Tosh Berman's Blog, page 222

July 8, 2014

July 8, 2014

For the last week, there have been odd things happening in my living room.  At first, it was a book I’m reading at the moment “The Principle of Hope” by Ernst Bloch, which I was sure I placed on the living room table, but found it in the next morning in the kitchen.  I just thought to myself that I more likely went to the kitchen and dropped it off there before going to sleep.   Then the next day I noticed that my chair, which usually faces the TV screen, was at a different angle, facing the front door.  Again, I thought that maybe I accidentally knocked against the chair, or perhaps I moved it to get around it.  But that was bizarre to me, because I rarely ever move my furniture around. I’m one of those people who like things to be placed in a certain position, and never ever change that position.  Then for sure I notice something very odd, in that I left my laptop on my dining room table, and when I woke up the computer was on the opposite side of that table.  I have a specific seat I like to sit on, facing the direction of my window, where I pretty much see the same things every day.  So how did my laptop move from one side of the table to the other?



Not only that I’m afraid, but not long ago I found a vinyl copy of “Ballet Méchanique” by George Antheil, and placed it on top of my turntable cover, to play it later.  Hours later I went to my turntable to play the record, and I found the cover on the top, but no vinyl inside.  It wasn’t till I open the record player lid and noticed that the record was on the turntable already - in fact it was side 2 of the record.   For sure, I didn’t open the album cover, and double-sure I didn’t place the record on the turntable itself.  Readers must keep in mind that I have been obsessing over my work lately, so I haven’t really paid that a great deal of attention to these mysterious ongoing situations around the house.



A couple of nights ago, I was awoken by a sound in the sound of the TV set in the living room.  When I got there I saw the image of “Peter Gunn” TV show, which I own the complete series on DVD, and was of course spooked.  I didn’t turn the set or DVD machine off, but checked the doors and windows around the house.  All normal, and I went back to the living room, and found the DVD packaging on the table, like where I would put it if I was watching it.  But the thing is I haven’t watched that specific DVD for a year now, and on top of that, my DVDs are on a wall shelf directly across the set and machine.  So how did that get there?

So yes, I notice how everything is changing in the front room.  A window would be open when I know for sure I didn’t open it myself, and again, objects on the table would be re-arranged or the furniture would be slightly changed.  I have two chairs and a couch surrounding the table, and both chairs were switched around.   I also have a blanket folded over a chair, mostly for visual sake than anything else, and what happened was that I fell asleep on the couch, and when I woke up, the blanket was on top of me.



So lately my life has been sort of like the book “Voyage Around My Room” by Xavier de Maistre, except in my room, the furniture and objects seem to have their own life.  Oddly enough I don’t think a spirit has entered my home, but more to the fact that the objects themselves have a soul or an identity.  It is not hostile to me personally, but like yours truly that has a definite taste, so does my living room furniture and the objects that live in that room.  When you touch a book or a used record, you can feel the presence of someone else or a life of that object as it radiates in one’s hand.  So, if one lives with objects, you must accept their temperament as well.

July 7, 2014

July 7, 2014

I was listening to Mahler’s 5th Symphony on my phone when I saw her walk into the almost empty restaurant.  The Yorkshire Grill was about to close, but she made it in just before the chef or cook closed his kitchen.   She ordered the avocado tomato lettuce sandwich, which ironically enough I was eating at the time.  Since there were but four other people sitting around the diner counter, I took my ear plugs out of my ear and commented to her “did I influence your choice of meal?” She smiled and told me, that she comes in here quite often and orders the same item on the menu.  I said “me too.” She was three seats away from me, and of course I just wanted to move closer to where she is eating, but I thought that was a tad creepy on my part.  She asked me what was I listening to before I spoke to her, and I told her a symphony by Mahler.   Out of the blue, she said “Oh I never heard his music, but I did see the Ken Russell film on him, that was kind of good.” Now I was intrigued.



“My name is Tosh, and I’m a huge Ken Russell fan.” I told her that I have seen every film by him, and liked them all, except for “Tommy.” Oddly enough both of us have seen and admire his early film, a documentary on Spike Milligan, with that common love, I could move closer to her seat at the counter.  Her name is Virginia and she told me that she took an interest in fashion, but was also an actress, and worked with a filmmaker named Henry Lehrman, and it was sort of her on and off boyfriend as well.  After our meal, we ordered coffee as the kitchen crew was cleaning up the restaurant.  She started talking about her life more, and that she wants to have her own line of clothes, but is also interested in acting.   She mentioned to me that when her mother died (doesn’t know her father) she moved in with her grandmother (doesn’t know her grandpa) and started work as an artist model.  She has done this off and on as well, and told me that she did her first full nude modeling job when she was 23.  I raised my eyebrow and she told me to “put that eyebrow down. It was strictly business and the class was full of housewives.” I told her that I would never underestimate the power of a housewife, especially with a brush in hand and in front of a canvas.



