This is post #100; thank you for continuing to “just bear with me.”
December 19 is also the two-year anniversary of this site’s launch (so I should gift myself either cotton or china, and it should be red).
To honor this symmetry, and to lighten the mood from my previous three posts (dealing—however obliquely—with the deaths of President George H.W. Bush, Pete Shelley and my maternal grandfather), I present 100 random facts about me. These tidbits of personal trivia are in no particular order.
#1-19. I have seen every episode of…
The Green Hornet (co-starring this guy)
The Honeymooners (classic 39 episodes, 1955-56)
Police Squad (all six episodes)
Star Trek: The Next Generation
Twin Peaks (including this movie)
WKRP in Cincinnati*
Shows with an asterisk I own on DVD.
#20. Barney Miller remains my favorite sitcom, followed by Taxi and Remember WENN (in some order), then Coupling, WKRP and Soap (in some order) along with Cheers and Get Smart.
#21. I have likely also seen every episode of a truly obscure 1980 late-night soap opera called The Life and Times of Eddie Roberts.
#22. I have seen (and own on videocassette) all 20 adventures of The Mighty Heroes that aired as part of the 1966-67 series Mighty Mouse and The Mighty Heroes.
Picture from here
#23. I have seen every episode of Doctor Who since the 2005 revival.
#24. I have seen every episode of Dragnet released as part of the 1967-70 color revival.
#25. I have spent the night in 24 states (25, if you count the District of Columbia [DC]). Roughly in order from most to least: Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Connecticut, DC, New Jersey, California, Florida, Maine, Michigan, Wisconsin, Georgia, New York, Vermont, Maryland, Illinois, New Hampshire, Iowa, Ohio, Louisiana, Missouri, Mississippi, Rhode Island, Virginia, and North Carolina and Tennessee (one night each on an April 1990 road trip).
#26. By contrast, I have never woken up in a foreign country.
#27-30. The only foreign country I have visited is Canada, three times in total.
The first time was to attend a Montreal Expos game in Montreal on the afternoon of May 5, 1990 (which is what I told the gentleman at the crossing from Vermont).
The second time was on September 2, 1990. I began an eight-day road trip (1990 was my year for road trips) the previous day, driving west on I-90 through Massachusetts then deep into New York. Once it got dark, my rental car radio was able to pick up 1210 AM, the Philadelphia Phillies radio station, so I heard my Phillies sweep a double-header from the New York Mets (and the debut of a young second baseman named Mickey Morandini).
Believing I could simply find a room at an exit-ramp hotel, I had not booked one in advance. What I had not considered, however, was that it was Labor Day weekend. I remember one hotel clerk telling me there was not a room for “a hundred miles in any direction.” Exhausted, and unwilling to shell out an exorbitant amount of money for a hotel room 20 or miles away, I drove my rental car into the back of a Holiday Inn in Batavia, NY. I had had the foresight to pack a pillow, so I curled up in the backseat, using my robe as a blanket.
After sleeping for four hours, I roused myself at dawn and headed for Niagara Falls (which genuinely impressed me). I also found a pay phone and booked a room at a Motel 6 near Detroit, MI for that night. After touring the Falls, I drove into Canada, heading north to Toronto. It was a Sunday afternoon, so I listened on the radio as the Toronto Blue Jays playing the Cleveland Indians. The Blue Jays had their best starting pitcher, Dave Stieb, on the mound.
As I got closer and closer to Toronto, Stieb had still not allowed a hit. And I was literally in downtown Toronto when Jerry Browne lined out to right for the final out of the only no-hitter in Toronto Blue Jays history (by contrast, the Phillies have had six no-hitters since then).
I did not stop in Toronto, but rather drove directly to Windsor, Ontario, where I took the Ambassador Bridge north into Detroit—the only place you go north from Canada into the United States.
The third time was far less dramatic. On June 21, 1997, my then-girlfriend and I spent the night in Island Pond, VT (which I had first visited the day of the Expos game; different girlfriend, however). We listened to this painful loss in the motel room as it poured outside.
Since Island Pond is only 16 miles south on Route 114 from the border with Quebec, we drove to the border that night, crossed into Canada, drove a short distance then turned around and drove back into the United States.
#31. On that same September 1990 road trip, I was in the original Comiskey Park the night (September 3, 1990) Bobby Thigpen broke the single-seasons saves record.
