Wednesday 26th October, 2005
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A Thought for Today
Language has no end and no beginning,
other than the coda each death makes and the paragraph that starts with
each new birth.
This
One Does It For Me!
Hi Ken,
I used to love the Datebooks Rod put out back in the eighties.
What are the chances of publishing them again?
Good Wishes,
Samantha
Pretty slim, Samantha. If
you read the piece below closely, taken from the 1985 datebook, you'll
understand just how long it took Rod to put it together. Rod's schedule
right now is hectic so I doubt we'll be seeing another datebook anytime
soon.
Here's the introduction to
the 1985 book which, as usual, makes for fascinating reading. There's
also a randomly selected poem from the same volume.
Author’s
Note - Another Beautiful Day - 1985
The Importance of Keeping a Diary
Life is transient. Death no better. The only thing of importance -
despite computer threat and more important things to do some days - is a
reasonably well-kept diary.
Ned Rohem goes on turning his into cash. Once out of print, he displays
the best trait of writers and regurgitates the copyright to form a new
and fatter omnibus. Noel Coward’s day book is gossip elevated to high
art - though somewhat fudged. From Michelangelo’s jottings, we learn
inventions, mathematics, proposals, success, a little failure and
personals we could do without. Anais Nin’s life was her calendar, or her
calendar was her life. When blank pages needed filling, she wrote some
pretty nifty dirty stories in the margins. Very Colette. Every book
Christopher Isherwood, Truman Capote, and to a lesser degree, Norman
Mailer has authored is a diary disguised. Hemingway wrote ‘wish
diaries’.
That most illuminating of ‘talk to myself’ works by the young and
courageous Anne Frank was a testament, a manifesto, and a movie of the
same name. Last year when her father/editor died, the unexpurgated
version of her private attic thoughts was published. The work endures.
If we can believe Peter Hall, he eschewed (today’s big word) exercise
and dining out in favor of dashing home each and every night to a
notebook. Once a week his solicitors cut out the good parts.
Publication and the following derision and/or acclaim is not the
ultimate reason for maintaining a journal or book of days. Memory is
probably the most interesting yet most illusive accounting system God
gives us. The more age sets in, the more we choose to forget or neglect
to commit to memory. I keep an intermittent diary because once I’ve
pen-and-paperized a thought I’ve freed another brain cell or two. This
allows the luxury of pursuing new and ancient loves, the knobs needed
from the hardware store, the programmed changing of the cat box, Animal
Concern (plug) - to which the major portion of my royalties from this
diary, Book of Days, calendar are donated - the ongoing struggle with
the garden, trying to psyche myself out of concert retirement, being a
better friend to friends etc. You get the picture. Putting it down on
paper is one more road to freedom.
Keeping a diary, like sticking to a diet, is among the most difficult
things in this all too difficult life - next to it, lovers and family
are a snap. The 1985 Book of Days took a year and a half to put
together. I figure it ought to take you only about a year to take it
apart.
If the fortunate and the famous are as diligent as we all should be in
keeping diaries, perhaps typical entries would resemble the following:
He looked at me - not just a look, but those wide double-layered
savage lashes batting one hundred seemed to say “I want your body...
starting with your ears and moving down”. Suddenly, my back went limp, a
disc or two had slipped a little. “Take me,” I cried - or was it a
whimper ? His roughness seemed to move over me until the deepness...
-Barbara Courtyard
An uneventful day. The yacht sank. Christopher Little sat on the
keyboard of the harpsichord and broke the keys I need to play the Bach
E-Minor. I shall be confined to mostly Mozart. The Reagan for President
Again - or Else bumper stickers were printed in mauve instead of puce.
another amusing letter from Charlton Heston, but his subscription has
run out. Who is William Safire and why is he saying all those terrible
things about RR ? Calls to make: Peter McWilliams, the Pope, Phyllis
Schlafly, Ralph Nader’s secretary, William Casey, Brooke Shields (
regarding theory of earth regeneration through modified cow chips ).
