Friday, June 10, 2011

you may be right

Call of Atlantis HD
Thomas McGuane, Driving on the Rim
Jimmy Buffett, CMT Presents Jimmy Buffett & Friends: Live from the Gulf Coast

I heard that in years past, pigs were drawn into the slaughterhouses of the Chicago stockyards by hooks attached to their noses. A pig is a smart animal, but this placed the decision elsewhere. It was in this spirit I headed once more to White Sulfur Springs to pay a call on Jocelyn Boyce. (Ch. 14)


Napoleon said that if it weren't for religion the poor would kill the rich. (Ch. 15)

The library's Overdrive system up and deleted Driving on the Rim right out from under me upon the due date, or rather, made me delete it, as if it was teaching me a lesson. I had 4 more chapters to go but I'm OK with letting go at this late point. I felt the protagonist, approaching a trial for an event I kinda don't remember from the beginning of the book, should have likewise let it go and just enjoyed the sweet funny moments as they happened until they didn't happen anymore. Similarly, I loved almost every sentence of the book while feeling ambivalent about the coalescence. I'm thinking that's the theme.

Thomas McGuane, as it turns out, is Jimmy Buffett's brother-in-law. I believe James Claffey, who turned me onto this book to begin with, told me that fact and I'd forgotten it. James has his own new stuff up at The Nervous Breakdown that you should read. James was powerful figure in the little flower patches of a lit scene in Baton Rouge and has wisely upon graduation battened up for a life on an avocado farm in California. You'd be stupid if you didn't. James has a great Irish foghorn of a voice and you should read his words in one.

Anyway, it was Jimmy Buffett Nite at the pool tonight which consisted of a grill full a Cheeseburgers in Paradise and an interminable live concert CD, one that spares nary a second of stage banter, played through twice. I killed off a chapter of Driving on my phone as Jimmy trotted old Jesse Winchester and Allen Toussaint out for a second round.

I ran into friends at a performance of a contemporary folksinger type named Madeline at Vintage Vinyl, meeting up just at the Billy Joel section of the racks, and she of the friends said the best thing about getting older was how the field of what was acceptable in music was so wider now, and took some easy coaxing from me to buy a cheap copy of Glass Houses. You may be right; it's nice to be able to kinda love that dinosaur with impunity but also I'm not sure I'll find a moment on the timeline when I'll be all, "Jimmy Buffett's all right, ya know?" Maya called it "creepy old-person music" and I hope as I get creepier and older, my tastes grow so as well. It might be the pool fatigue talking, I may be crazy, but I kinda wanna write a 33 1/3 book about Glass Houses now. I've had worse ideas.

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