R.I.P. J.D., Cont'd

Here's a great article in the Boston Globe about Salinger, the "recluse."

...to his neighbors in Cornish and surrounding rural towns, he was hardly a hermit. To them, Salinger was simply another small-town resident who valued his privacy, and anyone who knew what he looked like could see he got around.

The tall, angular writer with his recognizable shock of white hair could be seen over the years striding through downtown Hanover, some 14 miles north, where he would duck into the Dartmouth Bookstore on Main Street. On an overcast day, passersby might spot him in the Windsor Diner, across the Connecticut River in Vermont, his profile defined by lights inside as he sat in a window booth overlooking Route 5.

He was such a regular at the fund-raising roast beef suppers at First Congregational Church in nearby Hartland, Vt., that when his health failed and he became too frail to attend, his wife drove over to pick up a take-out order from the basement fellowship hall.

I never knew he was married until I read his obit. I didn't think he was capable of any kind of social interaction. I pictured him as living in a New Hampshire cave, dressed in burlap, eating sticks, wearing a long beard with birds nesting in it. Obviously there was no malice in that image -- I'm a big fan, after all -- but those are the images that sprang up when I thought "recluse."

It makes me realize our attention-craving culture, where people "send up" their children in balloons, crash White House events, make out with strangers just to get on TV, simply doesn't have a vocabulary to describe someone who would, at the height of his fame, walk away from the spotlight and never seek it again. I don't have any desire for fame myself and yet in my mind there was still no option between "famous" and "insane" -- if Salinger shunned fame, clearly there must've been something wrong with him, right? He must've been mentally ill or something. Unhinged. An eater of sticks.

But apparently not.

Sometimes I like to play "If I Were A Genius Writer Which Genius Writer Would I Be?" Steinbeck is my favorite but I wouldn't be him -- he was too adventurous, too curious, diving into the nitty-gritty to report on WWII in Europe, going on his U.S.-long road-trip with no company but his dog and the people he met along the way. I wouldn't be Steinbeck. And what I know of Updike, I wouldn't be Updike -- he was too country-club, too cocktail-party.

I never would've thought it a couple days ago, but huh, I'd be Salinger.

R.I.P. J.D.

“I hope to hell that when I do die somebody has the sense to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetary. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you’re dead? Nobody." - J.D. Salinger

He talks like Holden. Haha. Or, should I say, Holden talks like him.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

I saw this photo on the New Yorker website:


My goodness, why do some men do this to their heads? I'm referring, of course, to the aggressive shaving of the sideburns. There needs to be some sideburns, fellas, at least enough to hook around the front of the ear, like reverse glasses. Otherwise, what's to keep the hair from sliding off and tumbling down your back? The sideburns hold your hair in place!

Os Gemeos of the Day

Courtroom Drama, Cont'd

I'm disheartened that last week the Supreme Court weirdly got all up in the District Court's grill and reversed the judge's decision to televise the Prop 8 trial. In this the Supremes sided with the anti-gay side, who feared their witnesses would be intimidated if their faces were made public while they spewed their bigotry on the witness stand. That doesn't seem to bode well.

On the other hand, if this is where we are now, if it's the pro-gays who want to be televised and the anti-gays who are afraid to show their faces, we're getting somewhere!

The New Yorker has a good day-by-day blog of trial news.

Happy Blogiversary!

LCiN is four years old today.

Courtroom Drama, Cont'd

Plaintiffs' witness Zing of the Day:

10:33 AM: Thompson — Isn’t it true that people voted for Prop 8 based upon their sincere moral values?

C: Many people opposed desegregation and interracial marriage based upon their sincere moral values.

Courtroom Drama

I'm reading through a liveblog transcript of the The Trial. In some ways it's one of the most interesting things I've ever read, and I'm agog at the level at which the judge is peering into this. It's even left me with a bewildered feeling and I've just realized why: I've gotten so accustomed to listening to politicians, to bullshit talking heads on Sunday morning news shows, spewing dumbed-down bullet-point sound-bites, appealing to Americans' lowest, basest instincts (death panels! the system worked!)... that thoughtful, philosophical, complex discussion on important topics causes a double-take. You mean we can actually, in a public forum, have a discussion about the nature of human identity and love and the role of the state? Wha-wha-what? Why don't we do this more often?

So it begins...

I never thought I'd have so much personally invested in the success of the man who argued George W. Bush into the White House, but that's the case today as superstar Republican lawyer Ted Olson begins a string of trials that will take same-sex marriage to the U.S. Supreme Court for the first time.

I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it. At first I suspected Olson was some kind of double-agent who would purposely blow the case and thus close off the Supreme Court as an avenue for gay rights potentially for decades. I feel better about him now, especially after reading his piece in Newsweek, but still, for the record, I think he's crazy. I can't see how he can possibly win. As I understand it, if he does win, every same-sex marriage ban in every state will in one fell swoop be struck down as violating the U.S. Constitution, and same-sex marriage will be legalized everywhere. And if he loses there will be precedent, and the Court doesn't overturn precedent lightly. Those stakes are incredible. Man, this is going to be nerve-wracking beyond belief.

Mr. Olson, if you're reading this: Win, and we'll forget all about that Bush thing, OK?

Too soon?

Him: We should go as Ennis and Jack from Brokeback Mountain next Halloween.
Me: Oh great. Who's going to go as the dead one?
Him: I'll go as Jake Gyllenhaal any day. Wait -- the dead character or the dead actor?

My Darling Brother #2

Me: I feel like my hair is my only positive physical feature. Without that, I'd have nothing.
Him: Right, I mean, let's not even get started on that nose of yours.