Also, this Booklub was Double D' Wicked's debut! Welcome, Double D' Wicked! Although you didn't read the book, you provided a wealth of insight to class stratifications. Many of you may recognize Double D' Wicked from other posts involving Epicureanism and debauchery of all sorts--now she lends her cerebral side to Booklub. We are happy to see her slinking around with delicious bottles of choice wine in tow.
Also present were the tried and true Booklub regulars: The saltiest-sea dawg on the planet, The Notorious Mayor of Moneytown (who wrestled this choice mumu from Endora of Bewitched fame, and bested her spell for spell, finally emerging the victor).
Cricket, who walked away the undisputed champion in our Infamous Joan Didion Smoke-Off (more on this to come)...
Our host for the evening (actually, that's a bit complicated), and resident embittered chain smoker, The Sly Little Minx...
My Booklub antithesis, The Escape Goat, who--once again--launched an impassioned plea for all things sensitive and sappy. 
While I felt this book was Didion at her best, I also believe that her Pulitzer nomination was a Pity Pulitzer nomination. While the subject was interesting, and her writing insightful, I still felt that her trademark icy prose, and repeated references to places, people, objects, and events smacking of class privilege were unbearable. Reading it was a bit tedious and irksome, but it's just her style that has always bothered me. In a desperate threat of retaliation, I told the Mayor I would recommend Pynchon's new book, Against the Day, which is due out in December. She challenged me by raising the stakes to The White Album, to which I responded, "Mason & Dixon," and she shouted back, "Play It as It Lays." In short, madness ensued and we had a Didion / Pynchon shout off. We finally called a draw and shared a delicious PBR, the Mayor's drink of choice. My decision has not yet been made...I may still recommend the alleged 900 page Against the Day IN HARDBACK Mayor. So watch your step, and don't push my buttons with your twitchy trigger finger...
As mentioned before, our Booklub tends to take on the mood of the book. But for this depressing read on death and the painfully cyclical process of grieving we decided to celebrate life and have fun! (The other alternative would have been to jump like a pack of lemmings from the Minx's balcony onto a heap of glass shards in the alley below.) Overall, the mood was festive, the discussion heated, the food delicious, and the drinks flowing from a seemingly endless fount of booze! In short, our Booklub was reminiscent of Joan Didion's life in the days when her biggest decision was, "Hmmmm...Hawaii or New York? Hmmm...What should I order from room service here at the elegant Regent Beverly Wilshire?"
As usual, we enjoyed several bottles of wine before the discussion. An assortment of scrumptious appetizers were dutifully served up by our wonderful cabana boy who alternated between orchestrating a Vogue-style walk off and pining slavishly over a hot stove. As instructed, he remained bespectacled with shades in our radiant presence. To this day, his appearance remains a popular cameo in Booklub history; a source of much debate, mystery, and intrigue...
Below, the Mayor excitedly licks her chops over a delicious glass of wine. She loves white wines in the summer, and refuses to drink anything short of remarkable. Judging by her delighted expression, this glass clearly meets her high standards...
The Escape Goat might appear harmless, but she is a ferocious debater. She is known for her emotionally peppered oratorical pleas, and ability to suavely structure an argument with the skill of a seasoned politician. Below, she entertains the table with mindless banter--a ruse! We all recognize this as preparatory activity for her nimble vocal chords...
And what of the Cricket? She rivals Gregor Samsa. Witness the master practicing the simple, yet fluid, gesture of a match-strike. It was that gesture--along with a bored, stoic posturing--that would come to best us all in the Infamous Joan Didion Smoke-Off. Below, this calculated impersonator is featured in-training. Little did we know that we would witness such a chameleon-like transmogrification in our midst. Her metamorphosis, undoubtedly, was the stuff of Ovid, and it will go down in Booklub history as a feat just short of spectacular...
I suppose all of this hype about the Joan Didion Smoke-Off is a subject of curiosity at this point? Perhaps I have referenced it too many times without dishing on the origins of the great Smoke-Off? The history of this challenge is spotty, but I will do my best to recollect... 
It all started when the Mayor of Moneytown, a Pan-like figure indeed, recommended The Year of Magical Thinking via e-mail. The Escape Goat responded to the Mayor's e-mail with the attached photograph of Joan Didion looking really hot surrounded by a hazy cloud of cigarette smoke:
I was so intruiged by the photograph that I repeated the image thirty-five times on a sheet of paper, Andy Warhol style, and tacked it up at my desk. How could I resist? The car. The dress. The smoke. The cock of the head. The jagged line of her stance.
Good one, Escape Goat. Laugh it up chucklehead...
Curiosity got the best of me, and a simple Google search produced numerous photographs of Joan Didion casually weilding her signature cigarette like a Literary Lady Liberty whose blazing torch of postmodern boredom serves as a beacon in an otherwise dark and gritty, fog-filled harbour. This prompted the challenge for our Infamous Joan Didion Smoke-Off...
