To See the World From A Doggy's Point of View

In September, Book Gang convened on Laura F.'s L.A.-esque condo for treats and wine, and to discuss The Life and Opinions of Maf the Dog, and of His Friend Marilyn Monroe by Andrew O'Hagan.

It was an interesting departure from the slap-happy world of weirdos we left behind after John Waters' Role Models. With Maf, we not only took a trip back in time, to the Bay of Pigs, lounge-singing, Strasberg/Actor's Theatre days, we also got a chance to see "how the other half lives," with Maf visiting the posh LA home (and dysfunctional family life) of the late Natalie Wood, to Hollywood parties ferried by limousine, to Marilyn stopping traffic on Fifth Avenue. Always, Maf sees things from the floor-level up, There were some very depressing shoes at the party (213).
Most of the Gangsters who read the book agreed that they found it hard to get into this story because of the dog's eye perspective. The device might have been cute at first, but this writer took WAY too many liberties in waxing philosophical, and quickly lost his audience by pulling the snobby I'm-better-read-than you card, name-dropping Doestovsky, Aristotle and Plutarch, and abusing his minor in psychoanalysis with mean, cruel, add-on characters who add little to the story. Oh, and all of the cats speak in blank verse poetry. Oh, and he also name-drops an obscure Cecil B. DeMille film (70). Whatever.

Book gang was not too impressed with this book, but did find some of the behind-the-scenes speculative glimpses of Ms. Monroe's life somewhat interesting. The book really paints Frank Sinatra as a total dick, which isn't too hard to believe. It plays up an assumed friendship between Ms. Marilyn and the great, butchy author Carson McCullers, whose character int he book talks a lot of colorful shit about Truman Capote.
Through all of the coast-to-coast travel, Marilyn's ordeals struggling to make a name for herself as a "serious actress," the champagne-soaked nights and pill-popping mornings of her glamorous, but ultimately tragic life, she seems like a real entrepreneur with a mind for business. Even if she sold herself as air-heady, this writer still thinks Marilyn would have been fun to hang out with. And all of that business with JFK? According to this little puppy, it wasn't nearly as scandalous as everyone thought; the storyteller makes a pretty good case that Marilyn and JFK were not sexual at all--they didn't need to be. They had a strong bond as kindred spirits, and merely understood one another and enjoyed each other's company. Kind of a nice thought to depart on.
The book also got kudos from the Gang for its soft ending. Though hints at Marilyn's imminent unfolding are eluded to within the text (her moods often darken, the "color" of her life changes before her return to LA), the writer didn't make us gag with an overly sappy, poorly-produced tragic ending. Instead, Maf lets up down easy, reporting on Marilyn's wacky trip to the East to sing "Happy Birthday, Mr. President," and then leaving us there to contemplate a sunny day. We don't need any more than this, we know what happens next.
So even though Maf wasn't one of our favorite narrators of all time, it was still kind of nice to have a "palate cleanser" after the memoirs we've been reading of late.
And on that note, our next scheduled book is a Wimmer selection, Talking to Girls About Duran Duran. As of Oct. 1, it was stocked and ready at Changing Hands. See you next time!

John Waters, You Dirty Old Man

Gangsters convened upon the Cat Ranch for a quirky, campy review of John Water's colorful autobiographical collection of essays, Role Models.

We drank Sangria, ate some chips, and discussed how surprising it was that John Waters has a deep, undying love of Johnny Mathis, and how unsurprising it is that he surrounds himself completely with freaks, not only in his searches for acting and stage idols, but also in his love life (button-down, back-door, nearly-straight closet queers) and his choice of bartenders and fashion gurus. John Waters has built a career from being the director/writer guy who is, in all of his films, unabashadely shameless. As it turns out, his normal life is just plain like that, as well.

It was a treat that Wimmer found this audio book at the library, narrated by none other than Mr. Pencil Moustache himself. We had the added advantage in our discussion of also getting to listen to excerpts, especially the chapter, Baltimore Heroes, which features a couple of particularly flagrant displays of bad motherhood. We delighted (and sorrowed) at the story of dog-faced-yet-femininely-bodied "Zorro," or Z as her friends in later life called her, and her harrowing tales of motherhood, raising her pious Catholic little daughter Eilleen in the back streets and flophouses of Baltimore.

Also in that chapter is the story of foul-mouthed Native American bartender/bar owner Esther who happened to go from running one of the worst seeming bars on skid row to one of the most happening hipster hang-outs downtown. We couldn't help but identify Esther with one of our favorite downtown mavens from Bikini Lounge. An uncanny parallel indeed!

Most of us agreed, we could have skipped the Outsider Porn chapter. But it was a relief, and an intrigue, to learn that John Waters is such an avid reader, and to explore some of his "must-read" books. Far better than anything we've heard described on Oprah's little clubby-club list lately.

It was all fun and games, until we had to vet serious. We talked about how bizarre it was that Waters took his Manson family fandom to the next level and actually befriended Leslie Van Houten. Visiting her regularly in jail, he has taken on her repeated tries for parole as his cause, and writes, seriously about what a beautiful person she is, and how he heartily believes in her reformed self, and hopes for her release.

Lucky for us, Libby is a truly dedicated Waters fan, and she provided a backdrop of his films including Pink Flamingoes, Female Trouble and Desperate Living, so that we had supreme visuals to match our messy discussion. Nothing like raising your eyes up after some serious book-talk to visions of gigantic black lesbian buns rolling around on top of Mink Stole, or a grody cockroach crawling across a bleach-blonde stripper's booty to put you in the true mood to talk John Waters!

  And just so we never forget that a true icon isn't a really icon without his followers, Waters throws in a final chapter urging the brave, militant, freaky, artist fringe to carry on his torch--to become members of the Waters army, to always pay attention to their dress, to live on the edge--the very outskirts of society--to experiment, to go nuts, and, spoken like a true Queen of course, to always wear nice shoes.

We had a very fulfilling frolic in Waters-land, and we're even toying with the idea of a Group Gang-penned letter to Mr. Waters. He's even provided his address for us! (What a nice little freak, indeed!)


So before we go on to our misadventures with Maf the Dog, I propose a toast to Mr. John Waters, King of the Lunatic Fringe, Master of the Baltimore Underground Film Scene--a true entertainer and inspirations to freaky kids everywhere to go and make art.

Second Part Blind Assassin, skipped. On to "Just Kids"

Just Kids, by Patti Smith - the rock 'n' roll biography about Smith's fantastic lifelong friendship and love with Robert Mapplethorpe.

Next meeting: Monday, June 27th, Wimmer's  7 PM