Tuesday, May 09, 2017

TUESDAY


Every time I put on Guerlain cologne, which is both fancy and French, I think of the time that I stood outside a nightclub next to a woman quickly moved to the other side of the building. “I can’t stand that cologne that someone is wearing!” she said to her friend. 

That someone was me and I was her friend.

Monday, February 20, 2017

THE INTERESTING LIFE OF FRANÇOIS SAGAN


  1. Stole her name from Proust.
  2. Was expelled from the convent for “Deep lack of spirituality.”
  3. Was called “The charming little monster.”
  4. Wrote BONJOUR TRISTESSE at 18 about “a pleasure-driven 17 year old named Cécile.”
  5. Married a playboy and “would-be ceramicist.”
  6. Liked to spend time with Truman Capote.
  7. And Ava Gardner.
  8. Crashed her Aston-Martin, coma.
  9. Got better and drove her Jaguar to Monte Carlo to gamble.
  10. Had an affair with Bernard Frank, a married essayist obsessed with reading and eating.
  11. Had an affair with French Playboy editor Annick Geille.
  12. When police inspected her house, her dog Banko showed them her cocaine.
  13. Banko licked the cocaine. “He seems to like it,” the police said.
  14. Said: “A dress makes no sense unless it inspires men to want to take it off you."
  15. Wrote her own obituary:

Appeared in 1954 with a slender novel, Bonjour Tristesse, which created a scandal worldwide. Her death, after a life and a body of work that were equally pleasant and botched, was a scandal only for herself.

Monday, January 23, 2017

A SIMPLE THOUGHT

As I see everyone getting older, 
I know that soon enough I will
miss the old fashioned ladies
that we knew when we were
young. All that makeup and 
all those floral dresses and 
bonnets and perfume
and knitting needles
and cups of tea and
little stale cookies.

I wish I could say
something more,
but what more can 
you say when they 
are gone?  I think
they are gone

already.

Tuesday, January 03, 2017

MY TELEPHONE

While watching a film about an abandoned ranch in southern California, it occurred to me that the house I live in now is different from every other house I have ever occupied in one regard: I no longer own a telephone. In every house I have ever lived in, I had to make an accommodation for an object that was about nine inches wide by ten long, and about inches five deep, weighing three or so pounds. As I look at this house I have to speculate as to where I would put an object like that now. Most likely on my desk in the living room, to my left, so that I would not get tangled up in wire when I answered it. In that space today is a wind-up bull (origin unknown), a small wire wind-up figure (origin unknown), and immediately in front,  Dr. Johnson’s Potpourri of some 4000 of the most Entertaining and Historically Stimulating English Words (a gift, but I am uncertain from whom.) 


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