Who says Modernism wasn't funny?

Stumbled upon these literary bar jokes while researching James Joyce for a presentation. Quite. Quite.

My favorite is Twain's:

Mark Twain: Give me a brandy.
Bartender: So Charles Dickens came in the other day and ordered a martini.
Mark Twain: Did he take an olive or twist? Ha ha ha!
Bartender: (tearful) You did that on purpose, didn't you?

And although I know it's an exaggeration that most people take to be the truth, I still enjoy the Woolf caricature:

Virginia Woolf: I'll take your second-best cognac and unadulterated experience.
Bartender: We don't have that. This is a bar.
Virginia Woolf: Patriarchy! (drowns)

Note to self: remember these for Bloomsday.

1922-2007

Kaze o atsumete

One pleasant thought:

Thinking here that no matter where I end up geographically I am the same me there as I am here & so have the same inclinations, which means even if two years from now I'm living outside of Tokyo and teaching English, my late nights will still boast the same general composition:

Sitting up, pushing back the light of the next day, little room, computer, listening to the pillows, dreaming about being up late in little rooms, at the computer, listening to the pillows, with a window with a different view.

Not sure I know exactly how to explain it. But this description is the same in Japan, in Philly, in New York, inywhere--

Tonight's been a good night, ready to stretch out, twist my back each way, crackcrack, and sleep, up, money in an envelope, a bag, on the bus, then ARVN and VC, then a quick nap hood over my face in the sun on a bench indoors, music, fields, ink and pages, and tomorrow night a sader of all things.

Sometimes all things move along without creaking too much, without needing to be oiled, steadily, forward, and you're just short of something to complain about and mostly everything mostly makes sense.

So--