Festivus Plans

This is where I'll be tonight:



This is what I'll be seeing:


I'm pretty stoked. Details tomorrow.

Get On Your Bad Motor Scooter and Ride!

These photos are making the rounds, and they're pretty amazing. Of course, I'd ask each and every one of you to look at them not for what they are, but to go one step further. Turn on the YouTube in your brain and imagine what would happen if each of these scooterists hit a really, really big pothole. The results I see would fit into a Tom and Jerry cartoon. Go for it!

Apparently there are no porcine helmet laws in this country.


Big Pothole = One Hell of an Omelette.



With all those feathers, I bet this baby really flies!



This has got to be tough. Very tiring.



Not the most efficient rearview mirror.


Wow. Good thing they added those baskets.




Parallel parking that baby would be a true challenge.




You have to be careful doing this. You could get a nasty case of coilitis.



I imagine, when making a turn, the Three Stooges would come to mind.




Nice to see that the Container Store delivers.



As anyone seen my antihistamine?




The most popular guy at the Phi Sigma Kappa house.



If you stare too long, you get dizzy.

Hope you enjoyed. Now when these show up in your inbox, you can just delete.

Pearl Jam, Melbourne

Hop on the James Bondwagon

This Friday, the newest James Bond hits movie screens everywhere. Here's the theatrical trailer:



The buzz is extremely positive and loud. I'm just hopping on the bandwagon, as James Bond is a panel in our popular culture's fabric. Here's the art from the 1960's version:


The first Bond film I ever remember seeing in theaters was Moonraker, which is so camp by today's standards it's almost, nay,is very silly.



But my first Bond experience was the repeated airings in the early days of HBO of Live and Let Die. It is perhaps due to this early repeated exposure that it remains my favorite film in the series. That, and an awesome theme song.


Listen to all the 007 theme songs and see the movie posters here. Or "Live and Let Die" here. That one's the original by Wings. Thanks to Anablog for the tunes.

On a side note that I can't resist relaying, I once played a Bond villain of sorts in a performance in the quad at Occidental. Our dorm staged a skit in something of a Bond homage, with me in a green dress and wig, seated in a wheelchair, with large balloons placed under the dress to represent a gigantic bosom. I stroked a live cat, which lived in the room next to me, illegally, with the live-in girlfriend of a classmate, Doug Copely. I was in the role of Brigida Blofeld, the bond villain melded with our Dean of Students, Brigida Knauer.

The skit ended with our resident Sikh, Hardeep "Sherry" Thind, as the uber-Bond hero, with his hair unwound into a long-flowing mane, puncturing the balloons, which were the source of my "power". Apparently, it was quite a sight, as Sherry took several jabs at my balloon-bosoms with a blunt dagger, as I struggled mightily in the wheelchair to hold on to the cat, who was already freaked about being outside, but was doubly traumatized by the wild-haired and bearded Sikh gentleman making violent gestures and causing loud noises to erupt from my chest.

I believe Doug had "borrowed" the cat without asking his girlfriend, and that she was none too pleased when she found out later what had transpired with her precious feline. The scratch marks on my neck and shoulders did not console her, unfortunately.

Anyway, if that image isn't seared into your afternoon, enjoy this treat, courtesy of the film site Cinematical, which has accumulated every Bond trailer made going back to the poor quality of Dr. No, all the way up to the present. Check it out here.

Pearl Jam in Melbourne

Richard Avedon Photographs Writers, 1994

Last month, when discussing Allegra Goodman's book Intuition, I mentioned how I was inspired and motivated to work on publishing my own poetry by a photograph from The New Yorker with Allegra standing next to JohnUpdike. I had cut the photo up and put it in the plastic cover of my writing binder for inspiration.

When discussing this, I thought it would be nice to find the photos again. I ended up finding a copy of the issue. On receiving it in the mail, I discovered that it was a familiar in more ways than one. The Edward Sorel cover is a classic which I had saved and hangs on our living room wall with several other New Yorker covers:

The magazine also had several other memorable pieces, including the first appearance of illustrator Art Spiegelman's interpretation of the poem by Joseph Moncure March's "The Wild Party". Look here to learn more about this amazing book.

Anyway, these photos don't appear to be anywhere else online. They may be in an Avedon book somewhere, but I haven't figured out where. So here, for your enjoyment, is the amazing "line-up" assembled by Mr. Avedon for The New Yorker.

That's Michael Chabon, and William Maxwell, who died in 2000.

Maxwell, Mavis Gallant, Bobbie Ann Mason, and Haruki Murakami long before attaining his huge popularity in the U.S.

Murakami, Ann Beattie, John Updike, and a sliver of Allegra Goodman.

Allegra Goodman, Nicholson Baker, Thom Jones, and Jamaica Kincaid.

