Riposte III

I love stories about people who come up with the perfect comeback--or insult--at the very moment it's needed. The story about Frank Zappa in the earlier "Riposte" post is one of my favorites.

I had been trying to remember the famous exchange between Winston Churchill and George Bernard Shaw, between whom there was no love lost, when my friend Michael Sudheer sent me a whole passel o' retorts, including the one I was looking for. Made my day!

Here are a few of them. As my dad used to say (as he laid his winning cards down at the end of a poker hand), "Read 'em and weep..."

The Winston Churchill/Geroge Bernard Shaw exchange:
Shaw: I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of your play. Bring a friend...if you have one.
Churchill's reply: Cannot possible attend first night; will attend second...if there is one.

Groucho Marx struck a similar note: I've had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it.

An exchange between Churchill and Nancy, Lady Astor:
Astor: If you were my husband, I'd give you poison.
Churchill: If you were my wife, I'd drink it.

A barb from Oscar Wilde: He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends.

Then there was the time, long ago, when Dick Cavett introduced the nauseatingly accessible Rod McKuen as America's most understood poet.

And when Ghandi repsonded to the question of what he thought of Western civilization: I think it's a good idea.

"Art in Garden" opening

Friday, June 3 is the "official" re-opening of the Generator Gallery, during the monthly ArtWalk at Fabrica Aurora here in San Miguel. I'll be showing a series of large photographs of Candelaria, the huge annual plant and flower fair, and a group of small acrylic finger-paintings.

I'm learning that preparing for these shows is a lot of work--framing, enlarging photos, labels, hanging, publicity. At midnight last night I was printing and cutting up wallet-size photos of the work I'm showing and making them into refrigerator magnets--and wondering where I went wrong.

I'm trying to plan ahead, and pretty much know what I'm going to show through the rest of this year. What I want to do next are some BIG finger-paintings, working flat on my worktable with lots of open pots of paint, spray bottles of water, music in the background, a glass of tequila by my side.....Oops, I must be dreaming... I've got a deadline to meet on the book I'm ghostwriting....

Leonore Fleischer

I often tell people that it was Leonore Fleischer who lured me into the writing trade (vintage hippie era photo of Leonore from my book, Clothing Liberation: Out of the Closets and Into the Streets, circa 1973). She dropped by my stand on 6th Avenue in Greenwich Village one auspicious Saturday in 1970, when I was selling off the inventory of my macramé (yeah, wanna make something of it?) jewelry business, which had become a pain in the butt. Six months later she called me, having seen a write-up about my wares in the annual New Yorker “What to Buy for Christmas” article, wanting me to write a book on macramé. I protested vehemently, but she persisted, and over lunch at the Lion’s Head pub, convinced me that she could give me whatever help I needed (I had a graphic design studio at the time, but I was no writer). Well, the short version is that Leonore became my editor, and a very close friend: we are still in touch. I’ll let her tell you the rest of the story. But I want to brag a little bit—in the hope of hustling up some business—by quoting her response to my delivering that first manuscript:

"I read it, I read it over again, in shock. The manuscript was perfect. Perfect. Not a comma out of place, not an adverb wrongly used, not a work misspelled. More, it was as witty and friendly as it was informative. A witty craft book! I sat stunned. There was nothing for me to do, nothing."

True Tomatoes

I was born and raised in New Jersey, and spent childhood summers with a pile o’ tomatoes and a salt shaker, eating my fill. I vividly remember being in south Jersey with my first husband, Bruce Torbet, working on a civil rights documentary called “Mississippi Summer,” on the day of the first moon landing. I spent the day up to my ears in a cornfield (unplanned pun), eating the sweet raw corn between takes (I was the sound recordist). I had been an avid follower of the space program, so in anticipation of watching the moon landing, we stopped at a farm stand and bought a humongous bag of tomatoes, and a whole container of Morton’s salt. That night I sat propped up in the motel bed with my tomatoes and salt, happy as could be, although I had a suspicion the landing had been shot in a loft on Greene Street in Soho (remember the flag that was wired to look as though it was flying in the breeze?). What a wonderful day!

