Chamblee54

In the very olden time there lived a semi-barbaric king, whose ideas, though somewhat polished and sharpened by the progressiveness of distant Latin neighbors, were still large, florid, and untrammeled, as became the half of him which was barbaric. He was a man of exuberant fancy, and, withal, of an authority so irresistible that, at his will, he turned his varied fancies into facts. He was greatly given to self-communing, and, when he and himself agreed upon anything, the thing was done. When every member of his domestic and political systems moved smoothly in its appointed course, his nature was bland and genial; but, whenever there was a little hitch, and some of his orbs got out of their orbits, he was blander and more genial still, for nothing pleased him so much as to make the crooked straight and crush down uneven places.
Among the borrowed notions by which his barbarism had become semified was that of the public arena, in which, by exhibitions of manly and beastly valor, the minds of his subjects were refined and cultured.
But even here the exuberant and barbaric fancy asserted itself. The arena of the king was built, not to give the people an opportunity of hearing the rhapsodies of dying gladiators, nor to enable them to view the inevitable conclusion of a conflict between religious opinions and hungry jaws, but for purposes far better adapted to widen and develop the mental energies of the people. This vast amphitheater, with its encircling galleries, its mysterious vaults, and its unseen passages, was an agent of poetic justice, in which crime was punished, or virtue rewarded, by the decrees of an impartial and incorruptible chance.
When a subject was accused of a crime of sufficient importance to interest the king, public notice was given that on an appointed day the fate of the accused person would be decided in the king’s arena, a structure which well deserved its name, for, although its form and plan were borrowed from afar, its purpose emanated solely from the brain of this man, who, every barleycorn a king, knew no tradition to which he owed more allegiance than pleased his fancy, and who ingrafted on every adopted form of human thought and action the rich growth of his barbaric idealism.
When all the people had assembled in the galleries, and the king, surrounded by his court, sat high up on his throne of royal state on one side of the arena, he gave a signal, a door beneath him opened, and the accused subject stepped out into the amphitheater. Directly opposite him, on the other side of the inclosed space, were two doors, exactly alike and side by side. It was the duty and the privilege of the person on trial to walk directly to these doors and open one of them. He could open either door he pleased; he was subject to no guidance or influence but that of the aforementioned impartial and incorruptible chance. If he opened the one, there came out of it a hungry tiger, the fiercest and most cruel that could be procured, which immediately sprang upon him and tore him to pieces as a punishment for his guilt. The moment that the case of the criminal was thus decided, doleful iron bells were clanged, great wails went up from the hired mourners posted on the outer rim of the arena, and the vast audience, with bowed heads and downcast hearts, wended slowly their homeward way, mourning greatly that one so young and fair, or so old and respected, should have merited so dire a fate.
But, if the accused person opened the other door, there came forth from it a lady, the most suitable to his years and station that his majesty could select among his fair subjects, and to this lady he was immediately married, as a reward of his innocence. It mattered not that he might already possess a wife and family, or that his affections might be engaged upon an object of his own selection; the king allowed no such subordinate arrangements to interfere with his great scheme of retribution and reward. The exercises, as in the other instance, took place immediately, and in the arena. Another door opened beneath the king, and a priest, followed by a band of choristers, and dancing maidens blowing joyous airs on golden horns and treading an epithalamic measure, advanced to where the pair stood, side by side, and the wedding was promptly and cheerily solemnized. Then the gay brass bells rang forth their merry peals, the people shouted glad hurrahs, and the innocent man, preceded by children strewing flowers on his path, led his bride to his home.
This was the king’s semi-barbaric method of administering justice. Its perfect fairness is obvious. The criminal could not know out of which door would come the lady; he opened either he pleased, without having the slightest idea whether, in the next instant, he was to be devoured or married. On some occasions the tiger came out of one door, and on some out of the other. The decisions of this tribunal were not only fair, they were positively determinate: the accused person was instantly punished if he found himself guilty, and, if innocent, he was rewarded on the spot, whether he liked it or not. There was no escape from the judgments of the king’s arena.
