Friday, June 17, 2005
Saturday's child
Ernest Hemingway once said to me, "Frank, if I knew you back when, I'da blown your head off instead of mine." And, of course, I once worked in a circus with The Flying Wambangos and papa Wambango liked me enough to say, "Remember, not all good things you do come back to you. Sometimes you get a disease instead." This never impressed me, but then one day I had an affair with Greta Garbo. But she was so old at the time she hardly noticed.
Each weekend is for pondering the things that have happened, the people who things have happened to. Like one Saturday long ago I was fishing with Robert Redford and he said, "A river runs through here," to which I replied, "Of course, you nut, that's where the hook goes in." But he was never as kind as Ezra Pound, who wrote about me in many books but left my name out. Just like Jack Webb did in that episode of Dragnet where the two guys steal a car and one of them ... Oh wait, that was Friday.
Every weekend grows dearer to me and should to you, especially if you are over 80. When Vincent Price looked at me that Saturday long ago, he wasn't kidding when he said, "Does my skin look like a sleeping bag to you?" Oh, the memories pour out as the Saturday sun paints the porch (heck, I ain't gonna get on my knees and paint it).
Tim Leary once said to me, "Frank, I feel the universe is only but a microcosmic point on the pin of a needle," and then he spun around four times and sang Lady Be Good. But I remembered that and on this day I tell you all to remember that what you say to people may so impress them that later in their lives they recall it and think of it and say it to someone else. You think the things you say aren't important sometimes but other times they mean nothing.
I leave you with this today, as my mind rambles between the eyes of the faces I have seen and the ears I have pierced: Hey laddy laddy and a cha cha cha. When push comes to shove, you will fall. And really, think of this one last thing: If an asteroid hits the earth and there is no one there to hear it, does it make a sound?
Each weekend is for pondering the things that have happened, the people who things have happened to. Like one Saturday long ago I was fishing with Robert Redford and he said, "A river runs through here," to which I replied, "Of course, you nut, that's where the hook goes in." But he was never as kind as Ezra Pound, who wrote about me in many books but left my name out. Just like Jack Webb did in that episode of Dragnet where the two guys steal a car and one of them ... Oh wait, that was Friday.
Every weekend grows dearer to me and should to you, especially if you are over 80. When Vincent Price looked at me that Saturday long ago, he wasn't kidding when he said, "Does my skin look like a sleeping bag to you?" Oh, the memories pour out as the Saturday sun paints the porch (heck, I ain't gonna get on my knees and paint it).
Tim Leary once said to me, "Frank, I feel the universe is only but a microcosmic point on the pin of a needle," and then he spun around four times and sang Lady Be Good. But I remembered that and on this day I tell you all to remember that what you say to people may so impress them that later in their lives they recall it and think of it and say it to someone else. You think the things you say aren't important sometimes but other times they mean nothing.
I leave you with this today, as my mind rambles between the eyes of the faces I have seen and the ears I have pierced: Hey laddy laddy and a cha cha cha. When push comes to shove, you will fall. And really, think of this one last thing: If an asteroid hits the earth and there is no one there to hear it, does it make a sound?
