The Burt Britton Collection

[Eudora Welty. Ink on paper. 10 7/8 x 8 1/4 inches.]

Eudora Welty’s self-portrait is one several hundred self-portraits by actors, artists, athletes, booksellers, musicians, photographers, publishers, and writers, all to be auctioned on September 24, 2009. They are from the collection of Burt Britton, a co-founder of the New York bookstore Books & Co. The starting bid on Welty’s self-portrait: $1000.

The Burt Britton Collection is being auctioned by Bloomsbury Auctions. The catalogue is available as a free PDF download. (Thanks, Bloomsbury!)

Paleo-Future

My daughter Rachel has pointed her parents to Paleo-Future, a site offering “A look into the future that never was.” The woman in the above photograph is a woman of the future. She appeared in the play Railroads on Parade at the 1939 New York World’s Fair.

That half-circle, I finally realized, is part of her garb. Note the shadow that it casts on the train of the future.

Thank you, Rachel!

Bob Herbert on present danger

“We’re heading into nut country today.”

Bob Herbert’s latest column, which here quotes John F. Kennedy, says what must be said.

When Elaine and I suggested to an aide of Congressman Timothy V. Johnson (R, Illinois-15) that Johnson and other principled Illinois Republicans might make a statement to address the claims of those who dispute President Obama’s citizenship, the aide claimed to have no idea what we were talking about. Birthers? Huh?

“Author in a stupor?”

He’s in today’s New York Times crossword, a wonderful and surprisingly do-able puns-and-anagrams puzzle by Mel Taub.

The clue for 11 Across: “Author in a stupor?”

The answer: PROUST.

[No spoilers here. Highlight the empty space to see the answer.]

Related reading
All Proust posts (Pinboard)

“Think Different” quiz

When I first scanned this quiz, I wondered, where’s Allen Ginsberg? Where’s Jack Kerouac? Wrong ads. Ginsberg and Kerouac wore khakis, in Gap ads. Though yes, they too thought different [sic].

Can you name the people from Apple's “Think Different” ads?

Related reading
Think Different (Wikipedia article)

(Quiz found via MacUser)

Eraser Matches

Because mistakes can strike anywhere!

These Eraser Matches (yes, real) were a gift from my son Ben. Thank you, Ben!

Love,

Dad

Brian Wilson on “Norwegian Wood”

“It’s so mysterious. Is he into her, or she into him? It just blew my mind. And in the end, when he wakes up and she’s gone, so he lights a fire. ‘Isn’t it good? Norwegian wood.’ Is he setting her house on fire? I didn’t know. I still don’t know.”

There’s more:

Brian Wilson on the Beatles’ Rubber Soul (Times Online)

Mary Travers (1936–2009)

“People say to us, ‘Oh, I grew up with your music,’ and we often say, sotto voce, ‘So did we.’”

Mary Travers of Peter, Paul and Mary Dies at 72 (New York Times)

[Photograph from the Peter, Paul and Mary website. Photographer unidentified.]

“All time”

Kanye West to Taylor Swift, at the 2009 MTV Video Music Awards this past Sunday:

“Yo, Taylor, I’m really happy for you. I’ma let you finish, but Beyoncé had one of the best videos of all time! One of the best videos of all time!”

The words “all time” play such an odd role in pop culture. Rolling Stone is a prime offender: its list of the 500 greatest songs of “all time” begins in 1949, with Hank Williams’ “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.” We are the world, I guess; nothing before “us” counts.

If the “videos” in Kanye’s proclamation are synonymous with “MTV,” “all time” extends from August 1, 1981 to September 13, 2009.

Smoke gets in my dreams

It’s almost twenty years since I stopped smoking, but I still dream about cigarettes once in a while. It happened last night:

I walked into Jon’s Pipe Shop, where for three years or so I bought tobacco and cigarette papers. Lorraine, Jon’s mother, was still there working. Did they still have Old Holborn tobacco? Yes, of course. But the packages were skinny little versions of the real thing, and each contained nothing more than a ballpoint-pen refill. And Abadie papers? Yes, of course, but they could only be had from “the warehouse.” So I walked out into an empty cityscape, something like the opening scene in The Asphalt Jungle. I found the warehouse door and knocked. No answer. End of dream.

My family will be happy to know that even in dreams I still haven’t smoked the dang things. And they will attest that the ballpoint refills make sense. When I stopped smoking, pens and pencils became for me the new cigarettes, new objects of consolation.

I learned this morning that Lorraine Callaghan died last year at the age of ninety-three. She was a lovely lady.

A related post
Nineteen years later