She asked what I did, and I told her that I was a publisher and writer, but my press is tiny, and my writing hasn’t been accepted by many.  “No one?”  “Afraid not, most people who read my writings, think I am too focused on myself.”

“Ah you’re a man of the world” she commented.

I told her “no, I only the know the planet of Tosh, which doesn’t go beyond this coffee counter or downtown.” At this point, we exchanged e-mail addresses, and she told me that she has to get back to her hotel in the area.  I asked her that I’m in the mood for a little stroll and if I could walk with her to the hotel.   She said sure, and we left the exit and headed east to Main where she was staying at the Hotel Cecil.  I asked her if she minded if we go to the Last Bookstore, which is sort of on the way.  Once we got there, I bought her a copy of my book, “Sparks-Tastic” and gave it to her.  She was amazed that I had a book out, and she wanted to know why I didn’t mention it in the first place.  I told her that I didn’t want to brag, but it was true that as a writer, I’m not famous, but….   She laughed “well I’m an actress, and I bet you don’t know any of my films.” I thought about it for a second or two, and said to her “Oh.” After purchasing the book I offered to sign it for her.  “What’s your full name Virigina?” Virginia told me that she will spell it out, because most people mispronounce her name, and it’s embarrassing to her.  “It’s R.A.P.P.E.  I looked at her and said “are you sure there’s two P’s there?” She hit me on the shoulder, and I wrote “To Virginia R.A.P.P.E., May we not forget this very brief meeting on July 7, 2014.  With the warmest regards, Tosh Berman.”



I walked her to the Hotel, and she mentioned that she is taking a plane tonight to San Francisco for a party, which may or may not play an important role in her career as an actress.  I asked her where she is staying in San Francisco, and she told me at the St. Francis, and I whistled and said “fancy.” She said she’s staying there, because there is a party tonight, but plan to leave the next day back to Los Angeles.  I told her to feel free to e-mail me once she’s back, and maybe we can go to a film or something.  We shook hands, and she entered the hotel and I walked towards Main to catch my bus back home.

July 6, 2014

July 6, 2014

Today being the first Sunday of the month, it’s record swap meet day at the Pasadena City College, but alas, I can’t go, due to my daily job of writing a journal entry everyday this year (2014).  I could have cheated by writing one last night, and posting it early in the morning, but that would be not fair to me or to my readers.  The truth is I’m pretty much defined by not only by my everyday writing here, but also my vast collection of books and records.  In fact, when I die, I want to make my collection to be a part of a museum - which now, I think it should be the “Museum of Tosh.” This of course will be organized after my death, which in all honesty, is probably around the corner.  Nevertheless it never is too early to plan one’s estate and how it should benefit the general public, or at the very least a definite percentage of that public.

If you put a money value to my collection, it will not be significant, but what is important is that it is very much a self-portrait.  In fact, I would argue that compared to a photograph of me, or a “selfie,” my collection totally exposes my concerns, my loves, my passion, and in other words, the total world that is “me” and only “me.” Therefore if I was going to leave anything on this planet after my spirit leaves the earth, it should be my book and record collection.  Not to be played or read really, but more to the fact that one can enter my house and look at the bookshelves and see how my albums are stacked in various parts of the house. What I have is not really rare in the sense of recording being in its original pressing, but more of the ‘taste’ factor in having such a record in my collection.  Also bear in mind the fact that I have only albums that have great graphics.  One thing I can’t stand is an album that looks bad in my collection.  The cover can be torn up, the recording scratched up, but it needs to be a really cool looking album cover at the very least.

I think I have around 1,000 albums, which is not a lot, but the art of my record collection is keeping the inventory low, and the quality high.  Records that were made in the early or mid-60s is a significant interest for me.  I only obtain albums that are mono, because I feel the artists that time only listened to the mono mix.  That was the format, and stereo was just for Hi-Fi goons.  When I play one of my mono albums, I imagine the artist hearing that record with me.  I actually transport myself to a definite time and place, with that musician hearing this music for the first time.



