AN OBIT -- HELL, A LIFE -- TO COVET
From The Independent (1/17/09):
Wit, flirt, genius: John Mortimer dies aged 85
Sir John Mortimer, Queen's Counsel, barrister, Commander of the Order of the British Empire, author, playwright, champagne socialist, wit, defender of free speech, wine connoisseur, devoted luncher, national treasure and lord of Chiantishire, has died at the age of 85.
Discussion questions:
1. Why is it inconceivable that an American be known as a "devoted luncher," much less celebrated for same? Because we puff ourselves as far too busy and important to take lunch? Because our fusillade of electronic devices masks an abiding fear of actual human contact? Because our shallow self-esteem admits only of controlling monologs, and cannot tolerate conversations? Because the entire capitalist system decries time not devoted either to making, or spending, money?
2. T or F: Charm is the one luxury that the United States will never export.
3. Did Mortimer share the champagne, each according to his/her need?
HERR KEPLER'S NOTEBOOK
Time is the bully anchor of the opposing tug-rope team.
The person with a happy home life tracks glitter through the world; the solitary person leaves snowprints.
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"The grasshopper warbler's song comes up out of the earth just as you think the day is quietening down. It has no prelude or warm-up: it starts midperformance, as if switched on by the dark, as it if has been singing like this beneath the earth until it was dark enough to come to the surface. As if, though we hardly hear it, this singing never stops."
A Year on the Wing (Tim Dee)
All writing and cartoons on this site copyright 2008-2010 Julia Martin, unless otherwise credited.
The person with a happy home life tracks glitter through the world; the solitary person leaves snowprints.
-------------------------------------
"The grasshopper warbler's song comes up out of the earth just as you think the day is quietening down. It has no prelude or warm-up: it starts midperformance, as if switched on by the dark, as it if has been singing like this beneath the earth until it was dark enough to come to the surface. As if, though we hardly hear it, this singing never stops."
A Year on the Wing (Tim Dee)
All writing and cartoons on this site copyright 2008-2010 Julia Martin, unless otherwise credited.
My good uncle, Sam,
ReplyDeleteis not too charming these days
or for that matter
not really ever, but Ben
was, and you might be.
I rather think you're charming
at least in this place,
which probably works
worldwide if at all.
Charm is not really
(don't you think) a luxury.
I am a devoted luncher. If you lived within lunching distance I would be inviting you to lunch at this very moment. But I don't suppose my obituary will even mention it.
ReplyDeleteDo devoted lunchers admit geographic constraints?
ReplyDeletePlus, winter of frozen tears has rendered devoted invitees quite amenable to relocation to more temperate (in every sense) climes. Chicago February = sanity test failed by Chicago residents.
Champagne socialist is not a nice thing to be called, if you Google it...
ReplyDelete