The institution was a very popular one. When the people gathered together on one of the great trial days, they never knew whether they were to witness a bloody slaughter or a hilarious wedding. This element of uncertainty lent an interest to the occasion which it could not otherwise have attained. Thus, the masses were entertained and pleased, and the thinking part of the community could bring no charge of unfairness against this plan, for did not the accused person have the whole matter in his own hands?
This semi-barbaric king had a daughter as blooming as his most florid fancies, and with a soul as fervent and imperious as his own. As is usual in such cases, she was the apple of his eye, and was loved by him above all humanity. Among his courtiers was a young man of that fineness of blood and lowness of station common to the conventional heroes of romance who love royal maidens. This royal maiden was well satisfied with her lover, for he was handsome and brave to a degree unsurpassed in all this kingdom, and she loved him with an ardor that had enough of barbarism in it to make it exceedingly warm and strong. This love affair moved on happily for many months, until one day the king happened to discover its existence. He did not hesitate nor waver in regard to his duty in the premises. The youth was immediately cast into prison, and a day was appointed for his trial in the king’s arena. This, of course, was an especially important occasion, and his majesty, as well as all the people, was greatly interested in the workings and development of this trial. Never before had such a case occurred; never before had a subject dared to love the daughter of the king. In after years such things became commonplace enough, but then they were in no slight degree novel and startling.
The tiger-cages of the kingdom were searched for the most savage and relentless beasts, from which the fiercest monster might be selected for the arena; and the ranks of maiden youth and beauty throughout the land were carefully surveyed by competent judges in order that the young man might have a fitting bride in case fate did not determine for him a different destiny. Of course, everybody knew that the deed with which the accused was charged had been done. He had loved the princess, and neither he, she, nor any one else, thought of denying the fact; but the king would not think of allowing any fact of this kind to interfere with the workings of the tribunal, in which he took such great delight and satisfaction. No matter how the affair turned out, the youth would be disposed of, and the king would take an aesthetic pleasure in watching the course of events, which would determine whether or not the young man had done wrong in allowing himself to love the princess.
The appointed day arrived. From far and near the people gathered, and thronged the great galleries of the arena, and crowds, unable to gain admittance, massed themselves against its outside walls. The king and his court were in their places, opposite the twin doors, those fateful portals, so terrible in their similarity.All was ready. The signal was given. A door beneath the royal party opened, and the lover of the princess walked into the arena. Tall, beautiful, fair, his appearance was greeted with a low hum of admiration and anxiety. Half the audience had not known so grand a youth had lived among them. No wonder the princess loved him! What a terrible thing for him to be there!
As the youth advanced into the arena he turned, as the custom was, to bow to the king, but he did not think at all of that royal personage. His eyes were fixed upon the princess, who sat to the right of her father. Had it not been for the moiety of barbarism in her nature it is probable that lady would not have been there, but her intense and fervid soul would not allow her to be absent on an occasion in which she was so terribly interested. From the moment that the decree had gone forth that her lover should decide his fate in the king’s arena, she had thought of nothing, night or day, but this great event and the various subjects connected with it. Possessed of more power, influence, and force of character than any one who had ever before been interested in such a case, she had done what no other person had done,—she had possessed herself of the secret of the doors. She knew in which of the two rooms, that lay behind those doors, stood the cage of the tiger, with its open front, and in which waited the lady. Through these thick doors, heavily curtained with skins on the inside, it was impossible that any noise or suggestion should come from within to the person who should approach to raise the latch of one of them. But gold, and the power of a woman’s will, had brought the secret to the princess.

And not only did she know in which room stood the lady ready to emerge, all blushing and radiant, should her door be opened, but she knew who the lady was. It was one of the fairest and loveliest of the damsels of the court who had been selected as the reward of the accused youth, should he be proved innocent of the crime of aspiring to one so far above him; and the princess hated her. Often had she seen, or imagined that she had seen, this fair creature throwing glances of admiration upon the person of her lover, and sometimes she thought these glances were perceived, and even returned. Now and then she had seen them talking together; it was but for a moment or two, but much can be said in a brief space; it may have been on most unimportant topics, but how could she know that? The girl was lovely, but she had dared to raise her eyes to the loved one of the princess; and, with all the intensity of the savage blood transmitted to her through long lines of wholly barbaric ancestors, she hated the woman who blushed and trembled behind that silent door.
