Diary Update

Let's see---I'm reading my written notes from my t.v.-viewing schedule. I watched only ten minutes of "30 Rock" and only 30 minutes of "60 Minutes," so I wrote "10 Rock" and "30 Minutes." I had no trouble finding the network for "Lost," so I scribbled "Found." "American Idol" I found to be boring, so in it went as "American Idle." Caught a tedious episode of "Project Runway," so somehow I noted it as "Project Walkway." "Wife Swap" disappointed me, so to me it was "Non-Porn." I quickly guessed the mysterious disease on "House," so it became "D.O.A." Now if the Super Bowl game is a bust, it'll have to be Empty Bowl, I guess.

-Old Gargoyle

Language 6: Hi, Shorty---a Lot

"What's the shortest sentence in the English language, shortest in terms of the least words and the least letters?" I asked my class of adult students. Jennifer raised her hand. "Yes, Miss Jennifer?"

"Is it 'I love' or 'I am'?" she asked.

"No, sorry," I said.

"Oh, I know," volunteered Adele, "it's 'Oh' or 'Ha' or 'Hi.'"

I had to swallow hard. "No. Let's go basic: What's the definition of a sentence?" At that point, my radar was drawn to Denise, the only bleached blond in the class. "Miss Denise, can you tell us?"

"Uh, a sentence is something you say," she replied.

I had to grit my teeth. "Well, I often say, 'Pinewood abstractly umbrella.' Is that a sentence?"

"I don't think so. I guess so. I don't know," Denise replied.

"No, not really, Miss Denise. In fact, the shortest sentence is 'Jeet?'"

"Jeep?" Denise reacted, "like the truck?"

"No, no---'Jeet.'" I wrote the word onto the blackboard. "'Jeet?' is shorthand slang for 'Did you eat yet?' and it's only four letters long. What do you think about that?"

"I guess so. I think I've heard that word before."

"Sentence," I corrected Denise---"not word, but sentence---thereby satisfying the still-unknown definition of a sentence and the requirement for the openly declared shortest of this unknown. Good work!"

Denise wrote what I said into her notebook, and resumed chewing her gum. I slowly erased "Jeet?"



This incident reminds me of the two entertainment-news reporters on television whom I was watching last night. "So of the five Oscar nominees for best actress, the two we just discussed have the best chance of winning, I think," said one reporter.

"Well, if neither one of those two wins, the Academy has a lot of other choices for the award," said the other reporter."

"Sweet Jesus," I said to myself, "if three other nominees represent 'a lot' of choices, I wonder what she would call, say, fifty or a hundred other choices---'lotsa lotsa' or 'lottest' or some other crappy phrase? For God's sake, woman, the word or phrase you mean is 'several' or 'a few'!"

-Old Gargoyle

Amazing Grace

I've been despondent lately, worried about the economy, the environment, post-Katrina New Orleans, the famine in Sudan, Michael Jackson, etc. In fact, this week, as I was driving on the outskirts of the city, I felt so overwhelmed by these worries, I had to stop on the shoulder of the road to try to recover. It was then that I noticed a large billboard to my right, which read, "Need Help? Call on Jesus. 800-355-7912." The little woman and I haven't yet chosen a local church to join, so I said to myself, "Well, why not? Even if it's an evangelical-fundamentalist one, I think I can benefit from this just this one time." So I called the number on my cell phone.

The woman who answered quickly asked me my name and location, then told me to wait for the promised help. After only five minutes on the phone, I was startled by an Hispanic guy who pulled up in a tow truck next to me saying, "Allo, Senor Gargoyle. I'm Hay-zoos [Jesus]. You called for help?"

-Old Gargoyle

Keeping up with the Joneses

Waldo quickly needs a lawyer, but doesn't know any. "Must be some lawyer named Jones," he says to himself, and does find the law firm, Jones, Jones, Jones, and Jones, in the yellow pages.
Waldo phones.

"Jones, Jones, Jones, and Jones," says the man in the office who answers.

"Uh, may I speak to Mr. Jones?" says Waldo.

"He's at lunch," is the reply. "May someone else help you?"

"Well, may I speak with another Mr. Jones?"

"He's in court," says the office man.

