Speaking of breaking down, it turns out that the Guardian did not accept my credit card information, so I guess I didn't subscribe. It would have been so much easier if they just kept the damn thing free. I am naturally parsimonious when it comes to certain things--with notable exceptions, the less I pay for something, the more I enjoy it. I have a vast collection of 78s--none of which I have paid more than a dollar for--and most considerably less. If I find a copy of the New York Post discarded--I seize upon it and do the Times of London crossword with gusto--thrilled at not having to give Rupert Murdoch my fifty cents. (The other week I spotted a Post drifting in the street right outside my house--wasn't I the lucky beachcomber!) I never had much money--being severely allergic to regular gainful employment--and so I learned to live luxuriously on nothing. (Living at home until age 34 under the suveillance of a Depression baby helped develop my inner cheapskate.)

So now that I'm married to Sue--little-miss-debutante-Garden-City-I-always-had-shoes--I feel like a millionaire. I can actually spend money on fun things occasionally without getting a lecture. I still find myself physically unable to waste anything--and I can't quite bring myself to be extravagant--but I'm getting better. The mere fact that I would even CONSIDER paying for on-line crosswords is evidence of that. Of course, I'm sure as hell not going to tell my mother.   ¶ 11:07 PM 0 comments

  As much as it pains me to admit it, I broke down today and subscribed to the Guardian Crossword. I had absolutely no intention of doing so--and had, in fact, been saving the past week or so of cryptics for the coming drought. But the Guardian puzzle is arguably the best in the world--and it does somewhat counteract the effect on my brain of all the beer I drink. So I shelled out--and opted for the free book instead of the five pound discount. If I have to spend money on an on-line service--which still seems vaguely like a swindle, since I'm printing everything out with my ink on my paper--this would be the one, I suppose.

My eBay fever hasn't tapered off much yet--we haven't run out of money yet. I did hit a speed bump Saturday when one of my machines arrived in a deplorable state--packed upside-down in a too-small flimsy carton with crumpled paper as protection. It is more of a jigsaw puzzle than a typewriter--but I expressed my disappointment courteously to the seller (I am ALWAYS polite) and due restitution was made. My flatbed Royal is still in transit--a special machine, in beautiful shape, on a par with the Smith #2. I hope the postman, growing clearly disgruntled at having to pump all that cast iron, doesn't bounce THAT one on my back step as well.  ¶ 3:53 AM 0 comments

  "Utica is the chief market for cheese in the United States."
--Encyclopaedia Britannica (Ninth Edition--1890)

Some things never change. This would explain our asses, which are unparalleled in magnitude. As a third-generation Utican, my own is a matter of destiny--and decadence. My typewriter-shaped chickens are at last coming home to roost--and our dining room resembles a Mailboxes, Etc. outlet. The L.C.Smith #2 is a doll--the serial number places it in about January 1906. I have restored it to full showroom condition, save for a frozen tabulator and a couple of missing rubber feet. Its ugly step-sister arrived today--a #1 from 1910, as it turns out. A piece of cast iron has been snapped off the carriage, the spring seems broken, and a few parts are missing--thus making it only more of a challenge. The older noiseless arrived the same day as the l890 Britannicas, and it works nicely (I have been too mesmerized by the good Smith to focus on it)--with only the other Remington and a nifty "flatbed" Royal #5 (purchased the other night) to come. Oh, and the partial set of the Britannica Eleventh I JUST won (to upgrade and fill in volumes on my Kirkland Book Sale set)--plus some cheap red/black ribbons and a kitschy pug t-shirt (for Sue).

What the frig. If all this keeps me from thinking about politics for half a minute, it's worth every blessed cent. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go eat some cheese.

"Nothing succeeds like excess."
--Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)  ¶ 10:57 PM 0 comments

  Excess update: It seems I am going to be receiving yet ANOTHER typewriter in the mail--I was offered a second chance on one that I bid on a while ago (the other buyer backed out) and it was so cheap to send that I couldn't resist--$20.00, total. It's another old L.C.Smith--not as nice as the #2 but it promises to be a fun restoration project nonetheless. So, FOUR typewriters and TWO big boxes of books are on the way. Poor USPS! Poor UPS!

"What do you need another goddamn typewriter for?"
--Patricia Senior (1930- ) to her son (on numerous occasions)  ¶ 7:35 PM 0 comments

  It occurs to me that I have three typewriters and two boxes of 1890 encyclopedias in transit. I imagine I should feel very guilty if the mail carrier or UPS guy had to deliver all that stuff on the same day! (I am starting to think that I should offer a gratuity, or perhaps some ointment.)

