The Ladies of the Corridor

I got a tasty little morsel in the mail yesterday. Anyone who has read this blog knows that I'm a fan of the marvelous Ms. Dorothy Parker. Recently, Pengin Classics released a new edition of her collaboration with Arnaud d'Usseau.

The play is heartbreaking. It's so honest. You can see shards of her in every page- the real Dorthy Parker - not just the witty, fork-tongued dragon (though there are glimpses) but of the deeply depressed, alcohol-soaked anger that she struggled with throughout her life.

Marion Meade wrote a wonderful introduction to the book that puts the reader in the picture as to what was going on with Mrs. Parker during this time in her life. As usual Marion Mead is brilliant. She is without a doubt my favorite biographer.

This is a wonderful play. It was badly received on Broadway when it opened, and not incredibly well received in 2005 when it was reprised. It's a play that should be read. It's a play for for those who love Mrs. Parker.

Like Dorothy Parker - it is beautiful, tragic, perfectly-imperfect, and heartbreaking.

The Perfect Blue Martini

While I'm not actually a martini drinker, there has always been something truly alluring about the simple drink. Had I not taken my first plunge into the pool with a combination of a friend's father's best bottle of Beefeater's spiked with of all things- grape Kool-Aide, I might feel quite different. But, as it is-gin tastes like a Christmas tree to me-though I am trying hard to learn to love it. I feel that like caviar it is a taste for which one should acquire.

I hate tchotski's on the whole, but I might just have to invest in a pair of these little blue glasses. If it worked for Benchley-it should as well work for me.

As Ms. Parker was known to have said:

"I like a good martini,
One or two at the most.
After one I'm under the table,
After two, I'm under the host."

Should you feel the need to toss aside the concept of this simple drink for something well...more girly but still quite potent, I suggest the following.

Algonquin Bar Punch Recipe

Ingredients
1 oz Pineapple
1 oz Dry Vermouth
2 oz Canadian Whiskey (smuggled past the Mounties & the FEDs)

Directions

Shake and strain into an old-fashioned glass three-quarters filled with cracked ice.
Add an orange slice or a cherry.
Drink to excess.

Hiccup. If you need me I'll be under the host.

Management Has Received No Complaints

I'm under the weather, but there's no need to neglect my blog. It's just brief today-like this wicked little poem.

INTERVIEW

By Dorothy Parker

The ladies men admire,
I've heard,
Would shudder at a wicked word.
Their candle gives a single light;
They'd rather stay at home at night.
They do not keep awake till three,
Nor read erotic poetry.
They never sanction the impure,
Nor recognize an overture.
They shrink from powders and from paints...
So far, I've had no complaints.

"There is No Such Thing in Anyone's Life as an Unimportant Day"

A member of The Algonquin Round Table, Aleck Woollcott, hailed from Phalanx, New Jersey. From childhood he was an avid reader, with a particular love of Charles Dickens. After working his way through Hamilton College in update New York, Woollcott crashed around through a few different jobs, but settled in as one of the New Yorker’s most acclaimed theater critics. At one point he was even banned from reviewing certain Broadway shows. As a result he sued the Shubert theater organization for violation of the New York Civil Rights Act, but lost in the state's highest court in 1916 on the grounds that only discrimination on the basis of race, creed or color was unlawful.

His lawsuit was a perfect example of the moxie of Aleck Woollcott-an owlish character whose caustic wit either joyously attracted or vehemently repelled the artistic communities of 1920s Manhattan. His judgments were frequently eccentric. Dorothy Parker once said: "I remember hearing Woollcott say reading Proust is like lying in someone else's dirty bath water. And then he'd go into ecstasy about something called, 'Valiant Is the Word for Carrie', and I knew I had enough of the Round Table."

I’m with Dorothy on that one.

He was known to greet friends with, "Hello, Repulsive." Famously, he published the shortest theatrical review in history by submitting to his editor simply: "Ouch."

After being kicked out of the apartment he shared with The New Yorker founders Harold Ross and his wife Jane Grant, Woollcott moved to an apartment at the far end of East 52nd Street. The members of the Algonquin Round Table had a debate as to what to call his new home. Franklin P. Adams suggested that he name it after the Indian word "Ocowoica", meaning "The-Little-Apartment-On-The-East-River-That-It-Is-Difficult-To-Find-A-Taxicab-Near". But Dorothy Parker came up with the definitive name: Wit's End.