When her lover turned and looked at her, and his eye met hers as she sat there, paler and whiter than any one in the vast ocean of anxious faces about her, he saw, by that power of quick perception which is given to those whose souls are one, that she knew behind which door crouched the tiger, and behind which stood the lady. He had expected her to know it. He understood her nature, and his soul was assured that she would never rest until she had made plain to herself this thing, hidden to all other lookers-on, even to the king. The only hope for the youth in which there was any element of certainty was based upon the success of the princess in discovering this mystery; and the moment he looked upon her, he saw she had succeeded, as in his soul he knew she would succeed.
Then it was that his quick and anxious glance asked the question: “Which?” It was as plain to her as if he shouted it from where he stood. There was not an instant to be lost. The question was asked in a flash; it must be answered in another.
Her right arm lay on the cushioned parapet before her. She raised her hand, and made a slight, quick movement toward the right. No one but her lover saw her. Every eye was fixed on the man in the arena.
He turned, and with a firm and rapid step he walked across the empty space. Every heart stopped beating, every breath was held, every eye was fixed immovably upon that man. Without the slightest hesitation, he went to the door on the right, and opened it.
Now, the point of the story is this: Did the tiger come out of that door, or did the lady? The more we reflect upon this question, the harder it is to answer. It involves a study of the human heart which leads us through devious mazes of passion, out of which it is difficult to find our way. Think of it, fair reader, not as if the decision of the question depended upon yourself, but upon that hot-blooded, semi-barbaric princess, her soul at a white heat beneath the combined fires of despair and jealousy. She had lost him, but who should have him?
How often, in her waking hours and in her dreams, had she started in wild horror, and covered her face with her hands as she thought of her lover opening the door on the other side of which waited the cruel fangs of the tiger!
But how much oftener had she seen him at the other door! How in her grievous reveries had she gnashed her teeth, and torn her hair, when she saw his start of rapturous delight as he opened the door of the lady! How her soul had burned in agony when she had seen him rush to meet that woman, with her flushing cheek and sparkling eye of triumph; when she had seen him lead her forth, his whole frame kindled with the joy of recovered life; when she had heard the glad shouts from the multitude, and the wild ringing of the happy bells; when she had seen the priest, with his joyous followers, advance to the couple, and make them man and wife before her very eyes; and when she had seen them walk away together upon their path of flowers, followed by the tremendous shouts of the hilarious multitude, in which her one despairing shriek was lost and drowned!
Would it not be better for him to die at once, and go to wait for her in the blessed regions of semi-barbaric futurity?And yet, that awful tiger, those shrieks, that blood!
Her decision had been indicated in an instant, but it had been made after days and nights of anguished deliberation. She had known she would be asked, she had decided what she would answer, and, without the slightest hesitation, she had moved her hand to the right.
The question of her decision is one not to be lightly considered, and it is not for me to presume to set myself up as the one person able to answer it. And so I leave it with all of you: Which came out of the opened door,—the lady, or the tiger?
The Lady, Or The Tiger? by Frank R. Stockton
The text today is from Project Gutenberg. This is a repost.