I have this obsession with The Shadows’ first bass player, Jet Harris.  You need to understand that music is not only for the ears, but also the eyes, and therefore it is important for me that the artist is either good looking, or at the very least, interesting appearance.  Jet is unique to me because he is sort of a lead bass player, and most important of all, he looked incredible.   I collect Shadows albums, but only if Jet was in the line-up.  Also he must be on the album cover as well. In all honesty, The Shadows made great recordings throughout their long career, but the ones that are the most interesting, of course, are the early years with Jet Harris.  For me it’s the matching suits, the dance steps, and the spare sound of their instruments that makes it the classic Shadows world.  Also note, Jet Harris had blonde hair, and the rest of the band had dark hair.   For a band which had such a strong uniformed look, it’s amazing that they allowed Jet to keep his blonde hair in this band.  I also feel the same way with Brian Jones in The Rolling Stones.  The fact that his hair was blonde, compared to the rest of the band, made Brian stand out.  It is ironic that when Jet and Brian left their bands, they were replaced by musicians who had dark hair.



With respect to the Pasadena Record Swap Meet, the two most interesting albums I purchased there, are now my most favorite recordings.  The first album I bought there was Liberace’s “Liberace At Home” that came out in 1956 and on the Columbia record label.  It’s a fascinating album because it is just Liberace and his piano, and I don’t know for sure if he recorded the album in his house, but it is a very intimate recording and warm sounding.  Also the album is kind of a dark pit in Liberace’s soul.  Songs like “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes,” “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows,” and “Solitude” are almost overwhelming in its ability to place the listener in a blue funk of despair, yet we need the poison to appreciate the beauty in life.  Without the darkness, there would be no light.



The second album of interest is “A Picnic Cantata, Sonata for Two Pianos” by piano players Arthur Gold and Robert Fizdale.   The interesting part of this album is side one, which “A Picnic Cantata” composed by Paul Bowles, with lyrics by the poet James Schuyler.  The album came out on Columbia Records in 1954, but only released in Canada for some odd reason.  I know very little of Bowles music, but he is one of my favorite prose writers, and I love Schuyler’s poetry.  So this purchase was a no-brainer for me, and I have to say it’s an incredible piece of music.  Lyrically it is about a group of women who have decided to go on a picnic, and that is basically it.  The fact that the narrative is like a straight line from beginning to end, is superb to me.  No highs and no lows.  Just one consistent hum with beautiful music by Bowles sang for three operatic singers.  Both albums are perfection and the fact that I bought two such classy recordings at an indoor parking lot in Pasadena makes it even more important to me

Although once I’m gone (really gone) I don’t think I’ll miss the lack of attention, but now that I’m living (at this time) it’s important that I get notice and attention.  Therefore the thought of the museum is extremely important to me.  Afterwards, probably wouldn’t be an issue.

July 5, 2014

July 5, 2014

Generally speaking there are two separate types of people on this planet, Hustler, and the hustled.  Or you can think of it as people who are leaders, and the rest are followers.  In most cases, it is a hustle, and I think America in general is really good at the hustle, and in fact it is a nation of hustlers.   This seems like a negative connotation, but in fact many hustlers are visionaries, in fact, I think most great writers and artists are hustlers.  It takes a special mind to look at a piece of paper, or even map, and plan out the narrative that is out there, and the hustler’s job is to make, and then sell that dream or art to the masses, or to even the few, who will appreciate that art.  Sadly people who go to work for a living are usually the hustled, where they don’t own or control their destiny.   Speaking on behalf of myself, I have been hovering somewhere between the hustled and the hustler.



The Hustle has been around since the dawn of time, but probably the first famous American hustler is P. T. Barnum.  The beauty of Barnum’s vision is that it was complete, where he made a world or a piece of the landscape that is total.  In 1841, he purchased Scudder’s American Museum and turned it into “Barnum’s American Museum.” All in one building you would have a zoo, museum, lecture hall, wax museum, theater, and of course a freak show.  He also filled the museum with dioramas, panoramas, cosmoramas, scientific instruments, modern appliances, a flea circus, a loom run by a dog, the trunk of a tree under which Jesus’ disciples sat, a hat worn by Ulysses S. Grant, an oyster bar,  a rifle range, taxidermists, phrenologists, pretty baby contests, Ned the learned seal, midgets, Chang and Eng the siamese twins, a menagerie of exotic animals, and the masterpiece without a doubt was the Feejee Mermaid (a mummified monkey’s torso with a fish’s tail).   Outside the building was almost as good as what was happening on the inside.  For the five story building he had illuminated panels, banners and flags that were lit all up with limelight.  He also had huge paintings of wild animals that were facing down the people on Broadway and Ann Street in New York City.  His other master stroke was to hire the worst musicians he can find and have them play on a balcony above the entrance.  The theory was that the horrible music being played would make the crowd go inside the building to get away from the noise.



