Tag: Anecdote

Milton When You are Down on Your Luck

I am glad that none of my friends has ever found himself sitting on a bench in a park with a quarter in his pocket, as I once did, and nothing in the bank; in fact, no bank account. It’s a very lonely feeling. It gives new meaning to the sense of loneliness and despair.

I wallowed in that slough for a bit. It was not, after all, a happy situation and I am not a dim-witted optimist. But I had two choices, die in the slough or move on. I thought of the last two lines of Milton’s Lycidas,

At last he rose, and twitch’d his mantle blue:
To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

So I got up, forever grateful to Mr. Barrows, my college English instructor, for teaching me to study Lycidas seriously and realize what a great poem it is and why that matters.

Falling
William McPherson
https://hedgehogreview.com/issues/thinking-about-the-poor/articles/falling

One night in a Dublin street I watched an extraordinary scene – Frank O’Connor on Potential Maupassant Story

One night in a Dublin street I watched an extraordinary scene between a tramp and a prostitute whose sad little affair had broken up – his hope of a home, hers of a husband. Bit by bit she stripped off the few garments he had bought for her, threw them at his feet, and stood in the cold night air shivering. Suddenly I looked around and saw a beautiful girl who was also watching the scene and realized that she was easily the most interesting figure in the little group. On her face was a look that I can describe only as one of exaltation. Maupassant would have followed that girl to her home.

The Lonely Voice: A Study of the Short Story
Frank O’Connor
The Lonely Voice is the definitive work of Irish non-fiction on the art of writing short fiction, and has long been held up as one of the greatest works in global literature on the short form.

It’s Just the Day I’m Having

61. “It’s Just the Day I’m Having” . . . . . . the young brother said to me as the wind blew his glasses from the bill of his Burger King ball cap, probably on his way to work, looking exasperatedly at me as he bent over to pick them up, looking at the lenses and then to me and then back to the lenses, and I said, hoping it was not the wrong thing to say, “It’ll get better,” and he said, “Thank you.” (Apr. 9)

The Book of Delights: Essays
Ross Gay

from Amazon book description:
The winner of the National Book Critics Award for Poetry offers up a spirited collection of short lyrical essays, written daily over a tumultuous year, reminding us of the purpose and pleasure of praising, extolling, and celebrating ordinary wonders.

Miscellaneous Chicago Anecdotes – Chaotic Marriage Lamp and Red Line Exorcism

Times are brutal right now- so in an effort to get our minds off of the situation at hand- I have a question. What’s your most bizarre Chicago story- that at the time you didn’t think twice about (because well, Chicago is Chicago)- but later realized the insanity of the situation?
byu/checkyourfuckingbag inchicago

reddit

h2opolodude4
I was near the gold coast, walking home from a party at probably 3am on a Tuesday in November. I worked in a bar so weeknights were our party time.

A dude is sitting in an alley, on a kitchen chair, reading a book. A 3rd floor window is open and a woman is screaming/shrieking and I can hear things breaking.

She comes to the window and screams something and throws a lamp at the guy. He’s as calm as a cow at a vegetarian convention and barely reacts other than to catch the lamp.

I ask what’s up, and he says occasionally she gets really mad, kicks him out and throws all sorts of stuff out or at him. They’ve been married a while and he’s used to it, he just waits for her to stop throwing things, and stays at his sister’s place until things calm down. Apparently it’s an annual occurrence and has been for a while.

He doesn’t want to stuff the lamp into his SUV and offers it to me. How could I turn down a chaotic marriage lamp at 3am?!? I still have it, it’s at my parents house in the suburbs plugged in in the basement.

TJ_Fox
I was new to Chicago and exploring the downtown area. A torrential downpour forced me to shelter in an alcove, so I opened the door in hopes of getting further away from the rain. It let to a totally nondescript corridor, like a service corridor, so I followed that around a few corners, down a bunch more blank corridors, until I came to another door. Opened that and suddenly I’m standing in the vast, deserted lobby of a magnificent 19th century hotel, with high, painted ceilings, columns, crystal chandeliers and mirrors on the walls.

Laster research confirmed that I’d simply accidentally entered part of the Pedway and ended up in the lobby of the Palmer House hotel, but it was a surreal time-travel moment when it happened.

svckafvck
I was working at a cupcake shop in wicker park during college, the front windows can open completely like super tall doors. We had them open since it was super nice outside when I just start to hear Elvis playing in the distance. It gets louder and louder, and then I start to hear motorcycles too. All of a sudden, like 100 motorcycles start flying down Milwaukee ave and all the riders are dressed in FULL Elvis costumes, wigs, outfits, the works, and they all have the same Elvis song blasting from their stereos. It passed quickly and I was left just standing at the open windows staring. Honestly hilarious and I was dumbstruck. I was also alone so I had no one to be like … wtf just happened?!?

chimamax
Not terribly exciting, but I always chuckle when I remember it. Years ago, when I was on the blue line headed into the Loop, the train stopped in a tunnel and the lights went out. Probably just 30 seconds in the dark.

