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We’ll 0-fer Have Paris

A few weeks ago, I ran the 0-fer test on the first volume of the new Paris Review Interviews series. Since I’m utterly unimaginative, let’s go check out Volume 2 and see which literary titans I’ve managed to avoid completely!

  • Graham Greene (1953) — I think I tried reading The End of the Affair, because it inspired a good album by the Golden Palominos
  • James Thurber (1955) — I’m sure I read something by him, although nothing leaps to mind
  • William Faulkner (1956) — read three of his novels and some short stories. And I saw Barton Fink
  • Robert Lowell (1961) — 0-fer
  • Isaac Bashevis Singer (1968) — 0-fer
  • Eudora Welty (1972) – 0-fer, but I remember she dated Krusty the Klown once on an episode of The Simpsons
  • John Gardner (1979) — read his Grendel and his adaptation of Gilgamesh
  • Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1981) — read him
  • Philip Larkin (1982) — read 1 or 2 of his poems, after Grant Morrison referred to him while promoting a Batman comic book
  • James Baldwin (1984) — 0-fer
  • William Gaddis (1987) — I finished two of his novels, gave up on a third, plan to read another one someday, and once called him before I’d started reading his work, because I managed to find his phone number on a database
  • Harold Bloom (1991) — read a bunch of his criticism, own a copy of his novel, The Flight To Lucifer (but haven’t read it or the book it’s a sequel of, David Lindsay’s A Voyage To Arcturus), and also spoke to him on the phone
  • Toni Morrison (1993) — read her; I oughtta go back and see if I still like Song of Solomon
  • Alice Munro (1994) — 0-fer
  • Peter Carey (2006) — 0-fer
  • Stephen King (2006) — I’ve read one article by him that was adapted from On Writing; otherwise, I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve never read anything by him

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Lost in the Supermarket: Dr. Jack edition

In Borgesian style, there are a bunch of Virtual Memories posts that were never written but sound truly awesome. Two of them involve cooking. One is a photo-essay of the time I prepared an MRE at home. We brought an MRE back from our first post-Katrina visit to Amy’s family in Louisiana. I remember sitting in her parents’ backyard, reading some F. Scott Fitzgerald while Amy & her mom were out. Her dad came out to ask me if I wanted to go out and get some lunch.

“Or we could stay here and have some MREs.”

“. . . You have MREs?”

They’d been given a couple of 24-pack cartons of them at a relief site after they returned home (they were smart enough to bug out before the storm hit). We decided to go out instead, but during the rest of that trip, enough of Amy’s relatives talked about their favorite MREs and the best ways of preparing some of their contents. We were intrigued enough to bring two home (Jambalaya and Cheese Tortellini) and try it out.

Why I never wrote about it, I don’t know. In fact, I’ll post the pix later this week and try to write it up just for you. (Remember, it was almost 4 years ago, so I probably won’t have much to say about the food itself. Still, the pix are pretty neat.)

* *  *

The other food-post I never wrote? The time I used a Jack Daniel’s Mesquite EZ Marinader to prepare a steak. (On a dare, natch.)

I imagine it would’ve gone a little something like Patton Oswalt’s review of the KFC Bowl.

I never thought anything would compare to the vileness of that “authentic smokey sweet flavor from mesquite wood, complemented with Jack Daniel’s® Tennessee Whiskey flavor and a special blend of spices,” but then I discovered I could “grill and chill with the rich, bold taste of Dr. Pepper®”!

Now, I’ve consumed a lot of questionable foods over the years, but even I wouldn’t go anywhere near this combo —

— because it’d likely dissolve my steak, knife, fork, plate, and dining-room table.

See the whole Lost in the Supermarket series!

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What It Is: 8/10/09

What I’m reading: Moby Dick.

What I’m listening to: The soundtrack to The Big Lebowski. I really never imagined that “I Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)” was sung by Kenny Rogers.

What I’m watching: Yankees sweeping the Red Sox, Diner, and Slaves to the Rhythm, the Princes Trust charity tribute concert to Trevor Horn from 2004. We saw a shorter version once on HDNet, and got the DVD from Netflix. It’s a really amazing concert, with performances by a ton of great acts that Horn produced, including ABC, Pet Shop Boys, Grace Jones, Seal, Yes, and Frankie Goes To Hollywood (with a new lead singer because Holly Johnson apparently has irreconcilable differences with the rest of the band and Horn). We also caught I Am Legend, which, um, hey. . .

What I’m drinking: Juniper Green & tonic.

What Rufus is up to: With the promise of another Sunday thunderstorm, we canceled our grey-hike. Of course, it never rained. Still, it was so muggy that the hike would’ve been awful.

Where I’m going: Nowhere in particular.

What I’m happy about: That I was able to disassemble a Mac Mini, upgrade the hard drive and memory, and actually get it to work again when I put it back together! Now I gotta figure out how to configure it as a media server . . .

What I’m sad about: That the Red Sox managed to score two runs in the finale of the Yankees’ 4-game sweep, after being held scoreless for 31 consecutive innings. I was hoping for 3 straight shutouts, but I’ll take a 4-game sweep, esp. after the team’s early-season struggles.

What I’m worried about: That I too will fail a steroid test because I was careless with my supplements and vitamins.

What I’m pondering: How to integrate my pal Mark’s recent post on our dumbification and partizaniness with this article by NYTimes movie reviewer A.O. Scott on Hollywood’s responsibility for national infantilization. And how to tie it up in a neat bow with this ad for the new Melrose Place:

hump

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The Blood Club

On Monday, I wrote that I was going to launch a recurring Thursday feature reprinting mean-spirited reviews I wrote for The Comics Journal back in 1998. It was going to be Klassik Komiks Kritikism, but my lawyers have informed me that title could be construed as a sign that I’m a member of the Bloods, like this guy (I thought he was a member of the Inks, but hey):

So beginning next Thursday, get ready for your Classic Comics Criticism Post! Now no one can mistake me for a member of any gang, except maybe the former Soviet Union.

(Alternate title for this series: How To Get Bob Fingerman Pissed Off At Me All Over Again.)

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Even 0-fers Get the Blues

In honor of Sam Anderson’s “I never liked you” review of the new Thomas Pynchon novel (a book I’m uninterested in reading), which is based in the wonderful world of 1970, this week’s 0-fer is . . . Tom Robbins!

I’ve never read a word of any of Robbins’ novels, even though he was the go-to suggestion in my early college years whenever I’d mention that I was a fan of Pynchon’s work.

In later college years, Don DeLillo was the go-to suggestion. Sadly, I have read some books by him. I’m sure David Foster Wallace took the “If you like Pynchon, you’ll like . . .” role later in the ’90s. I have no idea who it is now.