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We’d love to hear eyewitness accounts, the history behind an article. ~ (fb) ~ Jimmy Crack Corn was written in the style of James Joyce. ~ When a Republican sees someone else grooving on the thing she loves, her reaction is to say “how can I make money off this?” When a grammar nazi sees a post like this, she makes all the nouns and verbs singular. ~ hit b on advance search on this machine, and the choices are brookhaven, bob dylan, and bleeding lambs ~ The Get Religion article does not give any quotes from the radio interview that upset Miss Piggy so. Mr. Cathy said ” “I think we are inviting G-d’s judgment on our nation when we shake our fist at Him and say, ‘We know better than you as to what constitutes a marriage,’ I pray G-d’s mercy on our generation that has such a prideful, arrogant attitude to think that we have the audacity to define what marriage is about.” ~ I might settle for using less twenty dollar modifiers. What if I choose to use fewer big words? ~ Here is a heteronormative video. ~ Childers you are an embarrassment to any credible political effort – Please do yourself a favor, study the ramifications of a cranio-rectal inversion before posting ever again, you blithering doofus. ~ “I drank to drown my sorrows, but the damned things learned how to swim.” ― Frida Kahlo (fb) ~ “I paint myself because I am so often alone and because I am the subject I know best.” ― Frida Kahlo (fb) ~ When you told me you were disappointed that I didn’t grant your request, I felt empathy for you. It can be tough not getting what we want. But I don’t do anything I don’t want to do, so my hope for you is that you either find an offer that appeals to me, or you realize you are capable of tolerating your frustration. (fb) ~ This is a serious, if somewhat flippant, depiction of something I think is important. When people who knew me from when I was younger find out I’m an atheist, they ask, “what happened?” as if surely some horrible or traumatic thing must have occurred for me to stop believing in god. No. What happened was that I learned. I read. I thought. I grew up. I have no ill will or dislike of those I know or met through the church, some of whom I think are spectacular and wonderful people. (fb) ~ I will never post a self-congratulatory post stating how many followers I have. I will not state that I’m creating another blog specifically for personal info/self-pics of me and that it is “members-only”/requires a password. I will never confuse people noticing posting/re-posting various shit onto the internet for fame when it is really only self-indulgence. Most importantly, I will not mistake almost total strangers “unliking”/”unfollowing” me for any kind of personal attack when it simply means they aren’t interested in what I’m posting. Repost this if you’re bored enough to. (fb) ~ Randomness is a proposed disconnect between existing conditions and results, which in my entire life I don’t feel I’ve encountered…. everything that happens is a direct result of circumstances preceding it, even if the complexity is beyond human grasp. (I’m bored) (fb) ~ I don’t know about you, but I definitely have an inner troll. Of course, while poking people with sticks and seeing their reactions can be fun, doing it in front of hundreds or thousands of people (some of whom I might actually want to relate with) doesn’t do much for my reputation. That’s why I prefer to reserve my sadistic streak for private consensual encounters. (fb) ~ “My wake-up call came when someone told me last year (paraphrasing), “many people in the queer communities of color in Atlanta don’t come to MondoHomo bc they don’t feel like it’s a safe and welcoming space.” Good Grief. Some people are never going to feel like “it is a safe and welcoming space.” How far do you want to go, to accomodate people who are going to reject you anyway? At what point do you stop throwing your own community under the bus, to try to attract this hostile community? In the next sentence you say something about white privilege. Is this constant claiming to be the victim POC privilege? ~ This is the Rush Center on DeKalb Ave. Anyone going to Rush Center KS will be disappointed. ~ CFA was moving slowly and carefully into northern cities. I suspect they had no plans to go into Boston. The mayor was doing a bit of low risk grandstanding. Also, who wants to bet the the Henson company wasn’t happy with their arrangement(i.e. not making enough money) , and was looking for a way out. ~ There is a concept called felony murder. If you commit a felony, and a person dies as a result, then you are guilty of murder. A man in georgia was executed for this last year. While making tacky comments is not a felony (good thing too, or we would all be guilty) It is arguable that Mr. Cathy’s mouth running caused a PR nightmare for the company, whose PR vice president then has a heart attack. ~ I thought agnostic was something you blew out of your nose. ~ Freedom from the desire for an answer is essential to the understanding of a problem. ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti (fb) ~ I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. — F. Scott Fitzgerald (fb) ~ If you wear a leopard coat in a black and white picture, that’s all the audience will look at. — Shelley Winters (fb) ~ After you turn 50, every 15 minutes it’s breakfast! — Kitty Carlyle Hart (fb) ~ That is what fresh ground means. ~ Test Results Sickness Quotient: 75% Your “Sickness Quotient” of 75% indicates therapy may be useful. Detailed Diagnosis Interpersonal Insights You are utterly incapable of meaningful relationships, which is probably a good thing since you’re a horrible bore under the best of conditions. You have difficulty concentrating or keeping on task, probably because you’re an idiot with a short attention-span. Job Performance & Attitude You aspire to becoming the CEO of a large, powerful company. This is unlikely since you rarely leave your parent’s basement. You have little empathy for anyone more successful at work than you, which is pretty much everyone. Personality Insight Your personal motto is “Dance like nobody’s watching.” That’ just stupid. Get a better motto. ~ The constant assertion of belief is an indication of fear. ~Jiddu Krishnamurti (fb) ~ Well, I’m an asshole. I bet I’ll repost this 5 times in the next 8 days. Some lame suburban asshole who admits being a “Christian” was up in arms about stop being mean to Christians, to which I retorted: ” OK–this is cute, like any comment thread. It should (by now, because it’s preached from every single pulpit worth a god damn, and every Sunday) go without saying that Jesus thinks your version of Christianity. Sucks. You are very bad at being his follower. You are a hypocrite (just like the Pharisees that followed him around), you are lousy at giving away everything you own (entry fee), you perpetually blame the poor for their condition (which doesn’t happen in the Gospels, at all, even once), you want to punish sexual deviants (like the lovely assholes he invited to cast the first stone), and (just a guess!) you eat shellfish and/or meat and cheese together in the same meal. YOU ARE A LOUSY FUCKING CHRISTIAN. YOU SUCK AT YOUR RELIGION. GIVE UP. While you’re at it, leave my atheist ass out of it. It’s really the least you can do. In Jesus’ name.” (fb) ~ I’m making some changes in my life. You may not understand or agree, but I hope you will respect that I’m trying to do what *I* need. I’m stepping away from politics, arguing, and trying to save the world. I’m going to do what gives *me* happiness – laughing and playing with friends and taking care of my personal responsibilities. I still appreciate everyone I’ve connected with and the things we fought for, but I know myself and I recognize this is what I need. Happy Friday! (fb) ~ I like cows. So for years students would give me those calendars and I would accept but never use the coupons. I think I am going to try to make a collage with them so at the very least they become queer art created by a queer artist. I don’t like cows because of the reasons you think. My love is for steak, shakes and my awesome leather jacket. And don’t give me that cruelty to animals shit because I know if a cow could he would eat my ass and wear my skin because I am delicious. I have testimonials…just saying (fb) ~ “The Christians with heart are painfully silent..” You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full. (fb) ~ 1-When the SCOTUS ruled that “Lethal Injection” was constitutional, they were ruling on a three drug cocktail. Is it permissible for the states to decide that one drug is good enough? 2- Why was this change announced on the day before a scheduled execution? 3- If we are going to be a society of laws, then the authorities must obey the laws as well. 4- Is anyone else troubled by the spectacle of the Department of Corrections killing a prisoner with a deliberate overdose of a barbituate? 5- The manufactorer of phenobarbital is opposed to the use of their product for executions. Where does the GDC get their supply? Is this a legitimate source? If an ordinary person gets a substance like pentobarbital from a less than reputable source, then this ordinary person is in severe trouble. See point 3. 6- The conduct of the State of Georgia in this case is an indication that they are not capable of administering the death penalty in a fair and just manner. 