Archives for May 2004

“Oscar Williams’s new book is pleasanter and a little quieter than his old, which gave the impression of having been written on a typewriter by a typewriter.”

Randall Jarrell, Kipling, Auden & Co.

This is real time: I just got back from Brooklyn, where I saw the opening night of Tony Kushner’s Homebody/Kabul at BAM Harvey. It runs for four hours (don’t believe the sign in the lobby that says three hours and 40 minutes), and the subway ride home took something just under forever.

Bedtime now, review in the morning. I’ll try to get something good up later in the day. Remember what I said about champagne and roses? Well, it ain’t!

A reminder for those of you joining us late: this is a four-handed blog, and the other two hands belong to the pseudonymous Our Girl in Chicago, who has returned to the blogosphere after a much-lamented absence. The headlines for her posts begin with “OGIC” (just as mine begin with “TT”).

Our Girl also has her very own mailbox, and you can write to her directly by going to the top module of the right-hand column, scrolling down to WRITE US, and clicking on her e-mail address, which is directly below mine. I don’t mind reading her mail, but it’s ever so much nicer when she gets it straight from you!

A further reminder: if you don’t want your incoming letters to get tossed out with the spam, make sure to include an intelligible subject line, i.e., “Your Dumb Post About Subject Lines” or “You’re All Wet About Raymond Chandler.” Blank subject lines, “Hi Terry!,” or emoticons unaccompanied by text tend not to get opened (unless I’m feeling lucky).

We return you now to my irregularly scheduled bedtime.

“I feel now that gastronomical perfection can be reached in these combinations: one person dining alone, usually upon a couch or a hill side; two people, of no matter what sex or age, dining in a good restaurant; six people, of no matter what sex or age, dining in a good home.

“Three or four people sometimes attain perfection either in public or in private, but they must be very congenial, else the conversation, both spoken and unsaid, which is so essential a counterpoint to the meal’s harmony, will turn dull and forced. Usually six people act as whets, or goads, in this byplay and make the whole more casual, if, perhaps, less significant.

“The six sould be capable of decent social behavior: that is, no two of them should be so much in love as to bore the others, nor at the opposite extreme should they be carrying on any sexual or professional feud which could put poison on the plates all must eat from. A good combination would be one married couple, for warm composure; one less firmly established, to add a note of investigation to the talk; and two strangers of either sex, upon whom the better-acquainted diners could sharpen their questioning wits.”

M.F.K. Fisher, An Alphabet for Gourmets

Alas, I consumed no art today, other than that which hangs on my walls. Instead, I spent the day taking part in a teleconference of farflung judges for an Award to Be Named Later, answering accumulated e-mail, working on my schedule for May and June, and nibbling away at a stack of all the other pesky little chores that make up a full-time freelancer’s life. Believe me, it ain’t always champagne, roses, and opening nights.

I’m posting earlier than usual so that I can end my lengthy day with a half-hour or so of a Gary Cooper movie, Anthony Mann’s Man of the West, but I may not even bother with that. I have to get up first thing in the morning to write a record review, and what appeals most at the moment is at least eight hours’ worth of preliminary sleep.

Better luck Tuesday!

David Bowman, author of the well-titled book Let the Dog Drive, has checked in to say that I should drive (gladly), and to set me straight: the emphasis is equally on “dog” and “drive.” As I told him, I more or less realized that, but still found it fun to imagine contexts in which one would say “Let the dog drive,” or alternatively, “Let the dog drive.” He adds that “Jim Harrison suggested to me that the sequel should be titled Let the Dog Drive Further.”

Meanwhile, Lizzie says the book has good word-of-mouth, and in her comments Bowman tells the story behind the novel’s Joan Didion blurb. I’m adding his book to my queue.

Here’s hoping the dog drives better than Toonces.

In the interests of preserving my sanity, I’ve decided to stop blogging on Saturdays and Sundays. Most other artbloggers (as well as a good many warbloggers) stick to a weekday schedule, and I’ve decided to go with the flow. OGIC can do whatever she wants, but I myself will henceforth stand mute between Friday evening and Monday morning.

It goes without saying that you’ll still be able to visit “About Last Night” 24/7, and those of you in the habit of catching up with us on the weekends need not change your reading habits. Just don’t expect anything fresh!

As always, thanks for reading us and writing to us. We’re still having fun.

O.K., here’s the truth: I went to Washington, D.C., sans laptop, following the advice of a famous film cop and doing as little as possible. I didn’t see any plays and didn’t go to any concerts. (In fact, I didn’t listen to any music at all for four straight days, which may be a New World Record.) Instead, I had breakfast with Mr. Modern Art Notes and took in a bunch of paintings. Specifically:

• I finally, finally saw “Discovering Milton Avery” at the Phillips Collection. More later, but I found it fabulous. Check it out, soonest.

• I also went for the first time to the Freer Gallery, where I consumed a lot of Whistlers, none of which caused me to change my mind about the old boy’s work (elegant but etiolated), and began what I suspect will be a lengthy process of getting a solid grip on Asian art (which I like very much but about which I know as yet only slightly more than nothing)

• I spent most of Saturday visiting Monticello, which I’d never before seen. Again, more later, but I’ll say now that the house, fascinating though it was, didn’t exactly make me warm to Thomas Jefferson as a man….

• I went to bed early each night and read myself to sleep. Among the titles on my nightstand were Raymond Chandler’s The Long Goodbye (still his best book, though The Little Sister comes damned close), Meryle Secrest’s Frank Lloyd Wright
(which I hadn’t reread since I reviewed it in 1992), and Jack McLaughlin’s Jefferson and Monticello: The Biography of a Builder (a superior piece of scholarship, guaranteed 100% readable).

(Incidentally, I returned to find in my mailbox the bound galleys of the Library of America’s forthcoming three-volume set of Isaac Bashevis Singer’s short stories, about which you can expect to hear at regular intervals in the months ahead.)

• Now playing on iTunes: nothing. I’m headed for bed momentarily. The coming week doesn’t look too terribly oppressive, so brace yourself for bloggery–my right arm is tanned and I’m rested and ready.