Peeling Wallpaper

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Everything you read here is true except what I made up.

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Peeling Wallpaper

Friday, October 21, 2005

Dead or alive

The first thing I do when I get my New Yorker in the mail each week is glance at the table of contents to see if any of my favorite authors is there. This week I worked my way down to the fiction selection and saw that there was a new story by Truman Capote. “What the *%#&,” I mumbled to myself. “He’s dead!”

I was surprised at how certain I was of that fact. I rarely know for sure if a celebrity is dead or alive. Normally, it’s “Oh yeah, that guy. He’s dead, isn’t he? Or did he just guest star on ‘That 70s Show?’” Keeping track of who’s passed on and who’s still alive is a definite problem for me. It must be a problem for a lot of people. There are websites devoted to maintaining these ledger sheets. The two best are: whosaliveandwhosdead.com and deadoraliveinfo.com. I’m guessing a lot of money has changed hands on bets settled by these sites.

But as convenient as these websites are for settling questions of extinct versus extant in the world of the rich and famous, I tend to stay away from them. I like not knowing for sure. There is a sliver of immortality bestowed upon the deceased simply because I am too busy to pay attention or too forgetful to retain the information of their dead or alive status in my head for more than about five minutes. As a result, the dead continue to live on – at least in my uncertain mind. The flip side of this philosophy is that there are plenty of people living happily today who I have written off as goners. Surely that would be unwelcome news to them!

For every celebrity I am sure is either alive or dead, there are countless others that will stump me. Perhaps, you, too. Quickly, Don Adams, dead or alive? Ha, that’s easy. He just died. It's still fresh in your mind. Wait another year or two. You won’t be so certain. How about Herbie Hancock? Ann Landers? Audrey Meadows? Les Paul? Malcolm Forbes? Graham Greene? Jeane Kirkpatrick? Vincent Price?

So how did you do? What? You want the answers? I already told you I am clueless. Look them up yourself.

For an ordinary, non-famous guy like me, this notion of a temporary lease on immortality is about all I can hope for. When I die, I'm counting on childhood friends, old neighbors, long lost schoolmates, and, yes, bloggers, to keep my name alive. These are the folks who will continue to wonder how I am doing long after I am gone (many because I owe them money).

Getting back to Truman Capote. Apparently, the first novel he ever wrote has been found and will be published posthumously. The New Yorker piece is an excerpt from that work. After I saw Truman Capote's name in the New Yorker, I read somewhere else that there is a new Hollywood blockbuster movie opening soon that focuses on his life while he was writing "In Cold Blood." Capote, it seems, is all about town, and yet he is dead. Deader than ever. Funny how life works.

8:23:06 PM    comments []

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

The proof shall set me free

In the name of fiction I tell a lot of lies here at this blog. I also write some truthful stories. But it’s not always easy to tell the facts from fiction. I suspect that some people believe the made-up stuff I write and other people doubt the true accounts. The former doesn’t bother me much, but the fact that some people don’t believe me, even when I’m telling the truth, is troubling. I wish you could have seen the deer couch or the clowns driving cars, but you didn’t, so I just have to live with the fact that a lot of you read these stories and shake your heads, thinking, “Oh that Jack.”

On rare occasion, though, I get the opportunity to prove to you that a story I wrote is in fact true. This is one of those occasions. It doesn’t get any better than this. Quite some time ago, I wrote a story about a flight I took from Dallas-Ft. Worth to Tucson. On that flight, at cruising altitude, somewhere over New Mexico, I happened to look down and see, in very large letters, the words “Eat Pecans.” I’m talking HUGE letters. I couldn’t believe it myself, so I never expected any of you to believe me when I wrote the story. Except that I was telling the truth. And now I can prove it. How sweet it is!

Go here first to read the story and then here for the proof.

(Thanks to Jeremy for pointing me in the right direction.)

10:07:55 PM    comments []

Monday, October 10, 2005

Maggie May calls it quits

My dear Rod—

It’s that time of year. School started weeks ago. And here you are whining again that you really should be getting back. Just go already, okay? I mean it this time. I want you to leave. It’s over. Your books are there on the shelf where they've been for the past thirty-four years.

Look, it's been a good long run. We’ve had some fun. Like that time we wrecked your bed. Wow, that was a night! But I've got things I want to do with the rest of my life. So, please, do us both a favor and get on back to school.

Frankly, I’m a little tired of hearing about how I kicked you in the head. Hell, it was an accident. You know that, right? My knee flinched. Given where your head was at that particular moment and what it was doing down there, well, that sort of thing is bound to happen, wouldn't you say? And while we're setting the record straight, I did not make a “world class fool” out of you. You came by that distinction honestly, bucko. You and your old man, the pool player.

You’re always saying, “I wish I'd never seen your face.” I know you mean that as a compliment, but it’s kind of cruel. Did you ever think about that? And that other line – how does it go? “The morning sun really shows your age.” Cheap shot! I won’t lower myself to be so unkind, but take a look in the mirror, my friend. Time has a way of leveling the playing field.

Well, that’s all I have to say. Pack up your belongings. I want you out of here by day’s end. And don't come slinking around here next spring break. I'll be in Europe. I’m seeing someone else. His name is Paolo. He’s my personal shopper at Nordstrom. We’re planning a tour of the Etruscan countryside together. Who knows? Maybe we’ll settle down there. Open a cheese shop in a cave. Why do you think I’ve been taking those Italian lessons? You really are as blind as a fool can be.

I’ll miss you, Rod. You stole my heart, too. Stay in touch. Call me when you get your degree. What was it again? Oh, yeah – music theory. Good luck with that.

Love,

Maggie May

8:27:31 PM    comments []