"Er, well, the other Mr. Jones, then?" asks Waldo.

"Sorry, he's on vacation."

"ANOTHER Mr. Jones?" the frustrated Waldo says.

"Speaking."

The Boxer

I finally saw the current movie, "The Wrestler," in which Mickey Rourke and Marisa Tomei are nominated for an Oscar as best actor and best supporting actress. Whew, what a physically and emotionally punishing performance by Rourke. In that one, publicized scene he says to his daughter, Stephanie, "I'm just an old, broken-down piece of meat." Mickey, you've been reading my mail!

-Old Gargoyle

When a House Is a Home

I took the little woman to my small hometown to find the first house in which I lived as an infant and young child. The house was still standing, though abandoned and delapidated. It was watched over by the neighbor, Floyd. Floyd was still alive, still occupying the same house as he did when I was a child; he had been living as an adult with his mother, and she died a few years ago. He was a few years older than my brother and I, and as a youngster Floyd was rolly polly and not the brightest bulb in the chandelier. He gained fame on the block when he returned home from grade school one afternoon when his mother had a few of the neighborhood ladies in their house for coffee. Running to the kitchen for a snack upon entering their house, Floyd was heard to shout angrily, "What, only thirteen bisquits and a gallon of milk?"

So old Floyd showed my crumbling house to me and Jonka. Such a melancholic experience viewing the rooms in which I used to live. They seemed, of course, much smaller than when I was an infant, and they were jammed with old lumber and boxes of junk. Such sadness overcame me; I could only think of Tom Waits' hauntingly sad song, "House Where Nobody Lives." So long ago.

Then bumbling Floyd invited Jonka and me to his house for---why not?---hot bisquits and milk.

-Old Gargoyle

Living History

Being in Washington reminded me of the history of North America. I think the Vikings "discovered" America before Columbus did. Anyway, I think that if those old Vikings were around today, they'd probably be amazed at how much glow-in-the-dark stuff we have, and how we take so much of it for granted.

-Old Gargoyle

Sing Your Heart Out, Aretha!

I've been away for a few days. I just "returned" from Washington where I had trekked to see the Obama inauguration. Yeah, right. After a three-day bus ride and eating and drinking nothing but peanut-butter cookies and Cokes from bus-station vending machines, I arrived in the capital city. I had underestimated the coldness of the weather, so I was shivering hour after hour wearing only a light sweater and semi-sandals. Then as I was slowly walking from the Greyhound station to the inauguration site, I encountered wave after wave of large and small groups of people also walking toward it, or walking in other directions, or stationary. I perturbed one group of Bushites who chased me in the snow, and hit me with thrown objects. My arthritic knees and ankles gave out, and I began my long period of hobbling. Two other groups later down the road were not exactly the political type---more the punk-robber type, who dislocated my arm and gashed my forehead while relieving me of my wallet and watch. But I half-crawled to within---oh, I don't know, maybe one mile---of the inauguration scene, where I collapsed into two feet of snow. I think I did hear, however, the faint voice of the microphoned announcer from the main site announcing the arrival of President Obama.

I said I "returned" from Washington, but not in the literal sense. I'm still here in some hospital bed. The nurse tells me the inauguration is over; I missed everything. She kindly lent me a computer for my blog, and says that in two more days I'll be released. Then it'll be another long bus ride home---but only if I somehow can find bus fare. I guess it's off to the homeless shelter here in Washington for me, or begging on its streets for a while. When I arrive home, I have waiting for me a jury-duty summons, says the little woman. God bless America! Is this a great country or what?

-Old Gargoyle, Citizen

The Lady from Long Ago

Foolish I! (Popular speech has it as "Foolish me!" or "Silly me!" but the objective-case "me" makes no sense here; it must be the subjective-case "I"; however, this isn't a language blog.) I never took the time to listen to the songs of blues singer Eric Clapton other than to his overly-played radio songs, "Lala" and "Tears in Heaven." Only this week did my son lend me his Clapton c.d.'s. Ahh, what nice blues!

