The Steve Reynolds Program - Issue #20
The first issue of the Bidarris Era!
What what what? Up from a long deep slumber arises another missive from your pal Wampus!
If I were to sum up my output in one word. that word would be sporadic.
[cliched introduction to a a speech] Webster defines sporadic as "occurring occasionally, singly, or in irregular or random instances"[/cliched introduction to a speech]Wow, old man Noah. I feel seen! Do you see the title of this newsletter? I wrote that almost SEVEN months ago. What's been going on that has prevented me from logging onto this website and typing out four things I've liked and want to share? The answer is "I don't really know. Something psychological for sure. "
I think I've wanted to wait until I had stuff to promote, but I hit a bigass wall writing what would/should/could be the second novel. So I put the Rubik's Cube of word disgorgement to the side and said, "Smell you later, hemidemisemi-historical novel of many characters who I felt compelled to give long and detailed back stories upon introduction to each of them. I'm going to be over here writing this comic novel instead."
So I have started this comic novel (not the other comic novel I shelved a while ago; this one has a new premise). When the greatest place in town started allowing people to spend time in the building o' books, I'd check out a laptop, plug in headphones for some tunes and write as much as I could. I'd then email the day's output to myself and then cut-and-paste into the master draft at home. Then that was ruined.
Yep, I checked out a laptop where the person before me didn't clear their browser history. So I could see the Google search results for horrible and illegal things. I promptly took the laptop to the clerk (is that a title anymore?) to let them know and it wasn't me with that much evil in my heart and please no FBI lists for me, thanks. And now I don't want to go do the really productive method I found for my last book (which now has used copies for sale on Amazon, a phenomenon that both makes me feel wistful and validated as a real author*).
So the core unit I belong to just came back from a vacation and I feel it's a good reset. TIme to get back and do the hard work and the stuff that is embedded in the DNA, that little series of molecules that make you want to survive, in body and in legacy.
*a long, long time ago at Rainbow Records, probably late 1993, I was perusing the used CDs and Wayne Coyne was doing the same thing by me. He let out a HEH! and said "And it begins." He pulled up out a used copy of Transmissions From The Satellite Heart from the racks and goofy grinned at me. I protested that it wasn't anything. Looking back there was too much ambiguity in what he said to mean much. But today I say "and it begins" too.
These Four Things I Share With You!
There, There, by Tommy Orange - I read thirteen books this month. The amazing part is I still used Twitter too much and sassed and punned and goofed there. I read several good to great books, but the one I want YOU to read is this debut novel about an Oakland powwow and the Native Americans in urban America. The story is compelling, the characters run the gamut from tragic and heart breaking to hilarious and wise. There is that phenomenon that unfortunately made me think of the movie Crash (no, not the Cronenberg one*) where characters had to fit in each other and the connections were meant to be the reward instead of a real conflict or real emotion. Fortunately, that doesn't happen too much and overall it's the best novel I've read in a long time.
Elaine May's performance in A New Leaf - I watched part of a Nichols and May documentary last night. To me, Nichols and May are to comedy albums what Joni Mitchell is to rock music-- a big influential act that I've somehow missed for too long. Seeing film of them performing shows, you can see why they had their devoted fans of their smart and perfectly honed characters. Also, you can imagine every cocksure comedian and comedy writer in the sixties falling in love with Elaine May, always the smartest person in the room and wearing a cocktail dress with the implication that she can drink her colleagues in the table. I imagine their confessions of love to May to be like Jerry Garcia's declaration of love to Janis Joplin on a train in Canada with Janis responding with a "don't go there, Jerry." ANYWAYS, A New Leaf is written and directed by Elaine May. Walter Matthau is the lead and this could be him at his funniest, even better than his Buttermaker, as the affected moneyed man down on his luck (the scene where he drives through Manhattan emotionally saying goodbye to the fronts of department stores is peak hilarity. Elaine May plays a botanist who is obviously affected mentally (maybe on the spectrum, but in screwball comedy fashion where her peculiarities are unique and not textbook) and I think it was a brave but obvious choice for her to play her own character. She imbues this character with the perfect balance of oddness and realism to make the story work but not be one of ridicule. Watch it. It'll make sense then.
Morris Hirshfield - in New York, we did the trip to MOMA, one I hadn't done since visiting my then-girlfriend. It has to be the museum with the highest number of "Hey! I know that!" works of art in it in the world. It's ludicrous how much of what we know of modern art is in that building in the 50s of Manhattan. Aside: shout out to whomever wrote the descriptions for avoiding my new museum pet peeve: using the word "seems." You know, there's a painting titled something like "Think Thought" of a field of blue with some orange squiggles and the description will say "It seems like the painter was referring to the election of LBJ over Goldwater with the orange being votes and the blue blah blah..." Anyways, three paintings of this self-taught painter captured my imagination and delight. I love his I-can't-help-it surrealism, use of color and choice of subjects. Sure, I can dig wild splashes of color, but a tiger that looks like a preschooler's drawing then airbrushed by a custom van maker? That's my jam!
The Weirdest Radio Personalities in The Oklahoma City Market - Commercial radio in Oklahoma City, in my opinion, isn't the most diverse or dynamic hotbed of talent there is. Sure I like some folks who blather between songs or whine about how the football men presented themselves the weekend before, but overall I stick to my CDs or podcasts in the car. Two people fascinate me more than the others just on voice alone. First, there is KOMA's Ronnie Kaye. Ronnie has been on TV and radio since the 1950's (!) and according to his bio around 84 years old now. So, what once was a standard DJ voice is now the mumbles of a man who doesn't open his mouth more than a half inch. He tells old jokes and tries to come up with clever ways to introduce 70's and 80's tunes (SPOILER: they're never clever). I am impressed that he still has the wherewithal to get up and dressed, then drive to the station and work his four hour shift. But give a listen and estimate the percentage of what he says you can understand. On a good day, I can get up to 55%. Second, is sports radio's Kelly Gregg. Kelly was an offensive lineman at OU and then in the NFL for the Ravens so he's got more cred than 95 percent of the other sports radio guys (yes, this is a 100% male host market, ugh). The thing about Kelly is if you listened to him for a couple of hours and then were asked where you thought he was from, you'd probably venture a guess like "Oh, maybe a swamp in Louisiana where he was raised by alligators and mimicked Cajun people he observed from behind bushes and trees?" or "a mine shaft with no access to the outside world and populated by old prospectors from the past?" But no, he's from Edmond, Oklahoma, a suburban bully's dream of a town where you'd be teased mercilessly for having even a slight accent. And his proclamations are always preceded by a low whine as his words get ready to come out. An approximation of a transcription of usual patter of his would be "eeeeuuuuuhhhhh, that DON'T LOOK RAAIGHT! seem i sayuhn? Hell NAW! Juss gotta work FASTEER, haw!" I inevitably will start trying to talk like him and hurt my larynx every time I hear him on the air. Good times.
*the phenomenon of pointing out there is another movie named Crash when the other one is mentioned is as consistent as the rule that if someone says Garth Brooks, someone else has to say Chris Gaines within five seconds.
Pluh-pluh-plugs
Back in hunkering down mode, but I mocked up a site that cost me zero dollars to do. Let me finish another book and then I'll buy a domain name.
I love you all!