#32. Speaking of old Comiskey Park (and Olympic Stadium in Montreal), I have been to more major league baseball stadiums that no longer exist (six) than ones that are still in operation (three).
#33. Over four consecutive summers (1978-81), I was a day camp camper, an overnight camp camper, an overnight camp worker (co-running the canteen) and a day camp worker (junior counselor at the same camp as 1978, Indian Springs).
#34. I was a camper at long-since-closed Camp Arthur-Reeta in the summer of 1979. For reasons which eluded me, my bunkmates gave me the nickname “Disneyland.”
#35. That same summer, I was sent home from camp for a week or two with the worst poison ivy I have ever had.
#36-48. I have also worked as a/an…
…part-time assistant (gluing samples into a display binder) for a specialty stationery store in Narberth, PA (summer 1982)
…file clerk in the G.H. Arrow periodical warehouse near 4th and Poplar (Philadelphia, summer 1983)
…delivery driver for Boardwalk Steak and Sub Shoppe (aka Boardwalk Pizza) in Ardmore, PA (spring/summer 1984)—still my favorite-ever job; I combined the Sea Isle and the Margate into my signature sandwich: the mushroom provolone pizza steak.
…cashier in a WAWA food store in Belmont Hills, PA (summer 1985)
…cashier in a Washington, DC pizza joint (two weekends, summer 1986), while I was an unpaid intern at the Brookings Institute.
…shelving assistant in the Social Science Library at Yale (junior year, 1986-87)
…cashier at two different B. Dalton booksellers in Philadelphia (summers 1988, 1989)
…teaching assistant (three courses) and three-time senior thesis advisor at Harvard (1991-95)
…research assistant for multiple professors at Yale and Harvard
…data entry assistant at Pegasus Communications in Cambridge, MA (summer 1995)
…Assistant Registrar at Brandeis University (January-May 1996; the less said, the better)
…conductor of telephone survey research in Media, PA (spring 2001; see previous gig)
#49. My mother and I spent the summers of 1974 and 1975 at the Strand Motel in Atlantic City (between Boston and Providence, the beach and Pacific). Back then, before the opening of Resorts in 1978 destroyed Atlantic City, a long string of motels stood along Pacific Avenue between Albany Avenue to the southwest and New Hampshire to the northeast. My favorite pastime was to collect pamphlets from their lobbies; in the winter, I would dump them onto my parents’ bed and reminisce.
#50. Another pastime was to charge fellow patrons of the Strand pool 25 cents (or was it 50 cents?) to “bowl.” If memory serves, I had six cheap plastic trophies I stacked in a pyramid, and the goal was to knock them over with a ball of some sort
#51. My mother and I (and my father on weekends) occupied “penthouse” A at the Strand. Penthouse B was occupied by Leland Beloff, whose golden retriever Whiskey I used to walk with our Keeshond Luvey. One day I asked “Lee” (then 31 or 32 years old, what he wanted to be when he grew up (had he only known…).
#52. Along the same lines, my orthodonist (on whom my mother had a crush), nicknamed “Dr. Touchy,” was convicted of sexually molesting his female patients.
#53. My mother once told me that I was not allowed to do drugs until I was 32 years old, because that was when she started smoking marijuana (1970).
#54. I think I was in ninth grade when my mother ruined my adolescence by telling me, “Do what you want, just be careful.” Nice, appealing to my “good doobie” nature.
#55. As this signed napkin (my mother and me) clearly shows, Nancy Spungen was the niece of Joe Spungen, my first cousin, once removed, by marriage. Actually, that should be grand-niece…not sure if the error was in the speaking or the recording.
#56. Another first cousin, once removed is Lois Lane, but she is not THAT Lois Lane. This is one of her paintings.
#57. On a field trip to Washington, DC on May 6, 1980, I threw up in a men’s room in the United States Supreme Court building. I had a stomach bug.
#58. I still do not know how to ride a bicycle.
#59. However, according to family lore, I was able to read at the age of two-and-a-half. Supposedly, one day in the spring of 1969 I was driving in our Havertown, PA neighborhood with my maternal grandmother, when I read a street sign: “Watch Children.” (In the retelling, it has become “watch childwenz.”). Upon returning home, she insisted my mother had had me memorize the sign. In response, my mother handed me a copy of Life magazine, opened to a random page. I read it perfectly.