7- The motto of the state is wisdom, justice, and moderation. Killing a prisoner with a deliberate drug overdose is neither wise, just, nor moderate. Especially not moderate. ~ 1 – Twenty years ago, I worked in the Healey Building. CFA had a store in the flatiron building. It was in an old bank office, and the vault was a dining room. 2 – CFA is overpriced. If someone else pays for it, I might eat there. ~ Breakfast at the Waffle House on Cheshire Bridge Road this morning. The crowd: White families, gay jocks (Pride Run and Timberfell Lodge T-shirts), young African-American men and women; three line cooks turning out about a plate a minute; the waitresses efficient and smiling; the manager and I agreeing that this is how Atlanta should always be, and that Chick-fil-A is not representative of those of us working for equality. (fb) ~ “The way to develop self-confidence is to do the thing you fear and get a record of successful experiences behind you. Destiny is not a matter of chance, it is a matter of choice; it is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved.” ~ it has been a long, long chemo day and it is time to bed down for the night. I am grateful for family, friends who are chosen family, medical technology that will help keep me alive to enjoy it all a little longer, complications enough in the process so I don’t trade humility for hubris, and for my sobriety, without which none of it would be possible. God is merciful. Blessed Be. ~ William Jennings Bryan (fb) ~ To the guy who tried to mug me in downtown savannah night before last date ~ That is not a fashion statement I would make.~ Another comparison is the treatment of Jesus and Mohammed. Christians routinely present grossout pictures of Jesus on the cross. Muslims are forbidden to present images of Mohammed. ~ The Brookhaven Ballot Committee/ Brookhaven Yes thing bothers me. It makes me wonder if I want this crowd to run a new city. Thank you for your thoughtful attention to this matter. ~ I like Chick-fil-A’s food. I think Mr. Cathy has a right to his ignorant opinion. And I think people have a right to eat elsewhere – but I’m not sure what the point is, because for every cocksucker that gets angry about his opinion, there is at least one bigot that likes him more, so from a dollars perspective, I don’t think we faggots can win this one. On the other hand, we could strike and stop sucking closeted homophobes’ dicks. That’ll teach em. (fb) ~ “Turning a chicken sandwich into Public Gay Enemy Number One makes LGBT people look superficial, vindictive and juvenile — everything that we as a community have worked hard to overcome.” Maybe that is why the press is giving this so much attention. It takes attention away from Sally Ride’s surviving partner. ~ James Dickey said that Sylvia Plath was the Judy Garland of american poets. Or maybe it was Anne Sexton. ~ can you go glitter bomb gay pride and leave the big decisions to the adults? ~ You will not be punished for your anger, you will be punished by your anger. ~ Gautama Siddhartha ~ Your email address and IP address has been logged and your incoming access permanently blocked to this recipient. You are an asshole. ~ At least with CFA and WM we have a choice. The gummit chooses to go to war, and doesn’t ask what we think. If you don’t pay the tax to support the war machine, your money is seized. ~ I am happy to know Miles Davis through his music, and not his reputed personality ~ Just as treasures are uncovered from the earth, so virtue appears from good deeds, and wisdom appears from a pure and peaceful mind. To walk safely through the maze of human life, one needs the light of wisdom and the guidance of virtue. – Gautama Siddhartha ~ Pictures are from “The Special Collections and Archives,Georgia State University Library” ~ Selah

Gore Vidal died Tuesday. He was a writer, celebrity, and a few other things. Mr. Vidal did not suffer false modesty. He probably would not have liked this blog, if he had bothered to look at it. He produced tons of material, much of which is preserved.
The media machine is certain to go into overdrive today. Since Mr. Vidal was 86, and using a wheelchair, this event was not unexpected. The obituaries were pre written, with a blank space reserved for the date of the event.
When Truman Capote passed, Mr. Vidal said it was a good career move. Which of his contemporaries are still around to pass the snark for Gore Vidal?
Eugene Luther Gore Vidal Jr. was born on Oct. 3, 1925, at the United States Military Academy at West Point. His father was an instructor there. His mother divorced him, and married the step father of Jackie Kennedy Onassis. There were upper crust schools, service in World War II, and a few novels. The filthy money of Hollywood beckoned, and Mr. Vidal wrote scripts for TV and movies. There was script doctor work on “Ben Hur”. Mr. Vidal said that Charlton Heston was such a wooden actor that he could supply a furniture factory.
After a while, novels, essays, and TV appearances occupied Mr. Vidal. Myra Breckinridge appeared in 1968, and is currently available on amazon for $0.01. PG paid $0.25 for his copy, and had so much fun reading it.
The movie Myra Breckinridge was a big deal when it came out. PG has never seen it, but heard it was horrible. Mae West came out of retirement to perform. Raquel Welch was on the Dick Cavett show, talking about the vortex of fans at the flick’s premiere. Sex changing has never been the same.
