As I write this, Glenn Beck is out on the Lincoln Memorial. He’s probably crying because he’s so inspired by himself. He doesn’t make me mad. Poor guy, you know? I actually wish, a little bit, that I could have a quiet, kind conversation with him. See, Bill O’Reilly’s my boy, because he knows more or less what he’s doing, but Glenn has no idea. He believes everything he says. He just goes out there and talks about America like it’s Jesus and weeps and weeps. Good luck, reality: you’re up against Glenn Beck’s Belief (possible band name?). This week is about something Glenn is really good at: forgetting. He forgets history: American history, world history, his own life. He forgets what he said. (In the calm conversation we would have, I’d tell him not to be such an easy target for Jon Stewart.) America forgets too, of course; Glenn Beck is an American figure precisely because America forgets (if it ever knew). See, I never learned about the Weathermen in high school. It took a movie. The Weather Underground, directed by Sam Green and Bill Siegel, is a documentary for days when Glenn Beck parades around the Lincoln Memorial.
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Things fall out of my head all of the time.  Where I put the keys.  Where I put my wallet.  A phone number.  The name of a film.  I try to look out for a future version of myself who will eventually forget something, and I make lots of lists.  This is the list about the forgetting. Short term memory loss. Long term memory loss.  Selective memory.  Inattention.  Amnesia.  Collective forgetting.  Never forgetting.  Elephants never forgetting.  Trying to forget.  Forgetting fears.  Forgetting things.  Forgetting someone.  Forgetting Sarah Marshall.  Forgetting about Dre.  Forgetful Jones.  Forget Paris.  Forget-me-nots.  Fear of forgetting.  Fear of forgetting anniversaries and birthdays. Forgiving & forgetting.  Forgetting and aging.  Forgetfulness.  Being forgotten.  Being The Forgotten.  The end of forgetting.  The Book of Laughter and Forgetting. So, what else am I forgetting? Image credits:  alexis mire
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New Orleans, circa 1935. Canal Street, with its bustling shoppers and rushing business workers, chosen to forever serve as the border between the European charms of the French Quarter and the tall business buildings and statue-guarded city buildings of the Central Business District. Even in the midst of the depression, people walk to and fro with places to go, things to spend their money on. But to me this street on this particular day meant only one thing: a way back to where I belonged. I rushed past the hoards of people, followed closely by the clown. (I feel like I should call him something else, something more fitting now that I've remembered who he is, but the fact is he doesn't have a name. And in my defense, he is dressed like a clown. I'd have to remember to ask him about the whole dressing-up-like-a-clown thing.) I felt my wrist start to twitch. “Not yet!” I said. “This sub-entry just started!” “It's not ending,” said the clown, stopping to look into the sky. “Something's coming.”
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accidents happen. and then they keep happening.
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I had a nightmare the other night. I was making fried eggs, over medium. The slightly runny kind that leave a little yolk sauce behind, perfect for soaking up with buttered bread. In my dream I was eating the delicious eggs, enjoying them. All of the sudden, I became deathly ill. In the dream it wasn’t just me that became ill, hundreds of people everywhere where falling ill from runny eggs! Which brought to mind a favorite movie of mine, Like Water for Chocolate/ Como Agua Para Chocolate. The protagonist, Tita, has a profound connection with food. So deep that when she cries tears of sorrow for her one true-love, into her sister wedding cake, it has quite an effect on the wedding guests who enjoy it. I know it’s six minutes long and in Español but trust me, it’s a nightmare worth watching. I am begining to think that this romantic disorder could be real and not just a fictional, dramatic story.  If sorrow and terror  travel through this woman and her food, could they in fact  travel through hens and their eggs to make us sick?  Maybe it’s not salmonella infecting the eggs after all…. Who knows? Until we find out, stick
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Do you sleep with the light on? Maybe it’s time to take a page from ancient Japanese cultures by invoking Baku, the Eater of Dreams. This creature can transform the most terrifying nightmares–of natural disasters, falling, or being chased by a maniaK–into good fortune by special request. Just recite the following phrase before bed: ‘Devour, Oh Baku! Devour my evil dream!’ Or you can just turn that light off and let the K Team lead you bacK into the darK with this dreamy song. Photo by Kathryn O’Shields-Blackman 2010
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Everyone. Welcome to the best song of the summer of 2010.
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1 part brandy 1 part triple sec 1 dash bitters 1 part Irish cream Preparation: Mix all ingredients, except for Irish cream, in a cocktail shaker filled with ice; strain into chilled cocktail glass, pour Irish cream on top. Proceed to ask anyone nearby what they think the unidentified floating object is in the glass. When they don’t know what is, tell them it’s some sort of unexplained cocktail phenomenon and hush anyone who starts to speak the words “Irish cream”. You don’t want the secret getting out. Remember that Chicago O’Hare UFO sighting from 2007? Yeah, me neither. Thing is, I heard about it the other day on The Colbert Report, and was somewhat interested in what actually went down. Being the lazy drunk I am, I got up to make another cocktail and totally forgot about it. But now I read that a video was released. I can’t find that video anywhere. Most of you are probably wondering to yourselves whether or not there really was a UFO or, if you’re like the FAA and United Airlines, it’s just a weather phenomenon. Why would all the videos of a weather phenomenon be removed due to copyright issues? Money?
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after all this talking about nightmares how can we go to sleep? well I have a tested cure (tested on animals and vegetables) this un-nightmare can be taken before or after a nighmare (don’t think about what you have under the bed)
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If I wrote a political column worth its salt, I’d use this week’s theme — nightmares — to talk about the upcoming electoral season. After all, the word night-mares could be tweaked to mean “dark horses,” and I’d use that play on words as a jumping off point for a post about the candidates who might do surprisingly well at the polls. If that interests you, may I suggest fivethirtyeight.com? But on to the column that I wrote … Someone who I presume is much smarter than I am wrote that “the purpose of government from an economic perspective is to provide a legal framework that allows individuals to transact through markets.” Being the narcissist that I am, I interpret that to mean that “the purpose of government is to encourage me to buy a flat-screen high-definition television set.” And, in that sense, my recent foray into consumer culture was a– shit, what do you call it? It’s the opposite of a double-rainbow … That’s right, a double-nightmare. Let’s make short work of the first part of the nightmare, shall we? That is, having a television in the first place, which is upsetting in its own right. I hate having to
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