Nobody delivered stream of consciousness gobbledygook better James Joyce, with the possible exception of The Wave’s Harry McGuirk who writes the Joycean "Meet The Irish" column. If you can’t stand words that don’t seem to go together, let alone make sense, best jump off here because I’m gonna do my best Harry McG imitation.
It’s always been fashionable to borrow from other writers and while Jimmy Cannon, the famed sportswriter’s been ripped off by the likes of Ed Koch and Bill Reel (and Howie Schwach) I see no reason to set my goals so high.
While doing some spring cleaning I came across a notepad in which I scribbled some lines hoping they‘d grow into something some day. They didn’t. But if I write them now they’ll be published and the archivist at the Queens public library can worry about them. That’s me. Destined for microfiche. (And now I can put them with the recyclables next Tuesday).
*Jimmy Cannon wrote that he never had a bad pack of M & Ms. Me? I never met a really gregarious Albino.
*TV is the Cliff notes of life.
*Every thing my mother says I have to hold up to a mirror to understand.
*Like everyone else I was always looking for the easy way out. I just looked a lot harder than every one else.
*In Rockaway having a positive mental attitude is like being a nudist in an Eskimo colony.
*Speaking of Rockaway, what local politician has been in more hotel rooms than the Gideon bible?
*The city boys, stumbling one behind the next, broke through some brush and upon a spectacular vista. "Wow, this is just like a beer commercial."
"Yeah, and I’m never watching TV again."
*It happened almost every night. As he reclined for the night’s sleep the blood that sat in his feet all day rushed to his head. And then the ideas came. Great images. Unexpected, wonderful profundity.
He’d quickly fumble for the pen and pad on the nightstand. By the time the pen touched the paper the cerebration was already slipping away, being watered down by irresistible self-admiration.
He grabbed the pen like a knife and slashed a blue line across the page. The idea, the brilliant phrase, the complex and nuanced notion had suddenly lost its purity. Once again, that self-congratulatory instinct bastardized the Aristotle itching to be born.
*I’d hate to have to drink your blood. Drano can kill you.
*Marina Callaghan’s another one demanding more controversy in this space. Yeah, the Marina Callaghan who (with her husband’s permission) is trying to change the locale of the Irish Festival from Mickey Carton way to her house. Marina and Kevin don’t do Halloween anymore---so maybe the Irish Festival?
With all those kegs at the upcoming Irish Festival, sure hope no one mistakes Honorary Grand Marshal Anthony Weiner for a tap.
**Who was that woman seen gloating---often seen in a white Toyota---after talking her way out of speeding ticket on Cross Bay?
**Though blissfully married for 13 years I’ve never stopped reading the personals. I want to be ready when my ravishing wife dumps me. And I see after all these years that I have no chance because women seeking men always want "successful" types. And they all like "long walks on the beach." If these women ever meet the Mr. Right at the same time the beach is gonna look like the Belt Parkway at rush hour.
**Heard on the boardwalk: It’s not like I did something really bad. It’s not like I killed a preying mantis or something.