Between 1841 and 1865, the museum attracted 38 million customers, each paying a quarter to get in, and remember the entire population of the United States at the time was around 32 million people.  So in other words, Barnum’s little museum was a gigantic success.  There is no mention or record of the writer Raymond Roussel going to the Barnum’s American Museum, but one would think he may have heard about it.  To go inside a structure or a piece of property where anything can happen, or to see the most amazing things.  I’m sure Barnum never looked himself as an artist, in fact, he was thinking about himself as a pure showman, but alas, what is it when a person creates a world of their own imagination?   And on top of that, to sell it to the masses.  On a certain level, Walt Disney did the same thing as Barnum, with his films and of course Disneyland - but I’m more amazed by Barnum’s over-the-top personality and the way he conveyed his sensibility on a large canvas which was his imagination.



The hustle part is getting the audience through one’s door to see the work that you made.   As I mentioned, there are two types of people on this planet.  But a hustler, there are various colors and types that make a hustler.  Leadership is one, but also thinks of one who first thought of building a nation.  Whatever it’s the United States, or Zionist’s Israel, it’s an act of imagination made into reality.  I’m never in-tuned to those who use the hustle for power or to cause misery in the neighborhood, but I greatly admire the artist, the con-(wo) man, and visionary who wants to build their own version of the world.

July 4, 2014

July 4, 2014
I can imagine what that boat trip with little Alice Liddell was like.  It seemed innocent enough, but that one little trip probably changed her life forever.  I remember Billy Gray telling me stories as a small child, of episodes from The Twilight Zone.  I saw the actual shows, but the way he told stories was way more effective, which means scary.  The thing is, I think Billy taught me lessons in narration.   Even though I knew how the story ended, it was the journey to the end of that narrative that was the most important to me.  So as I mentioned, I can understand why Alice was so entertained by the Reverend Charles Lutwidge Dodgson story, but what amazes me is the manner in which Dodgson, better known as Lewis Carroll came up with such a tale in such short notice. 


When Dodgson told the story to the three little girls on the boat - Alice and her two sisters, he was just trying to amuse them, perhaps out of their boredom of taking this specific boat trip from Folly Bridge near Oxford to the village of Godstow.  In fact, the story is about a bored young girl by the name of Alice.  I always felt that boredom have a role in creating and doing art.  Speaking for myself I find boredom as a great source of inspiration. When Alice requested Dodgson to write down the story, so she can have it, clearly gave him the idea of making a book.  Eventually Dodgson gave Alice the handwritten manuscript of “Alice’s Adventure Under Ground, ” with him doing the illustrations himself.  He inscribed to her “A Christmas Gift to a Dear Child in Memory of a Summer’s Day.” The version he gave to her was 15,500 words, but he went on to do another version of the narration that’s 27,500 words, where he added the Cheshire Cat and the Mad-Tea Party scene.  


The beauty of Dodgson’s work is how he mixed up the world of pure fantasy. Yet it was inspired by natural science.   In a way he must have been like Sherlock Holmes in figuring out the narrative by what was around him at the time.  Nature usually brings me nothing but dread, but here is a story that is based on a certain type of nature, that to my taste, is a perfect cocktail of a book.  The book works like a great Rube Goldberg machine, which is always elaborate machinery or system to do very simple things.  As a writer, I want to explore my world in such a fashion where I tear up my room and then put it back together again.  But of course, all under my power of observation, which is entirely subjective. 


The TV show “Twilight Zone” had a huge effect on me as a child.  It was the first time that I realized that there may be another sort of world out there, besides the one I’m living in or on.  Billy’s telling me of the stories from the TV show had a profound influence in how I perceived the landscape that lay in front of me.  If you dig around, or look at that world in a certain light, you may find another form of life or perhaps an entrance to another world.  I’m fascinated that the ‘other’ world of “Alice” was all underground.  I think here of the sky or above the sky as being endless, but how far down does the core of the earth go?  Surely it can’t be endless.  In my generation, it comes above, but perhaps in the era that Lewis Carroll lived in, the answer was placed under the ground.  I’m also intrigued by the thought that people when they die, are buried under the ground.  Does death and mad-Tea parties go hand-in-hand?



