Wet T-Shirts for Kerry
Well, this is too bad: No oneby which I mean no busty ladiesshowed up for a wet t-shirt protest at the RNC. Would that I had known earlier: I’ve bared my bosom publicly for lesser reasonsextreme drunkenness and attendance at a swingin' women's college being the main ones.
Forsaking All Others
Since getting married a couple of months ago, I’ve been asked numerous times if I feel differentthat is, if being being a wife is existentially distinct from being single. My life has changed quite a bit in the past several weeksI quit my job and moved to a new town, Ted and I bought our first house, I frequently have occasion to use the phrase “my husband”but, when people have asked, I’ve had to tell them no, I do not feel ontologically transformed by the state of matrimony.
That all changed yesterday.
I was chopping vegetables, not thinking about much in particular, when my thoughts strayed to an acquaintancea really cute acquaintance. I got a little day-dreamy, and, as I generally do when I think about attractive people, I engaged in a little idle sexual speculation. I hadn’t gotten very far at all when I was stopped short by an intense mental admonitionthe words “forsaking all others” flashed through my brain, bringing an abrupt halt to my innocent fantasizing. Obviously, there’s more to marriage than sexual fidelity, but as I contemplated this one fact of marriage, I suddenly had a crystal-clear, almost vertiginous, vision of marriage in all its awesome profundity.
I was utterly unprepared for this experience. I mean, Ted and I have been together for awhile now. I’m pretty good at monogamyaside from the fact that I think cheating totally, totally sucks, I’m just way too lazy to maintain an affairand I haven’t had any serious or even moderately compelling interest in anyone else since meeting Ted. Thus, even before we got married, I was hoping for a future in which I would not be having sex with anyone but Ted. Clearly, though, some part of me changed fundamentally when I actually promised to be with Ted, and no one else, always.
I think it’s significant that, when recalling myself to faithfulness, I remembered the precise words of my marriage vows. I had always intended to use the traditional form when I got married, but it wasn’t so much because I believed in the power of those words as much as I believe it’s very difficult to write anything better. When I was actually in the midst of getting married, thoughwhen the judge was saying those familiar words and asking me to repeat them, I was overwhelmed by the hugeness of what I was doing.
I can understand a couple’s desire to create vows that are personally meaningful, vows that speak to them uniquely. But I’m also very glad that Ted and I did not do that. I believe that marriage is not just about two individual people; it is, rather, about two people who are part of a community, and it is about two people and the institution of marriage. The familiarity and the universality of the vows Ted and I spoke didn’t detract from their powerquite the opposite. Saying those words, I felt myself stepping into a timeless space, into continuity, into something much greater than just Ted and me. Those words made me feel married, and, clearly, they did transform memuch to my surprise.
Taking Out the Trash
While in London, Ted and I paid a visit to the Tate Modern. This would be an instance of Ted being a good sport, as he has profound misgivings about contemporary art. While we walked from the tubestop to the museum, he asked glumly, “So, will I get to see shit?” I was able to assure him that he almost certainly would, and I was correct: Not only was there a gallery devoted to the work of Chris Ofili, but there was also an installation that contained bronze blobs that allegedly represented “primitive animals”, but which looked like nothing so much as enormous turds (the Guggenheim curators, apparently, share this view.)
Since our tour of the Tate Modern, Ted and I have been having an irresolvable but congenial argument about the nature and meaning of art (this discussion is doomed to interminableness in part because, while my husband and I more or less agree on the problem of “nature”, we seem to have a difference of opinion about the possibility of “meaning”). He sent me this article today. It looks like Ted and the cleaning staff at the Tate Britain have similar opinions about conceptual art. Even though I am not generally inclined to dismiss such pieces out of hand, I do find the idea of a bag of trash being “too badly damaged” to display kind of hilarious.
My Favorite Show at the Festival Fringe
As I mentioned yesterday, Ted and I were in Edinburgh for the Festival Fringe. We saw The Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players, a standup comic who described his adventures in minimum wage, and a play that took place in an elevator. Ted’s favorite was a peripatetic performance of Macbeth. He also enjoyed that feel-good classic, No Exit.