First-rate tomatoes have come and gone in my life. In many places where I've traveled they were stupendous, but even in California they didn’t measure up to New Jersey standards, and in winter—forget about it. Here in San Miguel, for all that I love the place, the tomatoes look appealing, but are lacking in taste, as though reconstituted from some combination of sawdust and tomato paste. But lo and behold, thanks to the burgeoning, green/environmental movement here in town, there is a new organic gourmet store in my humble neighborhood, Vía Orgánica, and the tomatoes are wonderful. So again I have bags of fabulous tomatoes and a big salt shaker, and I am as happy as can be…. Viva Vía Orgánica!

Maria Valenzuela

The amazing and endearing Maria Valenzuela only works two afternoons a week at my house, but she manages to clean, do the laundry, iron (and mend my clothes), shop and prepare food to leave in the fridge, pay the bills, tend the garden, and in general oversee whatever needs tending to. She works for other gringos during the week, and cooks for a local caterer. She is the matriarch of a large family--ten grown children, many grandchildren and an extended family--which means there are always unexpected expenses and crises, even deaths from the diabetes and other maladies that plague the local populace.

Clearly our lives are very different--I live alone, I have no children, I'm not religious. Yet we have become close. I am invited to family gatherings--of which there are many, often connected with religious celebrations. I 'sponsor,' as do other family members--one of the Christmas posadas they do for nine straight nights, providing pinatas and prayer (along with a mini-procession of the family's nativity tableau), punch and tamales, for their neighbors and community. For all her responsibilities, Maria has an abiding sense of humor and fun, and we always manage to laugh, even when we are having a difficult time. And we both enjoy our tequila.

I salute Maria Valenzuela, a bright light in my life and in the life of her family and community.

Everyday Magic

There are minor mysteries everywhere…the way the full moon shows up each month, perfectly poised in the night sky, in the arched window in front of my desk. The way the blue neon cross at the local parish church two blocks away is simply a straight line, like a sword pointing to the sky, from my studio window. Lately I’m fascinated by a springtime transformation that takes place in my home every day:

In the early morning, light comes in through the triangular window on my stairwell. It casts a sharp triangular shadow on the opposite wall, then migrates down the stairs and becomes a shapeless blob on the floor and kitchen rug, and around midday arranges itself in a perfect circle at the foot of the stairs. Now if that's not magic.... see the whole sequence here.

Day of the Locos

This is a fiesta-mad town, and yesterday was one of the maddest, and one of my favorites-- El Dia de los Locos--the Day of the Crazies. See photos here. This only-in-San Miguel parade culminates eight days of celebrations, fireworks, and devotions that honor St. Anthony of Padua, the patron of mariners and fishermen, expectant mothers. animals, American Indians, and travelers, among other beneficiaries of his benificence.

Over ten thousand people, organized by neighborhood and community associations, parade through the streets in extravagant, inventive costumes of every description, each group led by a vividly festooned truck with it's own sound system, each group dancing and cavorting to its own rhythms. This year Disney movie characters were a main theme. Lots of men dressed as women. Hmmmm... Tens of thousands of other people line the long parade route (some hang off balconies and rooftops) holding upside-down umbrellas to catch the candy flung by the paraders. Kids ride atop their parents' shoulders. Vendors hawk tamales and corn, cold drinks and balloons. It's kind of like a good-natured Mardi Gras, wild and enthusiastic, but without the booze.

Gringo Haiku

My fellow writer friend Leah Feldon and I were desperate to come up with something for the first San Miguel Authors Anthology, but we hadn’t been in San Miguel long enough to have written anything about it. Sitting around over a couple rounds of tequila, we wrote a piece on ‘Gringo Haiku,’ based on the traditional Japanese poem form of 17-syllables, in lines of 5-7-5, about the vagaries of San Miguel gringo life, with a faux-academic introduction. It got great laughs, so we turned it into a little book. Here are some samples:

In San Miguel you
never know for whom the bell
tolls, or why, or when.

Carnelian sun slants
on red tiled roofs. I wonder
what it will sell for.

On Vonage wings and
wireless internet I reach out
to the old country.

On jardín benches
a row of stopped geezers eyes
the brown-eyes chicas.

Rain glistens on the
cobbled streets and the arm slings
of fallen women.

More Gringo Haiku coming soon. Contributions welcome, but juried by our panel of critics....