Alice Liddell appeared to have a long and rather normal life. Yet what must it have been like to be the model for one of the most eminent literary character of all time?  The only thing I can compare what I imagine is her oddness of seeing copies of those books in a bookstore, is seeing my father’s face on the Sgt. Pepper cover in gift shops.  It is part of me, but at the same time it has nothing to do with me.  It is the property of someone else.  Clearly I have an emotional sense of ownership of that image, and Alice was the spark that lead Dodgson to create his masterpiece.  Inspiration comes from all places, and once we know where it comes from, our lives are and will always be affected by the attention one gets that is not from us specifically, but being the son of the artist, and her being on that boat trip, changes everything. 

July 3, 2014

July 3, 2014

“Dear World, I am leaving because I am bored. I feel I have lived long enough. I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool. Good luck. (George Sanders). ” As a suicide note, it’s a good one.  There is a touch of humor as well as his words that seems very true to the man.  Or at least, as part of an audience, we think of the note being true, or we wish to assume that’s the case.  For Sanders, due to his bad health, he couldn’t play his grand piano anymore.  So he dragged the piano outside his residence, and smashed it with an axe.  Which also sounds perfectly like what we imagine George Sanders would do if one is to be found in such a situation of despair.



The much underrated Michel Polnareff, also suffered from moments or years of despair.  Although he never leaped into the great unknown, he had demons he had to cope with, and with respect to his dear friend, and a figure who helped discover him, Lucien Morisse who committed suicide by using a firearm.  This started a downward spiral that in moments of clarity he got out to record, but eventually would lose himself in self-seclusion.   He suffered from defective eyesight throughout his life, but his sunglasses, which are not only an iconic visual for Poinareff, but were also used to hide the pain that he felt everyday as a performer.



I’m always intrigued by entertainers who not only entertain us, but also owing to their lifestyle or the choices they made, we the consumers or fans, follow them, like if we were the children following the Pied Piper of Hamelin.   Or on the other hand, we condemn them for their actions, which in reality, we don’t really know them.  We just read or see them in broad strokes, and that feeds our fantasy or what we believe to be right or wrong. Tom Cruise always strikes me as a figure that almost doesn’t exist, except in the minds of those who feel the need to condemn or judge another figure - and in most cases, that figure is usually an entertainer of some sort.



From day one, Tom Cruise appears to be an institution than a human being.  Like Polnareff hiding behind his dark sunglasses, Cruise hides behind his smile, which can be creepy or appears to be ‘fake. ' Nevertheless the irony is that he’s a very good actor who can use his body and facial emotions to great effect.  I have seen him in terrible films, but I think he himself has always been good.  When he’s in an exceptional film, he’s excellent.  Almost bone-chilling, good in fact.  Yet, due to his beliefs, we judge his life and therefore that leads one to judge his role as an entertainer or performer. “Performance” is a world that is not touched by the outside world. Yet it can be based on the actual arena that’s out there.  When one comes to a movie theater or concert, they have perceived ideas of what or who that performer is, and sometimes that works out OK, and in other times, it is not so hot.  Yet, one cannot count out the skills of a George Sanders, Polnareff, or our own (dis) loved Tom Cruise.



Culturally, I think we are in a world of our own making.  A system is set up where one can’t really contribute to the landscape that we live on.  Superficially we can do certain things, but the power base will never change. Or the structure of that power.  Even if there is a revolution, it will only mirror the previous institutions or structure.  Over the years, reading Kafka, I discovered that one is placed in a situation that we feel we are on the front lines to secede, but in reality the carrot will be moved inch-by-inch and we will never be able to reach our goal.  So perhaps George Sanders is correct in his suicide note, or better yet, surviving one’s world such as Tom Cruise.



There’s the world and there is the landscape that we can operate in.  The best we can do is focus on what we know, and what we want to know.  To wake up as a giant bug is one sort of awareness, but it is really depends on one’s point-of-view or not.  I think chance has a lot to do with it.  Sanders took a chance, and lost.  Polnareff is playing with the cards he has in his hands, and Cruise, like his name, is trying to maintain a level that is extremely high, but perhaps bound to fail due to human nature on his part, and others.  But it could be much more, you can be Julian Assange, trapped in an embassy in London.  But then again, perhaps we all make our own prisons, and we allow ourselves to be “guests’ in the prisons of our own making.

