Max Beerbohm on Hosts and Guests
I am one of the guests. You are, however, so shocked that you will read no more of me? Bravo! Your refusal indicates that you have not a guestish soul. Here am I trying to entertain you, and you will not be entertained. You stand shouting that it is more blessed to give than to receive. Very well. For my part, I would rather read than write, any day. You shall write this essay for me. Be it never so humble, I shall give it my best attention and manage to say something nice about it. I am sorry to see you calming suddenly down. Nothing but a sense of duty to myself, and to guests in general, makes me resume my pen. I believe guests to be as numerous, really, as hosts. It may be that even you, if you examine yourself dispassionately, will find that you are one of them. In which case, you may yet thank me for some comfort. I think there are good qualities to be found in guests, and some bad ones in even the best hosts.
From “Hosts and Guests” (1918) by Max Beerbohm. Collected in And Even Now (1920). [I've lifted this passage from the Gutenberg Project version of the essay, as transcribed from the February 1921 printing of the edition.]
Overheard
“His wife had taken their two children to the Alamo so he called me.”
Nous volons des banques.
“How you? This here’s Miss Sheila Ryan. I’m Alek Lindus.
“We rob banks.”
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I am but mad north by northwest
Not a flux transfer event, but brief, bursty and very dynamic nonetheless.
De La Spam
possessive. enlargement remarkable cobweb discrepancies . . .
Can you dig it?
A Portland Moment
Or so my Portland friend characterized it.
Last Sunday all of the old folks had spilled out of the concert hall after the symphony orchestra’s matinee, and they were walking to their cars — guardedly, as this was, after all, downtown. Street people, you know.
And my friend was walking behind a gaggle of elders when what should appear on the near horizon but the ultimate nightmare — five or six scruffy black-clad ruffians, droogy-looking guys in their twenties and early thirties.
Fear and trembling.
And just as the one party passed the other, with perfect timing, one of the ruffians said to another, “Well, I hope ya don’t think I only wanted ta eat her pussy ’cause I wanted ta score another bag offa her.”
Sheila
We watched Withnail & I tonight, having put it in our queue based on comments you made about it.
Thank you.
I find cauliflower infinitely more beautiful than the rose.
Let Them Count Houses
In which Christopher Hitchens questions the tumbrelicity of certain political remarks:
I count myself as something of an expert on what writer Joyce Cary once called “tumbrel remarks.” A tumbrel remark is an unguarded comment by an uncontrollably rich person, of such crass insensitivity that it makes the workers and peasants think of lampposts and guillotines. I can give you a few for flavor. The late queen mother, being driven in a Rolls-Royce through a stricken district of Manchester, England, said as she winced at the view, “I see no point at all in being poor.” The Duke of St. Albans once told an interviewer that an ancestor of his had lost about 50 million pounds in a foolish speculation in South African goldfields, adding after a pause, “That was a lot of money in those days.” The Duke of Devonshire, having been criticized in the London Times, announced in an annoyed and plaintive tone that he would no longer have the newspaper “in any of my houses.”
from the kottke
If you want to be famous, you have to do whatever you’re doing worse than anyone else in the whole world.
Gmail Chat Nugget (20 August 2008)
Amanda Mae: You know you sound like a crazy person, right?
Sheila: Oh, yes. It’s all part of the persona.
Amanda Mae: It’s totally working.
Words To Live By
Robert Downey, Jr., in the current issue of Rolling Stone:
As long as I don’t forget the past, I’m cool. One must always be mindful, just like you might forget that old girlfriend who tried to slit your throat, but she’s really still hot. If you remember the stiches more than you remember the pussy, you’re going to be just fine.
Mary Carillo is Wonderful
Olympic Commenter Mary Carillo is sort of saucy and wonderful.
She has also long been known for her quick wit and pointed sense of humor. During her playing days, she was once asked whether she thought Renée Richards, a transsexual, should be allowed to play on the women’s pro tour. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Carillo said. “So what if she’s Jewish?”
Design Q&A with Charles Eames
Q: What are the boundaries of Design?
“What are the boundaries of problems?”