Then a special discovery---actually a memory jog. Clapton's singing of the old song, "Alberta," suddenly made me remember her forgotten name from over a half-century ago. As I've mentioned before, I have vivid memories from age 2 to 3, and I recall our Black maid when I was that young. We were dirt poor, but the Blacks in our backward, rural town were ever poorer, so apparently my parents could afford a parttime servant. "Alberta" was her name, which I had long forgotten. My mind's eye can see her stuffing and sewing tree moss and chicken feathers into our mattresses and pillow cases, and cooking fig and syrup pies. A beautiful, young (young to me despite my own infanthood) lady with long black hair forms my picture of her.

Miss Alberta, enjoy your stay in heaven. And if Mom nearby asks you to bring her a cup of coffee, or light her cigarette, or even to stuff her pillow case, tell her to shove it---I think she'll understand.

-Old Gargoyle

Original Sin

We finally had a bit of rain here the other day. I was stocking my bird feeder, and the neighbor's 5-year-old kid was playing in her yard when the drops began to fall.

"Where does the rain come from, Mr. Gargoyle?" the kid suddenly asked me.

"God is crying," I said to her.

"Why is God crying?" she asked.

"Probably because of something you did," I shouted.

Her mother called her into the house.

-Old Gargoyle

Throw in the Towel

Speaking about actor Mickey Rourke's boxing days reminds me: People often say to me, "Hey, is it true you were a boxer? Were you any good at it?"

"Yep," I reply, "I was a boxer in my early-marriage years, and actually was named state champ of Ohio."

"Really? Were you ever knocked out?"

"Hmm, once, when I was hit by the overhead crane."

"Crane? You mean the overhead microphone in the ring?"

"No, no, the crane," I explain. "The Sherman box factory in Cleveland where I worked had a crane overhead to lift the boxes. Anyway, those heavy, open cardboard units would come rolling down the belt, and I would glue them together faster than any other worker. So they named me the boxer champion of the state two years in a row."

At that point, the persons just silently stare at me. Some want to jab, hook, or uppercut me.

-Old Gargoyle

Adam and Eve

"Come here," the little woman said to me yesterday afternoon as she was sitting at the table. On the table was a large glass half-filled with the last of her favorite, expensive wine from the Christmas-gift bottle. "I read your recent blog, 'The Lady Refuses To Sing the Blues.' Now tell me, is this glass half-empty or half-full?"

"Half-empty," I replied.

"No, you idiot," she said, "it's half-full. Half-full! It's expensive, good wine. Look at it, you old pessimist---it's HALF-FULL!"

At that point I grabbed the glass and quickly gulped all the wine growling, "Now the glass is FULLY empty and my STOMACH is half-full!"

-Old Gargoyle

Scolding

What is wrong with you people? I was away for a few days for the holidays, so it was only a minute ago that I was able to review the tapes of the security cameras in my blogroom. What do I see? An empty yogurt cup on the floor, a playing card on the floor, a near-empty bottle of beer on the table, abandoned sports section of the newspaper, the two comfy chairs not returned to their places---I could go on and on. Blast it, you all! CAN'T YOU READ MY PROFILE? You are expected to be neat and orderly and quiet in my blogroom! I'm not naming names---for now. I think the last thing you want is for me to have to move my blog to a more expensive and less familiar site!

-Old Gargoyle

The Lady Refuses To Sing the Blues

Another year! I've been spending the first few days of the new year listening to the blues channel on the television's all-music channel. Any friend of the blues is a friend of mine. I favor the old-timers, as I've mentioned before: Muddy Waters, Jimmy Reed, Lightning Hopkins, Big Joe Turner, John Lee Hooker, Bobby Bland, Dinah Washington, etc.

"Why do you play that kind of music day and night?" the little woman asked me today.

I replied, "The blues is ['blues' is used in the singular, not the plural, as far as I know] the psychosocial expression of the basic existential human condition. It captures the raw, negative emotion experienced by harsh limitations on the human spirit---so apt for the closure of the past year and in anticipation of the new one."

"You're crazy," she replied.

Jonka is an optimist.

-Old Gargoyle

On a Smoke Break

Reader, at any moment that the voices in my head begin to bother you, please tell me, and I'll see what I can do.