July 2, 2014

July 2, 2014

Some years ago I used to work for the designer Pierre Cardin and he made me the “point” man in his affairs in the United States.  I was a very young “21” and this was my first really serious job.  I met Cardin at the Philippines Embassy in Los Angeles, where they threw a party for him for his redesign of the Barong Tagalog, which is their national costume.  President Ferdinand Marcos was a huge fan of Cardin’s work, and he commissioned him to carry out the redesign.  I was fortunate enough to be there because at the time I was in a romantic relationship with a girl from the Philippines, and due to her work at the Embassy she invited me as well.  Sad to say, the relationship didn’t last, but she did a huge favor for me, by introducing me to Pierre Cardin.



Cardin was amused at the time, because I wore a red shirt with a black suit, and he told me that my look was totally wrong for the reception at the Embassy.  He was correct at the time, because when I looked around all the men there were wearing tuxedos.  The women on the other hand were wearing his clothes.  It appeared that the President and his wife hired him to dress all the women who came to the embassy for this party.  It may have been a publicity event than anything else, but as usual, I sort of jump into the fire without checking how hot it was in the first place.  I think most people in my position would run out of the building or be embarrassed at the very least -, but I just shrugged my shoulders to him.  He found that funny, and he gave me his card to contact him if I care to work for him.



I did call him, and told me he is going to send me a ticket to Nice, France, for a meeting.  Once I made it to the airport, his driver picked me up and took me somewhere that wasn’t far from the beautiful beaches of southern France.   What I didn’t expect to see was his home.  It was very “Cardin.” I have heard and seen his clothes design and knew that he had an obsession with bubble shapes, but I was not prepared to see his home as a series of large bubbles.   The home is massive and it was designed (with Cardin of course) by Antti Lovag.  Every single room in the estate, including even the many closets) is round.  It made me dizzy to walk through one room after another.  On the other hand, Cardin is a very nice guy.  The job he offered to me was to serve as his assistant in the States.   I also made him laugh, because I wore exactly the same clothes that I wore for the party at the Embassy.   I said yes to the job, and flew back to Los Angeles the next day.



The oddest thing that happened in my new job as his assistant was being approached by Murry Wilson, who was the manager of The Beach Boys, as well as the father to the Wilson brothers.  He wanted Cardin to design matching outfits for the band, which in itself was strange, because at this time, it seemed they were running away from ‘any’ uniformed look - and I couldn’t imagine The Beach Boys wearing Cardin on stage or anywhere else for that matter. Nevertheless I did convey the news to Cardin, and surprise, surprise he was interested in the job.  Cardin never met Wilson nor talked to him directly - that was my job.  At first, the meetings I had with Wilson were slightly amusing, but it became a horror show as time dragged on.   At times, I wasn’t sure if he actually represented the boys (at this point and time they were actually men, I thought they should have changed their name to “The Beach Men.”) Nevertheless Cardin faxed me his drawings of his outfits for the band, and on a regular basis I would go to Murry’s office on Ivar, not far from the iconic Capital records building to show him the latest images from the master.  This went on for a whole year, where time-to-time I would be in contact with Wilson, but I could never get a commitment out of him.   I finally told Cardin that I think Murry will never commit to any of the designs, and on top of that, I wasn’t sure that he even represented the band anymore.   Cardin, I think was just amused by all of this, and I don’t even know if he actually heard a Beach Boys record.  His taste in music was more in line with Line Renaud, a French cabaret star, that he was sponsoring for a series of dinner shows at Maxims, which he purchased around the time when I had the series of meetings with The Beach Boys’ dad.



The last time I saw Cardin, was when he invited me (as well as sending me a plane ticket of course) to one of his new homes which is a castle that was once inhabited by the Marquis de Sade.  I was there for a week, when he called me in to his office that was once de Sade’s bedroom, to tell me that he had to let me go.  I didn’t even ask why, but I was just grateful for being employed and on top of that being associated with Cardin.   We shook hands, and I left for the airport the next day.  Once in a while I get a card from him. I attempted to get him to send an e-mail, but he can’t or won’t deal with that part of the world.   As for Murry Wilson, I did purchase his one and only album “The Many Moods of Murry Wilson, ” which for some reason I found it to be a very depressing listening experience.