When the lights went back on, there was a pigeon sitting in the seat right next to me. Just chilling, as if it was also commuting into the office. It finally moved when I excused myself as my stop was next.

bombyx_amore
I got exorcised on the red line.

I was getting off at the Jackson stop and hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning. Standing up to get off the train took all the blood out of my head, and I passed out about 5 feet onto the platform. Someone helped me to a bench, but I didn’t want to be late for work. So, stayed until I could see again and headed to the escalator. Passed out again at the top and woke up sitting against the wall behind the empty attendant desk.

This woman comes up to me, maybe 50s, small, and asks if I’m ok. She says she’s a nurse. I tell her I’m just lightheaded and will be fine in a minute. She asks if she can lay hands on me. In the back of my cloudy head I knew that sounded familiar, but my dumb ass overrode the warning signal and figured hey, she’s a nurse, she’s just asking permission to help you up.

Nope. She locks eyes with me and presses her hand into my forehead, hard. I think she’s trying to feel for fever but her hand doesn’t move, and then she starts speaking in tongues. Something about Satan is all I catch. She’s yelling now, and I’m definitely awake now, and if the devil were here like she says he would be crazy to stay. At this point the attendant who belongs to the desk runs over and pulls her off of me. I am cured.

I called off work, went home, and took the longest, hottest shower my blood pressure would allow.

Majestic-Selection22
Remember Tilapia and Ryan? A woman overhears another woman (Tilapia) talking about breaking up with her boyfriend Ryan. Reddit tried to warn all the Ryans in Chicago of the impending doom. We will never know if we succeeded but it was a fun couple days.

Dance as Form of Communication – Rolling Stones, Sonny Rollins anecdote

The song is noted for its dreamy qualities brought on by the soft guitars, smooth rhythm, and Jagger’s lilting refrain of “doo-doo-doo”. Veteran Stones collaborator Nicky Hopkins performs the track’s running piano.[1] The Stones hired jazz saxophonist Sonny Rollins to perform the solo on this song, as well as two other songs on the album. On his contribution to the track, Jagger said in 1985:

“I had a lot of trepidation about working with Sonny Rollins. This guy’s a giant of the saxophone. Charlie said, ‘He’s never going to want to play on a Rolling Stones record!’ I said, ‘Yes he is going to want to.’ And he did and he was wonderful. I said, ‘Would you like me to stay out there in the studio?’ He said, ‘Yeah, you tell me where you want me to play and DANCE the part out.’ So I did that. And that’s very important: communication in hand, dance, whatever. You don’t have to do a whole ballet, but sometimes that movement of the shoulder tells the guy to kick in on the beat.”[2]

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waiting_on_a_Friend

Irony as Psychological Defense Mechanism – Groucho Marx Anecdote

Certainly it’s true that a little ironic distancing can work wonders as a coping device. At Groucho Marx’s separation from his first wife, Ruth, for example, he told a joke. After many unhappy years, they had agreed to a divorce, and so she packed up the car and was leaving the house for the last time. Groucho put out his hand and said, “Well, it was nice knowing you . . . and if you’re ever in the neighborhood again, drop in.” Ruth laughed, and the tension was broken. It was the unprecedented and awkward seriousness of the moment that led to the ironic farewell, Groucho explained to his son. “I didn’t know quite what to say.”

Planet Funny: How Comedy Took Over Our Culture
Ken Jennings

Fatal Tap on the Shoulder

General Ngoc took over from the radio operator. His staff officers crowded around to listen. There was plenty to hear. Screams. Gunfire. The voices of men in terror and pain. Colonel Lance, the ranking American adviser, came over to the radio, puffing fiercely on his pipe as he watched General Ngoc bark into the transmitter at the frightened commander in the field. Colonel Lance didn’t speak Vietnamese but he narrowed his eyes and nodded from time to time as if he knew what was passing between the two men. And as he stood there listening he absently laid one hand on the shoulder of the officer standing next to him, a first lieutenant named Keith Young. He didn’t look to see who it was; he just rested his hand on him the way a football coach will rest his hand on the player he happens to be standing next to on the sidelines. It was one of those paternal gestures that excited my scorn except when they fell on me, and then I always felt a flood of puppyish gratitude.

Anyway, Colonel Lance didn’t look to see who was there when he parked his hand. It could have been anyone. It could have been me. It could very easily have been me, as I was standing beside Keith Young at the time, and if Colonel Lance had taken a place between us instead of to Keith’s right it would have been me who got the manly sign of favor. He stood there with his hand on Keith’s shoulder, and when General Ngoc got up from the radio and explained the situation, which was that the company was pinned down and taking casualties, and needed an American adviser to go in with the reinforcements to call in medevacs and air support, Colonel Lance turned to the man he had his hand on and looked him in the face for the first time. He took his pipe out of his mouth. “Well, Keith,” he said, “what do you think?” His voice was kind, his expression solicitous. If you didn’t know better you’d have thought he was asking an opinion, not giving an order, but Keith did know better. “I’ll get my stuff,” he said. His voice was flat. He looked at me as he walked past.