Again…that is the story. My wife Nell, a former elementary school teacher with an MA in early education, does not think that is physiologically possible.
#60. What is true, though, is that I was a voracious reader as a child, and I built an impressive library of books—which I eventually Dewey-Decimalized. I once set up a “lending library” on our front lawn. One kind gentleman actually rented a book.
#61. I used to borrow substantial American history textbooks from my elementary school library to read over the weekend.
#62. In sixth grade, two other male friends and I formed the Bibliophiles and Explorers Club. No records of “BEC” meetings survive.
#63. While I still love reading history, my tastes have changed, as reflected by my ownership of 21 books dealing with Jack the Ripper; I think that qualifies me as a Ripperologist. (Ed. note: see here for more).
#64. Overall, I have 70 books I would broadly describe as “true crime.”
#65. That total is dwarfed by my detective fiction collection (and associated biographies, critical studies and histories): 522 (+/-10). Note that some volumes contain multiple novels.
#66. As a boy in the mid-1970s, I loved watching reruns of Batman–especially when the opening credits featured Batgirl. In retrospect, it is clear my first celebrity crush was Yvonne Craig.
#67. Excluding a girl I helped get around our elementary school after she broke her leg, my first crush on a person I knew started on a December weekend in 1978. My seventh-grade class had just read A Christmas Carol. A local second-run theater was showing the 1951 film version. As my buddy and I were settling into our seats towards the darkened rear of the theater, I happened to look over to the right. Settling into her seat maybe 20 seats away was a lovely blond female classmate, who I already liked in a platonic way.
My brain did not literally go “zoing!” but that is as good a description as any.
#68. Five months later (May 1979), after my mother, Luvey the dog and I moved in with her sister (and her two kids and Spanky the dog), I flew on an airplane for the first time (I was 12). My maternal grandmother took my cousins and me to Walt Disney World. I have not been back since then.
#69. That was not my last trip to Florida. In March 1993, on a lark, I flew to Clearwater, FL to watch four Phillies Spring Training games (in another baseball stadium that no longer exists, Jack Russell). The first game I saw was an afternoon game in St. Petersburg against—I believe—the St. Louis Cardinals. I arrived about noon for a 1 pm start and took a seat in the bleachers. It was a hot, sunny day, so I took off my t-shirt—and kept it off the entire three-hour game (we lost 9-7). Coming from wintry Somerville, MA, it did not occur to me to apply any sunscreen.
I have never been so sunburned in my life…though that did not stop me from thoroughly enjoying the rest of the trip.
#70. In fact, I returned the next March, this time with my then-girlfriend (and an ample supply of sunscreen). We skipped 1995 because of the strike, but returned in 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999 and 2000. The Phillies did win any of the 12 games we watched in 1994, 1996 or 1997—an impressive 12-game losing streak with us in the stands.
#71. During that last trip, we stayed at a Hampton Inn (now a La Quinta Inn) on Route 19 north. One night, I was relaxing in the outdoor hot tub. I was 33 years old at the time. A number of young men were also in the hot tub, and they were discussing to which lower-level Phillies minor league affiliate they had been assigned. One of them then turned to me and asked something to the effect of, “So, where have you been assigned?”
Yeah, I was pretty flattered.
#72-74. I was even more proud of the following accomplishments (the first two of which are sort of repeat facts):
-Unanimous election as president of the Harriton High School Math Team
-Winning Harriton’s first ever Latin and Mathematics subject area awards.
-Unanimous election as chair of the Ezra Stiles College Council
#75. The latter election took place on September 21, 1986. Later that night, I visited the room of a young woman I liked. Very early the next morning, I wandered up Broadway—happy and bedraggled—to my own room. Along the way, I passed the Master of Ezra Stiles College, Traugott Lawler. Taking in the situation instantly, he simply nodded cordially to me, and I to him. To this day, I appreciate his discretion.
#76. I had officially become “a man” seven years earlier, at my Bar Mitzvah. As part of my months-long preparation, I was required to write out the answers to a series of Judaism-related questions in a notebook. I never got that notebook back because Rabbi Maltzman (who I adored) decided to use it as an example for future Bar and Bat Mitzvot.