July 1, 2014

July 1, 2014

The beauty of seeing my world outside my window is one thing, but I think everyone can agree that seeing that same view, but in the format of a 35mm projection, is much better.  I’m often disappointed with my sight, because I feel I’m missing depth of the image in front of me.  For instance, the beauty of a woman’s face, is much better photographed than actual sight.  I can’t speak for others, but I need the distance to appreciate a beauty, and that is where the camera comes in.  Actual death is never beautiful to me. The times when I have been near someone dying, it is painful to be a part of its presence. On the other hand, when Robert Mitchum kills Shelley Winters in “The Night of the Hunter, ” it's quite beautiful, especially when the corpse is floating in the bottom of the lake.  My goal in life is to separate my life from what is real and somehow turn it into a movie.  Or as I like to term it “projected life. ”



It seemed like a dream when the production of the film “The Subterraneans” came to San Francisco.  Or I should say the screenwriter and the star of the film Leslie Caron.  To soak up life in North Beach, Caron hung out at various coffee houses and bars to research her role as Mardou Fox.   My father met her at City Lights Bookstore, and brought her around to our house on Scott Street.  At the time I was four or five years old, and it was a Saturday night, and my parents wanted to go out.  They asked Leslie if she would mind to baby-sit me for the evening.  She accepted to do so.



As far as I know that was the last I saw Leslie Caron, and I have no memory of her presence and sadly there is no photograph of the two of us together.  More likely it was an unremarkable series of moments in her life.  Yet, to this day, I feel that I brushed against a time that doesn’t exist, but only in images from that place and time.  The nature of making a movie or a series of photographs is tantamount to capture what is not actually there, but what we ‘want’ to be there.  We all have our perceived idea what should be, but alas, in reality it usually comes short of our expectations.



My intention was to do good, but sometimes one meets someone down the road, or even in a train station, and that can draw one to a world not of our making.  Or perhaps it is?  I have been advised by a wise soul that there are no such things as an accident.  Everyone wanders aimlessly but eventually one confronts fate, and it is inescapable to avoid that landscape, that is pure poison.



With respect to film viewing I go back to Alice Guy, who was the first woman filmmaker, and headed her own studio as well.  One can imagine what she saw, but like a farmer who chooses what is ripe to pick, and well, the rest has to be dismissed.  Finding the image, the right image, is the art.  The fact it is in front of you, does not make it an art.  I can only cope in this world, if I have the ability to edit out certain aspects of my memory.  Leslie Caron and I spent time together.  I have no memory of Leslie Caron.

"Foam of the Daze" and "Mood Indigo" (Lécume des jours) by Boris Vian

Out of curiosity and pleasure (of course) I read the two English language translations of Boris Vian's "L´ecume des jours that is now out on the market.  "Mood Indigo" was translated in 1967 by Stanley Chapman, and my edition (TamTam Books) was translated about ten years ago.  The Brian Harper translation is called "Foam of the Daze."   The original Chapman edition was called "Froth on a Daydream."  Both translated titles are good, and tricky, due to the poetic title that is "L'´ecume des jours."   The edition published by FSG is called "Mood Indigo" to tie in with film by Michel Gondry, which for some odd reason they're naming it after the original American translation that came out in the 60s as well and published by the great Grove Press.  The title "Mood Indigo" is puzzling, because one, the song "Mood Indigo" is not mentioned at all in the book nor film as far I can remember.  Although the song is co-written by the great Duke Ellington, who for sure has an important presence in the Vian book.  There are numerous mentions of the song by Ellington called "Chloe, which is an incredible piece of music, but also one of the main characters in the novel is named after the song.
Besides that point, both translations of the Vian novel reads very well.  The reasons why I didn't use Chapman's translation was that I felt that it needed a new and fresh translation, and Brian Harper, an American who lives in Paris, kept all the ingredients that makes the book great.

the actor Robert Hutton who Vian based the character (at least visually) "Colin" on.
Chapman is a tad playful with his translation, which is OK, but it really bugs me when he describes the main character Colin as a "fair-headed Jean Bellpull Rondeau in a film by Jacques Goon Luddard."  In the original French edition of the book, as well as in Harper's (TamTam Books) "Foam of the Daze the character is described as the blond actor who plays the role of Slim in "Hollywood Canteen."  The role "Slim" is played by actor Robert Hutton.  So that was the visual image that Vian had in mind with respect to Colin.   Also keep in mind that Lécume des jours was written and published in 1947.   The film made by Jean-Luc Godard (Jacques Goon Luddard) was shot in 1959, and came out in France in 1960.  One of the other characters in the book is named Alise, but for whatever reasons Chapman re-titled her name as "Alyssum" in "Mood Indigo (Froth on a Daydream).   Alyssum I believe to be a type of flower, so Chapman may have used her name as a pun, with respect to the plants and flowers that are listed in the book.   Another example of Chapman playing with a name is the cookbook that Colin's chef/friend uses throughout the book that was written in the 19th century.  Jules Gouffé is known as a great chef, and his cookbook from the 19th century is very well-known in France.   In "Mood Indigo" the chef's name is "ffroydde," which I don't fully understand if it is a pun.  So, Chapman plays with titles and names throughout the book, yet, his narrative style is very good.  I just question his choices of names and titles, when they are clearly stated in the original French text by Vian.