The other book by Gore Vidal that PG owns a copy of is Palimpsest: A Memoir. (Some yard sale had a hardback copy. PG might have paid a dollar.) This is a fun way to kill a few hours. Gore Vidal might be the last man to be angry with Woodrow Wilson for getting America into World War I.
Is it fair to quote one star autobiography reviews while the body is still warm? Was that body ever warm? It doesn’t matter, since Mr. Vidal wouldn’t have bothered to read these.
Why I couldn’t finish this book July 17, 2000 A Customer
1. His ridiculous treatment of his own novels as serious literature. 2. His attempts at revenge (for WHAT?) against Truman Capote and others. (Methinks the lady doth protest too much.) 3. The disillusionment and depression I was experiencing at learning that someone whose wit and intelligence I had always admired is really lacking in both when it comes to writing about his own life.
The only hardcover book I have ever thrown away . . ., February 5, 1998 A Customer
I gave this a “1” because I cannot give it a “0”. A stylized account of who sodomised whom with detail I frankly didn’t want to know, this is an unpleasant exercise in self-agrandisement by a writer suffering from, on the basis the talent displayed here, delusions of adequacy.
Dry As Old Sticks October 16, 2005 Cat Black “Wizard’s Hat” (Boston, Mass)
How could anyone who lived such an interesting life write such a boring book? (…)It’s like the only point of this memoir is to score points off his contemporaries. And in so doing, further puff up his already inflated ego. The guy clearly has no self-awareness whatsoever. Like are we supposed to admire him when he claims he is 100% top in bed and cares not a fig for his partner’s satisfaction? Very admirable, Mr Vidal. What a prince amongst men! His “life partner” is referred to in passing approximately three times in the entire book and is otherwise notable by his absence. As are friends in general. Did Vidal have any? No, just famous acquaintances he could pick apart, if this memoirs is anything to go by. The structure of the book is as self-consciously clever-clever as is the title. A grab bag of memories scattered like cushions over the overstuffed horsehair sofa of the ultimate prissy literary queen.
As this is written, there are 1913 new tweets , waiting to be untwittered. Knowing twitter, many of them are copies of this selection. If you have the time, some of the links might prove to be fun. Gore Vidal was a smart man, and told plenty of journalists about it.
@jaketapper RIP Gore Vidal. I interviewed him 12 years ago > http://www.salon.com/2000/09/20/vidal_5/ Quite an experience!
@morninggloria Gore Vidal, genius even in death, leaves earth before having to endure something called “Chick-fil-A Appreciation Day.”
‏@brainpicker “How marvelous books are,crossing worlds & centuries,defeating ignorance &, finally,cruel time itself.” RIP, Gore Vidal http://j.mp/OAJLCd
‏@PykeA I’ve never read any Gore Vidal, but he’s dead now so I feel like I should, or something. Good starting point?
@GlobeBender Adieu Gore Vidal, equal parts literary genious and pompous gadly (with a tryst here or there w/ Jack Kerouac) http://wapo.st/OCP6wq
‏@SHotchkissNYC “We had been too happy, and the gods cannot bear the happiness of mortals.” – R.I.P. Mr. Gore Vidal – http://gqm.ag/MiJvMb
‏@daily “50% of people won’t vote, and 50% don’t read newspapers. I hope it’s the same 50%.” Gore Vidal dies at 86: http://bit.ly/N1sl1Q
@pete_sinclair Angry at a bad review, Norman Mailer punched Gore Vidal at a party. On the floor, Gore said “Once again, words fail Norman Mailer.” #class
@dreamhampton I was born a writer. If you’re born that, you can’t change it. You’re going to do it whether you want to or not. ~Gore Vidal
@thesulk Gore Vidal died. He was the opposite of twitter.
Perhaps the best tweet for today is this: @Holmes7David Gore Vidal quotes: 26 of the best http://gu.com/p/39dnq/tw via @guardian This fine newspaper knew today was coming, and had a collection of quotes ready. They are probably delighted at having something other than the Olympics to discuss. Here are the quotes. Pictures for this feature are from The Library of Congress.
“I never miss a chance to have sex or appear on television.”
“It is not enough to succeed. Others must fail.”
