Posts Tagged ‘wit’

When In Baltimore, Bring Elephants

31 Jul


Marti Wouldn't Approve


Date: Tue, 31 Jul 2001 09:31:54

I can't thank you and Sue enough for partaking of the events that day. All the weirdness aside, it was a fabulous party. I've been getting feedback ever since, most good, some bad, but fuck the ones who are complaining. Hope the video people will forgive my leaving them behind and give me the video....they are holding out now, sulking. I am trying to explain to them that the video opp in the limo was not anything I would want to keep for posterity's sake...

I await the pics as they come, in whatever condition. I appreciate your tenacity, your wit, your
friendship and the elephants...thank you ever so much!

Til next time...

Marti Iben

Wilma Hedrick Sends Her First

05 Jul


Girl With The Pearl Earring


Date: Mon Jul 5, 1999 3:59:23 PM

Dear Gabriel—How nice to receive our first E Mail letter from you. Thank you so much for the picture of my Mother. It came in loud and clear. We have enjoyed having Sue and we thank you for sharing her with us. I haven't asked her how she feels about it, for we have kept her pretty busy. Thanks again and have a good time this week end. Love, Wilma.

And how nice that you stepped right up and wrote me back. I—by the way—beat Suzy Q to the Internet by a couple of years, so it's only fitting I be there for the DQ Hedricks as well. This honor is all mine.

You know Wilma, I can't help but return over and over again to the familiar thought that Sue SIMPLY LOVES to spend as MUCH time in Albany as she can possibly squeeze together. It's all about her sharing vital and common moments with you and Dermot, because she loves you both so very much, and I am so grateful that this bond only grows stronger between you as each to each our own we marshal with a seeking mind and a comforted heart these energies of love and devotion which have been bestowed to us as family and familiars. Please note this latter word is familiars not family liars, chuckle chuckle...

It's a lovely day, isn't it? Extremely hot but lovely from within. My native dependency on air-conditioning has not failed me this year. I'm enjoying an especially crisp afternoon down here in the basement studio, just the way I like it.

In other breaking news, I chatted up the new owner of the adjoining rowhouse we wanted to buy. This fellow's organization also bought two others on the same block, and want to upscale rent. Wow! I said. We talked fast faster for an hour and a half.

Wilma, if you would have Sue call me later today (I tried her cell phone but couldn't reach her), I'd be charmed. I've got some financial paperwork she needs to officially corroborate. Thanks.

Believe tonight I'm going to cook myself some crabmeat and black beans, perhaps worked with cornchips and finish off the meal with watermelon. I've lost five pounds this week alone, down to 274, the lowest since those post-surgery weeks last summer. Total 11 lost in 2 weeks! Yippee! I really would like to get down to 210-220, but it may take a worldwind tour or a catastrophe to get us to change our intake and exercise habits. I think I'd rather take the tour. Code for hard work and dedication.

The exterminator finally did call. He was in the shower he said when I had called (what? the second time? late riser?) and apparently had not checked his messages. Yikes!

You know, I've barely made the effort to thank you for my white shirts, but I wear them all year round, love them dearly, am wearing one today, and so thanks a bundle, I really mean it, Sue knows this, and I trust you know me this much...

Now that you have learned a few basics of online life, perhaps the annual Wilma & Dermot postcards will move there. I haven't forgotten. I've just been so busy on some many different fronts this spring and now deep into summer, well, seems they were late last year as well. The garden is indeed beautiful this year, and I simply love my front yard now. That's where the new owner of "111" found me.

Well, gotta scoot. You all have a sweet visit. If only I could invent a way to be in a thousand places at the same time, then I might feel like I'm finally accomplishing something, oh well, sweet Jesus is calling. . .

Love, GT

Acerbic Wit Gone South

15 Oct


Bringing It All Back Home


Originally published on October 15, 1996

Or just imagine you're speaking to a mute. I've seen Boston Common a couple, well, maybe three times. It seems the southern sibling pair have the upper hand and most of the punchlines, but of course the jokes and the hardships ARE aimed at them. But hey, after Carter & Clinton with brothers and mothers hanging from limb to limb from the less than shady side of the tracks, what can you expect the social parrots to seize upon? Tennessee Williams? William Faulkner? Drunks of an elite sort? Ted Turner? Uh, well, Hanoi Jane seized Ted by the gonads I guess...but, Landry, your rage (hey I am just as southern as you) over peanut patch humor seems ever gently exaggerated. I say this because I LEFT Georgia to escape the redneck posse and the arrogant southern gaff which at the time frightened me more as a fellow southerner (and I was much more genteel in 1983) than an army of angry Negroes on the prowl, or so I thought. I since have grown to miss the good parts of the south, but I also am abruptly reminded of tough love every time I go home and stop at a roadside pisser looking a mite different than the locals would have me look.

Hell, when all one’s friends suggest the bogus mood and intent of failure is all I am, can be, should be, I guess after a while that’s all the wit I’ve got in the crapper. I only hope I make it out of my DC period.
The irony is, particularly since from earliest childhood and teenage sibling mythmaking hours curled up around a Dr. Pepper in a crystalballing projection, I the oldest and the smartest, was SUPPOSED to grow up with the handsome pipe in mouth and patches on my elbows professorial look. Be mayor of my hometown. Be rich, a lawyer, and a philanthropist. Instead I am a bitter old fog with a belly Bull Connor would envy, bad teeth and a scraggly beard James Dickey had in mind when he wrote Deliverance, nary a day in college nor a dime to my name, so embarrassed about my appearance and paranoid about the criminal element in the hood that I am afraid to leave the modest ghettohouse my wife struggles to pay for. Now THAT is what is called NOT living up to one's potential...

The road not taken. Or just another sappy success story. You pick 'em.

So mirror mirror on the wall, is art my saving grace at all, or is this dribble just another blind alley and a terribly blind date.

The billion dollar baby question is why am I clutchingly afraid to produce anything. With a post pedigreed background like mine I am no less a fingerpainting in the mud than some new Pat Conroy in the making, but I have nothing to show for all my grief or imagination. Aborted novel. Aborted poems. A web site not worth the monthly fees, much less an audience. Hell, when all one's friends suggest the bogus mood and intent of failure is all I am, can be, should be, I guess after a while that's all the wit I've got in the crapper. I only hope I make it out of my DC period.


"I fought with my twin, that enemy within, 'til both of us fell by the side..."
—Bob Dylan


"Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw. Souls grow on bones, but die beneath bankers' hours.""