Fundraiser for new Skate park near the Moran building. DJ from90.1. Sponsored by the usual suspects like JDK and Burton, the skaters competed in varying age groups for glory and gifts. Price Chopper donated hot dogs. Some company sent that caffeinated green juice which in my era was called “pea juice,” albeit without the kick. The teachers at school and counselors at camp served it in those paper cups that looked like a pleated skirt.
Not funny enough. Dated. Lazy. Feminist slant without explaining where it was coming from or why. She had some ready to do local humor from the stupid runoff elections that were recently voted down to the farmers market, which she says she is a fan of, which was packed with girls covered with ink on Saturday morning, and didn’t touch it. Just the same bull about how cool Burlington purports to be which it isn’t, though it isn’t bad, so long as you don’t really ask what is going on.
Frenchy will undoubtedly return with his own review after he sees the movie. Until then, a very dry Chopin martini while he peruses the Times coverage.
Have to be fair. Nothing he writes could leave me unaffected, so I thought. I did remember some additional things about the story. But I still didn’t like it.
I read the book on a respite from Infinite Jest, about which more will come later. I have reached page 300 of this monstrous tome, a page of note, because I am reading more quickly and understanding what I am reading without having to reread. In the back of my head, a place readers go with books they hard read, I had traveled off the pages too often into my own experiences, real and imagined, not to mention the travail of understanding what I was reading and seeing the vivid images created by the words. Moseying around at the Fletcher Free Library, I saw two copies of Phil’s book, a book I had not bought due to the less than favorable reviews. Hey, out of sorts actor who lost his skills who has an affair with a lesbian after his wife leaves him late life who cannot figure out if he should die in the fire or put it out, and only 140 pages, what could be bad!
The Humbling didn’t take too much time to read. It lasts only 140 pages, small ones with big print, thanks be to the publisher who should have put it out in magazine form, possibly in Playboy, with graphics, either ink or photographic of the sex scenes. No more perfect book of recent vintage which would have benefited by images, which as they say can take the place of words. No need here to show my love for or my knowledge of Phil’s work; suffice it to say I have been with him from book one, including his short stories. After reading this book yesterday afternoon in under two hours, some of which I spent ogling at boats and babes, while sitting at the Burlington Boathouse, I can say that Simon Axler does not enter into the main argument, unless it, somehow distends to a discussion of the oldest person to have sex with a woman who left lesbianism to have an affair with a man twenty-five years his junior in which she made him her woman, picked up a drunk chick at a bar for a threesome, and then left him. When he killed himself at the end of the story, if you can call it that because it has a beginning, middle and an end, the book ended. Just in time to go for a walk.
Bill Nelson took me to the Vermont Bookstore on Main Street in Middlebury to look at his wife, Margaret’s (Peggy) book, Parenting Out of Control. In the stacks, limited as they now are under new management, we met a woman dressed like the characters in the books and cards she had in her hands. Very feminine. A little Gothy.
Overhearing me and Bill talking about the death of the local bookstore, a problem that caused him to drive to Burlington for a copy of “Bitch” magazine which had an article on Peggy’s book, the woman not only volunteered that she was familiar with the magazine, but that she liked to shop at Barnes and Noble, the store where Bill found it.
“Got any ink,” I asked?
“Why don’t you go to the stationary store next door,” she replied.
“I mean ink on your body.” She just looked to me like she had some images somewhere. And I take images of ordinary people with ink.
“I got a web on my arm and a triangle on my back. Its kind of old and fading; I have to have it restored. Spider Webb did it ten years ago.”
“Spider Webb in Woodstock, NY!”
“Want to see it?”
The best camera to have is the one with you when something happens. And you always have to be ready to shoot. Didn’t do so well here as far as taking the gritty, emotional shots but, at least I got a few shots which show part of the story.
On May 26, Sharon and I went for a ride on the bikepath. We went North to the Colchester and then went back past the Boathouse to Oakledge Park, a distance of 12 miles or so. A seriously glorious day for a ride to nowhere in particular, we were just breathing deeply, singing, smiling, just loving the fact we were out and on our bikes.