Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Christopher Buckley

Occasionally I watch this book review show on C-SPAN.

Authors come on, talk about their newest books and take questions.

I watched an interview with Christopher Buckley this weekend.

He used a metaphor about nitrous, "It's like XYZ on nitrous oxide..."

I don't recall what XYZ was.

Sometimes that's all it takes to put brain in gear. Good, Bad or Indifferent I scribble these things down in the black book or, now the brown book. Mostly that's where they stay...

"You can't write of nitrous oxide. You can't even speak to nitrous unless you have experienced life on nitrous.

Life is full of fits and fitful starts. You can't asses them or appreciate them or understand them... and you most certainly cannot score them... until you've launched upon them for yourself.

Most starts are uneventful, ubiquitous, even boring.

Some shameful.

Some frightful.

Some, howling beasts of erotic erectus-perfectum. Pistons screaming in joyous celebration. Four horn symphonies in cacophonous harmony. They leave long, short lived marks on the highway and long lived sign posts on the roads we travel.

You must notice, I do not speak to nitrous. After four and one half decades, I've yet to crack the valve on the big blue bottle.

After all of these years and fits and starts... I still grope and grasp about in a monochromatic fog... seeking out the valve."


Bob Barbanes said...

Now this really freaked me out, man. I have a whole list of blogs I check every day. I go down the list, faithfully clicking each one to see if it's been updated. And today, for some reason, I clicked on your blog when I thought I was clicking on someone else's (I won't say who's).

The nitrous oxide post made absolutely no sense to me at all at first. Oh, I "got" it, I know what you mean. But I read it, then re-read it, and I was more puzzled the second time. I should mention that the other blogger is much younger than four and a half decades.

It took a while, but I finally sorted out that it was *you* David who wrote the post, and then - oddly - it all made sense! Isn't that strange? The words were disorienting because I was reading them in someone else's voice - someone who could not possibly be saying them.

I had never realized that before - how *we* are such a part of the things we write. I guess that's why I never dug much of Hunter Thompsons's stuff; I never really got to get inside his head.

Had I just read your words without know, if I was reading them "cold" I definitely would have gotten the message. What was confusing me was visualing this other guy saying them, and my mental pinball machine went "TILT!"

Interesting series of posts! Sad about Joe - hope he gets better.

And I guess I'd be careful driving around that town if'n I was you. You never know when the choppas will be orbiting YOUR ass.

DAVID said...


Bob, remember, "Vertigo. Don't get it. And, if you ever do get it... Never Admit It!"

Your comment tickled me. I guess I need to refine my voice.

There are only a couple of people on the whole planet that could 'get it' completely. So far, only one of them has chimed in.

Weird stuff comes to mind all the time. Sometimes I can get it scribbled down at that moment. Sometimes I can remember it later.

I saw an interesting "'Craft" today that set off a series of thoughts. The "'Craft" belongs to an individual/corp/group/agency/department/entity.

Were I to post the lines that came to mind... I'd have to worry about those 'black helicopters hov'ring over rough terrain'!

Thanks for reading,

Bob Barbanes said...

Nah, you don't have to refine your voice. Your voice is fine. *Your* voice comes through Lickin' Chicken. That's why it was so wierd. It Kermit the Frog deliver the Gettysburg Address. My brain was going, "Something ain't right."

Back on topic, it is too bad that many people do actually wander around in a fog, searching for the handle of the nitrous bottle. Luckily for some of us, a quick twist of the right hand is all it takes, and then awaaaaaaay we go! We hang on tight, laughing all the way, knowing that we're leading a life that is more fun than that of the Avarage Joe's by an order of Magna-tude of ten or so. Or maybe it's an order of Sporstertude. One or the other.