#77. I saw Talking Heads live twice, in the summers of 1983 and 1984. While I was at the first concert, someone asked my mother where I was. “Oh, he’s gone to see the Walking Dead.”
#78. The only acts I have seen live as many as four times (excluding my cousin) are Genesis (1982, 1983, 1987, 1992) and Stan Ridgway (2007, 2009, 2010, 2015).
#79. The first concert I ever saw was Cheap Trick, on October 5, 1979 at the now-gone Spectrum in Philadelphia. My father—to his great credit—drove and accompanied my buddy (the same buddy with whom I had watched A Christmas Carol) to the concert. While seated near us, someone offered him some grass to smoke. He politely declined.
#80. The first album I ever bought (Spring 1977?) was Wings Over America—which I still have:
#81. The second summer I worked at a B. Dalton Bookseller (1989), an African-American man in a long raincoat came into the store while I was cashiering. He perused the magazines before selecting a Playgirl.
He paid for it with a wrinkled $20 bill. Something about the bill felt…off…but it was almost the end of my shift, so I paid little attention. Shortly after the man left the store, my supervisor (who did not like me at all) saw the bill in the cash drawer—and realized it was a counterfeit.
We had to make a statement in a nearby police station.
A day or so later, I was fired.
C’est la vie.
#82. I left my last full-time position—data guru at Joslin Diabetes Center—on June 30, 2015. Three days later, with Nell and our daughters in our house on Martha’s Vineyard, I drove to the Cod Cove Inn in Edgecomb, ME for a little R&R.
For supper, I drove north on U.S. 1 to King Eiders Pub in Damariscotta, which I cannot recommend enough. With my substantial meal, I had a glass of red wine and a single malt Scotch.
After the meal, I drove north on U.S. 1 to Rockport, where the Denny’s I had visited a few times in the late 1990s with an ex-girlfriend sat. I had something desert-like there, along with decaffeinated coffee.
When I left, it was past midnight…meaning it was the morning of July 4. I began to drive south on U.S. 1, winding my way through the “urban” streets of neighboring Rockland.
Almost immediately, the blue flashing lights of a police car appeared in my rearview mirror. I pulled over and waited (license and registration in hand) as not one, but two, male police officers approached my car.
One officer came to my driver’s-side window to inform me I had been driving 40 miles per hour (MPH) in a 25-MPH zone; this was likely true, I confess. However, he then asked me what I had been drinking earlier that evening. I was honest, though I emphasized how much food I had eaten as well. He clarified that I had not imbibed any alcohol at Denny’s.
I was then asked to step out of the car.
I was told to lean against the front of the police car, where I went through a battery of tests. The one that stands out is being asked to follow his fingers with my eyes WITHOUT moving my head.
Which I did well enough, apparently, that I was told I was free to go.
Here is the kicker, though.
I had ostensibly been pulled over for speeding.
However, I was not even given a warning, let alone a speeding ticket. And while I was being put through my DUI paces, the other officer was carefully inspecting my black Honda Accord (Massachusetts plates).
My suspicion is they were looking for a car matching my description, and they needed a plausible reason to pull me over.
For the record, that Denny’s closed for good recently.
#83. My favorite question as a child—the one that used to send the adults in my life completely ‘round the bend—was “Howcum?”
#84. One day after school (an early elementary school grade), a family friend named Hank asked me how school had been. I responded that “it was a cinch.” From then on, Hank (later a second father to me before his own untimely death in October 1983), called me “Cinch.”
#85. My father, however, preferred to call me “Pal.”
#86. When I was 13 years old (November or December 1979), I took the est training. While I now view its “teachings” with great skepticism, I enjoyed the experience. My mother spent much of the 1970s exploring all manner of consciousness-raising (or altering—I remember lots of marijuana and green glass jugs of white wine), though when she tried transcendental meditation, she immediately forgot her mantra.
#87. I actually did much the same for a few years in the late 1970s (coinciding, not coincidentally, with the start of adolescence and post-parental-separation moves), becoming fascinated with astrology, card reading and, especially, numerology (Chaldean, not Pythagorean, thank you very much). To this day, despite my capital-s skepticism, I still unconsciously ascertain whether a number (a day of the month, say) is “compatible” with me or not (before dismissing the notion).