 Also "Foam of the Daze" is based on the 1994 French edition prepared by Gilbert Rybalka and Michel Rybalka.  With endnotes by those gentlemen as well as by its translator Brian Harper.   Brian also wrote a beautiful introduction to his translation.  Also interesting to note, is that Chapman who is British, for sure has his national language in "Mood Indigo," while "Foam of the Daze" is very much American English.   A slight difference, but it's interesting to note that.  Vian had an appreciation for British literature (for instance Nicolas is based partly on P.G. Wodehouse's Jeeves) but yet, I feel that American English is the proper language use in Vian's translated works in English - especially with respect to his Vernon Sulllivan novels which takes place in America - which ironically enough, Vian never visited the States.    In the nutshell it is a lot of fun to read both translations side-by-side, and its easy to do, due to the fact that the chapters are short and concise.   Movie or no movie, it is great that the Stanley Chapman translation is out - and without a doubt "L'écume des jours is an excellent book - wharever it is translated by Chapman or Brian Harper - it's a classic and it reads well in  (both translated versions) in English.

June 30, 2014

June 30, 2014

I have been a member of the Scriblerus Club since January 1, 2014.  We see each other once a month to write, think, and to be honest, to drink.  We have been working on a book “The Memoirs of Martinus Scribierus.” for the past six months, and so far, it is going pretty smoothly.  “Martinus Scribierus” is a combination of yours truly and two additional characters by the name of Johnny Gay and Johnny Swifty.  I met them at Brand Books in Glendale, in the literary bio section of that store.   So far, we have meetings at that location after the store closes at 8:00 pm. We have done this on a consistent basis since New Year’s Day.



My contribution to the meeting is usually two bottles of Charles Shaw, a jar of mild salsa, and corn chips.  The Johnnies (that is exactly what I call them) usually bring just themselves, due to their financial situation which is not so hot.  One of the Johnnies works there, and with permission from the owner, he could have our regular sessions at the Brand.  The only rule is that we have to turn off the lights. Therefore not use any electricity in the building.  So the Johnnies supply candles and matches for our meetings.  To get inspiration for “The Memoirs of Martinus Scribierus, ” we often talk about our favorite literary memoirs.   Not exactly “literary” but I always admired Errol Flynn’s “My Wicked Wicked Ways, ” mostly for the title and the fact that you can’t really trust the information that he’s supplying in his book.  We all agreed that our memoir should follow his path, and therefore a great chance that this book will be seen and read as a masterpiece.



Since we don’t have any electricity, we can’t play music or show any films - which is a major part of our meetings.  We’re all film geeks, and what we do, in placement of showing a film, we discuss the plots of our favorite film works in great detail.  For instance, the last meeting I told the Johnnies about a film made in 1947 called “T-Men, ” which is a semidocumentary style film noir about two U.S. Treasury agents who go undercover in an attempt to break a counterfeiting ring.   It’s a very exciting piece of work, and I enjoyed playing out all the roles in the film.  I became quite skilled in using my hands to express the tale, and with the shadows cast by the lighted candle it looked pretty cool.  I guess what we were doing is sort of a primitive version of cinema.  

Only once was our meeting disrupted by the presence of the Glendale police.  They drove by and noticed the flickering of the lighted candles through the large windows facing Brand Bouvelard.  Luckly Johnny could contact the owner, and he over the telephone, cleared up the whole matter with the local police.   The book is nearly finished, and to protect the innocent, we’re going to make the memoir look like it was published in London, sometime in the 18th century.  But if one reads it, the narrative clearly takes place in 21st Century Glendale.

The two Jonnnies and I will stop and disband the club on December 31, this year.   The bookstore’s owner is retiring, and we felt it would be appropriate to retire as well.  The memory of the bookstore will last as long as the Glendale citizens and elsewhere, keep a memory of the store itself, but also anyone who owns or reads “The Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus.” Culture doesn’t die, it just moves in the shadows of a flickering candle light.