While Ted looked into the abyss with Sartre, I saw The Congress of Oddities, in which formerly conjoined twins Chlamydia and Calamine Lloyd-Haemhorrage pay a visit to the Victoriana Society to reminisce about their days as sideshow freaks. Fringe first-timers Margaret Cabourn-Smith and Zoe Gardner offered a delightfully original mix of the comic, the absurd, and the grotesque, and I absolutely luved it. Anyone who knows Sarah Hand will realize that I thought of her throughout the show, but, when the sisters botch their grisly signature act for the last time and a dying Calamine gasps, “Chlamydia, let's never be modern again,” I really wished Sarah was there.
Wednesday Morning Shoe Report
Scotland is the rainiest country in the world, or at least the rainiest country in which I have honeymooned. It was cloudy and cold and wet pretty much every day my husband and I were there. This would not have been a problem, reallyScotland looks good when it's gray, and my raincoat is adorablebut my vintage Pumas sprung a leak on our first day in Edinburgh. As my enjoyment of the Festival Fringe was somewhat diminished by a sopping left foot, our first stop on day two in Edinburgh was the venerable department store Jenners, where I purchased these lovely purple wellies. I wore these boots all over Scotland, and I was very glad to have them.
Ted and I just got back from our honeymoon. Here's a photo album of our journey, which I post for the benefit of friends and well-wishers and because I'm still too jet-laggy to write anything.
My Favorite Playboy Playmate Ever
Please entertain yourself with Fran Gerard, Miss March 1967, while I enjoy the final week of my honeymoon.
I’m a Narcissist
While I seem perfectly nice at first, the moment I reveal my true colors, other people mostly wish I’ll get hit by a car. I’m in serious need of a reality check. If people want to be my friend, they sure as hell better live up to my standards, which are so impossible to match that I will probably die a bitter, lonely old hag. Haha.
Archival Interview: Bill Murray
Not too long ago, I quit my job. As is customary in the business world, this occasioned some department-wide reminiscing from my bossesvia e-mail and at the farewell luncheonabout my years with the company. One article that everyone seems to remember with fondness is the interview with Bill Murray I did in 1999, when he published his golf memoir, Cinderella Story.
That interview has long been languishing in electronic black hole, the victim of a server upgrade. While I was combing the corporate databases for work I might like to take with me, I finally found it again. Here it is.
I don't know anything about golf. Sure, I've putted a Day-Glo pink ball through the slowly revolving blades of a miniature windmill, and I have heard the somnambulent sounds of TV golf while my dad watched on Saturday afternoons, but that's about it. Ordinarily, my lack of interest in this game is not a problem. However, it quickly became a problem when I learned that I would be talking to Bill Murray. Suddenly, I was interested.
Bill Murray's book is Cinderella Story: My Life in Golf, and he's not kidding. The book is about golf. It's not a gag. Reading it, I often felt like a kid listening to grown-ups talk, only half understanding what I heard. I started to get a little nervous.
I called my dad, hoping he could give some emergency insight. Alas, he was not at home. I called my friend Catherine, but she has given up golf for deep sea fishing. I searched the web. Most of the sites I found were meaningless to the unitiated. I did find one entertaining site on the history of golf. There I learned that the rubber used to create the first modern golf ball had been packing material cushioning a statue of the god Shiva. Hmm, Shivathe god of destruction and creation, death and life, art, and asceticism. Interesting, but could I use it? I was desperate.
As it turns out, I needn't have worried.
Bill Murray: Hi Jessica.
How are you?
BM: I'm okay, I'm a little rattled. All this is kind of strange.
Why are you rattled?
BM: Oh, I don't know. This book world is weird. Are you in the book world?
Yes, I'm in the online book world.
BM: Which is similar but different.
Yes, it's similar but different.
BM: I tried to explain it to somebody the other day. This guy said to me, "People don't read books anymore." I said, "No, I think you're wrong. I think that the online world has actually brought books back. People are reading because they're reading the damn screen. That's more reading than people used to do."
That's an excellent point. By the way, I'm glad to hear you're rattled. I'm a little rattled myself.
