August 25, 2009

My cat is an alarm clock

It’s seven in the morning, at my desk, in my pajamas, on my day off.

I had set the cat to go off at six. Natasha, for some reason, has been wanting to go into the Bun’s bedroom, and she’ll meow until someone opens the door. Trouble is, she’s done it as early as 4 in the ack emma (British military slang, presumably so it could be understood over the radio). This usually results in me padding through the house after her with a spray bottle, which some child has usually fiddled with to spray a mist instead of a satisfying penile jet of water. Very Warner Brothers, only without the chaotic orchestra music.

Since the threat of water hasn’t seemed to work on changing the mind of a 15-year-old cat, I decided to crack the Bun’s bedroom door open. This time, since I wanted to get to work early, I left it alone. So, spot on six, I was up and making the coffee.

I love it when a plan comes together.

Of course, if I was a better planner, I would have set aside some clothes to wear.

So, while I’m posting new and used material from the “Writers Gone Wild / Writers 365 / Reader’s Almanac” series, I’ll also close a few tabs for your entertainment:

* Why A Duck? Jaime Weinmen drops in on “Duck Soup” and explains the peculiar genius between the mirror routine between Groucho and Harpo. This brings to mind the idea that, in some of Bugs Bunny’s best bits, some of the joy comes from everyone operating from the same looney premise. Once the rules of logic are redefined ─ when Bugs and Daffy are ripping down the “Rabbit Season” “Duck Season” signs, no one thinks to ask “who in hell would nail up 14 signs on top of each other for someone to rip off?” ─ then anything is possible and there’s sheer joy in the anarchy.

* Shagging Credit: As long as I’m in toonville, Jaime also uncovers a 1975 interview with Bob Clampett, Warners animator, and discusses the evolution of these shorts as disposable bits of fun to artistic legacy, and how some animators tried to grab as much credit as possible. Bonus: Poor Bob’s Moe Howard haircut, which looked to me like a rug.

* Ansel Adams’ Lost Angeles: American Digest uncovers a magazine assignment that sent the wildlife photographer into the wilds of Lost Angels.

* Crap. Why should I care: It’s only Wil Wheaton’s dog that died. I didn’t even know he had a dog. But it still bums me out. Donne was right: “Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.” Although the older I get, the more I care about my animal friends, except those close to me.

* The Quotable Mencken: Yesterday, I wrote up the anecdote about how Franklin Roosevelt slagged Mencken at the Gridiron Club dinner in 1934. The man was terribly wrong about a number of things (such as Hitler and Jews) and right about a lot more (usually fiction and bluestockings and censorship). Most of all, he’s terribly quotable. If you need a model for clarity and forceful writing, you could do worse than read Mencken.

There’s one quote I’m finding more and more true: “The older I get the more I admire and crave competence, just simple competence, in any field from adultery to zoology.”

But Mencken also had this to say about journalism, written in his diary in 1940:

”My guess is that in the long run the newspapers will lose their more moronic customers to the radio [Bill: substitute “cable and reality shows”]. Thus their future lies with the relative intelligent minority. That minority holds nearly all of the money of the country. The newspapers, however, neglect it progressively. . . . The function of a newspaper in a democracy is to stand as a sort of chronic opposition to the reigning quacks. The minute it begins to try to out-whoop them it forfeits its character and becomes ridiculous. I believe that many people already notice this deterioration, and that is responsible to some extent for the movement toward the radio.”

Then there’s this surprising bit of self-reflection about what motivates him to write:

”My belief is that every really rational man preserves his major opinions unchanged from his youth onward. When he vacillates it is simply a sign that he is stupid. My one purpose in writing I have explained over and over again: it is simply to provide a kind of katharsis for my own thoughts. They worry me until they are set for in words.”

This is sad. By denying himself the possibility of growth through an increased knowledge of the world, by locking himself into the attitudes of youth, no matter what, Mencken shows himself to be as much a part of the booboisies and knuckleheads that he raged against.

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