He was one of the most-quoted men of his generation. Among Woollcott's classics is his description of the Los Angeles area as "Seven suburbs in search of a city" — a quip often attributed to his friend Dorothy Parker. Describing The New Yorker editor Harold Ross, he said: "He looks like a dishonest Abe Lincoln."

You either loved him, or you hated him. As I didn’t have the chance to meet him personally (he collapsed of a heart attack during a panel discussion of the war in Europe on CBS radio and passed away a few hours later at the age of 56) I think he’s absolutely caustically magnificent.

A character among characters, it is said that he was the inspiration for the character of Sheridan Whiteside in George S. Kauffman’s “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner”, that the character of Nero Wolfe was modeled upon him (though the author denies it) and that the Brandy Alexander was delicious alcoholic concoction named after him (supposedly it was created at the occasion of the wedding between Princess Mary and Lord Lascelles in London in 1922).

Here’s the recipe. Drink up!

Ingredients for the Brandy Alexander:
1 1/2 oz Brandy
1 oz Dark Creme de Cacao
1 oz Half-and-half or Heavy cream
1/4 tsp grated Nutmeg

In a shaker half-filled with ice cubes, combine the brandy, creme de cacao, and half-and-half. Shake well. Strain into a cocktail glass and garnish with the nutmeg.

If you’ve actually taken a minute to go mix up one of these tasty little ditties, then welcome back. I’ll end this by saying that he’d have gotten a kick (though an outraged one) out of his own final ending. Woollcott was buried in Clinton, New York, at his alma mater, Hamilton College, but not without some confusion. By mistake, his ashes were sent to Colgate University in Hamilton, New York. When the error was corrected and the ashes were forwarded to Hamilton College, they arrived with 67¢ postage due.

God bless ya Aleck. Here’s to you.

Best Quote I've Heard Lately

Everyone who knows me well...okay, even some people who don't know me well, know that I'm not a big fan of children. There fine for those who choose to make them. Lovely little creatures. Button noses, tiny toes, interesting smell, cute accessories. But, I believe I was otherwise distracted when they were giving out the maternal genes. I truly in my heart of hearts believe that most people of my generation are having children so that they can have something new to name. What the hell else are you going to name Tucker or Tawni or Apple? The very same people have cats and dogs and treat them like children (don't get me wrong-my cats actually run my house) and cart them around in grocery stores and airports like newborns. Then, one day three or four years into a marriage they look at each other and realize they have nothing left to talk about, the sex hasn't been hot in a couple of years and nobody is getting any younger, so rather than get a divorce they have a child.

What a brilliant strategy.

Am I cynical? No. Why would you ask?

I don't have children because I know with inevitable inflation I wouldn't be able to pay for their college education and their therapy bills.

Recently, a friend mentioned a quote by humorist Fran Lebowitz from a Paris Review interview that seems to summarize my feelings to an absolute "t".

"I wouldn't say that I dislike the young. I'm simply not a fan of naïveté. I mean, unless you have an erotic interest in them, what other interest could you have? What are they going to possibly say that's of interest? People ask me, Aren't you interested in what they're thinking? What could they be thinking? This is not a middle-aged curmudgeonly attitude; I didn't like people that age even when I was that age."

No truer words were ever spoken. I've been known to take the stance that I've nothing to say to children...none of them have read Proust, so what's to talk about? Call me a curmudgeon if you must. Fine. I'll gladly bear it. But, anyone who's known me for more than 20 years will tell you that I too didn't enjoy children when I was a child..so why change now?

I leave you with another of Ms. Lebowitz's little tidbits with which I agree wholeheartedly. There was nobody like the magnificent Ms. Parker-not before and certainly not since.

"Dorothy Parker makes me laugh, always. Her book reviews. People really slight her because she was so dissolute, she hardly wrote, she was a drunk. I think if someone can write a book review of a popular novel published fifty years before you read the review, and you laugh every time you read it, that person is remarkably talented. "

In closing, and keeping with the theme. I've no doubt that I, despite my wishes, will die on a perfectly sunny day.

Abiento.