BREAKING AWAY. A complete break, or a partial break.
You do it because you are tired tired tired of what you are doing. I did it after getting my Ph.D. in French. I left New York for San Francisco and the tail end of the Beat scene, before the Hippie madness took over. I was tired of Academia.
How about you? Did you ever break away? Do you want to now? Tell us. We will listen.
MY PARTY
"Nobody kills a party like a genius,"said the great party-giver Elsa Maxwell, and she should know. So no geniuses, at least if self-proclaimed.
So who can come? I'll confine myself to writers, since we know, or think we know, them best.
Chaucer, for one. He had wide experience, and a great sense of humor, earthy and a bit naughty.
Who else? The Greek playwright Aristophanes. He imagined an airy republic of the birds up in Cloud Cuckoo Land, would surely keep us in stitches.
Certainly our own Ben Franklin, who was witty and wise, and especially with the ladies, charming. He charmed the French court of Louis XVI, helped us get our independence.
Speaking of ladies, how about some? Madame de Sévigné, who wrote charming letters with a light touch. And Jane Austen, of course.
Any more Americans? Surely Mark Twain, with tales of his travels. And on a more serious note, Henry James, observant and worldly-wise, even if he uses ten words where three will do.
Who can't come? Milton: too sure of himself and everything. La Rochefoucauld: his Maxims, reducing everything to self-love, are too jaded, too sour. Dr. Johnson: a dyed-in-the-wool Tory, unflinchingly conservative. And Romantic poets generally: too weepy, too self-involved.
Shakespeare? Yes, though we don't really know him; we know his works. And Moliere, who knew lot about human nature.
That's enough, you get the idea. And you, my readers, are invited, too. A great time will be had by all.
The closing paragraph of the online memoir I will soon send
to the Gay History Archive on 13th Street:
So ends my story. On Thursday, March 17, 2022, I donated Bob’s diaries, correspondence, and photo albums to the Gay Center on West 13th Street, for inclusion in their gay history archive. None of it can be made public until ten years after my death. This memoir will also go there. This is a substantial collection that could someday be used in many ways. In it there is much pain, joy, frustration, and realization. We lived richly.
Yes, we lived richly.
545. Surviving Hospital Food and the Squawking Bitch
During my recent hospital and rehab center stay (see post 544),
I had many misadventures. Among them:
BROWDERBOOKS
Sold 14 paperbacks of Fascinating New Yorkers and one of New Yorkers: A Feisty People last November and December, while advertising the first one in the New York Review of Books. And two more of Fascinating New Yorkers in the first few days of January 2022 (maybe people using gift cards).
Why then? The holiday gift-giving season. So it looks like my assumption was accurate: lots of my potential readers subscribe to NYRB. But reader reviews on Amazon I'm not getting, and I could sure use some.
My short story collection Wicked City is in the works, but my novel Panther Lady advances slowly -- I don't know why.
BIG GUYS WHO DON'T PAY TAXES
Yes, it's that time of year, when tax documents start clogging the mail, and tax accountants prepare for an avalanche of business.
But not everyone pays taxes. I'm not talking about the little guy who gets a tax break. I mean corporations that rake in millions a year but quite legally don't pay taxes.
Thanks to an online study by the Institute on Taxation and Economic Policy, we know which of the big boys paid not a penny of income tax to the federal government in 2020 -- 55 corporations in all. And most of them even got a tax rebate. In other words, the government owed them money. Among them:
Consolidated Edison: $1.2 billion in pre-tax income. Plus a rebate of $2 million.
Fed Ex: $1.2 billion in pre-tax income. Plus a rebate of $230 million.
Nike: $2.8 billion in pre-tax income. Plus a rebate of $109 million.
And 52 others. How do they do it?
STINGY WEDNESDAY
THE ANSWER TO GIVING TUESDAY
Giving Tuesday, the first Tuesday after Thanksgiving, brings out the Scrooge in me. I do give to worthy nonprofits, who then give or sell my name to other worthy nonprofits. Result: I am constantly bombarded by appeals for money.
There is no way I could give to them all, but they keep after me with letters, ads, and phone calls, assuring me it is the right thing to do, since it will make for a better world.
These appeals have reached the point where I rebel. I know their game, and when approached, recognize it and turn savage. Openings like these enrage me:
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| attribution: Robert Doucette |
WAR IS SEXY, PEACE IS NOT
Long ago, on station WBAI (where else?), I heard a high priestess of the New Age declare, “We’ve got to make peace sexy!” This inspired me to write a poem about peace that I now think is junk, but much lster I did another poem on the subject that may not be junk. Here it is:
Sexy
Wild is sexy, tame is not.
War is sexy, peace is not.
God is sexy, His worshipers are not,
Though Her worshipers would be for sure.
Death, mysterious, is sexy,
Dying, messy, is not.
Gobbling junk food is sexy,
Health and healthy eating are not.
Stupid is sexy,
If brash, loud, and shocking.
Wisdom,
Calm and contained, is not.
For the sake of sanity, logic,
And the well-being of a cosmos
Ever threatened by chaos,
We’ve got to make
Peace, health, and wisdom sexy,
Sexy as hell.
So there’s your assignment for the New Year: make peace, health, and wisdom sexy. It will make for a better world.
© 2022 Clifford Browder
