Monday, February 18, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
COLUMN: The Less Said the Better
By Tobin BarnesSorry, this is my feeling-lazy column.
But I also have to say it’ll be one of my best columns because the material does all the heavy lifting.
Anyway, here’s the opening thought: Shakespeare said through his character Polonius, “Since brevity is the soul of wit, let me be brief”—which, in itself, is very witty. (Hey, that Shakespeare was pretty good, huh?)
And that’s what we’re talking about today: brevity.
In my wanderings through cyberspace, I’ve run across this book titled “Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs by Authors Famous and Obscure” by Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser.
The premise of the book is to write a memoir in only six words, as in “Not Quite What I Was Planning,” which would probably fill the bill for most of us. After all, as John Lennon prophetically said, “Life is what happens while you are making other plans.”
In our attention-deficit-disordered society, six-word books will work quite well for all too many of us, whereas ten-word quotes by ex-Beatles might prove a tad cumbersome.
Nevertheless, six words can say a lot about a person’s life. Remember Julius Caesar’s roundup? “I came. I saw. I conquered.”
So take for example, “Nobody cared, then they did. Why?”
Or, “I was a Michael Jackson impersonator.” Sounds like a tale of woe.
One of my favorite mini-memoirs is “Most successful accomplishments based on spite.” Motivational speakers should grab onto this concept.
On the warm and fuzzier side, there’s “Cursed with cancer. Blessed by friends” and “I still make coffee for two.”
Of course, the brevity might be all-too-easily inspired by simplicity, as in “No wife. No kids. No problems.”
Admittedly, some of the memoirs are more along the lines of “What the heck is that about?” Take for example writer Amy Sedaris’s enigmatic “Mushrooms. Clowns. Wands. Five. Wig. Thatched.” You’ll need Sherlock Holmes or perhaps Sigmund Freud for those.
As reviewers of the book have mentioned, “Not Quite What I Was Planning” is addictive, making for the perfect book to leave lying around and picking up at odd (really odd?) moments. The reviewer for Vanity Fair said, “Will thrill minimalists and inspire maximalists.”
All this started when the online magazine SMITH asked its readers to imitate Ernest Hemingway’s attempt to prove that a big story can be told in few words when he wrote, "For Sale: baby shoes, never worn." The online magazine was swamped with 11,000 submissions from humble and noble writers alike. And that’s what led to the book.
Here’s some more from the book, chosen by an Amazon blogger:
“Brought it to a boil. Often.”—famous chef Mario Batali
“Revenge is living well. Without you.”—novelist Joyce Carol Oates
“Wasn’t born a redhead; fixed that.”—Andie Grace
Other reviewers have noted that these six-word memoirs often coax readers to come up with their own six-word summations. The above same Amazon reviewer came up with these:
“Always somewhere nearby, reading a book.”
“Too comfortable to do anything important.”
“Bloomed late, but got it right.”
And his friend contributed:
“Simple mind, simple pleasures, complex path.”
“Landed a dream job: Ben’s Dad.”
So what would your six-word memoir be?
Monday, February 11, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
COLUMN: Most of What We Don't Know is Mythical
By Tobin BarnesAnd we thought we had education issues here in the good old USA.
Evidently, one heck of a lot of Britons have also been left behind. Way behind. Especially when it comes to history, or maybe even common knowledge.
According to a French news agency’s report from London, nearly a quarter of the population of Great Britain thinks Winston Churchill is a mythical figure.
Can you believe it? (And please, please don’t be thinking, “Winston who?”)
UKTV Gold television surveyed 3,000 Britons to inform us about their state of misinformation.
Reportedly, forty-seven percent of Brits also think Richard the Lionheart is mythical, but maybe that’s a little more understandable. Knights and all that rot, you know. Storybook stuff, what?
But Winston Churchill? Mythical?
That’s not even an educational gap, really; that’s just plain old head-in-the-sand dumb.
Many would ascribe Great Britain’s salvation from the Nazi menace in WWII to his stirring speeches and indomitable spirit: the V for victory sign, the ubiquitous black derby hat and the jaunty cigar.
Who knows? Maybe Great Britain’s beleaguered last stand, inspired by Churchill’s dogged example, saved our country’s bacon, too.
But has “Who can forget?” now become “Who can remember?”
How could such a momentous leader, one of the two or three greatest people of the 20th Century, be so quickly marginalized? Or even worse, fictionalized?
Well, the educational exasperation doesn’t end there. Florence Nightingale is right there with Churchill. Yes, like Churchill, 23% of Britons think she’s also some author’s creation. (But at least she’s got a fictional-sounding name.)
And Mahatma Gandhi’s name is prominently in the top ten list of mythical people, too. On the other hand, some thought a great writer must have made up Charles Dickens.
But that’s not all to make you wonder what the heck’s going on.
A whopping fifty-eight percent of Britons thought Sherlock Holmes really existed, for crying out loud. Not much deduction going on there, eh Watson? Though certainly Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is smiling in his grave knowing that he’d created a more realistic character than Winston Churchill.
All this makes me wonder what some Americans are misconstruing about our history—even our recent history.
For example, is Richard Nixon real or fictional or even mythological? That is, to the cross-section of our citizenry.
