Archive for June, 2009
So, I’m seriously considering heading down to the paint store and getting them to run a color-match on the organ sound in this song, because I think I want to paint it on every wall of our house. I expect it won’t look quite right until it accumulates a couple decades of nicotine grime, but I’m willing to play the long game here.
Somebody else post something, please. I’ve read all my stuff already. I need something new to read.
Found the following attempt at humor pretty typical, and am attaching my letter of response. I’m not giving the name of the friend who copied it to me (from something a friend sent that person), because I am quite certain no insult was intended. I don’t care whether you side with my detractors. I just feel this sort discourse deserves wider exposure.
And I did, in the heat of the debate, commit one untruth. I HAVE driven a $60,000 car. Just never bought one or owned one.
At about the same time my son-in-law and I were watching, for the first time, Kill Bill, the second half, the scene where Bill finally gets it from the Five-Palmed Strike Point or whatever, David Carradine was dying in Bangkok.
Don Harington, the great novelist, is in the hospital with pneumonia and a broken hip. If you’ve read his novels and admired them (and I frankly do not see how you could read them and not admire them), you might wish to send him a note at kimharington
at sbcglobal.net. Kim is his wife and will deliver the messages. If you don’t know what to say, put yourself in his place: You suffer from diabetes, in the last ten years you’ve had throat cancer, a broken ankle from a disastrous auto accident, a broken hip, pneumonia twice, you can’t eat or drink (because of the throat surgery), but have to take glucerna several times a day, and although you are one of the most brilliant and beautiful writers this country has ever had, all your life you have been routinely neglected in favor of fakes, frauds, wannabes, also-rans, incompetents, and suck-ups.
Not that you have to address all of that. Hell, one line will do. Just tell the man what his writing means to you. Just say something, anything.
This culture is so obsessed with the new that we neglect the true achievers. Harington’s not just some factory process to produce stories. He’s a human, and right now a human in pretty serious trouble. He could use a bit of encouragement.