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Jan, Mr. Simon is an American genius and has better things to do than worry about parodies of his work performed on a little old radio show from Minnesota that is not even worth suing and think of the terrible publicity. He is busy with his work and his family, as he should be, and is not a litigious person, not in the least. Permalink» | Comments (8) »
I've heard various theories, and shyness is one, and another says that some boys were so cosseted and adored by their mamas that no woman could ever look good to them. I've also heard (this is from a couple of bachelors) that bachelors are romantics and simply don't see anyone available who comes close to their romantic vision. Of course, singleness is a choice, and it isn't only men in northern Minnesota who go that route: I have a friend in Minneapolis who, at age 40, decided she is tired of trying to "weed out" men and finds the world of dating exhausting and unrewarding. My own theory is that courtship and seduction are social skills that involve taking big risks of rejection and humiliation and at a certain point in life, most people are loathe to step across that line. If no woman has fallen in love with you by the time you're thirty, maybe you figure you are not cut out for romance. And in a rural area, there are not so many opportunities. And if you don't attend church and you don't work in town, there are even fewer. And then bachelorhood can lead to misogyny, and then you have the Norwegian bachelor farmer denned up in his shack, living a life of pure freedom, and this man is impervious to romance of any sort. Permalink» | Comments (0) »
Tim C. You are exactly right, sir, and it's good to know that people listen closely to the show and that we're not just a murmuring presence. The windbag who preceded Lincoln was Edward Everett who, to his credit, knew immediately what Lincoln had accomplished and told him so. The story of the President's tardy invitation to speak at the Gettysburg National Cemetery dedication and the placement of him after the main speaker is a fascinating story in itself. The man was not held in high regard at that point. Permalink» | Comments (4) »
Kenny W. The incidence of drunken driving is not higher, just the incidence of arrests. Chalk it up to more law enforcement. I can remember, back in the day, leaving parties when my ability to drive was in question and navigating the road home, trying not to cross that centerline. In Minnesota you just don't dare do that anymore. Cops are out in force, watching, waiting. They don't hesitate to make arrests. Thus the high incidence, thus the "shocking" story in the media about the Midwest. Permalink» | Comments (5) »
Glenn B. Your next step, Glenn, is to make up songs, and rhyme the lines on the spot, with references to her, things she did that day, her bedroom, family members, etc. For that I recommend an old campfire song "Angels Watching Over Me" — The refrain gives you a few seconds to come up with the second line. And when you're stumped, you just toss in the chorus. This will really impress your daughter for awhile. And when your daughter turns ten, you can switch over to the blues. Permalink» | Comments (2) »
Josh, I wish you a safe tour and a safe return. Keep your eyes open and remember what you saw. It's grievous that you feel so disconnected from your fellow citzens while you are wearing our uniform. According to a survey I saw, 60% of Americans between 18 and 24 cannot locate Iraq on a map. I doubt that 10% of them could explain why we are in Iraq in any way that you would recognize as representing reality. As for me, I am a Democrat and this is not my war and I'm sorry we're in it and there's no way I can sign onto it. Wars can only be fought with the support of the folks at home and this one lost that support a long time ago. This is what puts you into such a precarious position. It is the unique heroism of men and women in uniform that they put their lives on the line for policies that they believe to be wrong, and I admire that heroism, but I'm not in uniform. I'm just an old writer and I thought this war was a tragic mistake when we first invaded. I was in Florida on vacation with my family and CNN was all excited, correspondents standing by in Kuwait, journalists all thrilled to have a war to cover, and I walked down the beach and saw a bunch of aging protesters standing around a ring of candles in the sand, singing "Give Peace a Chance" and "We Shall Overcome" and other lefty songs from long ago, and I felt utterly powerless. The protest needed to come from Colin Powell, the only man who might've stopped it, and he fell into line and in doing so, he lost his good reputation forever. As for solving the problem in Iraq, I do not think we can invade a country and remake its culture and history. I think that after five years it's time to reexamine what we're doing there and why and for those responsible to take responsibility. None of this helps you in your situation, I'm afraid. Take care. Permalink» | Comments (17) »
