Follow me on Twitter. I’m twitter.com/groth18. Given my prolixity, I don’t think I can do much in a 140-character limit, but hey.

A podcast about books, art & life — not necessarily in that order
Follow me on Twitter. I’m twitter.com/groth18. Given my prolixity, I don’t think I can do much in a 140-character limit, but hey.
I’m too giddy with anticipation of Rickey Henderson’s Hall of Fame induction speech to do any real blogging this weekend, dear readers! I know it’s too much to hope that he’ll deliver his speech in the third person, but chances are it’ll be a memorable speech (not as awesome as Ozzie Smith’s, but hey).
To tide you over, I offer up a post from fellow St. John’s alum Bourgeois Surrender. A few weeks ago in Unrequired Reading, I linked to Fired from the Canon, about “canonical” books that don’t deserve that status. I was too busy to write about the list and the comments, but it turns out that B.S. ruminated on the topic for a bit and offered up his takes on the books mentioned there. I liked his exploration of Absalom, Absalom!, a book I really need to read again. (He closes with some thoughts on National Geographic and Children of Paradise, but those are entertaining too.)
* * *
In honor of this evening’s fine dining experience — I’m taking Amy to Chef’s Table, a wonderful French restaurant here in NJ — I’ll also link to Bourgeois Surrender’s take on fine dining.
I think he may be conflating Really Amazing Restaurants with Very Formal Restaurants, but I can understand where he’s coming from. Thanks to years of business travel, I’ve learned to appreciate Really Amazing Restaurants, even when they’re a little pricey.
Two years ago, I met up with my pal Elayne at Otto, the Mario Batali pizza restaurant near Washington Square. During our meander after (she was chaperoning two teenagers who were in town to see a Korn concert at South Street Seaport), she mentioned another Batali restaurant, Babbo. She mentioned that Babbo was so expensive, she felt it wouldn’t be right to eat there. She’s progressive, politically speaking.
As is my wont, all I could do is quote from Miller’s Crossing: “You’re missing out on a complete life.”
(While our recent meal at Batali’s Del Posto with some food-blogger friends of Amy’s was nothing to write home about, it was the single best service-experience I’ve ever had in a restaurant. The wait-staff was mind-bendingly good.)
When my brother and his family were visiting last month, he told me that a friend of his from college had recently gotten hitched. The bachelor party took place in Las Vegas and the bill for one dinner of 20 patrons came out to $6,000. I said, “Yeah? That’s $300 each. If you’re buying wine or booze, you can hit that number in no time.”
I think he was a little shocked at my blitheness. It’s not that I go out and spend that sort of cash on meals, but I’ve been out with clients to good restaurants and peeked at the check before my boss picks it up.
That said, my brother’s circumstances and fine dining opportunities are different than mine. He has two children and doesn’t drink. Our lives sure have diverged over the years.
All of which is my roundabout way of saying, people shouldn’t splurge on fancy meals when they can’t pay their bills, but sometimes an expensive meal is worth it. (And I can understand how working people with children would be averse to this sorta thing.)
Now go read some Bourgeois Surrender!
Time for another trip to the Museum of Jurassic Technology, dear readers! This installment of “Found in the Garage” leaps from the ancient days of the reel-to-reel recorder to . . . the ancient days of the first CD player!
What you see is a Hitachi DA-1000, which evidently was The Bomb of 1st gen CD players. It may not be capable of playing home-burned CDs, but it is old enough to buy you alcohol, dating back to around 1983. Here’s some guy’s video of it in action.
(Note: I may still have my Toshiba home DVD player from 2000 somewhere, but I’m sorta hoping that I managed to lose it a few years ago.)
Gidget, the Taco Bell chihuahua, is dead.
On our walk around Skyline Lake this morning, Rufus & I stumbled upon a deer who seemed to think that he owned his side of the street. Seriously, I was standing 2 or 3 feet away from him (the iPhone camera makes things look a little further off) with an 80 lb. dog, and he showed no sign of nervousness:
Except for the ears.
Gil in his 20s couldn’t have imagined that he’d one day put a thousand-plus-page Thomas Pynchon novel back on the shelf and think, “I will never get around to reading this.” He also couldn’t have imagined that he’d spend years reading Montaigne’s essays
and, upon finishing that thousand-plus-page volume, think, “I have to go back and start this from the beginning.”
But there you are. It’s the same theme you read from me a dozen times before: As I’ve grown older, I have less and less interest in contemporary fiction. Especially the (poorly defined) postmodern stuff.
I was quite a pomo in my college days, but I’ve learned to appreciate the merits of a, well, traditional lifestyle in my later years. Unlike other college-era decisions, this one had little to do with trying to piss off my parents. I think rather I had a desire to be New. I wanted to treat This Very Moment as an unprecedented one, unconstrained by past rules and laws. I imagined that novels had to be Encyclopedic in order to capture the world.
In short, I was a bullshit artist.
In grad school I started wending my way back to the beginnings of literature — as well as science & math, politics & society, and philosophy & religion, not to mention poetry, but I’m still a sucker for novels — and began to understand how much of modern writing was merely an echo of the trends, themes and devices that were in use nearly from the beginning.
Still, the occasion of this LA Times piece on the 61 essential postmodern reads interested me a little, at least in an 0-fer kinda way. (There’s also a good 2-part interview with John O’Brien (1 and 2), the publisher of The Dalkey Archive. My tastes and interest have diverged pretty far from Mr. O’Brien’s mission, but I respect his vision for the press, his tenacity, and his attempt to justify publishing such esoterically unreadable works as Carole Maso’s AVA. It’s almost like the Bizarro World version of the Criterion Collection’s decision to put out a high-end version of Michael Bay’s Armageddon
.)
Unlike previous times I’ve broken down literary lists for an 0-fer post, I found that I needed to granulate this one a little more finely. In addition to “Read it,” “Read something by the author,” “0-fer” and “Who?”, I found that there were a bunch of books on this list that I started and never finished. Rather than put them in the “Read something by” list, I decided to add “Started, never finished.” It’s probably meaningful that this list has so many books that fall into that category. I should probably add “Will never attempt to finish” and “Why did I waste my time with this?” or “Read, but regret”, but no need to go overboard. I’ll just make little annotations on some of ’em instead.
Without further ado:
If you want to find out what I have read over the past 20 years, it’s just a click away!
Another day, another pinko leftist newspaper railing about income inequality and how it demolishes the Social Security fund:
Executives and other highly compensated employees now receive more than one-third of all pay in the U.S., according to a Wall Street Journal analysis of Social Security Administration data — without counting billions of dollars more in pay that remains off federal radar screens that measure wages and salaries.
. . . The growing portion of pay that exceeds the maximum amount subject to payroll taxes has contributed to the weakening of the Social Security trust fund. In May, the government said the Social Security fund would be exhausted in 2037, four years earlier than was predicted in 2008.
I was going to go into a whole Colbertian ramble on the left-wing moonbats at the Wall Street Journal, but frankly it’s just a good article about the ramifications of executive pay scales. Give it a read.
In response to popular demand (okay, one commenter), Lost in the Supermarket is back! I’d been thinking about resurrecting this Tuesday-morning feature for a few weeks, and my wife’s trip to the supermarket last weekend clinched it!
What other venue could possibly be appropriate for the sheer inappropriateness of . . . Deep Reach toilet bowl cleaner?
As Amy put it, “Shouldn’t the dispenser be a rubber fist?”

Back next week with something less toilet humor-ish. I mean, not much less. After all, this blog once had an “about the author” tagline of “Gil Roth: Lowering the bar since 1971.”
See the whole Lost in the Supermarket series