(Or maybe it's just my conscience that needs a salve.)  ¶ 11:26 PM 0 comments

  I meant "English WORDS," not "English WORKS." Sorry for any inconvenience this typo may have caused.  ¶ 12:56 AM 0 comments

  It is one of the great ironies of owning a computer that I have been buying more TYPEWRITERS than ever, now that I am an eBay fanatic. (I'm like Doris Day at the Animal Shelter--they're all so CUTE--I wish I could save them ALL!) Seriously, I have found a few machines that I have been wanting examples of for years--Remington Noiseless office jobs (one is in the mail to me--another has to be paid for) and a neat old L.C.Smith #2. (I arm-wrestled another collector for this one--a beauty!) (The L.C.Smith #2 was actually the first one made--the Smith #1 came out later, with fewer keys. The incomparable Smith Premier--whatever number--is still on my wish list.) This typewriter mania is in a way theraputic--it gets my mind off POLITICS.

I have also been buying dozens of books, and, of course, DRINKING. (I had some Saranac Pilseners last night--what a treat after solacing myself with Saranac Light for weeks. No homage phrased in mere English works could begin to express how highly I esteem the Pilsener. "Golden Nectar of the Gods?" "Mother's Milk?" "Sweet Dew of Heaven Distilled and Made Corporeal Under a Cumulus Head Halo?" All inadequate.) With politics as they are in these United States, I need all the anodynes I can muster.

"'I wondher,' said Mr. Hennessy, 'if us dimmycrats will iver ilict a prisidint again.'"
--Finley Peter Dunne (1867-1936) "Mr. Dooley Discusses Party Prospects" (1901)  ¶ 12:32 AM 0 comments

  Today was the one day that the city of Utica briefly appears on the map before sinking back into comatose obscurity--the occasion of the annual Boilermaker Road Race. People come to town from all over the world to participate in the 14 K run--the course of which passes right in front of my house. Then, after having a few of our fine local beers at 10 am or so (the brewery is the finish line) they haul ass before our bad vibes (also world-famous) begin to interfere with their "runner's high."

In characteristic fashion, I contrived to sleep through the whole thing--not an easy feat, considering that some civic-minded soul pulls his car up to the corner and blasts rock music to "raise the morale" of the runners. To remain unconscious during this local festival, I stayed up past 5 am, got very drunk, and slept in the middle bedroom with the air conditioner turned on. The only jarring moment was when an Air Force jet (ostensibly not flown by Airman Bush) swooped low over the city, sounding as if it were about to hit the house and releasing a series of sonic booms. (Your tax $$$ at play.) But for that, the "toiletbreaker" rolled past me with hardly a murmur.  ¶ 11:28 PM 0 comments

  Today was rare and strange--one of my better days, considering. Immediately after declaring that the magnificent Britannica Eleventh was "too bloody expensive these days" (and consoling myself with the Ninth Edition), one of the former turned up at the Kirkland Library book sale for $100! It is far from perfect, missing the index and Vol. XII (so much for the glory that was Greece)--but it is THE Eleventh, and now it is MINE. (My words to Sue as she went to the sale were--"Check to see if they have the Britannica Eleventh." Little did I imagine they would actually have one!)

Then, as if to add extra cheese to the grand pizza of life, my letter to Bartcop appeared in today's edition--concerning Bush's statement that it didn't really matter if Saddam had WMDs, as long as the American people BELIEVED that he did. (Sue and I were just trying to track down the original quote, uttered at a press conference in Pretoria, which NO ONE AT ALL SEEMS TO HAVE REMARKED UPON.)

I seem to have found the Free Parking space on my personal Monopoly board, where Life is Good.
  ¶ 8:00 PM 0 comments

  "I grow old. . . . I grow old. . . ."
--T.S.Eliot (1888-1965)

True enough. And as if I needed any reminders in that department, I got my new bifocal lenses today. Now I can begin to plow through all those magazines I brushed off to the side because I just couldn't deal with those acres of teensy print. (Not that I will read ALL that verbiage--since having the Electric Internet installed in May, I've been too obsessed with the new toy to do any reading AT ALL, bad vision or no.)

