Saturday, January 31, 2004

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Someone asked me who Gabby Hayes was. I answered that in the movies he was usually Roy Rogers sidekick, and that I had seen a John Wayne movie made in 1930 in which he also played the hero's sidekick--and that although he must have in his twenties he still looked like an old codger,,,I then checked a list of his films and sent the following sequel to my original answer:

Well, I was close. He did play in mysteries in the 30's and he also played in some Hopalong Cassidy films as well as the Roy Rogers that most of us remember. My sister and I double dated only once. I got her a date with my friend Danny and she got me a date with her friend Judy \. We were in our late teens. We went to PJ Clarks and saw Gabby Hayes at another table. The girls, yes, they were still girls in those olden days, squealed and wanted his autograph. As soon as they went to the ladies room (though in PJ's calling it a Ladies Room was quite a stretch) I scrawled Gabby Hayes's autograph across a menu.-- "To Patti and Judy with all my pistol packin' heart, Gabby Hayes."

When they saw it they got up and hugged him, thanking him for the autograph. He was so drunk he thought he actually did sign it and wanted them to come home with him.

Friday, January 30, 2004

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Steven Wright Jan 30, 2004 Ft Lauderdale

I have three brothers and a sister. But my sister has four brothers. She must not be a part of our family.

I am writing my Unauthorized Autobiography.

My neighbor is so fancy she wears pierced hearing aids.

I am looking for a decaffeinated coffee table.

The court clerk asked me if I would tell the truth and the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I replied that., yes I would, and that he was as ugly a man I had ever seen and that I would like to have a go at the girl in the first row of the jury box.



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Wednesday, January 28, 2004

This is what has been worrying me lately: these kind of mistakes; mis-readings, tripping, failing to observe, clipping curbstones when making right hand turns, forgetting words, forgetting movies that I saw already, dropping forks, reading without comprehension, knotting my tie incorrectly, losing my way, finding directions impossible to follow, finding maps indecipherable, wearing mismatched clothing.


Actually I am not worried, just reporting: worrying was the wrong word (which is another indicator) here's some more: not changing my socks, forgetting to flush the toilet, looking at good looking women and forgetting why, buying unneeded things, putting empty coffee cups in the refrigerator, putting banana peals in the refrigerator, not being able to spell the peal in banana, not remembering that I already had sex with my wife and having sex two or three times in one morning, thus missing my tango class.
Ballet Revised Wed Jan 28th


On January 7, at 9:05 PM, in Boston, Massachusetts, Norvora Dumatora, principle ballerina of the North Church Dance Company leaped into the air in a _________ and kept on going up and higher until she was out of sight of the stunned audience.
At the same time, to the very second, in Berlin, dressed in a white tutu and wearing a new pair of slippers, Gretchen Bamberger twirled herself in a _________ and began to spin so fast that the audience lost sight of her body, seeing only what appeared to be a swirling column of white dust, which blurred and suddenly disappeared from the stage.
Members of the audiences rose from their seats, and many charged the stage, looking up into the ______of the stage. A few climbed the ladders that led to the lighting. One resourceful chap in Berlin found an entranceway to the roof and searched for a hole or other evidence of a hurried departure from the theater building. There was none.
Insurance companies on both sides of the Atlantic refused to pay claims from the ballet companies for “disappearance” of ballerinas.
Except for supermarket tabloids the story was barely covered by major newspapers, in fact, the dance critic of the Berliner ______ was suspended for a month on the grounds that he must have had too much schnapps or was suffering a nervous breakdown. The testimony of a thousand or more witnesses was ignored.
Church leaders demanded to know which ballets had been produced, and not being familiar with the medium, made judgments based only on the names of the ballets involved. The Very Reverend Belington Everton Washington brought a fifty-person choir to Berlin to “sing” Ms. Bamberger back. +++to sing for the return of Ms. Bamberger. Parisian designers vied with Karl Lagerfeld for the right to design and sew the choir’s robes.
Medical men inquired as to the drugs and steroids or the perfumes and body lotions that the ballerinas may have been using. A weight loss lotion called Vanish was implicated and then exonerated – after sales multiplied by a hundred times.
In Boston a disorderly coven of lawyers was dripping over the stage trying to get a piece of the case—but no one knew what the grounds for a suit might be. One lawyer dressed in a three thousand dollar Armani suit had to be restrained when he began to incant at maximum lungpower, “We will prevail.”
The box offices of both companies had to hire extra help to contend with the demand for tickets that followed the news of the amazing incidents. In fact, all over the world ballet companies saw increases in subscriptions and ticket demand.
Ballerinas found themselves divided into two groups. The first, more adventurous, group wanted to know exactly which steps led to the disappearances and began to practice the steps for hours on end every day. It was thought that they might be unsatisfied with the current course of their lives and so sought disappearance as a solution. The second group, prudent, or perhaps fearful wanted to know the steps so that they could avoid them.
In general, mothers all over the world withdrew their daughters from ballet schools, though a few persisted in the lessons with unknown, undefined goals.

