After his wife Vera rescues a manuscript from a fire,Vladimir Nabokov decides to call his work Lolita,changing it from his initial title,Humbert Does Dolores.
The blight known as Facebook has now foisted upon us the "25 Random Things"chain letter,in which people post 25 random factoids about themselves,and tag other Facebook friends to do the same. That bloggers have been doing this type of thing for the last five years appears not to have impeded the popularity of of "25 Random Things."
Being that a) I was tagged, b) I try to avoid Facebook like light beer and Republicans,and c) I think everyone is getting sick of this,I post my own list,all things that are bad,humiliating,or have other negative connotations. Except for two,one of which involves the greatest TV theme song ever played.
25 RANDOM THINGS ABOUT ME (ALL TRUE) YOU WOULD JUST AS RATHER NOT KNOW
1. The first time I got high,I urinated on something,but I can’t remember what it was.
2. I used to listen to Simon &Garfunkle’s "Big Bright Green Pleasure Machine"on my parent’s turntable and imagine I was on television singing it,dancing and gesticulating to my imagined,adoring life studio audience. I continued this behavior from age eight until sometime last year.
3. I’ve gotten in three car accidents,but only two were my fault,and one was when I was 18,so it doesn’t count.
4. My sister made fun of my lousy efforts me during my quixotic quest to be a soccer goalie in high school. In anger,I threw a piece of chicken at her. Like most of my athletic endeavors,it missed the mark.
5. The closest I’ve come to dying,metaphorically speaking,was when a friend and I were driving to a basketball game in high school when a cop pulled us over—my friend was about to light up a joint in the car. The cop,enraged we did not stop immediately,searched the car,padded me down,and gave me three tickets. He didn’t find my friend’s pot. But I saw my life crumbling before my eyes.
6. When I was a teenager,I was a total loser when it came to asking girls out on dates.
7. When I became an adult,I remained a total loser when it came to asking women out on dates.
8. Codicil to #6:Masturbation.
9. Codicil to #7:Masturbation.
10. The number of inappropriate women I’ve slept with far exceeds the number who were actually appropriate. If you’re reading this,and I’ve had sex with you,that means you were definitely appropriate.
11. Once,when The Who were on tour back in the 1980s,they tried to make a stop in a city I was living,but the only night they could play,Billy Joel had booked a concert at the only suitable arena. Joel,who could have moved his concert a day,refused,making 12,000+ wieners happy in the metropolitan area. So if you think Billy Joel is better than The Who,I can’t be friends with you,and I think you suck.
Joel:don’t get me started
12. I have urinated on the basin of my toilet in order to clean it. Try it some time—the remove the blackish buildup from three months of not cleaning,aim right for the heart of the stain.
13. You’ve entered middle age when you have to trim your ear hair. Not that I would know.
14. Next to deaths in my family,the worst two days of my life was when I was eight and my puppy ran away. I cried non-stop over a weekend. I’ll never forget opening the front door and seeing a person in the neighborhood holding my dog. That was probably the happiest moment of my life. The following year,she had puppies,and she lived another 16 years.
15. If you try to tell me about the superiority of cats to dogs,not only will I question your judgment,but your sanity.
16. Jobs that I’ve had include:horse-carriage driver,costumed pizza parlor mascot,pizza delivery driver,McDonald’s indentured servant,camp counsellor,civil servant,cafeteria worker,window washer,hospital policy manual writer,the guy who tries to sell you an apartment when you walk into the front office,pseudo-software writer (fired),twice a busboy for a day (fired from first place,didn’t show up for my second day of work at the latter),survey taker,and temp office worker (I tested out at 90 wpm). Amazingly,none of the jobs panned out as a career.
17. I would tell you the time I was most humiliated,but there are far too many candidates to choose from.
18. There are people in my extended family I don’t like very much. You know who you are,except that I don’t talk to you and you don’t know Bookfraud exists.
19. I have nicknames for bowel movements,including Thunderdump;All-Star Crapathon;Human Shitstorm;Laying a Lincoln Log;Tossing the Whole Bakery,not Just a Loaf.
My favorite,however,has a literary pedigree: Turdgantua.
20. My formula for life:(Times Having Sex*Number of Partners2)+Money When You Die+Number of Children Who Don’t Hate You5/(Number of Major Disappointments Involving Women,Money and Publishing+Hospital Visits3)+(Years in Therapy*Money Spent on Therapy). If your number is > 1 when you die,you’ve had a successful life.
21. I watched so much television growing up that I knew each night’s network schedule. As a result,I do not speak a foreign language,play an instrument,cook,mountain climb or participate in any activity that entails paying any attention for more than 15 seconds. However,I know what "Book ‘em,Danno"means.