BM: I'm not really rattled. I was on the Today show this morning, and the guy that drove me was sort of puzzled by the whole urban experience. I had to help him get there and the phone kept ringing in the car with this hysterical woman who was berserk is the only way to describe her. "Where are you?"
I'm sorry to hear that. So you were on the Today show this morning.
BM: It was all right. It was kind of amusing I guess. I said, "Here's the thing, you just have to drive a lot faster, and if you don't get there, we're both fired." So, anyway, he didn't get my joke. Eventually we made it in there. Just exactly the kind of guy you'd want to drive you out of town in a hurricane situation. Where are you?
I'm in Michigan. I'm in Ann Arbor.
Yeah, I really am.
BM: Well, I don't know from Ann Arbor, but everybody says it's nice. Do you go to Michigan?
No, I'm not a studentI'm a working gal. I'm working all the time.
BM: Yeah, you sound like a tired, old woman. How long have you been working, Jessica?
Oh, since high school. But I've been working in the online book business for about a year.
BM: So what are you? Like 60 or 70 years old or what?
BM: Oh, you've been working since high school. You're about finished.
That would be nice. Who wouldn't like to retire early?
BM: Now, let me just ask you, how do you get to the top of your business? What's your next move, or are you going to make a parallel move?
Well, I don't know what my next move it going to be. If all goes well, if all goes according to my rather tenuous plan, it will be out of the retail realm all together into the world of pure writing.
BM: You're going to write something?
That's the plan. I mean, I write now. That's a big part of my job online. As you mentioned, people are reading online, so I write things for them to read. And I'm kind of hoping to get some of this writing into book form.
BM: Well, all right. Are you one of those people who resent authors that are already published?
No, absolutely not.
BM: Somebody called me the other day and said, "You got a bad review in New Times." I said, "Really?" He said, "Yeah, the guy hadn't read it yet, but he said you got paid too much money."
Myself, I got no problem with people who are getting paid.
BM: Well, I don't know how this guy knew how much money I was making. I didn't know how much money I was making. I said, "How could he possibly know? I don't even know."
I admire people who make money. If someone can do something he wants to do and get paid for it, I'm all for it.
BM: Yeah, I think that's sort of the American way. And it's also the Polish way, it turns out.
Is it the Polish way?
BM: Yeah, it's a free market economy now. We're all racking up. Where is Borders anyway?
Borders is in Ann Arbor, Michigan.
BM: Oh, that's where the headquarters is?
Yeah, that's part of the reason I like working for BordersI can keep my ties to the Midwest.
BM: Where did you grow up?
BM: Thank God you got out! Where were you?
I grew up in Akron.
Yes, I grew up in Dacron. The rubber capital of the world.
BM: Dacron, Ohio. Well, I've driven that way and seen that blimp rolling down the highway. It's kind of funny. All of the sudden you're driving down the highway and there's a damn blimp rolling about 75 feet off the ground. It's kind of a freaky thing.
It is kind of freaky, although when you grow up with it, it doesn't really strike you as all that freaky.
BM: You don't fear it anymore.
So, I have three heroes, and you're one of them.
BM: Really? I'm a little afraid now!
BM: Cher and who else?
No, not CherElvis Presley and Marcel Duchamp.
BM: Marcel Duchamp? Formidable! So why Marcel Duchamp?
Well, because I don't know of any other artist who had such a sense of humor. I mean he was a pie-in-the-face man. He was a pie-in-the-face to himself. He destroyed art, which I think was kind of important for it to continue to exist.
BM: To grow. I agree with you.
So, I like him because he seemed like a fun guy.
BM: Well, there's something about him that's there is a certain integrity when you can destroy about what you doyou know, when you're able to laugh at yourself. Even in life, people who can laugh at themselves are the only ones I can really bear.
He was a clown, and there aren't that many clowns in art.
BM: I've been called a clown.
Yes, yes you have. I was planning a little segueway there.
BM: My friend, Harold Connor actually wrote a piece he did an interview with me once and he said, "Bill Murray's a funny guy." And at the end he said "He was a clown." You know, clown, people don't always take that well, but it was a very nice way of putting it. But clowns, the ones in the circus, can be kind of scary.
I don't dig circus clowns, but the like mythic ideal of the clownthe trickster.
