Archive for November, 2006

Norman Mailer

Friday, November 3rd, 2006

The Idiot’s Guide to Norman Mailer

By Patrick Sauer

Listen to an audio story on Mailer’s life and death on NPR.

In 1999, I returned to take New York City by storm after a few years in Los Angeles trying to muster up a screenwriting career. Coming back home prior to winning an Oscar didn’t bother me at all, though, because I had bigger plans than to be a mere movie script hack. I knew Manhattan was where I needed to be to fulfill my destiny to become a writer. I didn’t want to be held back by the simple label of screenwriter, humorist, playwright, novelist, poet or journalist. No, I planned on becoming an amalgamation, an all-of-the-above scribe, authoring masterpieces with no regard to genera, style or the rules of the Man.

In short, I wanted to be Norman Mailer.

1949158202_debd3520c7_m.jpgOne of the literary lions of New Journalism, Mailer has long marched to the beat of his own muse, conquering fiction (The Naked and the Dead), non-fiction (Armies of the Night, Executioner’s Song), cultural criticism (The White Negro), play writing (Strawhead), screenwriting (contributions to Once Upon A Time in America), directing (of his own novel/script Tough Guys Don’t Dance) and even an essay on the craft of writing itself (The Spooky Art). Oh, along the way he co-founded the Village Voice, ran for mayor of New York City in 1969 on a secession platform to make it the 51st state and has been name-checked by The Simpsons, “Give Peace A Chance” and Charles Bukowski.

Yo ho, yo ho, a Mailer’s life for me. (That said, I would refrain from stabbing my wife with a penknife because she would, in turn, kill me.)

With Mailer-esque grandiosity in mind, I decided the first step to success was to begin hob-knobbing with New York City’s intellectual elite. Fortunately, my friend Alex was working for the as-not-yet-officially-announced presidential contender John McCain. He hooked me up with an invite to a cocktail party at Bloomberg News to celebrate the release of McCain’s memoir, Faith of My Fathers. It was a star-studded affair with luminaries sipping champagne and eating shrimp wrapped in bacon as the author signed books and greeted well-wishers. Guests included Charlie Rose, Mike Bloomberg, Secretary of Defense William Cohen, Cindy Adams, Barbara Walters, Carl Bernstein, and Henry Kissinger. I was in my element. I even got a chuckle out of McCain when I stopped MLB player’s union lawyer Donald Fehr from cutting in line by saying, “You cost us the World Series, the line forms back there.”

And then, as I looked about my peers in the room while basking in my future glory, I spotted him.

The Man. The Myth. The Mailer.

Sporting an enormous Band-Aid across his forehead.

This wasn’t one of those white butterfly bandages, or one of the small, rectangular types; it was the classic oval-shaped adhesive your mother slapped on your five-year-old skinned knee after a skateboard crash. I tried to convince myself that Mailer had just come from a bloody-knuckle Christopher Hitchens ass-kicking, but considering he was 76 at the time, the chances seemed slim. Mailer was just an old guy in a rumpled suit with a large Band-Aid covering up some kind of splotch underneath his thinning white hair.

So, he looked a bit silly. What did I care? This was my opportunity to kickstart my quest to become the 21st century Norman Mailer by taking mental notes from the 20th century version. I walked over and somewhat sheepishly introduced myself. One never knows how they will act in the presence of greatness.

“Hello, umm, Mr. Mailer. I’m a writer and I just wanted to say that I am a big fan of your—”

“What’s your name?”

“Patrick Sauer.”

“How do you spell that?”

“S-A-U-E-R.”

Mailer mulled that over for a few long seconds while I tried to think of something intelligent and witty to say, the kind of remark that would get me invited to dinner parties in Provincetown. Before I came up with anything, Mailer interjected.

“You’re a writer, huh? Have you written anything I might be familiar with?”

In my mind, the writer’s life I was envisioning for myself went down in a fiery crash like John McCain’s A-4 Skyhawk. Not only did I not have a single worthwhile credit to offer the multiple-Pulitzer-prize-winning-writer standing in front of me, but I also couldn’t look this living legend in the eye because the peculiar, unexpected Band-Aid hypnotized me.

So, I half-mumbled a response.

“Are you familiar with the Complete Idiot’s Guides series?”

“No.”