Write new book between 9:00 and 9:45. Ring Midas about recovering limo
seats. Offer “personal bedsheet squares unlaundered” to subscribers
extending National Review. - William F Druckley
Why doesn’t somebody send me three dozen long-stemmed roses and make my
day ! Why doesn’t Sondra make my bed ? - Clint Westwood
Oh heave your body up into the hammock and on mine and we will sing the
wandering song of semi-copulation in the wilderness. DUST, dirt, mud,
marigold, mud-pies and effervescent extraterrestrial existentialist
every-ready spunk, you are a part of me and I you. Did you think that I
would not come to you ? Ah I am HERE. Where are you ? -Walt Whatman
For a long time now, The Monograms - like The Monologues - have worked.
First there was Jody, then Joanne, and finally Joanna ( not to mention
Judy, Jill, Jessica, Jolene, Jemima, Jacquie, and, of course, Jillian ).
It was nice having J.C. around the house. Now that I’m in a new bag,
what to do with the old towels ? Maybe Freddie can start soliciting
religious cults. Wanda is a nice name, but I’m worried about the
initials. -Johnny Carnac
I - into her - - and then turning - - - that little - - until it - -
profusely. She - - - - and - - - - !! I could hardly - - so I - and - .
“What a waste,” I heard her say as she - - - . Dazed and - - I picked
myself up. ‘Whew,” escaped her throat. “Oh, my,” I echoed. -Enri Millar
“You want to see nifty fifties?” Send for an 8X10 glossy of Carol Coda.
“You want to see fifty ” Call me. -Gloria Steinperson
I can’t wear the Galanos because the Secret Service men saw me taking
out the garbage in it six months ago. The green Adolfo, maybe, but
didn’t I address the Better Butchers’ Bureau Annual Bakeoff six years in
something like that ? Maybe the Norell. No. I wore it to meet Betty and
Phil on the Britannia. The Clovis Ruffin ? My card file shows I haven’t
worn it since the John Birch luncheon in 1954. True, I only wore the
Valentino once, but Ronnie spilled shoe polish on the hem while doing
his hair. Thank God for Carolyn Horchow. -The First Nancy
Just squeeze me, if you want to please me. Embrace me, my embraceable
you. Bend down and touch me. Roll me over in the clover. Let’s get
physical. Cuddle up a little bit closer, lovey mine. Hold me, thrill me,
kiss me. I’m all for you, body and soul. Take me in your arms. Do you
really want to hurt me ? Good, it’s only a part of Loving Each Other:
Living, Loving, and Learning. -Leo Bucksonly, Ph.D.
Kiss me. Herpes values are doubled. - Richard Awesome
Dear Diary: Last night I had the fullback. Tomorrow the team. If Blake
were a real man, he’d buy me a lifetime pass to the British Open. -
Alexis Carrington
Enough.
If you’ve waded this far you know that keeping a diary is not so much an
art as it is an attitude. Gimmicks help - even if you only intend to use
this as your appointment book. I’ve been designing my calendars,
datebooks, and diaries since 1970 to include trickery that might force
my attention back to a page each day. Since I intend to be around when
the century turn, it wouldn’t be much fun to look back on 1985 and find
a blank book. But never mind prosperity: what about next week’s
appointments and last night’s rejection ?
This year’s tricks to get me, and you, to return to our books on some
kind of a regular basis include six or seven birthdates of the famous
and the infamous and just plain friends ( mostly infamous ) each day.
That comes to around 3,400 total. A daily aphorism or quote from
something I’ve said in the past might trigger a new thought. All the
holidays - plus a few that I made up just for the heck of it or to honor
some deserving soul such as Madame Maria Ouspenskaya, Beau Brummell, or
Vera Hruba Ralston. Last year the Harper & Row copy editor asked me who
Boy George was. No kidding. So don’t ask, “Who’s Vera Hruba Ralston ?”
This year I’ve included ruled lines to keep my handwriting in check and,
of course, the all-important ribbon marker - so I don’t have to clip the
corners of pages to indicate where I left off.
