Why I'm Not Posting Much Right Now...
Sorry, I haven't been posting much of late. It's not that I'm not writing, but the piece I'm working on is taking a while.
This whole 'writing your memoirs' thing requires waiting - waiting for the fog of memory to clear so I can see back forty years ago. In order to describe stuff I have to see clearly what it looks like. Imagine trying to listen in to a conversation going on in 1965! Could you please repeat that?
I'm trying, not very successfully, to write about the stuff I just breathed in - the color of the sidewalk on a foggy morning, what the streetcar sounded like as it lumped through the tunnel under Twin Peaks.
Then there is the whole part about digressions. I open little doors and interesting thoughts fly out and I follow them and realize I'm not getting anywhere. So I have to backtrack.
And there's the whole depressing realization that I haven't really captured what I was trying to capture and I have to shut down and wait till I slept on it.
I like writing about my early life. I'm convinced the people I knew and the things I saw are worth writing about. But it just takes longer than the other things I like to write about. So I'm not posting much.
Come back to check, okay? I'll be up again soon. And, hopefully, it'll be anygood....
Photo credit: Flickr: Photos from pbo31
This whole 'writing your memoirs' thing requires waiting - waiting for the fog of memory to clear so I can see back forty years ago. In order to describe stuff I have to see clearly what it looks like. Imagine trying to listen in to a conversation going on in 1965! Could you please repeat that?I'm trying, not very successfully, to write about the stuff I just breathed in - the color of the sidewalk on a foggy morning, what the streetcar sounded like as it lumped through the tunnel under Twin Peaks.
Then there is the whole part about digressions. I open little doors and interesting thoughts fly out and I follow them and realize I'm not getting anywhere. So I have to backtrack.
And there's the whole depressing realization that I haven't really captured what I was trying to capture and I have to shut down and wait till I slept on it.
I like writing about my early life. I'm convinced the people I knew and the things I saw are worth writing about. But it just takes longer than the other things I like to write about. So I'm not posting much.
Come back to check, okay? I'll be up again soon. And, hopefully, it'll be anygood....
Photo credit: Flickr: Photos from pbo31
Labels: Won't Fit In Box
posted by Christopher Newton at 8:40 AM
10 Comments:
Well, I guess that just gives us commentators free rein in the sty for a while, eh? How's about another Groucho anecdote? Good. I'm glad you all agree:
"I have had a perfectly wonderful evening," Groucho Marx once declared as he was leaving a party, "but this wasn't it."
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Ok. You convinced me. One more:
When the Marx Brothers made their satirical comedy Duck Soup in 1933, they did not realize that Freedonia, the zany utopian community in which the film is set, was akin to the name of a real town in New York. To their surprise, the town's mayor wrote an angry letter to Paramount shortly after the film's release. "The name of Fredonia has been without a blot since 1817," he declared. "I feel it is my duty as Mayor to question your intentions in using the name of our city in your picture."
Groucho promptly composed a reply: "Your Excellency, our advice is that you change the name of your town. It is hurting our picture. Anyhow, what makes you think you're Mayor of Fredonia? Do you wear a black moustache, play a harp, speak with an Italian accent or chase girls like Harpo? We are certain you do not. Therefore, we must be Mayor of Fredonia, not you. The old gray Mayor ain't what he used to be."
That picture you have on your post seriously freaked me out! I couldn't tell what it was...I thought it was some kind of cyber-snail nestled among cardboard boxes. Then I viewed the photo full-size and realized it was a tunnel--zoop! My mind did a complete flip-flop. Crazy, man.
Paula, I think that last viewing of Apple Dumpling Gang must have momentarily unhinged you. Glad to see you're back with us. Actually though, I thought it was a cyber snail! That was my whole point!
Paula, as the other memory artist round these parts, I wish you'd comment on the act (and art) of writing one of these days.
Your stuff is too clean and simple not to be fought over.
Ha ha! Thanks for the tip, Paula! I had no idea what the picture was until your comment! I thought it was a beetle!
Leo's comments make me laugh and want to see all the old Marx Bros. movies again! Thanks Leo!
I love the past. I love the ignorant, innocent freedom of youth. I love the smell of dirt on my clothes and the sound of Hockey cards in my bike spokes. I love coming home to a mum-cooked meal and happily waiting for the ol' man's Pontiac to come up the dusty, gravel drive. I love the holidays, the summers, the picnics, the safety my parents assured me as I slept. My dad's strong hand as I learned to swim in the deep ocean. All 9 inches of Pacific cool.
Now I'm dad. My dad is dead and my mum is shorter. I'm having fun too...but I wonder if I'm having as much fun.
How's about some Harpo stories, Uncle Leo? Sure Kids...
On a visit to New York, Harpo Marx was bombarded by requests from various charities to appear at their benefits. After one particularly persistent woman had called him a dozen times in two days, Harpo reluctantly agreed to appear for her cause.
Thus appeased, she offered to personally escort him to the venue. As they were leaving Harpo's hotel room, the telephone began to ring. "Don't you want to go back and answer it?" she asked. "Why bother?" Harpo replied wearily. "It's undoubtedly you again."
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While playing golf one hot summer day, Harpo Marx and George Burns elected to finish the round without their shirts. Upon returning to the clubhouse they were pointedly reminded of a rule forbidding members from playing topless.
"That's an outrage," Burns protested. "We can go swimming on a public beach without a top; why do we have to wear one here?" "Sorry," said the manager. "A rule is a rule."
The next day the pair reappeared on the course and played 18 holes wearing shirts as required. News of their outrageous appearance, however, soon reached the manager, who intercepted the jokers on the 18th green, demanding to be given an explanation.
"You were right," said Harpo. "The rules say you have to wear a shirt, but they don't say a word about wearing pants!"
Hey Leo, This one's not by Groucho but it is short and cute:
"God is watching!"
In the cafeteria of a Catholic school, the children were lined up for lunch.
At the head of the line was a large pile of apples. The nun made a note and had placed it in
front of the apples. The note read: Take only one, God is watching."
Further down the cafeteria line was a large pile of chocolate chip cookies... One of the boys
had written a note of his own.
The note he placed in front of the cookies read: "Take all you want, God is watching the apples."
Gary, that's a beaut. I've heard it before but forgot all about it. I love that one.
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