Self Having Fun This Morning: Or, Further Quotes from the San Francisco Chronicle

Oh, self does intend to have fun this morning. Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun. First of all, a number of anonymous women (and self does not know why men simply refuse to join in the fun) have sent Kanlaon messages while self was tucked in all snug in her bed with visions of sugarplums etc etc. This morning, upon perusing blog stats, self discovered that there are yet more demands — not requests, demands — for self to post the rest of the Carlos Bulosan story, “My Father Goes to Court.” The last one self received, she decided to post. And it is so amazing, people are actually furious, furious, because self, intrepid blogger that she is, is so lame that she has not realized people will want to know the ending of a story. But self, being a writer, is also a staunch believer in the concept of delayed gratification. Besides which, she loves that everyone is leaving comments. So, impatient Furies, you will just have to wait some more. (Note to teachers who are teaching Bulosan or any of the Filipino writers self has brought up in her posts: Do not refer your students to Kanlaon, for it will just drive them crraaaazy . . . )

OK, that’s the first reason why self intends to have fun this morning. The second is that she suspects hubby may be suffering the effects of a hangover from the Grey Goose martini he downed at Citizen Cake last night. All right, it wasn’t just the martini, he also had to down half of a generous serving of Calvados which self had ordered to go with her caramelized-apple-and-pecan-and-cheese tart, topped with cinnamon-chocolate ice cream. Self didn’t feel the Calvados hit until the concert at Davies started, and then she offered fervent thanks that she hadn’t downed the whole snifter, for she hasn’t felt a hit this hard since she played “Let’s do bottoms-up with tequila” in Mexico City, oh ages and ages ago in the days of her wild youth. So, first self began to feel herself going white. Then, her fingers became numb. Then, she began to feel woozy and light-headed. But, the concert (Shostakovich Symphony No. 5, conducted by Michael Tilson-Thomas) had already begun. So no one would actually have noticed if self had chosen to pass out in her seat. And hubby was too intent on looking at the members of the orchestra with his binoculars (At one point, just before self sank into Calvados-induced numbness, self asked to have a look through hubby’s binoculars, and this is what she discovered: many of the San Francisco Orchestra members are women, and many are also young). And self did not have to get up again until the end of the program (not even for the Intermission: she pretended she was busy reading up on the program notes), when people started leaping to their feet and yelling “Bravo!” So, self managed to retain most, if not all, of her dignity.

Ah, yes, and now we shall proceed to the Quotes, mentioned in the title to this post.

Self is reading the San Francisco Chronicle again: not the same issue as the last one she quoted (Monday, 26 November), but the one of Friday two days ago. And she has almost finished perusing the entire thing when she lands at Leah Garchik’s column (back page of the Datebook section). And dear Leah continues with the theme of “famous celebrity diss-es”, which she began on Monday with the story of the hapless fan with the plate, and how he was diss-ed by Al Gore. And here she follows up with more diss-es, to wit:

In 1992, during an hourlong interview with Bill Gates, journalist Paul Schindler recalls that Gates told him three times, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Or, how about this one, which took place in the late 70s, when famous author and playwright Lillian Hellman came to San Francisco to deliver a lecture:

Glenn Davis, who was writing a San Francisco mystery novel about whatever happened to Sam Spade’s murdered partner (a character in “The Maltese Falcon,” written by Hellman’s partner, Dashiell Hammett), went to the Huntington Hotel to see her. “The desk announced me, but somehow it gets gummed up and they say it is Peter, (Lillian’s) associate at that time. I go on up to her suite. She answers. ‘You’re not Peter. You are a precocious young man!’ and slams the door.

Self is sure dear blog readers are still in the mood for more, so here’s a third anecdote:

Steve Helig was introduced to Van Morrison when they were both guests at a dinner. After everyone got acquainted, Helig “ventured to tell him how much his music meant to me when I was growing up and traveling the world, always with tapes of his LPs in tow. He rolled his eyes and muttered, ‘I don’t know why people tell this kind of bull—-.’ ” Helig says he didn’t take the comment personally, especially after Morrison threw a plate of pasta across the room later in the evening.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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