Fallbrookisms 24 March 2011

 



Howl, now a graphic novel by Allen Ginsberg and Eric Drooker
The best invitation in town* — by anonymous
My Esteemed Colleagues,

The Howl movie night is on.

Disclaimers and Expectations: This will be Munchie Nite. I am a simple man, and make no claims to put on an elaborate party. I will supply popcorn, whatever beer and soda is in the garage refrigerator, and my wife’s favorite Chilean wine, since she will not be here to defend it. But you can help by bringing endless sumptuous culinary delights, Twinkies, wines, absinthe, cheese doodles, garden flavored vodka, frankincense, myrrh, or whatever else tickles your palate. I can make coffee and tea pretty well.

Further, while we have recently acquired a big 60” plasma TV, the room is not yet perfectly organized for it. Do not look at the dark 1995 retro 42” rear projection TV still in the big impressive wall unit (for sale, low price). It will not speak to you. So, seating will be Survival of the Fittest for the five or six or seven couch seats (depending on how you feel about your couchmates, and with this group, I am loath to predict), and other seating will be arranged as necessary and practicable (I love this word, which appears in many Civil War era written orders).

Where was I? Is that you, John Wayne? Is this me?

To find me, wind through the hairpin turns, keep going; the pioneers made it all the way across the prairies, the high desert, the mountains, doing battle with the Comanche (read Empire of the Summer Moon) — you can do this — keep going, up the hill. Near the absolute top of the hill, you will see my house, off to the right, acres of neatly mowed weeds, depending of course on recent rainfall. Indigenous vegetation, I guess they call it.

The house is in a hull-down position, down a steep driveway. If you drive down there, and there are other cars, you will most likely have to negotiate with those who arrived after you, who will still be working on finishing the absinthe and not in the mood to bargain. Think squinty eyes and bad attitudes.

No, that was the biker party.

Anyway, you would have to back up the steep driveway, probably run over one or more of my sprinkler heads, make a tight turn at the top in reverse in the dark, look up at the stars, take a deep breath, and wonder at the futility of all this. Not to worry — any vehicles/drivers failing this test will be gently bulldozed into Coyote Gulch.

Seriously, if you have any mobility issues, please drive down and make it easy on yourself.

In summary, you could have stayed in Brooklyn, taken the subway, but no, you just had to move to Fallbrook.

Where the heck was I? Never ask directions of a writer. Especially not after a couple of Famous Grouses. Whatever I may have left out, you may enquire of —

Your Most Humble Servant

Ps. If you’ve made it this far, congratulations. I really think you will enjoy the movie. I have this vision of a loud team reading of Howl at the Café sometime. Soon, you too will understand. … Hide the children!

Pps. Homework assignment: If you really want to know what you’re getting into, go read Howl.

* Alas, this is not an active invitation, merely a reprint of one, because it's author, who chooses to remain anonymous, deserves an audience.

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