Harold Brodkey (who died in 1996) and Alice Munro, a phenomenal short story writer.

Tom Drury and Edna O'Brien.

William Trevor, V.S. Pritchett (who passed in 1997) and Deborah Eisenberg.

Here's the accompanying text by Daniel Menaker, a staff writer with the magazine for twenty-six years. The text is a bit lengthy, but I have painstakingly retyped it here (probably in violation of some copyright laws) for your enjoyment. It's worth the read.

Last month, fourteen fiction writers closely associated with The New Yorker gathered in Manhattan to have their picture taken by our staff photographer, Richard Avedon, and then joined some of the magazine's editors for an on-location party. The event started at four o' clock in the afternoon and was over at about eight. Mr. Avedon sorted the fourteen into groups of four or five, and called these groups one at a time into a large, dark warehouselike room next to a smaller and brighter room, where the socializing took place. In the workroom was a stagelike platfrom, and each group sepent about thirty minutes being photographed there. Then it was back into the bright room. As the party progressed, the guest began to change seats, so that they could talk to old friends or to people they had never met before. And when the party finally broke up, some went over to the Algonquin Hotel for a nightcap, while others moved on to a party downtown.

At the beginning of June, Mr. Avedon travelled to London, to photograph three more fiction writers. This smaller gathering -a tea party, of sorts- took place in a rented studio in the Clapham section of London. The results of these two sessions are presented on the next seven pages.

We regeret that a number of writers couldn't join us, because of illness or previous plans, but the parties honored them, too. Both gatherings reminded us that writers do what they do not only to tell the rest of us what they see and what they know but to converse, implicitly, among themselves, and that, given the right circumstances, they will talk up a happy storm in person.

After the camera work was over, the participants in the Manhattan photo-op/party kept coming up with analogies for it. They are writers, after all, and they spend their days trying to flush out accurate correspondences. "It was like a combination dinner party and conference and school photo," Allegra Goodman said. John Updike said the photo session was "like a police lineup," and William Maxwell, describing the whole afternoon, weighed in with "Somewhere between a circus and a Commencement Day." Nicholson Baker said, "It seemed as if everything had just been whitewashed- it was so white that the whole gathering seemed afterworldly." And Michael Chabon, who, like Ms. Goodman, is young and currently of California, said, "It all reminded me of those comic-book-hero groups-- the Justice League of Amercia, or something. Of course, I was the Robin figure--Bucky the sidekick. Wait a minute, I'm getting D.C. comics mixed up with Marvel."

All the guests at this event agreed that it was a day to remmber. Alice Munro felt at home enough to take off her shoes. "They hurt," she said, "so I just took them off." She explained that she had worn those particular shoes "so I would look taller in the pictures." Jamaica Kincaid talked to Munro about a vase of flowers on a table. Together, they listed the horticultural names of the bouquet's components. Impressive. When John Updike saw Haruki Muramaki standing alone, he went over to him and ambassadorially commenced conversation by complimenting his work and testing the thesis that Murakami couldn't have flown in all the way from Japan. He hadn't. Cambridge.

Maxwell said of Thom Jones, "I knew that he had been a boxer and that his storeis were often about boxing, and my first good friend was a boxer, so I talked to him about boxers and asked if they fought because they were angry, hostile to the world. He said no, they were often gentle and frightened." Frightened of what? "Jones said that they're always afraid that they're going to get the shit beat of them in the ring." Ann Beattie found it funny, in a melancholy way, to hear that the two Canadians, Alice Munro and Mavis Gallant, recalling from their past stints as teachers the same kind of privations she herself had suffered more recently. "They both talked about having to buy their own phones for their offices," she said. "I guess it never changes." Bobbie Ann Mason was startled and flatterd to learn that Alice Munro and her husband had travelled through western Kentucky because they admired her work and wanted to see the region her stories describe. Tom Drury - along with nearly everyone else, it seemed- was delighted to meet Alice Munro at last; they have been carrying on a lively correspondence for months. Harold Brodkey admired the demanor of one of his fellow subjects. "How long have you been so happy?" he asked.

The setting was ur-New York---a place where the meatpacking districty and insdurty and Greenwich Village brownstones converge. Sun flooded in through tall windows. High spirits prevailed even on the platform in the cavernous photography room. "Allegra, would you mind putting your hand on John's arm?" Richard Avedon asked. "But we only just met," she said, with a giddy laugh. There were a fair number of giggles during the shoot, along with some schoolroom self-conscuiousness. Come to think of it, there was something close to a common denominator among the similes that the guests used for this part of the party, and that was the trope of the yearbook photo. Makes sense, because how often do you find yourself lined up and coached by a photographer? And what are writers of fiction if not people who can observe and respond to the world with youthful wonder and curiosity? The yearbook-photograph comparison brings to mind other staples of graduation, particularly what used to be called "Superlatives." What categoreis would one use here? Most Arresting Imagery? Best Characterization Through Dialogue? Cleverest Chronology? Funniest Names? Done Most for Genre? In any case, it's one hell of a class.