A few un-summoned news people appeared on the doorstep of Miss Dumatora’s inamorata demanding interviews. Her tearful companion had no explanation for the event and begged the journalists to leave—which, of course, they did not.

The Boston Chamber of Commerce simultaneously issued denials of what was

Tuesday, January 27, 2004

On January 7, at 9:05 PM, in Boston, Massachusetts, Norvora Dumatora, principle ballerina of the North Church Dance Company leaped into the air in a _________ and kept on going up and higher until she was out of sight of the stunned audience.

At the same time, to the second, in Berlin, dressed in a white tutu, and wearing a new pair of slippers, Gretchen Bamberger twirled herself in a _________ and began to spin so fast that the audience lost sight of her body, seeing only what a appeared to be a swirling column of white dust, which blurred and suddenly disappeared from the stage.

Insurance companies on both sides of the Atlantic refused to pay claims from the ballet companies for “disappearance” of ballerinas.

Except for supermarket tabloids the story was barely covered by major newspapers, in fact, the dance critic of the Berliner ______ was suspended for a month on the grounds that he must have had too much schnapps or was suffering a nervous breakdown. The testimony of a thousand or more witnesses was ignored.

Church leaders demanded to know which ballets had been produced, and not being familiar with the medium, made judgments based only on the names of the ballets involved.

Medical men inquired as to the drugs or steroids that the ballerinas may have been using. Lawyers were dripping over the stage trying to get a piece of the case—but no one knew what the grounds for a suit might be. In Boston, one lawyer dressed in a three thousand dollar Armani suit had to be restrained when he began to repeat at the top of his lungs “We will prevail.”

The box offices of both companies had to hire extra help to contend with the demand for tickets that followed the news of the amazing incidents. In fact, all over the world ballet companies saw increases in subscriptions and ticket demand.

Ballerinas found themselves dived into two groups. The first adventurous group wanted to know exactly which steps led to the disappearance and began to practice the steps for hours on end every day. The second group, prudent, perhaps one might say, fearful wanted to know the steps so that they could avoid them.

In general, mothers all over the world withdrew their daughters from ballet schools, though a few persisted in the lessons with unknown goals.

Monday, January 26, 2004

I shall cease looking back. And I shall not dream of the future. My here is now. I cannot have my past again. I cannot satisfy my daydreams. My duty is here -- and now...

Saturday, January 24, 2004

After some years of freedom at school, then college, then the army I spent thirty or thirty-five years trapped behind the counter of a drug store on Graham Avenue in Brooklyn. I left pieces of my soul, or the shavings of decades of soul whittling, and most of my energy on the littered streets around my store.

It was after I escaped the chains of ownership that I became free again for a few years working for an organization which had some vague stated purpose but which actually was no more than a place to hang a hat and tell a few stories. I felt human there for a time surrounded by people who understood me, and whose aims exceeded that of piling up money.