-Old Gargoyle

This Mickey Ain't No Mouse, Part 2

Mickey's back! Mickey Rourke is nominated for a Golden Globe for his leading role in the current movie, "The Wrestler." Mickey has lost his boyish good looks and charm (alert: prevent your young children from gazing upon his visage during the Globes Awards telecast), but his acting ability is better than ever. You might remember him from his '70s and '80s movies such as "Bar Fly," "Angel Heart," and "9 1/2 Weeks"; one of his small roles in more-recent films was in "Sin City." I always liked Mickey, especially the fact that in his late 30s he temporarily left acting to become a professional boxer. Go, Mick!

I remember from years ago when the then-controversial "9 1/2 Weeks" was playing in theaters. My women colleagues were surprised that I liked the film.

"Rourke humiliates and mistreats Kim Basinger throughout the story," they would say to me. "How can you admire that?"

"But does he really?" I would reply. "Certainly she's a willing participant. And notice that in the very last scene, when Kim is permanently walking away from Mickey, he quietly cries as he watches her depart. Yes, he showed love in a an unusual manner toward her, but that was his way of showing love---and he DID love her, he wasn't merely using her." It's no accident, I think, that the director has Randy Newman's "You Can Leave Your Hat On" play in the background when Mickey has Kim dance for him in an earlier scene. Several of Newman's songs---e.g., "Hat On," "The Naked Man," "A Wedding in Cherokee County"---have the theme of apparent mental illness or social aberration displayed by a person who, when the song ends after more lyrics are heard, has become a more-sympathetic figure to the listener.

In short, Mickey Rourke is a cool dude who can do no wrong in my book. Well, that's if you discount his real-life drug addiction, spouse abuse, and money squandering.

-Old Gargoyle

Borrow Your Comb?

When I was kid, I would think it would be fun to be a bird, because then I could fly. But what I would forget would be the negative side, which is the preening.

-Old Gargoyle

Batman and Joker

I was taken aback by the new television commercial by rocker Ozzy Osbourne. In it he mumbles unintelligibly in all scenes, yet he sells some product. "Hey," I said to meself, "Ozzy must have mad-cow disease like me!" So I had my computer friend track down his phone number. I called Ozzy's house, and he answered. For some ten minutes Ozzy and I mumbled back and forth about our mad-cow disease, and we actually understood each other. The little woman watched and heard me with that unbelieving look on her face. Our conversation ended with me inviting him, when he might be visiting my city, to drop in for Jonka's delicious cornbread and sausage gumbo. He countered by inviting me, whenever I might be in L.A., to drop in at his house for his tasty bat stew.

-Old Gargoyle

Nuts and Bolts

"The deadline is past," I shouted to Jonka, "and there's still no fruitcake in the house---no former student, no relative, no one has sent me one---and I never was served any figgy pudding!"

"You don't even know what figgy pudding is," she shouted back, "and I disagree that there's no fruitcake in our house!"

-Old Gargoyle

Chacun a Son Gout

I read that Christmas can be considered to be the feeling Christian's holyday, whereas Easter can be considered the thinking Christian's holyday. Makes me think.

-Old Gargoyle

The Show Must Go On

I don't think she's sending me the tickets. Why not, was it something I said? You be the judge.
I called a local theater for tickets for the little woman and me for an upcoming live play. This is the phone conversation of a few minutes ago, as best I can remember it:

"Royal Theater. Jennifer Dullock speaking. May I help you?"

"Yes, Miss Jennifer, I'd like two senior-citizens tickets for the 2:00 play of two Saturdays from today."

"Yes, sir, that's two for January 10 for 'Sex, Lies, and the I.R.S.'"

"'Sex, Lies, and the I.R.S.'? I thought the play is 'Sex, Lies, and Videotape.'"

"No, sir, you're thinking of the old movie by that name. Our play is a new comedy, 'Sex, Lies, and the I.R.S.' It's suitable for older teenagers and adults."

"I thought it was a misprint on your brochure. I liked 'Sex, Lies, and Videotape'---I didn't much understand it, but I liked it; the little woman did too; we saw it together. You know, it was filmed in Baton Rouge. I've been there. Have you ever been to Baton Rouge or New Orleans?"

"Er, no, sir. But this play is not that movie; it's a new comedy. So you'd like two tickets for January 10?"