BM: Speaking of French clowns, there was this one guy, what the hell was his name? Clousseau? No, not Clousseau. He died a couple of years ago. He was this heavy guy, psychologically, but he was also a large man . Peluche. Do you know Peluche?
No, I don't know Peluche.
BM: Peluche was a French clown. He was like nobody in America because he'd say anything that he wanted to say, and he was really funny, and he was sharpincredibly smart, savage wit. He would say anything, and he wasn't mean, either. He was almost like a peasant in a way, but he was brilliant. He died in a motorcycle accident or something. It was really a tragedy. Anyway, when the French would askwhen I'd have to work over there or something"What are you like?" I'd say, "Well, I'm a Peluche with cheekbones," They used to think that was pretty good, except they didn't quite get what the "with cheekbones" thing meant. He had a TV show and, at the end, he'd say, "Goodnight, shits!" That was basically the translation. He'd say, "Goodnight, shits!"
One of the things a clown can do is say anythingthat's a prerogative of the clown.
BM: Well, like Duchamp, if you're willing to turn it on yourself, you can say anything.
Yes, you're right, that's the important distinction that keeps you from being an asshole.
BM: And so, Presley . You've been to Memphis I guess?
No I haven't. I'm waiting.
BM: Oh. What are you waiting for?
I'm not sure.
BM: Well I would wait for a nice, warm day. You probably don't know that I went to Elvis' funeral?
I did not know that you went to Elvis' funeral.
BM: Uh huh. I was the twenty-seventh person on standby. The last flight out of New York City to Memphis the night before the funeral. Miraculously, I got on the planestandby, twenty-seven people, I was the twenty-seventh person that got on the plane. And I got to Memphis. I just took a cab to Graceland. I said, "Graceland," you know, which is king of a funny thing to say when you get a taxi anywhere! It's actually good to say here. But I went out there and I met this guy, a photographer he sort of walked me through a little bit of it. They'd stopped letting people into the house at that point. They just stopped. Everybody was trying to get a photograph of Elvis in the casket, and there was a $50,000 bounty on a photograph of Elvis in the casket. So all kinds of peopleespecially the paparazziwere walking through time after time. These guys said to me, "I went and I had three cameras, but they'd take away a camera you'd have another one, they'd take away that, one more . But there was a picture of Elvis in the casket, anyway, and it was given to the Globe, I guess, or the Star, by one of his cousins. He went in there at night, when only the family was supposed to be praying in there at night, and took a photograph. He was disowned by the family and outcast, but it turned out that five of his other cousins photographed it, tooit's just that his photo had the best composition, so they took his!
That's a pitiful story.
BM: But the actual funeral was a spectacular thing. I still have incredibly powerful impressions of it. I rode in the press bus that rode in front of the hearsenot directly in front, because there really was a sense of pageant about it. It was an amazing thing. We were the last people to go the route before the hearse left the mansion. Just to drive the route and see all the I mean, hundreds of thousands of people waiting for The King to roll by. It was incrediblevery powerful. It looked like a collection of WPA photographspeople waiting in the shade underneath an aqueduct. It was about 90 degrees. Waiting in the shade for The King. And all the signs, like Dairy Queen, and all those kinds of places, their signs said, "God bless you, Elvis" and "The King lives." All that kind of stuffit was something to see. But the thing that really got me we got to the cemetery before the hearse actually left, even though we were the last thing to go. When the hearse rolled out on the street, and it reached the speed it was going to go at, I burst into tears. It was like the long, slow walk. The speed of the car was only maybe six miles an hourfive, six miles an hour. It rolled out in traffic and straightened out and just moved like a swan gliding down the road. And it was just so poignant.
And then all the helicopters converged on the cemetery, overhead, and there was a riot at the other gate, you know, at the back gatepeople were trying to storm into the cemetery. The hearse was arriving, and I started racing, running from where we werewe were already near the site where the hearse was going to come. I started running towards where I thought the riot was coming fromI wanted to see what was going on. On the way I encountered the hearse being led by 24 motorcycle cops. It was one of the most terrifying things I have ever seen, because these cops had they were guarding Elvis. And all of the sudden there was one man standing in the cemetery right where they were passing by, and there was not supposed to be anybody there. There's one guy, and it's me. And this cop gave me a look that said, "If you move, I will shoot you right through the heart." I mean, I just frozeyou know, like when your hair stands on end. It really did stand on end.