Nancy O. You did right, Nancy, though I'm not sure 8th graders are ready to tell stories about themselves — I remember it as a time of horrible self-consciousness, and though kids today are way much cooler and savvier than back then, I don't favor making vulnerable people expose themselves to classmates. There was a vogue toward journal-writing in comp classes long ago that I had doubts about too. I favor letting kids enjoy the cocoon awhile longer. But I'm all in favor of them listening to other people —such as me, for example—tell stories about our sufferings and comeuppances. My sister, by the way, argues with the details of "Tomato Butt" and doesn't remember it the same way I do, but it's all quite vivid in my mind, the young man who yielded happily and quickly to temptation out of plain curiosity— what does it feel like to do the wrong thing?—and I've been yielding ever since. Chickens—a painful subject: I was so self-conscious about the fact that my father liked to get a few crates of chickens and butcher them in our garage and backyard, which nobody else in our neighborhood did. (We lived in the country as it was rapidly getting suburbanized.) All that clucking when we got up on a Saturday morning, and then the slaughtering, the blood, the terrible smell of the boiling water they were dipped in, and of course it was all to save money—we were a family of eight—but to me it seemed like such a poor-person thing to do, and I was all for subterfuge and my father was not. He was a country person; I am not. (In fact, I think I was in the 8th grade before he consented to store-bought chicken.) Chicken slaughtering and the home haircut and the handmedown clothes and belonging to a tiny fundamentalist sect, the Sanctified Brethren—that was the suffering of my rather happy childhood and I still talk about it, if invited to, which is not nearly often enough. Telling stories is the poor man's therapy. Permalink» | Comments (8) »
Carol Lee S. The short answer is: the show is entertainment and native music is religious, the show is comedy and white people cannot do comedy about native people. We've had a few native musical groups on and they did not seem comfortable about performing as part of a variety show and the time constraints were rather brutal. The place to hear native music in all its glory is at a powwow which operates on a whole other sense of time. For better or worse, the show reflects the taste of the founder and that is far from all-inclusive. Permalink» | Comments (7) »
You don't know, Nathaniel, but you can guess and one good way to measure your work is to read it aloud. Read it to yourself. You'll be able to hear the awkward or pretentious parts and detect gaps in the narrative and problems of logic. And then, after you rewrite it, try reading it to somebody else. Somebody other than the dog. They probably won't even have to say a word—you can hear what's wrong yourself. The basis of writing is one person telling another person a story, and it's always good to go back to basics. Permalink» | Comments (1) »
Thanks, The tour show that will go around in August and early September is a concert version of the radio show. There is some Guy Noir, but no Dusty & Lefty. There is Fred Newman and his sound effects, and the Guy's All Star Shoe Band and singer Suzy Bogguss and me—some duets, the news from Lake Wobegon, and of course commercials for rhubarb. Permalink» | Comments (3) »
Pat C. If misspelling drove me nuts, Pat, I'd be under heavy medication most of the time. Very bright people send me letters every day saying "let's not go their" and I don't babble or screech, I just make a mental note not to hire them. As for the sonnet, here it is: Here I am O Lord and here is my prayer: Not a classic Shakespearean or Spenserian sonnet, but a sonnet nonetheless, or so say I. The recent Bed of Roses Sonnet Contest produced some entries that I picked to read on the show that drew complaints from traditionalists because the sonnets weren't iambic pentameter or were unrhymed, but I am 65 and beyond caring about that. What is freedom if we can't use it? I remember the White House Correspondents Dinner. I went through the metal detectors, my speech in my vest pocket, and was ushered into a room full of senators and White House people, all of whom seemed to know each other, all of them mingling and making small talk, no partisanship visible at all, which is startling to us neophytes — to see Senator Stevens of Alaska chuckling with Senator Kennedy — but that's the beauty of politics, civility. I sat next to Mrs. Clinton and we talked about the Supreme Court — Justice Blackmun had just resigned and President Clinton was to fill the seat — and I asked her if she ever got to visit the Court and she replied, rather wittily, that she didn't think she should since the Court might be taking up a case involving a member of her family. And then she turned to her right and spent most of the dinner talking to Speaker Dennis Hastert, who was more important for her to talk to. I had agonized about the speech. Traditionally it's a comic turn by a comedian but to do that would've meant plowing through the same Monica material that every comedian had been doing for months, and so I struck out in a different direction and gave a sermon. I was pretty sure that it disappointed most of the crowd and I don't think it made any difference to the Clintons who were sort of prisoners of the occasion. I walked away alone through the lobby of whatever enormous hotel it was held in and a very dapper Sidney Blumenthal came over and told me he thought it was a good speech and I was awfully grateful for that. I went back to my room and crawled into bed and got up early in the morning and flew home. So much for fame. (In New York there would've been a party after the dinner but in Washington a lot of those people had 7 a.m. meetings to attend.) I'd be happy to send you the speech and I thought I would've saved it on my hard drive but I can't find it. One less thing to read. Permalink» | Comments (1) »
Margo H. Not sure I should tell you, Margo, since the Disney company can be mean and litigious and sic its hairy-handed lawyers on you for the slightest little thing, but the hymn fits the Mickey Mouse song very nicely. Amazing grace how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me, Permalink» | Comments (17) » | | | |
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