Also,I will say without equivocation:the theme song and title credits from "Hawaii Five-0"are the greatest in television history. I mean,that song totallykicks ass. And the tracking shot when they zoom in on Jack Lord at light speed is totally badass. Totally.
I will look for any excuse whatsoever to run this
22. One of my grandmothers was a country Baptist girl who got a nursing degree and made something out of herself. But I was sometimes ashamed of her,and didn’t want her around my friends out of fear she’d say something embarrassing.
23. I have visited blogs because the subject was sexual. I’ve visited porn sites for the same reason,believe it or not.
24. On more than one occasion,I have reduced someone to tears.
Ah…just what the hell are you doing here,anyway? Wearin'that fancy suit 'n piece a'silk 'ya neck?
Oh,that. I got my ass fired from the place where I worked for over a decade.
Blimey,I understand. It's just that we don't get too many older 'uns from the 21st Century here. 'Specially those who sound like they come over from the colonies.
The United States hasn't been a colony of England for over 200 years. And I don't understand the dynamics of the space-time continuum myself.
What the 'ell are you talkin'about?
Oh,I meant,"I don't understand the dynamics of the space-time continuum meeself,sir."
That's better,laddie. Oliver Twist,it is?
I've been called worse. Of course,I'm not a fictional character or metaphor for a street urchin.
Stop talkin'in ya'fancy-pants Cambridge talk! Get the feck out of here,you slimy Yank!
Just can I have something to eat? It will serve as a metaphor for feeding my hunger for approval,now that I've been unemployed for several months.
Off with 'ya,I say!
A week later…
You sure have a funny way about you. What's with all the fucked-up dance moves?
I hate the Dodgers. They swept the Cubs in the playoffs. Get the fuck out of my face.
What? I'm gonna teach you the ways of the streets,m'boy.
Do I look like I need your help?
As a 'atter of fact,you look a bit downtrodden. There's a stain on your scarf.
What is it with you people and ties? And that stain is soup. From the orphanage. But I'm not an orphan. I'm Bookfraud,21st Century Writer and victim of the financial malaise gripping the world.
Financial crisis,you say? Why,I know just the bloke to help 'ya! He's a Jew!
Guinness as Obi-Yid Kenobi
Don't tell me—his name is Fagan,he has an enormous schnozz,and he makes Shylock look like Jesus.
Egads,the man reads minds! How ya'know?
I was an English major,what else?
Upstairs in a hidden attic,the Artful Dodger leads Bookfraud to a dark corner where a deformed old man with a nose the size of Queen Victoria's left buttock is counting his money.
Stay back,I say! Stay in the light where I can see ya!
Uh,OK. How come I have a feeling I already know you?
Shat up,ya'pathetic ragamuffin!
I'm 44-years old. Do I look like a "ragamuffin"?
Well,blimey,you are a bit on the old side to be doing this type of work.
I don't steal stuff,if that's what you're talking about. Even if I wanted to pick pockets for you,I've got the manual dexterity of an office chair.
What?
Just forget it,old man. I'm not going to steal for you. I'm a writer and I'm looking for a job.
A writer? No wonder 'ya don't 'ave a job! Nobody knows how to read,everyone knows that. And if you did read,why do you need to hire someone to write for 'ya? It's bloody stupid,I say.
I guess things were the same in the 1850s as in 2009.
You do look like you shouldn't be here. What you same your name was?
Bookfraud—it's a pseudonym.
You do fraud on books? You'll fit just nicely 'round here,just nicely!
No,I—
You a regular 'ookkeeper with a crooked streak to ya? We could make so much more with you 'round.
No,no,I chose the name because…oh,never mind. Let's just say I'm not a crooked bookeeper…crooked bookkeeping…why does that ring a…hey—now I recognize you!
Oh,don't tell me you're with the police? I never done nothing illegal in my life!
You're supposed to be Fagan,Dickens'anti-Semitic character in Oliver Twist!
What are you talkin'about? I don't know any Dickens,but me name is Fagan—
You're not Fagan! You're Bernie Madoff! Shit! You've done more to set back Jews than anyone since Barry Manilow! I hate you! You're the reason I'm going to reattach my foreskin!
Off with 'ya! Get out of my attick,you non-interest-paying traitor!
With pleasure! I hate you,Madoff! You've given anti-Semites around the world more reason to hate me! They hate me even more than I hate me! Thanks a lot,you fucking wanker!
Bernie sucks
Why,you…people gave me their money,you buffoon! I only took from other Jews! They were just too stupid to question the returns—
Shut the fuck up! I'm outta here. But I have one question.
I like football as much as the next guy—probably more than the average fan,in fact. I covered my college team for the school newspaper,and still follow them with some fervor. And,being that my best friend in high school’s father worked for the Chicago Bears,I got tickets to games and other assorted ephermera (on which I will elaborate later).