What happened to me since then has been merely a matter of surviving trivialities and a weakening body. I own a piece of the beach; I have recently purchased an almost infinite sea view, which ends at the horizon. I see the ocean as flat, and I see Florida as even flatter. There is little variation in the seasons discernible to a native Northerner and I miss the weather, the atmosphere of the north. New York and New England are natural to me. The landscape, the foliage, is in my blood. The cold invigorates me, I never hide from it, and I go out to meet it.

But now, in Florida, at the end of my working life, I feel defeated, ambition depleted, exhausted by my pallid life on Graham Avenue which was paradoxically brightened only by a few crimes attempted on me, which I deflected. Those few moments were the only moments I really lived. All the rest was marking time.

I revel too much in sentiment. Tears come to my eyes easily. Thoughts of my dead father, lost friends dead too, form lumps in my throat. The pain of other people, their losses also make me cry. Once open the floodgates of memories fail to hold back my tears.

I look in the mirror and now, instead of my father I see a new man, no longer handsome, fleshy, face no longer symmetrical or proportional, unearned lines misplaced on my cheeks and forehead, jaw weakened, eyes puffy and flat, seeing much less than they once did.

My main pleasure has been a few friends.

Thursday, January 08, 2004

My bullshit button was stuck but there's some good advice among the turds.

Dear Michael,

There is a new book on the life of Goya (not the Robert Hughes-another) called, "To Every Story There Belongs Another," which is, I believe, the title of one of Goya's paintings. I don't know whether you, yourself, can write the first story as well as the second (another) story (can anyone)? but it is a good marker to keep in mind as you write.

Will you write a confession nuanced with exposure of false bravado? Or is it to be a memoir?

I think you will have little trouble exposing the warts and uncovering the scabs. You've had plenty of practice during your lifetime and you believe in scarification. Every scar, every wrinkle, is evidence of a life lived on the field-not in the bunkers.

But I think that something else is warranted. I am glad that it is you who has the assignment and not I. This is going to be wrenching work. Harder than honest therapy. "Harder than golf." You must write a dialog between generations as well as your biography. I think that this is what Jason had in mind.

What to leave out? Nothing. You will rise to the challenge and stick to it.

As you find your way you will guide future generations of Gross'. The current generation is asking what happened and why did it happen. It is your grand chance to save your life-and your Dad's too-from that ephemeral smoke out of which all our lives wisp. So much is lost already.

I bet Paul Gross could help.

You must reach into that lost anger, the shame, each and every different grief, and the fear; and you must deliver each of your passions to your children and to their children with honesty. Can you be brutal with yourself? Are you going to "snap, jangle, abrade?" Will the whiskey times have their part?

Long quotations can be death to the reader; but after all are any of us up to writing our story with originality? When appropriate why not quote from our betters?

Here's what Larry, the fallen Wobbly, says in The Iceman Cometh:

"I was forced to admit, at the end of thirty years' devotion to the Cause, that I was never made for it. I was born condemned to be one of those who has to see all sides of a question. When you're damned like that, the questions multiply for you until in the end it's all questions and no answer. As history proves, to be a worldly success at anything, especially revolution, you have to wear blinders like a horse and see only straight in front of you. You have to see too, that this is all white and that all black. "

Tough to say, tough to write. I know you never wore blinders and yet you were able to push through, to take stands, you were (are) able to Know the Way.

This is what you are being asked to write by your children. They want to hear from you while you can do the work.

You might also tell them what fruit you left on the table un-tasted, and the degree to which you regret it. Everything is worth talking about.

Avoid the easy temptation of sanctimony.

And now, can you write about how different things look at this age? It's not just our worsening eyes is it? Does the blurring soften everything? Does time heal all wounds?

And I hope you will remember the bowels of compassion. Keep them open and free.