But when I met one of my closest friends (his mother later introduced me at his wedding as “my third son”)—literally the first student I met in my SECOND seventh grade—I immediately asked him when his birthday is; all I had with me were a blue three-ring binder and my numerology book.
He told me, and I excitedly responded, “Oh, you’re a 3!” (I am a 3, and 3’s get along with other 3’s, you see.).
#88. Astrology actually led to another lifelong friendship. Just after the end of my freshman year of high school, a friend threw a picnic at nearby Ashbridge Park. I had just had my braces removed, boosting my self-confidence. Spying two girls I recognized from their visit to Harriton High School during the preceding school year sitting in a tree, I climbed up to join them. I do not recall if they were already discussing astrology, or if it emerged organically in the conversation, but it was an immediate ice-breaker.
#89. The first occupation I remember seriously wanting to be “when I grew up” was archaeologist, around 7th grade or so.
#90. I have only been bitten by a dog once. When I was maybe five years old, I climbed over our backyard fence and down a boundary stone wall into the backyard of a house on a parallel street. There, the only truly vicious dog I have even known (all I remember is that it—he?—was black) came out of nowhere and bit my right hand in the fleshy part between the bases of the thumb and forefinger.
That traumatic experience, however, did not dissuade me from wanting a dog. So, one night in early January 1973, my parents and I drove to a pet store near Wilmington, DE (my father knew a guy…), where we acquired a Keeshond. It was my mother’s idea to name him Luvey “because he loves everybody.” This photograph was taken just outside the door of our “penthouse” at the Strand.
He would have been 46 years old (that’s 322 to you and me!) on December 17.
#91. You can have your air guitar. I far prefer air keyboards, with air drummer a distant second.
#92. I have never been arrested.
#93. In the unlikely event I am ever arrested, however, under “distinguishing marks” would appear “White scar under left eyebrow.”
One Saturday or Sunday in the summer of 1974, my father (who knew another guy…) took me for a speedboat ride on the Absecon Inlet (separating Atlantic City from the mainland). We were two of maybe six or seven people on this guy’s boat. At one point, another speedboat zipped by us traveling way too fast and way too close. The resulting wake tipped our boat enough that I went flying into the side of the boat. My head landed on something sharp (or with enough force to break the skin) just above my left eye. A few millimeters lower…
Now, does my father take his profusely-bleeding son directly to the hospital on Ohio Avenue? Nooo…he brings him to his mother at the Strand. After reading him the riot act, she took me to the hospital, where I believe I needed 16 stitches to close the wound.
#94. That arrest report might also include “Small white scar on chin.” That would be from the time I whacked by chin into the kitchen counter, after I slipped trying to climb up to reach something (a cookie? a box of cereal?) in a cabinet.
#95. However, I did not require stitches—or emergency medical treatment of any kind—the first time I was ever in Island Pond, VT.
After the Expos game, my then-girlfriend and I wandered south through Quebec, somehow finding this blink-and-you-miss-it village. We decided to get some exercise by pitching and hitting; we had baseball bats, balls and gloves with us. Doesn’t everybody?
Things were going well until I threw a pitch that caught a bit too much of the plate—and she sent it screaming right into my face.
Luckily, it did not do any actual damage.
Except to my ability to throw a strike, for longer than I want to admit.
#96. My clear favorite “guilty pleasure” movie is Times Square. You can see why this movie would have appealed to 14-year-old me.
#97. I rediscovered it the year I lived in DC. I was so blown away by the soundtrack, I walked miles from my apartment to a downtown store that sold it (on vinyl, of course).
I recently bought a copy of the film on DVD as well; it is a key part of how I came to love film noir.
#98. The first time I ever bought condoms was that September night in 1986. In those days, they were stored behind the counter, meaning you had to ask for them—with everyone listening. As I did so (“ummm, I’ll take the, uhh, the blue box there.”), a friend was standing in line with me.
The next day, he wrote on a piece of paper attached to the door of my room, “A brave man dwells within.”
#99. Next to dogs, my favorite animal is the horse. This is somewhat ironic in that it was horse racing (and cards) that fueled my father’s gambling addiction.
#100. That is why I never gamble.