I had two really strange sensations. First, I had this really strange vibe, and when I turned around I looked right behind me, I saw that I was standing right on Gladys Presley's
BM: Yeah. I'm standing right at the foot of the plot right there where she is. Gladys Presley's grave. It was very, very strange. I absolutely froze as all the cars went byI mean the hearse and all the motorcycles and the carsand then I ran back to where I had been before.
They carried the casket out and it had like, I don't know, 300 roses on top of it or something amazinglike two or three masses worth of rose on top of the casket. They were going to put it in a mausoleum overnightit turned out later that people tried to tunnel into it and all kinds of crazy things. But they were going to put it in this mausoleum building before they actually buried it at Graceland. Anyway, as they tried to carry it up the steps, they almost dropped itit fell like sideways. The thing weighed I mean, it wasn't solid gold, but it was some sort of incredible metalbronze or somethingand he wasn't that light to begin with, and they almost dropped him.
But then there was a very strange moment when Pricilla actually left. Because you could feel Elvis. You could absolutely feel his presence everywhere. And when she left, it was almost like you could feel his real love went with her, as she rode out of the cemetery. It's was an amazing feeling. I'll never forget it.
That's quite a story.
BM: Yeah, it's quite a story.
I'm so glad I mentioned Elvis.
BM: Well, you gotta have role models. He was an extraordinary guy. The Albert Goldman book gets some of the facts . He could have really been good. I mean his movies, some of them were absolutely terrible, but I don't think people know how hard it is to be as natural as he came off in his movies.
Well, and his career didn't take the direction he had desired for his movie career. I mean, some of his movies were not bad. King Creole was a pretty good movie.
BM: Yeah, King Creole is good. Jailhouse Rock is good. And even just the names of the characters he'd choose, they were good, you know?
I have a cat named Lucky Jackson.
BM: Get out!
Yeah, I do have a cat named Lucky Jackson.
BM: Well . The amazing thing about Elvis, or another amazing thing, was the guy did some dating in his life, and not one woman that he dated will say a bad thing about Elvisthey were all nuts about him. I mean none of them really ended up with him, but we knew a girl in Illinois who met Elvis once and he bought her a car!
Ladies love that!
BM: Hey, men like that! But ladies do like that. And we'd ask her, "So what's the deal with The King?" He was still alive at that point. And she wouldn't tell us a thing. She was crazy about him. She thought he was just, you know, the cat's meow.
I have an aunt who kissed him when he was a teenager in Memphis. That's the story anyway.
BM: Well, she's not going to give that up now.
No, no, she's going to her grave with that story. This is an aunt on my dad's side of the family, and my mom has noticed some holes in the story, but I've tried to ask her to please just leave the story alone.
BM: Oh, please let it rest!
At this point, my half-hour allotment of Bill Murray's time was about over. The publicist's voice came on the line and asked, "Jessica, are there other questions you want to ask before we wrap it up?" I thought I'd see if, just maybe, the author would like to discuss his book.
Do you want to talk about golf at all?
BM: Talk about the book?
Yeah, we could talk about the book. Do you want to talk about the book?
BM: I don't care. What do people expect to read? It doesn't matter.
I think they expect, you know, some Bill Murray, and that's what we got. Are you comfortable with this?
BM: You know what? I've enjoyed talking to you, and if you're comfortable with it, I'm fine with it too.
So that, sports fans, is how I did not talk to Bill Murray about his life in golf.
I’m a Book and Language Snob
I speak eloquently and have seemingly read every book ever published. I am a fountain of endless (sometimes useless) knowledge, and never fail to impress at a party. What people love: I can answer almost any question people ask, and have thus been nicknamed Jeeves. What people hate: I constantly correct their grammar and insult their paperbacks.
[NB: I couldn’t help but notice that the creator of this quiz used “compliment” when she meant “complement.” Quiz link via Bookslut.]