“Umm, well, they’re mass-market reference books, but, umm, you know…I’m just getting started and well…anyhow, I just wanted to say it’s an honor to meet you.”

Mailer gave me the smile of a pugnacious grandfather.

“Well, Patrick Sauer, I’ll look out for that name. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be writing for you one of these days.”

He shook my hand. And then he wandered off to the party.

Norman Mailer photo from Flickr user Gifted Gourmet.

Flamingo Magic in Our Front Yard

Thursday, November 2nd, 2006

27750718_4eb92ea74d.jpgWhenever I would go over to my grandma and grandpa’s house in Anoka, MN, I used to always play in their yard. I especially loved to play in the front yard (my grandma’s domain) because it was always like a magical fantasy-world filled with colorful flowers, lots of shrubs and plenty of neat lawn ornaments. Yep, I’m talking gnomes and pink flamingos. Still, the front yard was a great place to escape reality and play pretend. I wonder if my grandma felt the same way when she was in her space. Was she expressing her own personal desires, dreams and fantasies through her whimsical collection of plastic and potted plants—or am I totally over-analyzing my grandma?

Entirely possible.

Anyway, The Christian Science Monitor had a fun article about the iconic pink flamingo and how Don Featherstone, the man who started it all back in 1957, has closed down his flamingo-making plant in Leominster, MA and stopped producing “phoenicopteris ruber plasticus”—according to the Monitor, that’s what Featherstone called his faux-feathered-friend.

I know. I almost needed a paper bag too. But fear not avid collectors. At least three companies have so far expressed interest in getting their hands on the mold, so kitsch can continue to exist in the front yards of millions of Americans.

You can read about why this bird is so important to so many people here.

Lauren Redniss, Author of Century Girl

Thursday, November 2nd, 2006

I recently wrote on my 52projects.com site about witnessing a feat of feats: Author and artist Lauren Redniss signed over 7,000 title pages of her new book Century Girl. So yes, the signing of the pages — that was most certainly a feat of feats. But the book, it truly matches the magnitude of Lauren’s page upon page (upon page) signing effort. Century Girl — a “visual biography” — is a work of art that tells the story of a remarkable woman, Doris Eaton Travis, the last living star of the Ziegfeld Follies. It is visually stunning — the colors and art/photos/clippings and presentation make the cleverly inked biographical words LIVE on the page. And though longevity is one of the book’s hooks (”100 years in the life…”) it is really about LIVING life, really, truly living life. It’s an inspiring book on many levels: Doris Eaton Travis’ story inspires you to want to live life to the fullest, and Redniss’ creative, beautiful presentation inspires you to want to tell stories in amazing ways, whether it’s through words or photos or paintings or music or poems or all of it together. So the book is definitely worth checking out. Higly recommended.

Someday, Google Will Rule the World

Wednesday, November 1st, 2006

News from the business side of the personal media world: Jotspot.com, one of the Wikis mentioned in our lovely Toolbox feature (Read it. Now. You’ll thank us later) has just been acquired by Google for the astonishing sum of $50 million. Valleywag points out that with the sheer amount of cash Google has on hand, $50 million is just a drop in the bucket.

Well, duh. I think we knew that already.

The Elections Are Trippi

Wednesday, November 1st, 2006

Less than a week till the election. Since we know that all politics is personal, we’ve slipped NPR’s accountant a mickey, stolen some of the Kroc money and ramped up our political desk. As such, we humbly toss a few stories into 2006’s midterm political stew.

Just in from Michael Slenske, a reporter who considers all things war for SMITH — The Vet Factor: Does Fighting in Iraq Make You Fit for Office? Slenske asked all six recent war vets how their personal war experience fuels their desire to hold office. Three responded, two Ds, one R.

Coincidentally, just as we published this story, one of Slenske’s own sources, Joe Trippi, was expounding on NPR’s Morning Edition about another topic we’re hot for: technology’s influence in this election. For this we turn to Tate Hausman’s The Campaignster, a chicken’s-eye look at tech’s effect on a political campaign from a guy soaking in it. In his latest dispatch, Mark Foley even shows up.

Finally, Zack Pelta-Heller recalls a harrowing Brush With Fame: serving drink after drink to drunk GOP pirates. Don’t try this at home.

If you’re coming to us via AlterNet or elsewhere — welcome! This is our story. What’s yours?

 
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