In the August 9, 2004 issue of New York Magazine, John Buffalo Mailer...

...interviewed his father, Norman Mailer. The elder Mailer makes the most salient point I've read re the RNC convention:

"Do the activists really know what they're going into? That's my concern. Or do they assume that expressing their rage is equal to getting Kerry elected? It could have exactly the opposite effect. The better mode may be to frustrate the Republicans by coming up with orderly demonstrations. Now, when I was young, the suggestion to be moderate was like a stink bomb to me. An orderly demonstration? What were we, cattle? You have to speak out with your rage. Well, I'm trying to say, we would do well to realize that on this occassion, there are more important things than a good outburst. I wish we could remind everyone who goes out to march of the old Italian saying, 'Revenge is a dish that people of taste eat cold.' Instead of expressing yourself at the end of August, think of how nicely you will be able to keep expressing yourself over the four years to come if we win. Just keep thinking how much the Republicans want anarchy on the street. I say, don't march right into their trap."

Norman Mailer and John Buffalo Mailer Discuss Protests at the Republican National Convention

Happy stuff:

My Black Table interview with Augusten Burroughs is here! This is the second time I've interviewed Burroughs and each time he was unfailingly polite, refreshingly grounded, and instinctively hilarious. We spoke last month on the phone:

AUGUSTEN BURROUGHS' MAGICAL WAY OF THINKING.

Come back to the five and dime, Fran Lebowitz, Fran Lebowitz:

I'm on deadline now--more on that once everything is turned in and published and/or posted--so instead of concocting my own Slippery Fish bon mots this afternoon, I thought I'd share my two fave quotes from "The Fran Lebowitz Reader", which I recently finished reading. (For the uninitiated: before she was a judge on "Law and Order"--a role she got by calling the producers and asking--Lebowitz was one of the country's premiere essayists.)

"To put it rather bluntly, I am not the type who wants to go back to the land--I am the type who wants to go back to the hotel."

"A great many people in Los Angeles are on special diets that restrict their intake of synthetic foods. The reason for this appears to be a widely held belief that organically grown fruits and vegetables make the cocaine work faster."

Now, if anyone wants to bring me dinner--say, phad thai with barbequed pork, two stars--that'd be supercool. Back to work.

Socket wrench...seeks nuts to crack:

First, I click on my Nerve account and discover the worst tag line ever and possibly the most horrifying metaphor in recorded human history:

"Shovel...seeks butter clam for harvest."

Then I look up and discover (my husband) Jon Stewart interviewing (talented lunatic) Burt Reynolds. But Reynolds' visage now resembles that of a burn survivor: taut skin and features askew. And it's heartbreaking, really, because he *chose* to mangle his face.

Some nights I think the only things standing between me and a felony are four bunnies, Green and Black's Chocolate Mint Bar, and a delightful array of shoes.

P.S. My writing group kicks ass.

At least it wasn't a blood relative:

The letter writer (see previous post) revealed himself yesterday. Turns out--for reasons I won't go into--that he was neither sweet nor creepy. Harmless, though, so no worries.

I'd really prefer not to discuss this again. Thanks.

Sweet or creepy?

I received the following missive (see below) in my Nerve mailbox yesterday and I'm stumped. The sender left his entire profile blank, except to say he's 32 and "gainfully employed". I acknowledged the kind sentiments and thanked him for taking the time to write them. I explained that his anonymity was more frustrating than beguiling, though, and if I could put my picture out there, he could reveal himself.

Nothing.

Late last night--I couldn't sleep for a bunch of reasons--I replied again and explained that I'm already on the brink of getting an anti-harassment order against one of my neighbors and that the anonymous thing was disconcerting.

Zip.

He obviously knows me, but he doesn't know me well. All of the guys with whom I'm close are either: 1) platonic, or 2) exes w/ whom I'm now friends. Also, anyone who knows me at all knows that gutless men get on my nerves. I've asked out guys and taken the initiative a whole bunch of times: I know what it's like to risk your heart. But life is short--cliched but true--and (mixed metaphor alert!) sometimes ya gotta dive right in.

He's probably a friend of a friend, at which point it could be anyone. I have a few hunches, but if you've got a hypothesis, please let me know:

chrysalis_stage

32 | Seattle, Washington
Butterfly? or Moth?
To: writerstrumpet
Subject: Just wanted to tell you...

Hi Litsa,

I know it's a little strange being greeted by your first name in a response to a personal ad. When I saw it, though, I realized it could only be you.

We know each other in real life, and I have admired you since the day I met you. However, these are things I don't think I'd have the courage to tell you in person. Honestly, I've been debating writing this note since I saw your profile. So, allow me to whisper to you from the only cover of darkness I have.

From what I know of you, I think you're a talented writer, amazingly well read, stylish, wicked smart, and yes, quite lovely both in person and in spirit. (you picked a great picture, it really highlights your amazing smile). I have thought, at times, about asking for a chance to get to know you better. But, in the end, I doubt I'm the sort of man you're looking for.

Still, I wanted to drop you a note to wish you luck in your search, and in life. I sincerely hope you find the person you seek. Any man who earns your love would be lucky indeed.

Best regards,
- C

Summer's almost over. May your Winters be Long:

I was at Seattle's Easy Street Records on Sunday night when the most luscious rock/pop --notice I didn't phrase it the other way around--burst from their speakers and changed everything. That's how I discovered The Long Winters. Their second CD, "When I Pretend to Fall", is magnetic: I didn't return someone's call last night because I wanted to keep listening uninterrupted. Today I bought three more copies for friends who have upcoming birthdays and tomorrow morning I tear the cellophane off their first disc, "The Worst You Can Do is Harm".

If you don't hear from me by the weekend, please send mochas:

The Long Winters | Seattle, WA