How to Become a Writer
“First, try to be something, anything, else. A movie star/astronaut. A movie star/missionary. A movie star/kindergarten teacher. President of the World. Fail miserably. It is best if you fail at an early age–say, fourteen. Early, critical disillusionment is necessary so that at fifteen you can write long haiku sequences about thwarted desire. It is a pond, a cherry blossom, a wind brushing against sparrow wing leaving for mountain. Count the syllables. Show it to your mom. She is tough and practical. She has a son in Vietnam and a husband who may be having an affair. She believes in wearing brown because it hides spots. She’ll look briefly at your writing, then back up at you with a face blank as a doughnut. She’ll say: ‘How about emptying the dishwasher?’ Look away. Shove the forks in the fork drawer. Acccidentally break one of the freebie gas station glasses. This is the required pain and suffering. This is only for starters.”
(via GracefulFlavor)
Senator John McCu*t
Why isn’t this piece of 1992 McCain history being Reverend Wright-ed all over TV and the headlines?
(video via Cyn-C)
Amy feels
you are only allowed one quote in your signature file.
Hitch
Oh, and I do not “profess” to despise religious extremists. I really do despise them.
From “Just one question,” The Guardian, May 27, 2008. Part of a longer piece in which luminaries at The Guardian Hay festival ask each other questions. The full classic Hitchens comment is after the jump.
Cheneyhenge
Best. Gothamist post. Ever. By John Del Signore:
Dick Cheney Visit to Neutralize Tonight’s Manhattanhenge
Manhattanhenge, the visually stunning phenomenon that occurs twice a year when the sun sets in perfect alignment with Manhattan’s street grid, is happening tonight. It’s just too bad that Vice President Dick Cheney has arranged to be in town at the exact moment of the sunset, to speak at the New York Republican State Committee Dinner and simultaneously smother the golden light under his all-encompassing shroud of darkness.
Of course it’s no coincidence that the famously secretive Cheney would time his visit to Manhattan to coincide with Manhattanhenge – he’s long been devoted to ensuring the triumph of darkness over light; as he once told Tim Russert, “We also have to work, though, sort of the dark side, if you will.” So don’t be alarmed when tonight’s sunset is suddenly eclipsed by a frigid black miasma – that’s just Cheney taking the podium . . .
The hour approacheth. I’m scared.
Too Hip for Words
“Any place that is too hip for words is too hip for me,” replied Cooper.
Acting…
You know … acting is not very difficult, once you know how to do it…. And that’s … so beautiful, because you can say that about anything: It’s not difficult, once you know how.
McKean’s Law at work
I was just searching the archives to see if a particular link had already been posted (it had), when I came across this perfect comment, on a post about eggcorns:
You’ve managed to totally bung up two seperate idioms in one sentance. You say “by enlarge”, and “manner from heaven”… the correct set of figures of speech which you’re attempting to use are “by-and-large” (an old nautical term, meaning everything in view), and “mana from heaven”, (mana being a biblical food provided to the Isrealites in the desert in the book of exodus.
Said comment is not only a shining example of a completely missed joke, but also a virtual love song to McKean’s Law, aka Skitt’s Law, which states, “Any correction of the speech or writing of others will contain at least one grammatical, spelling, or typographical error.”
Let’s just savor this moment again. Thank you, well-meaning but not terribly perceptive Tim, for brightening my afternoon!
Catch phrase for a beautiful day
“Wiffle ball beefcake party.”
Dog day mornings
“It’s enough to conclude that it’s learning, however late, to think of a day as connected in some way to what went on during the one previous, and what will on the one following, rather than treating one, as I have for years and years, as something to pad with distractions and microscopic achievements until it’s time once more to wage war with sleep.”
From the comments
People have distinct flavors and smells — not literally, but in my mind. One of my friends is strawberries and cinnamon; another is black coffee and pencil shavings. An ex-girlfriend was lemons and sandalwood.
The weirdest ones, for me, are the people who have no flavor or smell at all. These people creep me the hell out, because it’s like they’re not really there.
—Jeff Harrell on having synesthesia
All of those sound like yummy friends. If you could choose your flavor/smell, what would you be?
Stand up (and put your shirt back on) for what you believe in!
We have to make books cool again. You know? If you go home with somebody and they don’t have books, don’t fuck ’em. And DVDs don’t count, either.
—John Waters, This Filthy World
(Via Ultrasparky)
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