At the start of each month there are a couple of poems, twenty-six in
all. They stretch as far back as Stanyan Street, published in 1965; as
far forward as Suspension Bridge, published in 1984. I even sat down and
wrote some brand-new verses for this edition.
Near the back of the book, where it belongs, is one of the most
important sections: ‘365 Holidays you might not know about’. These days
become increasingly important because of mounting stress in our daily
lives. Suppose you miss a day of work or school and want something a
little different to write on your ‘pass the buck’ slip ? If its March
10th, you can say you were celebrating the invention of paper money (
now more worthless than ever ). Later that month, on the 21st, you can
tell friends you’re still hung over from remembering the famous night
John and Yoko invited the world into their bedroom in an Amsterdam hotel
to celebrate their honeymoon; that was in 1969.
Bet you didn’t know that Floridians often take the day off and go
swimming on April 8th to commemorate ‘the Great Swim-in of Ponce de
Leon’ in 1513. This year the 8th falls on a Monday and it’s also the
birthday of Betty Ford, Sonja Henie, Jacques Brel, and Buddha. Lots of
reasons for confetti and paper hats. I have a birthday in April too; you
can celebrate mine - though I’ll probably be hiding somewhere,
pretending I’m still twenty-five.
With summer long gone, by the 9th of October you’ll want to commemorate
the invention of the calliope ( or maybe not ). My friend Larry Ashmead
celebrates this day every year by taking a paddle wheeler down the
Mississippi to visit the junk shops in Natchez. But then he also
celebrates the 6th of October, because in 1863 - when he was just a lad
- Brooklyn’s first Turkish Bath opened. In fact, if you opened a can of
sardines, he’d celebrate. Onward.
On October 20, 1959, the Edsel was born and buried. November 4th is Abe
and Mary Lincoln’s 143rd wedding anniversary ( don’t forget to send a
card ). If you work at Ms. magazine, I dare you to celebrate November
13th. On that day in 1914 a patent was granted for the first bra, a
crude model fashioned from two handkerchiefs. Note to Jane Russell:
those ‘full-figured gals’ would have to wait for the bandanna version
patented the following year.
Not all the information here is sexist. Gloria Steinem, Betsy Ross, Jane
Fonda, Joan of Arc, Odetta, Phyllis Diller, Ayn Rand, Jo Stafford, and
Grandma Moses’ birthdays are among the thousands or so this country’s
and the world’s great women represented. Emma Goldman has a day all to
herself, as do the friends of Bertha. If you’re a friend of Bertha,
hoist one. The friends and enemies of William Morris may want to open an
IRA with ten percent of their earnings during August.
If you like books, I’ll see you in San Francisco starting May 25th, when
the American Booksellers’ Convention starts; or join me in Cheyenne on
July 9th when Frontier Days begin. The list of special weeks and Trivia
El Grande is endless. So are the places I plan to take my diary during
the year.
If you need a little extra space when thoughts run over, I’ve included a
whole month of Sundays. ( This volume seems to contain lots and lots of
et ceteras ). Here you can learn that it wasn’t Ed Meese, but Henry Ward
Beecher, who said, “The man who can’t live on bread and water isn’t fit
to live”.
In short, this diary is a bit like one of my concerts: I’ve tried to
include something to please and offend nearly everyone. I hope you come
back next year so we can work together on 1986. By the way, I even
accept suggestions and complaints. You can write to me c/o Animal
Concern, Box 2783, Hollywood, CA 90028. No complaints, only thanks are
due to Clayton Carlson, Tom Dorsaneo, Kathy Reigstad, Dorian Gossy, and
the entire A-team in San Francisco, who daily remind me of deadlines and
this year didn’t once ask, “Who’s Boy George” ?
Have a beautiful 1985.
R.M. / 1984
P.S. As usual the daily quotations have been cannibalized from my work
over the past twenty-five years or so and from what I’ve found out by
living (a few!) more.
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