To add to the backlog of printed matter, I just bought an 1890 Encyclopaedia Britannica (9th Ed.) on eBay--the 11th Edition (the supposed "best" one) is just too bloody expensive these days. The books were only fifty bucks, but the postage on 24 volumes will probably kill me, even at Book Rate. I also bought the first two of three facsimile volumes of the First Edition--I have Volume Three, as it turns out. What's the chance of THAT happening? Typewriters, encyclopaedias--I should probably start collecting something that is cheaper to mail.  ¶ 11:40 PM 0 comments

  How can anyone bear to live in these times without large, regular doses of alcohol? I'm surprised that AA is doing any business at all, what with the Bush administration's daily offenses against all that is true, good, and kind. And not just the Bushes--my wife inspired me to drink a prodigious amount of Saranac Light last night merely by reading me all the rotten things the CIA has done in Central America, particularly Guatemala. Why must our country be so terrible to EVERYONE? We might not be as bad as the Third Reich--but only in terms of SCALE, not intent. As long as some mega-corporation is waving dollar bills at us, we'll kill ANYONE, for whatever reason--and rape them first, because that's one of the perks. I love America--I love our music, our culture, our ideals. We have a great civilization. So why can't we actually be CIVILIZED?

And if that all isn't unpleasant enough, the Guardian is going to start charging for its on-line crossword puzzles. I'd hate to have to start buying the New York Post again for the Times of London cryptic. Rupert Murdoch doesn't need my fifty cents. He'd only give it to Bill O'Reilly or some other cheerleader for the Poisonous Monkeyhead.

At least I got my little LineX FM broadcaster from England. Now I can listen to The Big Broadcast (from WFUV) on any FM radio in the house--which I did in the living room last night while I self-medicated. Life can't be all bad if you can listen to great 20's and 30's jazz and pop while numbing yourself to the seamier side of the Monroe Doctrine.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
--Charles Dickens (1812-1870)  ¶ 10:13 PM 0 comments

  It may have been the order of Denny's nachos (blameless in themselves) that I shared with Sue for this night's repast, but the summer evening sits heavily on my chest like a bushel of used rocks. I need caffeine, insulin--something.

We are watching the twins while their mother cavorts at her 20th high school reunion. They are well behaved girls, but culture shock hit me when one of them asked where we kept the "spins." The spins? I said, "I don't even know what you're talking about." "The spins," she insisted. When I finally understood that what she was looking for were the SPOONS, I felt considerable relief. The last thing I wanted or needed was "The Spins"--and the sense that we might have such on hand in the house filled me with a wave of nausea. (Actually, I used to get The Spins quite a lot until I found the Saranac line of beers, and did not veer from their gyroscopic stability throughout a long night of drinking. )

And we all thought regional accents were dead. Hardly. These girls are now living in Tennessee, and they must find our harsh upstate nasality just as incomprehensible as all this talk of "spins." If so, they have shown the good manners not to make fun of us. After all, we've ALL heard Southern speech--but, not for nothing, who can make sense of a UTICA accent? He would truly have to think who he is.

"Cogito, ergo sum."
--Rene "Cheech" Descartes (1596-1650)  ¶ 9:45 PM 0 comments

  I received shipment of my Oliver Number 3 (with cover) from Iowa today--and within four hours I had it operating and looking a whole lot better than before. It still needs attention--but it sure as hell ain't costume jewelry!

We went to the track tonight--the girls broke even, but the FOOD was excellent. It's a shame the Oneida casino will probably drive the place out of business. It was the best buffet I ever ate--I cleaned a very full plate--and it was CHEAP. I have grown so weary of restaurant cookery of late that I was surprised to find myself eating so much. It even made the lackluster program of harness racing--and the whining of eight-year-old twins--tolerable.  ¶ 1:28 AM 0 comments

  "There's a broken light for every heart in Utica."
--me, age 17, loaded on cheap red wine

Well, when I was a teenager, I would drink pretty much whatever was available. Now that I am a great big adult, I can imbibe the select few beverages that don't actually make me violently ill. Certain beers from our local Saranac line, Pilsner Urquell (preferably on tap at Clark's Ale House in Syracuse), and practically nothing else alcoholic. Saranac Light is not as delightful as their Pilsener, but since we bought 18 cases for the summer, and it does not affect me adversely, I guess I'll be drinking that for quite a while.

The flurry of cleaning is over. The girls have arrived for their visit, and Sue's daughter expressed an interest in having a "real" New York pizza, such being unavailable in Tennessee. The only delicacy they seem to have in their city (north of Memphis) is BARBECUE. (If some of our Italians moved Down South, they'd CLEAN UP.) (Only Applebee's and Barbecue? The very thought makes me gag. Today this truly IS The DYSPEPTIC Tank.) So a real Utica, N.Y. pizza it is tonight, then!  ¶ 3:36 PM 0 comments