Walter Payton,the late,great Bears running back,is one of my few true sports heroes. I can name the starting lineup of the 1985 Bears,which was one of the greatest NFL teams ever. Some of my fondest memories have to do with football.
So it is not the game of professional football I hold a brief. It is the SUPER BOWL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Today’s SUPER BOWL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! leaves me flat,unmoved,uncaring. For it is no longer a football game,no longer a bunch of oversized men headed for multiple joint replacements slamming into each other. It is our own secular holiday. It is the most-watched,most-advertised event in the United States,making the ratings for Obama’s election and inauguration look like a 3 a.m. weight-loss infomercial.
It is a the source of parties,celebration,sorrow.
It is the pinnacle of human achievement.
It is the SUPER BOWL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
say it again,with feeling:
SUPER BOWL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(I have a specific image in mind for this. A muscled,bare-chested man,arms raised to the sky,beseeching the gods to grant the SUPER BOWL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! to mortals. Kind of like Achilles’screaming at Zeus,or me screaming at my computer when eats a document,minus the muscles and bare chest .)
Now,this is not to judge those of you attending pre-game parties,watching the game for the commercials,football fans interested in the game,or if you are actually a Pittsburgh or Arizona fan. Nor any of you to watch the post-modern "bowl within a bowl"like Bud Bowl,Lingerie Bowl,Puppy Bowl,or Heroin Bowl. Have fun,get drunk,don’t make a pass at your boss’s wife.
That kind of minor innocence is lost on the legion of sportswriters,TV "analysts,"programming executives,and any other person with a stake in promoting damn thing. There have been millions of words spilled about the game,both in print and television,micro-analyzing something worth about 10 minutes of pregame.
For it is then it morphs from merely a big game to SUPER BOWL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hype isn’t even the right word for it:deification is more like it.
If you ever think that some people do not take this seriously,I submit to you the following:
I don’t know what is worse:this fan’s bathetic response to the collapse of his beloved Giants,or his unfortunate resemblance to Jonah Hill.
OK,OK,enough of the post-modernist,pseudo-intellectual,uninteresting blather. Here’s the real reason I’m writing this: Pat Summerall,and an incident that illustrates this hot,overhyped mess much better than my hot,overhyped hyperventilating.
For those of you too young or unlikely to have seen Summerall,he is an ex-player who was an NFL sports announcer for CBS and FOX for years,having reached some modicum of fame,particularly with his work with John Madden. Summerall was known for his laconic,terse delivery:"Montana drops back in the pocket…to Rice…touchdown 49ers."He had the type of voice that lent itself to this kind of thing,and was actually quite good at it.
In any case,because of my best friend’s father,I was able to attend the NFC Championship game the year of the glorious ’85 Bears. As part of the package,I got to attend an NFL party the evening before. It was quite the swank affair,with a band,open bar,ice sculptures. Impressive to a college kid like myself.
Among the luminaries attending the party were Pete Rozell,the NFL commissioner,Madden,and Summerall,who would call the game the next afternoon. It was January in Chicago,and the forecast for the next day’s game was well below freezing. But Summerall was dressed like his name dictated the weather:lemon khakis,a white buttondown shirt with open collar,and a cream sportsjacket with thick green tartan stripes. It was as if he were stuck in 1974,about to step on a plane to Bermuda.
I approached Summerall,thinking,what the hell,this guy’s famous,he’s by himself,why not chat him up? Standing alone,Summerall was holding a drink of an amber hue and staring at the scene between sips. I introduced myself,and said I was the guest of B_____. Summerall glanced at me,nodding slightly,saying nothing. My friend’s father had been a sportswriter in a prior life,and I said I was thinking about becoming one professionally as well. I said that B_______ was kind of a role model.
Summerall:You too
This seemed to stir Summerall,for he looked at me with heroic intent. There was no gleam in his eye,nothing but stoic earnestness. He then turned away and stared into the distance.
"If you follow B_______’s footsteps,"he said,"you too will be a champion."
And then he walked away to refresh his drink,his tartan sportsjacket flapping in his wake.
Those were the only words Pat Summerall said to me. It was the greatest,weirdest moment of my life. So as you plunge your chip into your salsa,slam down your eighth beer,or begin to cry like Jonah Hill above,remember to follow B______’s footsteps. You too,will be a champion.
I like football as much as the next guy—probably more than the average fan,in fact. I covered my college team for the school newspaper,and still follow them with some fervor. And,being that my best friend in high school’s father worked for the Chicago Bears,I got tickets to games and other assorted ephermera (on which I will elaborate later).
That’s What You Said