Pearl Jam, Brisbane

Random Picture O' The Day

Old News, But New to Me

This happened last month, but I just saw it for the first time tonight. It's the Green Day/U2 performance of "Wake Me Up When September Ends"/"The Saint Are Coming"/"Beautiful Day" at the Superdome. Most blogworthy, and better late than never. It runs just under 10 minutes,

BBC in Iraq

In keeping with this week's theme of not doing much on BillyBlog, I bring you an extra lazy post.



Thanks to Aunt Lee for sending me this.

Best Concession Photo Yet

All politics aside, this is a great picture. The wringing of the hands, the doll with the matching outfit, and the expression that reminds me strangely of one of the kids on South Park, just having seen Jesus kill Santa Claus.

Thanks to Kelly for dropping this my way.

Pearl Jam, Sydney

Top Ten Reasons Why BillyBlog Was Silent on Election Day

The Top Ten Reasons Why BillyBlog Was Silent on Election Day:

10) Still upset that Carrie Underwood beat out Faith Hill on the Country Music Awards Monday Night. Think I'm crazy? See what's up with Faith Hill here.

or see it:



9) Too busy hitting the Salvation Army Thrift Shop and getting a signed first edition of a book by 2001 Nobel Prize winner, V.S. Naipaul



8) Locked out of my home by political zealots from New Jersey. Look here to see what I'm talking about.

7) Took Shayna to see a movie while Jolee went to a brithday party.



6) Desperately trying to finish book The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark for Book Club.



5) Did not have proper ID, and was turned away. See what I'm talking about here.

4) Trapped in the Drive-Thru. Click here to hear what I'm talking about.

3) Four Words: Kirstie Alley on Oprah



2) Busy Calling Voters in Texas Trying to Put Kinky Friedman in the Governor's Mansion

You may laugh, but he got 551,000 votes.


and the Number One reason why BillyBlog was silent on Election Day:


1)



If there's no hope for them, what's the point of going on? I mean, really! Why bother?

Need help composing a letter? WritingHelp-Central fits the bill. There you can find what you need. For example:

Romantic Love Letter

---

(print Love Letter on personal or plain stationery)

11017 Ashley Dr.
Rockville, MD 21547

September 5, 2004

Dear Robert:

I was just reminiscing about Saturday evening; it was such a perfect night.

The subtle breeze made me shiver from time to time, but I'm so glad they had a table for us outside. What a wonderful way to spend an autumn evening.

Sitting across the table from you, listening to your fascinating stories, I was mesmerized.

You're so passionate and intense when you speak of the things you love. I find that so attractive.

The wine you selected was perfect. Sipping it from the delicate glass enhanced the taste and it warmed my body as it filled up my insides.

Dinner was sumptuous. The pasta was so flavorful; I savored every bite, sucking each strand of linguini slowly through my pursed lips as I listened to you speak.

It was a luscious meal, and you were a delicious date.

I loved it after dinner when we sat there gazing into each other's eyes sipping our wine. After each sip, the subtle taste of wine lingered on my lips, and I licked them so slowly, catching every last drop. And when you touched my lip with your finger, capturing that one drop of wine that I missed, and then licked your finger, a tingling sensation flooded my entire body.

After dinner, as we walked along the sidewalk hand-in-hand, I realized just how much I love being with you, sharing a meal with you, talking with you, and being a part of your life.

Love and affection,

Diana

Found, Frustrating, Where is the Next Clue?

New Poetry in Motion Poem on Subway

Utterance

By W.S. Merwin

Sitting over words
very late I have heard a kind of
whispered sighing
not far
like a night wind in pines or like
the sea in the dark
the echo of everything that has ever
been spoken
still spinning in one syllable
between the earth and silence.

A Who Grows in Brooklyn's Endless Wire

Here's another shot of the world-famous BillyBlog Tree, photographed on the morning of October 31. That happened to be the day that the Who released their new album, as orginally reported here. Go to that link to find another link to some sample tracks from the new album, which I downloaded from iTunes and listened to for the first time this morning.

It's exceptionally good and I do recommend. Check out Rolling Stone's excellent review here.

One of my favorite songs is called "The Man in the Purple Dress". Here's the band performing it on Letterman earlier this year:



Find a way to listen to this and enjoy.

Brooklyn Snapshot

Something about this photo just speaks to me. I have no idea what, but I like it. So here it is.

When Naming Your Store, Choose Wisely

"Nothing Costs a Dollar" was already taken.

Just an Excuse to Skate at Work