Cave Full Of Ghosts

Well, dear readers, it's March! We made it through the collective terror of February. And now what awaits -- St. Patrick's Day and the beginning of spring. A few things about which to be excited --

The return of Mad Men. Don Draper comes back to the screen. Last we saw, he was engaged to his young secretary, the strains of Sonny and Cher playing as Don looked positively befuddled and disturbed by his alarming quick engagement and said secretary peacefully asleep. Joan is with child (albeit not her husband's -- let's hope he can't count when he returns from his tour of duty), and Betty unhappy with her new husband who has realized that despite her incredible beauty, she's an evil harpy who can't be pleased. Bring on the drinks!

The new Billy Bob Thorton memoir, Cave Full Of Ghosts. Co-written by the always brilliant Kinky Friendman (my favorite of his songs being the one about Charles Whitman -- There was a rumor about a tumor/ nestled in the base of his brain). The foreword is written by Billy Bob's ex-wife Angelina and the book promises to explore Billy Bob's poor southern gothic childhood and weird phobias. What more could a reader want?

Cheryl Stray's new memoir, Wild. Love her essays in Best American Essays over the years. Honest and searing and completely disturbing in the best way, the book tracks Stray's long hiking journey across the Pacific Trail. Can't wait to see how she takes the reader through her paces.

The Streets Of Philadelphia

Ten years ago, my dear friend, Hank D. Ballenger, pen name Dr. E. Amer died in a hospital room in Philadelphia. Unlike those old Medical Alert commercials, he'd fallen and he did get up, just not for very long. Felled by black ice and a banana or orange peel (his poor sight made it impossible to identify the evil object), he carried for a few days with a leg broken in several places. This happened despite his reassurances to me that a fall would never hurt him. He wrote this in a letter a couple of years before the fall. Could he have known on some level? It seemed to me from a very young age he always knew everything.

At least he knew a lot of stuff before I did. He was always ahead of the curve, telling everyone about the latest writer, music, or newest gadget. He could quote reams of poetry. He held diverse social groups together. He played guitar and practiced Akido. He even fenced. While I spent hours listening to Simon and Garfunkel's "Richard Corey" in a vain attempt to pull depth from the lyrics, Hank translated the Ovid. Effortlessly cool in the way that people who don't give a shit about being cool or how others see them, he had a wicked sense of humor. Did he have flaws? The dead often don't. Hank did. He had many of what he referred to as "blind spots." When a blind man tells you about his blind spots, it's both funny and true. At this point, Hank himself would instruct the readers to do self-service humor and make up their own jokes. He loved the wrong women or the right women at the wrong time. He had a temper, a righteous anger, and could hold a grudge longer than the IRA. He ate too many meals that were listed under the scary words, Value Menu.

But these flaws were ever so minor. Ten years after his death, he still remains my Virgil, leading me through this crazy, beautiful, difficult world. Especially during dark times, I look to Hank for a sign of how to proceed. Hank would laugh at this tendency and say, You're counting on a blind man to lead you through darkness? But yes, I am. Who better to know what to expect?

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"I seldom recognize an opportunity until it has ceased to be one." Mark Twain

Cocktail Hour
Documentary suggestion: Dig

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Tuesday!