Already at a disadvantge, the Mayor, myself, and the cabana boy are not smokers. It is a well known fact that for approximately three years the Mayor survived on a Coca-Cola and cigarette diet, but long gone are her days of reckless youth. The question remained, could she channel a caffeine and nicotine induced stance of nonplussed irritability with the mundane details of life to remain a contender? How would the rest of us fare in the contest? The odds did not seem favorable for the non-smokers. The cabana boy put it best by posing the question, "What will my Mom say if she comes across a photo of me brandishing a lit cigarette on a blog?" Indeed, we non-smokers tackled the challenge sheepishly and saw it through a fish-eye lens... 
While the smokers relished the challenge, and laughed at our ineptitude. Two chuckleheads for the price of one, Double D' Wicked?
Clearly, the gauntlet had been thrown and it was time to separate the Joans from the Moans. We set the scene and bade the cabana boy leave the stove for the challenge; we decided no one would be exempt from the Infamous Joan Didion Smoke-Off. Although the non-smokers were unhappy about it, we remained good sports...
We prepared the props (all optional with the exception of the cigarette which remained a prerequisite): alcohol, dry ice, a smart dress, and a slice of lemon to inspire a pursing of the lips. A sense of tension mounted as we argued over the order of operations...
Finally, the Escape Goat came to the rescue and recommended that logic dictated we should follow the flow of the table--starting with Double D' Wicked. Everyone agreed to the plan, and the Escape Goat took a well-deserved congratulatory swill of wine...
Up first, Double D' Wicked, whose natural charm with a cigarette was underestimated. This look says, "I'd rather do Dorothy Parker, but the yoke of Joan Didion has been thrust upon me. I am a beast of burden. I am Joan Didion after a satisfying promotion at Vogue. Right now I can't be bothered with anything less than a refreshing scotch on the rocks; Quintana Roo, fetch me Joe Lelyveld's wife on the phone--and be quick about it."
Next was the Escape Goat, who--with her extensive background in community theatre--was a favorite to win. Further, she has performed on the stage with her arch nemesis. The Escape Goat is a shrewd impersonator whose forte is mimicking gestures. Her performance was stellar, but only enough to reward her with the title of runner-up. This look says, "I am Joan Didion, and I'm angry about it, so you can pry that dick out of your ass and eat it. If you're not convinced, let me slap you with that dick before you commence to indulge. Would you like some mustard? Empty boxes of Parliament Lights grovel at my elbows. Quintana Roo--how many times must I remind you--NO WIRE HANGERS! Where is my stand-in?Wardrobe! Makeup! Lights!"
Time for the Minx to go. She was feeling creative and introduced the element of fire. This look says, "How can I do Joan Didion when my mind keeps reverting to those delicious leftovers that I'll be munching for days to come? When it's my turn to pick the book, I think I'll order an unprecedented meat pizza. Quintana Roo, bring me a coupon for Dominoes!"
My turn. Unfortunately, with my amused smirk and devilish eyebrows I will never be able to capture Joan Didion's deep gaze of melancholic boredom. This look says, "I'm doing me; doing Joan Didion. Try and light this cigarette and I'll shove it up your winking anus. Quintana Roo, bring me Ms. Pearl and be quick about it."
And here we have the Mayor of Moneytown, whose pensive look says, "I'll be Gawddamned, this cigarette tastes good. Whyever did I give this shit up? I haven't had one since I was pickled in the womb. How can I fucking do Joan Didion with this tasty morsel tickling the taste buds on my tongue. Quintana Roo! Bring me a carton of Lucky Strikes Unfiltered with a kerosene lamp and a gallon of black coffee. Get the lead out, asshole!"
And here we have our slightly nervous cabana boy, who put on a brave face and his best Joan Didion. This look says simply, "Can you Photoshop out this cigarette? Please? Mom--if you're viewing this I was forced. Quintana Roo, fetch me a fire extinguisher."
Finally, our champion, the Cricket! Joan Didion, in the unlikely event that you are reading this, we have cast the perfect woman to play you in a Lifetime-made-for-TV-series--AND--she's Chinese American! A Chinese Joan Didion! Who knew? A twist no one would expect! And behold! I defy anyone to challenge our decision to give the Cricket the championship title in our Infamous Joan Didion Smoke-Off. Just look: The languid posture. The expression of umbrage. The lit cigarette on the verge of burning her knuckles. This look says, "I listened to Joan Didion's NPR interview, and know her pain. I have experienced love, loss, and really bad hangovers. All the Pulitzers in the world are trivial and I would trade them for times lost. Death be not proud, and fleece me if you will, but be quick about it. I have a kicking corpse in a bag to bury. Its bones have bleached in the sun. I'm still a cool customer." Congratulations, Cricket! You are the Infamous Joan Didion Smoke-Off champion!