After all, how could we have had a president who resembled a swarthy hitman when looks are so important in our society? And someone had to have made up that CREEP outfit, right, and given him that Tricky Dick nickname? Besides, Presidents don’t swear like sailors and spy on their political opponents, do they?
Someone had to have made up all that stuff.
Just like someone must made up that stuff about another of our President’s having a nickname like Slick Willy and getting impeached because he hadn’t been forthright about his hanky panky. But whoever is forthright about their hanky panky? Certainly not numerous other presidents.
All that’s gotta be fictional, doesn’t it?
And how about when we invaded a country because it had nuclear weapons and a mouthy dictator, except it didn’t—the nuclear weapons, anyway. That’s mythical, too, right?
How tens of thousands of people have died in that misbegotten conflict, and we’re still spending money like oil sheiks on the mess. Looks like it’s heading toward a trillion dollars, easy. But nobody knows when it’ll be over or what we will have accomplished when it is, but some think we oughta keep doing it because it’d be even worse if we don’t.
Wowsa.
If only all this were mythical, like Winston Churchill and Richard the Lionheart. Stuff we could forget because it’s not real.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Latest Monologues
 clipped from laughlines.blogs.nytimes.com
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Latest Monologues
 clipped from laughlines.blogs.nytimes.com
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Sunday, February 3, 2008
COLUMN: It's Not Over Till It's Over
By Tobin BarnesAs I write, the TV writers are still striking.
Kind of a shame really. But on the other hand, must be nice for the strikers--in a way.
Go on stike and other people notice. Doesn’t happen to everybody. Yeah, their audience’s lives aren’t the same since they stopped writing.
Only thing is, viewers were mostly watching yada yada before the strike, and since then, they’re still watching yada yada. I know some would like to have their old yada back, but many others don’t mind the new yada. Could care less about the old yada.
I, for one, have been watching “Seinfeld” reruns. That’s always been pretty good yada.
Anyway, so it goes.
Much of the stuff we watch isn’t worth watching, while much of the stuff that’s worth watching, nobody watches.
But what are you going to do? Like Yogi Berra, the great Yankee catcher and sometime manager, said, “If people don’t want to come to the ball park, how are you going to stop them?”
So I don’t know about those striking writers. I suppose a lot of them are pretty good, and our culture might be suffering somewhat while they’re grumping about not getting their fair share. (Like who does, other than those who get way too much?)
But maybe writing’s not that big a deal, especially as practiced on some TV shows. Sometimes you’d think almost anybody could do it.
That’s where Yogi Berra comes back in. He could oftentimes be a great writer, and he wasn’t even trying. Matter of fact, that was his beauty, if the word “beauty” could be applied to a Yogi, especially that Yogi.
Yogi’s wife Carmen must have been continually entertained through the years (that is, if she managed to maintain a certain light-hearted frame of mind).
Here’s an example. Supposedly Carmen once asked him, “Yogi, you are from St. Louis, we live in New Jersey, and you played ball in New York. If you go before I do, where would you like me to have you buried?”
Yogi replied, “Surprise me.”
And, of course, it must be a continual surprise as to what next will come out of his mouth.
Another time Carmen said, “I took Tim (one of their sons) to see Doctor Zhivago today.”
Yogi replied, “What the hell’s wrong with him now?”
But then as Yogi says, “I really didn’t say everything I said.”
Who cares? If it sounds like Yogi, it’s Yogi. And stuff that sounds like Yogi is way better than most of what a trainload of regular writers could write. Besides, his stuff’s not only funny, you get depth as well. As in, “If you don't know where you’re going, chances are you will end up somewhere else.”
Yeah, that’s almost Einsteinian.
And how about: “We have a good time together, even when we’re not together.”
Kinda Zen-like, right?
“You should always go to other people’s funerals,” Yogi says. “Otherwise they won’t come to yours.” No doubt.
Here’s some other wise pieces of advice:
“I knew I was going to take the wrong train, so I left early.”
And “Never answer an anonymous letter.”
Of course, sometimes his pronouncements are just plain dumb, but endearing nonetheless. These are my favorites:
“Nobody goes there anymore. It’s too crowded.”
“You mean now?” (When asked for the time.)
“The future ain’t what it used to be.”
“You better cut the pizza in four pieces. I’m not hungry enough to eat eight.”
“I wish I had an answer to that, because I’m tired of answering that question.”
“I don’t know, I’m not in shape yet.” (When asked what size cap he wanted.)
“Steve McQueen looks good in this movie. He must have made it before he died.”
And every man’s favorite: “We’re lost, but we’re making great time!”
(The above Yogi Berra quotes are from funny2.com, where you can find many more.)
THE ETHICIST: Much About History
I continue to marvel at how dead-on Cohen is on these ethical questions.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Latest Monologue Lines as Gathered by the New York Times
Aired on CBS: Anybody see the Republican debate last night? Nasty, nasty debate. At one point, Mitt Romney got so upset, so agitated, so worked up, that his hair cracked.
Mitt Romney doesn’t look like a president. He looks like a ring master.
Mitt looks like a guy wearing a golf shirt in an Eddie Bauer catalog.Aired on NBC: As you know, the Republican race is now down to McCain and Romney. Interesting two guys. You got the guy who spent five years in a prison camp versus the guy who spent five years in the tanning booth.
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