Riposte II

The witty comeback is often elusive, especially in the very moment it's needed. The French refer to this dilemma as "l'esprit de l'escalier," the frustration at not coming up with the perfect retort until you've reached the bottom of the staircase on your way out the door.

One of my favorite comebacks goes back a number of years, to an incident when Frank Zappa was being interviewed by the conservative and perpetually angry radio talk show host, Joe Pyne, an ex-Vietnam vet who came home from combat with a wooden leg. During the interview, Pyne was irritated with everything about Zappa, his free-wheeling political and social views, his bizarre clothes, and especially his long, straggly hair.

"Doesn't having long hair make you feel like a girl?" Pyne snarled.

"Not at all," Zappa was unfazed. "Does having a wooden leg make you feel like a table?"

Ouch... just once in my life I'd like to come up with a zinger like that.


Here are a few new quotes, on the subject of life and death:

Life is what happens while you are making other plans. —John Lennon

For three days after death hair and fingernails continue to grow, but phone calls taper off. —Johnny Carson

Perhaps there is no life after death...there is just Los Angeles. —Rick Anderson

There is no cure for birth and death, save to enjoy the interval. —George Santayana

There is more to life than increasing its speed. —Mahatma Gandhi

Riposte suggestions are welcome, and will be published--if you pass through my finicky filter

Welcome to LuluLand

LuluLand is on its way. I’m excited, but terrified about the ongoing work involved. All I can think about is that my friends and family are still going to be miffed when I don’t write back to them.

But hey… I love the idea of having a forum for writing about writing, about life here in San Miguel, my friends and family, and the quirks and glories of the human condition. And because I am so involved in photography and painting at the moment, I am happy to have a place to show images of my work. (Click on the Picasa album link on the right).

This Friday is the opening night of an exhibition at my local gallery, the Generator Gallery. I’ve been showing there for two years, but now, along with a group of artists, I will have a permanent space to show whatever I want, and change it as often as I like. This month my mini-show is called “All this…every day,” which is kind of my mantra here in San Miguel. There is always some colorful fiesta or procession or ritual going on, big or small. It is not unusual to come upon a neighborhood feast, or fireworks, or a full-blown blowout on one’s daily rounds. The pictures I’m showing now are of the stunning fireworks towers that will soon be charred remains; the ten foot tall paper-maché puppets that join almost every parade, and the huge paper-maché figures that are rigged with fireworks and blown up on the main square every Easter, to the amusement of all.

alTirado Photos and Sculpture at Mero Gallery

My friend alTirado, photographer, photojournalist, and videographer, is showing new photographs and figurative clay sculptures at Mero Gallery here in San Miguel. The opening is Friday, June 12, from 7 to 9. The show is titled, “The Third Dimension.” For a preview go here.

“By creating a sense of movement in the photos, alTirado says, “I am attempting to capture a moment in life, an instant in time, with the implication that no image is still, but part of a larger arc which continues into the future. These photos allow the viewer to come to his or her own conclusion about what happens next. The clay sculptures are part of my continuing quest to learn more about what goes on ‘around the corner’ from the two dimensional world of still photography and video.”
alTirado’s books, San Miguel: A Pictorial Story, and Art in San Miguel, which profiles 33 local artists, are on sale in bookstores around town. The show continues through August.

Riposte

In my many years as a writer, I’ve developed a fondness for the apt quotation—the acerbic riposte, the witty remark, the insightful observation on life and its foibles. This will be an ongoing gathering of bon mots.

There is no distinctly American class—except Congress.
Mark Twain

Wit is educated insolence.
Aristotle

Only the mediocre are always at their best.
Jean Girardoux

The cure for writer’s cramp is writer’s block.
Inigo de Leon

I always wanted to be somebody, but I should have been more specific.
Lily Tomlin

Having your book turned into a movie is like
having your oxen turned into bouillon cubes.
John Le Carré

If you are going to try cross-country skiing, start with a small country.
Saturday Night Live

I’m not afraid to die. I just don’t want to be there when it happens.
Woody Allen

Old age comes at a bad time.
Sue Banducci

I want my immortality now, and I want it in cash.
Leonore Fleischer

And finally, the message on a local T-shirt:
If it’s tourist season, why can’t we shoot them?