"Yeah, two senior-citizens tickets. I'm an old goat---the little woman doesn't admit to being old. James Spader was in 'Sex, Lies, and Videotape.' I like James Spader; he's cool. He plays now in the television show, 'Boston Legal.' Do you watch 'Boston Legal'?"

"No, sir, I don't. Anyway, that's two senior tickets. Would you like to choose your seats for the play?"

"What? Oh, I don't hear well---I'm an old goat, you know. Maybe we'd better sit in the front where I can hear better."

"That's alright. Let me put you on the second row, seats four and five. How's that?"

"Okay, good ahead."

"There, you're in the computer for the second row. Now, may I have your name?"

"I'm Harvey Gargoyle. You can record the little woman as just Little Woman. Whoa, wait a minute. I have a sharp, new hearing aid. That second row would be too loud for me. How about the balcony instead?"

"Uh, well, I guess so. The balcony has several seats available."

"Yeah, switch us to the balcony, any lower seats."

"Yes, sir. . . . There, I've moved you in the computer to row two, seats seven and eight in the balcony."

"Good. That will be better for the bellowing, anyway."

"Pardon?"

"My bellowing. I recently contracted mad-cow disease---you know, like James Spader's partner, William Shatner, on 'Boston Legal.' You watch 'Boston Legal,' you said?"

"Er, no sir. What's this about a disease?"

"Mad-cow disease. But not to worry---odds are I won't make any noise at all. But there is a slight chance that I'll bellow out loud just a bit--- you know, like a mad cow. Do you think it would disturb the actors on stage? Maybe it's best that we are in the balcony, right?"

"Mr. Gargle, I, uh . . . Would your noise be very loud, you say?"

"Well, it might be. But maybe I could hold it, and even time it so that I bellow at the same time as the James Spader character shouts at Andie McDowell. You remember that scene in 'Sex, Lies, and Videotape'? That way, my noise would be covered by his---voila."

"No, sir, our play is NOT 'Sex, Lies, and Videotape.' Look, maybe we could put you and your wife on the highest row in the balcony. And we could have an usher nearby to help you if necessary. I don't know what else to do."

"I guess you're right. Okay, do that. I'll just have to remember to take my pills before we leave the house. Maybe the usher too could remind me."

"Right. Well, I've changed you in the computer again to the top row twelve in the balcony. Now how would you like to pay for this?"

"Pay? I don't know. I'm old, as I said, and I have mad-cow disease, and I haven't worked in four years. I don't have any income, and even my former students don't give a blast---they don't send me money or anything."

"Oh, Lord. Mr. Gargle, look, we've been at this for fifteen minutes. I can make the reservation for the balcony, but we would need payment for the tickets."

"But Miss Dullock, as I've said, the little woman and I have already seen 'Sex, Lies, and Videotape.' Why should we have to pay for tickets in the first place for something we've already seen? Can't we just quietly sit up there---crack and eat those New Orleans pecans I got for Christmas, and maybe bellow just once or twice, nothing more? Have you been to New Orleans?"

[Long pause . . . ] "Mr. Gargle, are you going to buy the tickets or not?"

"Say, if I tumble down the steps of the balcony with my cane---but without bellowing---would that too disturb the actors?"

"GOODBYE, sir!"

[I'm sending Miss Dullock one of my few remaining "Take Care of the Old Gargoyle" t-shirts.]


-Old Gargoyle

Bad Boy

James Green is an Irishman who writes from England. His new "All the World's a Pub" is probably the world's only anthology of poetry about beer. He'll soon publish a mystery drama, "Bad Catholics." I like his definition of a bad Catholic: "A bad Catholic is, by definition, a good Catholic. Catholics who admit fully to their faults, who know they aren't making a very good fist of being as 'holy' as they should be, are reflective, thoughtful Catholics. Truly bad Catholics are those who sure they are doing the right thing, and kick the crap out of others whom they regard as less worthy than they are."

-Old Gargoyle

Snappy New Ear

It's begun---the flood of commercials and articles for weight loss in the new year. I just finished reading an article about the dangers of overeating and alcohol consumption. It scared the beejezesus out of me. That does it---no more reading for me!

-Old Gargoyle