And will you be afraid to share the true story and honest appraisal of your life with your family. I think that that the very writing of it will excite you. What a project. You can always keep it in your safe if you have something that must wait disclosure….
The world’s turned upside down: the world’s best golfer is brown, the world’s best rapper is white, there’s a major war and Germany doesn’t want to be in it.
London Review of Books 8Jan2004


No heart is as whole as a broken heart.
Rabbi of Breslau

My woeful certainty of death stalks my heart always.
MEK


No faith is as true as a broken faith.

Elie Weisel

Without doubt there is no faith…
Miguel Unamuno

She was ruthless and relentless--he had to leave her. He had to escape the violent constant kicks to his balls. And so he went.
MEK

Monday, January 05, 2004

Growing old teaches me that being matters more than knowing. Harold Bloom

Sunday, January 04, 2004

I write for myself--and strangers. Gertrude Stein

The future is the past.

Patterns in lives get repeated.

Thousands in the bank and nothing in the soul.

Saturday, January 03, 2004

film: House of Shadow and Fog--ben kingsley will be oscar nominated

Still reading 'Don Quixote"

Author: Giles Blunt

BCPL.net/inmoskowi/holmes
Saturday, January 3, 2004
My bullshit button was stuck but there's some good advice among the turds.

Dear Michael,

There is a new book on the life of Goya (not the Robert Hughes-another) called, "To Every Story There Belongs Another," which is, I believe, the title of one of Goya's paintings. I don't know whether you, yourself, can write the first story as well as the second (another) story (can anyone)? but it is a good marker to keep in mind as you write.

Will you write a confession nuanced with exposure of false bravado? Or is it to be a memoir?

I think you will have little trouble exposing the warts and uncovering the scabs. You've had plenty of practice during your lifetime and you believe in scarification. Every scar, every wrinkle, is evidence of a life lived on the field-not in the bunkers.

But I think that something else is warranted. I am glad that it is you who has the assignment and not I. This is going to be wrenching work. Harder than honest therapy. "Harder than golf." You must write a dialog between generations as well as your biography. I think that this is what Jason had in mind.

What to leave out? Nothing. You will rise to the challenge and stick to it.

As you find your way you will guide future generations of Gross'. The current generation is asking what happened and why did it happen. It is your grand chance to save your life-and your Dad's too-from that ephemeral smoke out of which all our lives wisp. So much is lost already.

I bet Paul Gross could help.

You must reach into that lost anger, the shame, each and every different grief, and the fear; and you must deliver each of your passions to your children and to their children with honesty. Can you be brutal with yourself? Are you going to "snap, jangle, abrade?" Will the whiskey times have their part?

Long quotations can be death to the reader; but after all are any of us up to writing our story with originality? When appropriate why not quote from our betters?

Here's what Larry, the fallen Wobbly, says in The Iceman Cometh:

"I was forced to admit, at the end of thirty years' devotion to the Cause, that I was never made for it. I was born condemned to be one of those who has to see all sides of a question. When you're damned like that, the questions multiply for you until in the end it's all questions and no answer. As history proves, to be a worldly success at anything, especially revolution, you have to wear blinders like a horse and see only straight in front of you. You have to see too, that this is all white and that all black. "

Tough to say, tough to write. I know you never wore blinders and yet you were able to push through, to take stands, you were (are) able to Know the Way.

This is what you are being asked to write by your children. They want to hear from you while you can do the work.

You might also tell them what fruit you left on the table un-tasted, and the degree to which you regret it. Everything is worth talking about.

Avoid the easy temptation of sanctimony.

And now, can you write about how different things look at this age? It's not just our worsening eyes is it? Does the blurring soften everything? Does time heal all wounds?

And I hope you will remember the bowels of compassion. Keep them open and free.

And will you be afraid to share the true story and honest appraisal of your life with your family. I think that that the very writing of it will excite you. What a project. You can always keep it in your safe if you have something that must wait disclosure….