Reveling in her victory, the Cricket took a victory lap and smoked one for the road. She had a difficult time getting out of character...
Eventually, our cabana boy announced that dinner was served, and we wrapped up our banter without having discussed the book. We decided to eat first--since we needed nourishment after such an intense competition.
The Minx declared the competition over, and set up the next phase of Booklub; our long awaited feast, funded by the Mayor of Moneytown.
Once inside, the Escape Goat began dispensing tabs of acid... 
The Mayor launched into the first of her many tyrannical rants for the evening. Below we see her cautioning the Escape Goat about the ill-effects of hallucinogens (including PCP and psilocybin). She referenced the much-loathed after school special about "angel dust," the one where Helen Hunt takes a nose-dive out of the window, and lectured relentlessly until finally pouncing on the Escape Goat, and pummeling her to "save her" from herself.
All the while, the Cricket savored a potpourri of delectable tastes. Our cabana boy's feast was truly a masterpiece...
In true minx fashion, the Minx was satisfied with her ability to sit back and enjoy the fruits of others' labors. The grin on her face says it all...
Below, Cricket looks on as Double D' Wicked spears a hapless vegetable...
We even allowed our cabana boy a plate of the food he cooked...
After dinner, we momentarily returned to the Minx's patio for drinks. By that time, Double D' Wicked's friend had arrived. Our cabana boy was disappointed, but remained hopeful.
The Escape Goat recommended taking Booklub on the road, and proposed a night of dancing. The Mayor of Moneytown agreed with the Escape Goat, and eventually we all concluded that we were too wasted to prudently confine Booklub to the Minx's balcony, and we could not be held accountable for any unwise decisions--so why not? 10,000 lemmings can't be wrong. Below the Escape Goat unveils her seated rendition of "The Cabbage Patch," a dance popularized by the immortal M.C. Hammer.
Our cabana boy was easily persuaded. A night on the town was right up his alley...
One more cup of coffee for Double D' Wicked (and company), and we would soon be off!
Devious Escape Goat. She was satsfied with her sly plan, and had already invented a mental map of the hot spots and seedy dives she wanted to hit... 
By now an acid-eating Escape Goat was hugging the walls in true Timothy Leary fashion. She began singing "Frank Mills" from the musical Hair and claimed she was camouflaged. Below you will note that she is indeed incognito, as she sneakily blends into the very fabric of the valor walls. Tricky Escape Goat. Watch out for the woman in the yellow wallpaper.
Always savvy, the Sly Little Minx concocted a first-rate plan for concealing a spill. Like an ostrich, find a hole and bury your head in it; out of sight, out of mind. We admired her ingenuity...
Pathetic! I do a better Joan Didion without the cigarette...
And after all of this, where was the escape Goat? Still hugging the woman in the wall!
The Mayor sensed that it was time for an intervention. There are two things the Mayor cherishes most: 1. Picking a fight and skipping away merrily as it ensues. 2. A good intervention. The Mayor loves a good intervention; everyone knows that an intervention is just as fun as picking a fight and skipping away merrily while it ensues. Below she reminds the Escape Goat that she is not trapped in the yellow wallpaper--she is, in actuality--trapped in a bar with really bad music, a sticky ping-pong table, and extremely irritating Bucktown assholes. The woman in the wallpaper looks on and nods in agreement...
As evidenced by the Escape Goat's demeanor, no one wants to be on the receiving end of the Mayor's lectures. Here is brief recap of The Mayor's monologue:
"No more. Do you hear me? You need to step away from the wallpaper. No more acid tonight--or ever. That purple deer is not your friend; you have too many balls in the air to notice. That wallpaper is not lickable. Do you want to be a team player, or not? There's too much on your plate for you to be eating acid unsupervised. Look at yourself, you need a chaperone. Don't count your chickens before they hatch or you'll find yourself up the creek without a paddle. You could really hit the ball out of the park with a bit of Diversity Training in Acid Eating Etiquette. So I have an integrated solution for you; think outside of the box, but keep me in the loop when you want to eat acid and we've got a win / win situation on our hands. Bring me a shrubbery."
Possessed by a sudden and violent mood swing, the Minx attacked me. Content to watch, our cabana boy whispered dirty tips to the Minx such as, "Throw sand or hot coals in her eye." Fortunately, I am trained in the art of ninjutsu and was able to defend myself with ease. Blocking each of her feeble blows, I remained unchallenged. Finally, I became bored and froze the Minx in her tracks by pressing a potentially fatal combination of pressure points. I did this for her own protection; she had become a liability. I told the cabana boy that he would be in charge of picking her up and dragging her from dive to dive; this pleased him as he is a cabana boy who enjoys a statuesque woman by his side. He remarked that he would call her Minx de Milo. I replied, "Do. It has a nice ring. But first let's rip off her arms."