Until next time…
 The Expos lost to the San Francisco Giants 4-1, with John Burkett outdueling Dennis Martinez. While my then-girlfriend and I sat in the leftfield stands, Kevin Mitchell hit a home run which just bounced off my glove—but into the hands of a youngster sitting just in front of me. That remains the closest I have ever come to catching a ball. http://www.thebaseballcube.com/teams/def_lineups.asp?Y=1990&T=25
 I spent the next five nights just south of Chicago; just outside Iowa City, IA; in Fremont, OH; in Pittsburgh, PA; and in my mother’s apartment in Penn Valley, PA (in the Philadelphia suburbs).
 Besides the two listed—and, of course, Veterans Stadium in Philadelphia—they are Busch (St.Louis), Shea (New York) and Three Rivers (Pittsburgh).
 Citizens Bank (Philadelphia), Fenway (Boston), Oriole Park at Camden Yards (Baltimore)
 Well, at least until she married Jed Bark.
 Harriton allowed students to bring a guest to classes with them for one day. The picnic hostess and another girl had brought these two friends from a nearby high school. The four girls all knew each other from a local church.
25 thoughts on “And for my 100th post…100 random facts (about me)”
That was very interesting! I loved Night Court, I’m jealous you have it on DVD. I was hoping when he died they would start showing it again on tv but I didn’t see it.
This also shows me that all the stuff I do with my son will stay with him, even if he is cranky all the time now. Thanks!
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I do not actually own Night Court on DVD (only those titles with an asterisk), but I did watch it from start to finish OnDemand a few years back. And, yes, I was once an adolescent boy with a single mother…you will all be just fine.
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First of all, I need to say that this was a genius idea for 100. Damn, I wish I thought of it. Second of all, I’m not sure how I missed it when I get email notifications for your blog (damn gmail YOU HAVE ONE JOB!). Now, after all that’s out of the way, I just need to stop laughing to type the rest. I’m still laughing. Out loud. This was a fantastic read!! I’m a bit jealous that you got to grow up when you did. I was born in 75 so I was stuck with the ridiculous, over rated 80’s, which are making an equally over rated comeback; I’m an unwilling witness to this everyday thanks to my 16-year-old and his friends.
I loved Night Court (watching when I was too young but my parents never cared about what was child-appropriate), which brings me to my next delight. That I wasn’t the only voracious reader at a very young age. I was allowed to read whatever I wanted because it was reading. We didn’t have TV til I was about ten so that helped lol. I still am obsessed with true crime. I will read the book and I will even watch the documentary! We would make great armchair detectives together.
Once again, reading this reminds me that as much as we all may be different, at the end of the day we really are more alike than we all know. We are human. We are just children who age. And for the most part, if we take the time to listen to others and stop to get to know them, we see a delightful new perspective on things at the same time as relating more than we thought we would.
P.S. I am not religious at all (but have always been fascinated by religion another lesson taught by my mother). However, and most of my close friends know this: When I was young I always wanted to be Jewish.
When I read your bar mitzvah fact I was like “ok come on! This guy had the childhood I really did want!” LOL So cheers to that my friend.
Please keep writing!!!! Also, sorry this was so long. Just be happy knowing you are the reason I have “WKRP In Cincinnati” theme song stuck in my head.
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Thank you very much; you are wicked kind! And I greatly appreciate the time you took to write out your thoughtful comments; the world needs more genuine engagement like that. Plus, we personal-essayists have to stick together! Our youngest daughter took a hair longer to learn how to read…but she has not put a book down since. Well, unless she is swimming–the pages kept getting wet. The 1970s were, umm, interesting….but I am truly a child of the 80s (defined as roughly 1978 to 1987). My mother’s and my life got seriously back on track in March 1980, and I spent 1980-88 in high school and college…good times. No, seriously…I loved all of it (well, not the vicious case of mono that sent me home for three weeks during the strike by the clerical, technical and dining hall workers my first–FIRST–semester at Yale). And losing my Dad sucked (particularly when I started my junior year of high school with the insipid “what was the best and worst thing to happen to you over the summer?” game…kinda put the kibosh on that mood). And my man Mondale lost 49 states in 1984 (though my wife Nell thinks that was the fault of her and a friend for dumping illicit empty beer bottles in his DC trash can late in the campaign). Other than that, though…I loved the 80s! But going back to the 70s–and inappropriate child viewing–by the time I turned 10 (Sept 1976), I had seen “Sybil,” “Helter Skelter” and the TV movie about Lizzie Borden starring–be still my heart–Elizabeth Montgomery. Oh, and I saw THE AMITYVILLE HORROR at 12, having read the book at 10 or 11. The ending of Sybil still undoes me 40+ years later…shudddder. All jesting aside, however, the point of the post was not (just) to be a literary exhibitionist–it was to show that EVERYONE has a funny, inspiring and fascinating story to tell if you give it the proper frame (see my very first post, for example). I have come to realize that is what my book is actually about; why I love film noir is merely a loose entry point. You do precisely the same thing–you tell your story honestly and with your own framing. Nothing is more fascinating than that. One more thing–my next post will likely combine Jewishiness and Jack the Ripper. Keep writing, my friend!! 🙂
Thank you for responding! 🙂 And I can’t believe that the response I typed days ago was sitting here waiting for my idiot fingers to hit send, which I never did…only to realize and end up deleting the damn thing after all that. I feel a cosmic connection to all of us ‘kids’ with childhoods before tech toys and digital lives! What a time.