Colonel Lance nodded at General Ngoc and reached for the transmitter. While he was calling for helicopters to insert the reserve company into the field I faded back and left the tent. Colonel Lance had taken no notice of me, and it seemed wise to keep it that way.

Keith got killed later that afternoon. I never heard what the circumstances were, only that he was shot in the stomach. That meant he’d been standing up, maybe to carry one end of a stretcher, or with his arm raised to give the textbook signal for attack—“Follow me!”

In Pharaoh’s Army: Memories of the Lost War
Tobias Wolff

Musical Transcendence – John Lurie – The History of Bones, Quotes from

I feel similarly about Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, who Evan also introduced me to. He took me to see him at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. It started out with harmonium and a bunch of guys with mustaches sitting on the stage, singing almost like they were not really interested, more like they were mumbling.

This went on for quite a while. I turned to Evan and said, “What the fuck, Evan? Why am I here?” as the men with mustaches sat on the stage sort of singing.

But it built and built. And then it built more. Over a long period of time, it just slowly built, and somehow you were inside it. Hypnotized by it. And then Nusrat started hitting these lines that ripped into my soul. It was like I had been transfigured.

As the proper, polite people sat there in their seats at BAM, absorbing their culture as people of their class are supposed to do, it hit me so hard that I jumped up and started screaming in approval, “Fuck you! Fuck you!! Motherfucker!! Oh!!”

These two Gnawa guys came to my room and they were just beautiful. So sweet and respectful that it broke my heart. One of them played this homemade half-bass, half-guitar instrument that had no frets, and the other one had little metal maraca-like things and sang.

They both sat on the floor and we got stoned on kif. I took out my soprano and turned on my tape recorder. The little guy with the metal clacky things sang like he had a hole in his throat. It had the warmth of your father singing you to sleep. Sometimes the other would sing a response or repeat his phrase.

What a gift this was.

The music is fairly simple and modal. But it has an imploring tone that is beautiful. It is like the music is just gently asking, “Why, God? Why?,” acknowledging suffering but without complaining.

I played with them and something happened for me. I had one of those moments. An epiphany. It was not my being influenced by what they were playing. It was the freedom and the very sweet and open vibe that they had brought that freed me up. Something changed in my playing that night and stayed changed.

It was the purity in their reason for playing that really had hit me. That was what I wanted, more than anything: to be part of a tribe that played music for the right reason.

There was a kid named Larry Wright who used to play drums on a compound bucket in Times Square. This sixteen-year-old kid could play stuff that would make you positive that there must be reincarnation, because it was shit that he just could not know about. African stuff and jazz stuff that he clearly had never heard, as he only listened to hip-hop.

What was particularly interesting and inexplicably complicated were his segues from one beat to the other. Where he was finding his next beat, that was where this stuff would come out that would just make me do a double take. “How does this kid know that?”

The History of Bones
John Lurie

From amazon reviews:

WorldTraveler
5.0 out of 5 stars Ah, the good ole days…
Reviewed in the United States on December 8, 2021
Verified Purchase
I was introduced to John Lurie through the 800 number. Got my “chunk” and never looked back. Seeing them in the ‘90s was one of my favorite nights of music ever in NY.
At one point in the show, there was this beautiful pause, and the the audience was just hypnotized – I was seeing through a third eye – and all of a sudden, a bottle cap was accidentally dropped, and rolled for about 20 seconds making an oddly “clear” and strangely appropriate sound. I thought I was the only person who could hear it until John stepped up to the mic and quietly said “that was interesting”, thus breaking the spell in a gentle way that let us all gently land back safely on earth.
It was magical moment and the book made me realize I wasn’t alone hearing the magic that is the Lizards.

NOTE – Book highly recommended.

Just Say What’s on the Page – Acting Advice, Josh Brolin Anecdote

Josh Brolin was 16 years old when he landed a role in “The Goonies.” He played Brandon “Brand” Walsh, a high-school jock and the older brother of Sean Astin’s Mikey. Speaking to People magazine ahead of the release of his memoir, “From Under the Truck,” Brolin remembered Steven Spielberg shutting down his super-intellectual approach for the teenage character.

“I think [my character] Brandon is freaking out, and the tunnels represent the inside of his mother’s womb, and he’s trying to cut that umbilical cord,” Brolin remembered pitching to Spielberg, who promptly disregarded such a take.

“He looked at me, and he goes, ‘Yeah, just act. Just say what’s on the page,’” Brolin said. “He wasn’t being an asshole, he was right.”

16-Year-Old Josh Brolin Tried to Make His ‘Goonies’ Character Super Deep; Then Steven Spielberg Told Him: ‘Just Act. Just Say What’s on the Page’