“A narcissist is someone better looking than you are.”
“Any American who is prepared to run for president should automatically by definition be disqualified from ever doing so.”
“Democracy is supposed to give you the feeling of choice like, Painkiller X and Painkiller Y. But they’re both just aspirin.”
“Envy is the central fact of American life.”
“Every time a friend succeeds, I die a little.”
“The United States was founded by the brightest people in the country
and we haven’t seen them since.”
“Every four years the naive half who vote are encouraged to believe that if we can elect a really nice man or woman President everything will be all right. But it won’t be.”
“Andy Warhol is the only genius I’ve ever known with an IQ of 60”
“A good deed never goes unpunished.”
“All children alarm their parents, if only because you are forever expecting to encounter yourself.”
“Apparently, a democracy is a place where numerous elections are held at great cost without issues and with interchangeable candidates.”
“Fifty percent of people won’t vote, and fifty percent don’t read newspapers.
I hope it’s the same fifty percent.”
“Some writers take to drink, others take to audiences.”
“The genius of our ruling class is that it has kept a majority of the people from ever questioning the inequity of a system where most people drudge along,
paying heavy taxes for which they get nothing in return”
“Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn.”
“The more money an American accumulates, the less interesting he becomes.”
“The four most beautiful words in our common language: I told you so.”
“Congress no longer declares war or makes budgets.
So that’s the end of the constitution as a working machine.”
“We should stop going around babbling about how we’re the greatest democracy on earth, when we’re not even a democracy. We are a sort of militarised republic.”
“As the age of television progresses the Reagans will be the rule, not the exception. To be perfect for television is all a President has to be these days.”
“Sex is. There is nothing more to be done about it. Sex builds no roads, writes no novels and sex certainly gives no meaning to anything in life but itself.”
“Think of the earth as a living organism that is being attacked by billions of bacteria whose numbers double every forty years. Either the host dies, or the virus dies, or both die.”
“There is no such thing as a homosexual or a heterosexual person. There are only homo- or heterosexual acts. Most people are a mixture of impulses if not practices.”
“There is no human problem which could not be solved if people would simply do as I advise.”
There are more quotes, this time from The Gore Vidal Pages. If you get tired of reading, it is perfectly all right to skip ahead to the pictures. The first five are about Truman Capote .
Truman made lying an art form—a minor art form.
A relentless liar ought to be, if not stopped, curbed.
Every generation gets the Tiny Tim it deserves. – Vespa, Mary. People. June 25, 1979. Vol. 11 No. 25.
[Capote] lived for gossip, and he was also a marvellous liar. No fact ever gave him pause.
A great zircon in the diadem of American literature.
Everything the Bushites touch is screwed up. They could never have pulled off 9/11, even if they wanted to. Even if they longed to. They could step aside, though, or just go out to lunch while these terrible things were happening to the nation. I believe that of them.
Diary: May 5 | Books | The Guardian (online). May 5, 2007.
[When I heard that William F. Buckley had died,] I thought hell is bound to be a livelier place, as he joins forever those whom he served in life, applauding their prejudices and fanning their hatred.
She never baked a pie, but she did manage to drink, in the course of a lifetime, the equivalent of the Chesapeake Bay in vodka. – on his mother. – Point to Point Navigation (2006).
Reading a speech with his usual sense of discovery. – on Eisenhower speaking at the Republican Convention (Source attribution sought; contact gorevidalpages-at-gmail.com)
[Princess Margaret] was far too intelligent for her station in life. She often had bad press, the usual fate of wits in a literal society. – Point to Point Navigation (2006).
She’s just another dum-dum waddling along the pike. And she is not demure. If she were demure, she’d realize that there are whole areas in which a 10th-rate member of Congress ought to keep her trap shut. Nobody cares about her views. – on Congresswoman Michelle Bachman (R-Minnesota). Interview with Timothy Hodler. Details. March 2011.
[Tennessee Williams’ writings had] a tone of voice the like of which had not been heard since Mark Twain. Each was a comic genius within a dark universe that the innocent persist in calling “home sweet home.” – Point to Point Navigation (2006).