Still incapable of straying too far from her lonely "friend," the Escape Goat casts a skeptical glance in the Mayor's direction. The Mayor remained some distance off with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. Needless to say, she was disappointed in the Escape Goat for eating an entire sheet of acid and chasing it with a bottle of bleach. I mean--why didn't she share?
The Minx enjoys a cigarette...
Always a good patriot, the Escape Goat waves a flag. Everything else is upside down...
We were off to another bar, but not before pausing to pay homage to The Shit Fountain, which--encouraged by random onlookers--the Minx promptly vomited on.
Escape Goat. Shame, shame, you know your name...
Look at this. For all of you who doubt the Mayor's entrepreneurial spirit, observe her now. It's Friday night--no Saturday morning at about 2 AM--and The Mayor is checking stocks on one of her multiple start-ups with two seperate phones! She owns Wall Street. 
What is it with this phone-checking contageon?
After a harrowing plummet in the Dow, the Mayor turns a critical eye towards the crowd. Someone will pay dearly...
And who should it be, but me. Once again a victim of the Mayor's tyrannical verbal abuses. Below she is depicted hurling insults from a notable distance. Coward! Anything to hinder my ability to retaliate. Afterwards, the Mayor took to drink and drowned her sorrows in a glass of Hacker-Pschorr the size of her scrappy forearm. She consumed enough of these in thirty minutes to pickle her liver for life. She even gnawed on the lemon peel to "freshen her breath." 
The Escape Goat is a night owl who nests in green alcoves...
Double D' Wicked and company...
As you can see, the Minx is indeed frozen--thanks to the punishment I dispensed. Good job, cabana boy, see that she doesn't get out of hand...
Double D' Wicked, left to your own devices you would be a menace to society...
Let the below series of photographs be known as the Ziggy Stardust files. The Mayor loves signs and symbols. For example, she recognizes several interplanetary signs from outer space as signals to go extraterrestrial. "Ziggy Stardust" randomly played across a jukebox is one such sign. As soon as she heard the opening phrase, "Ziggy played guitar..." she knew she had encountered a rare (and public) opportunity to fancy herself one of the Spiders and rawk a classic air guitar solo. In the Escape Goat she found the perfect accomplice. Here the Mayor of Moneytown is seen screaming, "Raise your devil horns aloft! Ziggy!" Initially, the Escape Goat can only laugh, as she knows encouraging the Mayor could lead to folly.
Next, the Escape Goat tries to play it cool while the Mayor becomes the hero on her own stage; wearing spandex and makeup with an androgynous mohawk, rawking a guitar solo in a lone beam of light while dry ice swirls around her ankles. Below the Mayor feels the force of a mystical amp and the roar of an imaginary crowd. Rawk out Mayor! You're a star! And you--Escape Goat--don't look so dour and glum; it won't be long before you are pulled into the Mayor's imaginary web of deceit! You can't resist the urge...
Somebody call the police! We have two rawkaholics on our hands getting crunk and disorderly!
Time for the breakdown. Just look at the Mayor and Escape Goat working the crowd...
Spent, the Mayor and Escape Goat quenched their thirst with more booze. No wonder musicians party out so hard. It's tough rawking a crowd every night. How do you avoid recklessness and stay connected to your roots when everybody wants a piece of you? Just look at these two. Shortly thereafter they closed down the bar. After this night of debauchery, the Mayor went out into the evening and fucked some shit up. She was dancing on the roof of a Lincoln Continental...
Musical chairs...
Once the Mayor's narcolepsy kicked in we knew it was time to go...
As we sauntered off into the night our cabana boy demonstrated the perfect sashay. Once again, a wonderful evening of Booklub comes to a close, and we begin reading anew. The Escape Goat hosts our next event, and although I never reveal the selection beforehand, a clue is in order: Southern Gothic. Perfect for the sweltering summer humidity. She even has a willow tree beneath her balcony. 
3 comments:
hey, normally i don't mind letting others take credit for my brilliance, but this particular incident i cannot let go. it was i, the hardworking, head down, plow through, might as well be called work horse, sly little minx that found that sweet pic of joan did which inspired such booklub creativity, conversation, and controversy.
second, i did not puke! it was a close call, but i pulled myself togetha rather than be shamed foreva. holla!
Okay Minx, thanks for clarifying that (really). The details were very shady in my mind (as I noted in my post), and originally I thought the Mayor may have submitted that pic along with her selection--but my memory stopped me and said, "No! Someone responded to the Mayor's e-mail with that sweet pic attached." Alas, I could not remember WHO it was. I typed it up as the Escape Goat because it seemed like her style...
Thanks for noting that--I had a feeling I would screw it up. I will swap out the names tonight!
that's ok!
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