hmm.
I keep meaning to tell my Dad that I'm engaged but I just can't seem to find the right time.

I have a love/hate relationship with Price-Rite the discount grocery store. On the one hand, its really cheap and I love that you really get a lot for your money there. On the other hand, its a horrible shopping experience. Everything is in boxes, and not put out nicely on shelves. The meat is always questionable looking. But the vegetables are outstanding and very very reasonable in price. But often the vegetables are not perfect. You can get red peppers for 99cents lb. At Stop and Shop they go for $3.99, but they are perfectly shaped. The ones at Price-Rite are sometimes funky shapes. And this goes for other veggies too. So last night I opened a 5lb bag of carrots and look what I found!
Is it the lower half of Jesus? Or The Virgin Mary? Or Maybe Elvis?
Wonder what I can get for it on Ebay? Well we will never know because after I shot the pics, I chopped it up and put it in a salad. It was delish!

I Wonder What Mr. LaRouche is Doing?

Today is my birthday. Other people born on September 8th are Sid Caesar, Peter Sellers, Patsy Cline, Lyndon LaRouche, and the Virgin Mary. Someone is taking me out for German food, and since I'm named after an uncle who was killed fighting against the Wehrmacht in WW-II, I suppose this closes a circle.