Also cigarette smoke, red kool aid and lots of polyester instead of helmets!
Thank you for your kinds words my friend. I look forward to all of your future words.
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I still remember getting my first typewriter…a blue and white manual job that seemed the coolest thing since I started watching Soap. I switched to an electric at some point in college–and only bought my first computer in April 1990. I tend to resist technological upgrades not because I am a Luddite but because I am an anti-marketing contrarian. I hated The Beatles because everyone told me how awesome they were (I eventually reached that conclusion on my own–but it was through my *own* exploration).
Both my parents were heavy smokers who loved to drive with the windows rolled up. I would then sit in the backseat reading and wondering why I was so nauseous.
I am sorry you deleted your original response; like Coleridge being interrupted in his Kubla Khan dream, we will never know the full extent of the artistry.
Your words are especially appreciated today. I had a revised submission to NOIR CITY magazine rejected today. Apparently there is insufficient overlap between the Doctor Who and film noir fan bases to merit publishing a analysis of the former’s recent affiliation with the latter. 🙂
The problem was, I broke my own rule. Back in 2000, a couple of friends suggested I audition for their improv comedy troupe. I thought about it, and the conclusion I reached was that I would never put any friend in the position of having to reject me for something (which was only partly a rationalization for abject terror). My submission was somewhat along those lines, so I am kicking myself along with being disappointed.
Other than that, though, I was fairly pleased with my Jewish-Ripper nexus post. And I am already planning Post #102.
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Oh I remember being obsessed with old typewriters. And good old typing class with the ‘fancy electric’ ones. Coming from a small, hick town it was a big deal. I never even had TV until I was close to ten years old and we never owned a microwave either!
I too, resist the ‘biggest things’ like Tech (Apple is a perfect example. I REFUSE). Also, the Beatles. Don’t tell anyone, but I find the Beatles over rated. Maybe it’s the nostalgia bullshit surrounding them.
And yes, onward and upward! You are exceptional and the world needs you! I love the Jewish Ripper myself. I also love improv comedy. (Which is nothing like the actual shit comedy they ram down our throats in theatres and on TV).
Keep typing. Keep laughing. Inspite of it all. 🙂
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You too, with the typing and the laughing and the joking and the good and the nice. (Yes, I suffer from recurring remitting Jerry Lewis…shall we say it together…nice laaaaaaady!)
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Thank you for making me giggle out loud!! 😉
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I also agree about not putting a friend in that position. It’s never going to be objective and no matter the outcome, there will always be a question and/or resentment. Either way, it’s kinda like a threesome. Sounds like a great plan; but even the most self-aware, confident person can be brought to tears over that ‘third party’, especially when it’s a friend. Awkward. 😉
In the end, it’s better to go with strangers!
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Exactly. Getting the article you obsessed over for hours–days, even (do I hear months?)– rejected by a stranger is SO much better. 😉
Dark “humor” aside, it actually is. Then again, NOT getting rejected is even better.)
So that is my new plan–not getting rejected. 🙂
At least, no more than a few dozen times.
I’m sorry, your honor, what was the question again?
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I absolutely agree. Onward and upward (or downward if you prefer).
I’ll stay awesome if you promise to do the same. 😉
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OMG Barney Miller! I forgot about that show!
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It holds up remarkably well.
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