[I well remember a moment some years ago when I was given a salutary lesson in the rapid transit of worldly fame. I was lecturing that day at a small college in Uvalde, Texas, once home of the redoubtable John Nance Garner, who as Roosevelt’s vice president remarked pithily that the vice presidency wasn’t worth a bootful of warm spit. The college was poor. They had never been able to afford to bring a writer in before. The students, culturally, were like baby birds, waiting with their mouths open for any worm I might produce- in tribute to their need I fed them the fattest worms I could pull up. I wanted the college to get its money’s worth, and I believe it did.

During a short break in a daylong effort, while back at my motel for a nap, I was informed that Lonesome Dove had won the Pulitzer Prize. My informant was my agent, Irving Lazar, living up to his nickname, which was Swifty.

I spoke for nearly eight hours that day. Though it was nice to hear about the prize, a nap would have been awfully nice too. But Irving persisted, determined to communicate to me the majesty of the event. When I finally got him off the line my next call was from the motel office: a reporter and photographer from the local paper were there to get a brief interview and take my picture.

The night before, when I drove into Uvalde, the marquee of the Holiday Inn where I was staying had written on it: “Welcome Larry McMurtry, Author of Terms of Endearment.” That had never happened to me before, and it meant more than the vice presidency meant to John Nance Garner.

But time waits for no author, not in Uvalde, anyway. As I walked up to meet the press I glanced at the marquee and saw that it had already changed. Now it read: “Lunch Special, Catfish: $3.95.” Even as Irving Lazar was telling me how great he had made me, my moment had passed. It was a lesson to be remembered. The Pulitzer Prize was well and good, but there was lunch to think of, and catfish at $3.95 was a bargain not to be scorned. The locals were already flocking to it, and as soon as the needs of the press had been satisfied, I went in and did the same.]

- Larry McMurtry, Walter Benjamin at the Dairy Queen

Things I Have Done Lately To Occupy My Mind

- thrown away mysterious leftovers from the back of the fridge
- cleaned the lab
- designed and made two necklaces
- cooked lamb stew
- baked a cake and a batch of cookies
- dogsat
- babysat
- went to a concert
- read a book in an afternoon
- bought a bonsai tree from a man on the side of the road
- planted a tiny crop of arugula
- made chocolates from scratch


And yet.. I can't fall asleep at night.

When I said 'home stretch', I was speaking metaphorically along the lines of the Kentucky Derby, not the freaking Iditarod.  Still no end in sight.

the home stretch

alert

This is worse than I thought.  State of mind that was once holding steady at Code Orange (Reckless Shoe-Buying) has now deteriorated to Code Magenta (Impulsive Haircut).  Say a little prayer.

a simpler time

an open letter to myself

Hey there,


Please stop eating Ruffles for lunch.  This is a decision you will always regret.  You will ride the Sickly train from Mild Anxiety all the way to the last stop, Self-Loathing.  Go to the gym.  Endorphins will make you feel better.  And if you keep up with stretching you can stop hunching over your desk like a vulture.  Your back won't hurt so much.  You're slipping into procrastination again.  If you do what you say you'll do you won't feel the guilt mixing with disappointment and the potato chips in the pit of your stomach.  Buy some vegetables.  You like them.  We can talk about the shoes that cost a third of your rent some other time.


See you around,
me

above the clouds

Being good at things is a nice feeling, closely followed by the desire to get even better at those things.

disgruntled

It seems the 'world-class institution' that employs me is the only place open today despite the 'snow'.  Roads are dry, but I still had to scrape off the shell of ice encasing my car with an old key card from the Boston Park Plaza hotel.  Also, city of Houston, guess what happens when you sand the roads two days before the apocalypse?  You get sandy curbs.  It's going to be 65 tomorrow.

Today: a silent film