Pynchon

Morgan Harris

Morgan Harris
This reminded me of all of you fine people assembled in our little corner of the interweb, so I thought I'd share. They're discussing a different medium of intoxication obviously, but the hair-splitting is just as entertaining.

“How do you like this shit?” sez Säure.

Hübsch,” allows Gustav. “A trifle stahlig, and perhaps the infinitesimal hint of a Bodengeschmack behind its Körper, which is admittedly süffig.”

“I would have rather said spritzig,” Säure disagrees, if that indeed is what it is. “Generally more bukettreich than last year’s harvests, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, for an Haunt Atlas herbage it does have its Art. Certainly it can be described as kernig, even — as can often be said of that sauber quality prevailing in the Oued Nfis region — authentically pikant.”

“Actually, I would tend to suspect an origin of somwhere along the southern slope of Jebel Sarho,” Säure sez — “note the Spiel, rather glatt, and blumig, even the suggestion of a Fülle in its würzig audacity ”

“No no no, Fülle is overstating it, the El Abid Emerald we had last month had Fülle. But this is obviously more zart than that.”

The truth is that they are both so blitzed that neither one knows what he’s talking about, which is just as well, for at this point comes a godawful hammering at the door and a lot of achtungs from the other side.

-Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow, 1973
 
"Tyrone help me just reach down that---no next to it, the tall jar, thank you love"---back into the kitchen in a creak of starch, a flash of pink. "I'm the only one with a memory around here," Mrs. Quoad sighs. "We help each other, you see." She brings out from behind its cretonne camouflage a great bowl of candies. "Now," beaming at Slothrop. "Here: wine jellies. They're prewar."

"Now I remember you---the one with the graft at the Ministry of Supply!" but he knows, from last time, that no gallantry can help him now. After that visit he wrote home to Nalline: "The English are kind of weird when it comes to the way things taste, Mom. They aren't like us. It might be the climate. They go for things we would never dream of. Sometimes it is enough to turn your stomach, boy. The other day I had had one of these things they call 'wine jellies.' That's their idea of candy, Mom! Figure out a way to feed some to that Hitler 'n' I betcha the war'd be over tomorrow!" Now once again he finds himself checking out these ruddy gelatin objects, nodding, he hopes amiably, at Mrs. Quoad. They have the names of different wines written on them in bas-relief.

"Just a touch of menthol too," Mrs. Quoad popping one into her mouth. "Delicious."

Slothrop finally chooses one that says Lafitte Rothschild and stuffs it on into his kisser. "Oh yeah. Yeah. Mmm. It's great."

"If you really want something peculiar try the Bernkastler Doktor. Oh! Aren't you the one who brought me those lovely American slimy elm things, maple-tasting with a touch of sassafras---"

"Slippery elm. Jeepers I'm sorry, I ran out yesterday."

link to the whole episode.
 
Has anyone else noticed that Mylunsch and Pynchon never appear together at the same time?

Coincidence?

...

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.
 
Though I have read (and enjoyed) Gravity's Rainbow in the past, I have no recollection of either of those two passages, sad to say. Not altogether surprising given the heft of that tome. Funny enough, what stays with me after all these years are the names, the coprophilia, the Schwarzgerät, the Zone-Herreros and, of course, the unforgettable Blicero and the novel's OTT denouement. Sadly, that probably says more about me than it does about Pynchon or GR.

Mark Lipton
 
stay with me from GR. But for some reason the banana breakfast scene is one of the big ones. Maybe it's because I used to eat bananas for breakfast quite often and now try to avoid them at all costs.
 
originally posted by MLipton:
Selective RetentionThough I have read (and enjoyed) Gravity's Rainbow in the past, I have no recollection of either of those two passages, sad to say. Not altogether surprising given the heft of that tome. Funny enough, what stays with me after all these years are the names, the coprophilia, the Schwarzgerät, the Zone-Herreros and, of course, the unforgettable Blicero and the novel's OTT denouement. Sadly, that probably says more about me than it does about Pynchon or GR.

Mark Lipton

What about the octopus?

Mrs. Quoad's candies is a particular favorite of mine.
 
originally posted by Steve Guattery:
originally posted by MLipton:


What about the octopus?

Mrs. Quoad's candies is a particular favorite of mine.

"...this octopus is not in good mental health"

I thought Grigori, spit-roasted, would go well with a bottle of Bisson's "U Pastine."
 
You used to be able to buy wine jellies at the market down the road from here but the market got shut down because the owners of the shopping center wanted to "redevelop" the site. This translates into "we've got five jeans companies who each want to lease space at an exquisitely astronomical fee so they can tell everyone that they have a flagship store in Malibu." with the upshot being that people living here have a near-infinite number of opportunities to purchase >$200 designer jeans but we have to drive an additional 7 miles to buy half-and-half to put in our coffee. Or we can go to the Starbucks in the same shopping center that the new jeans emporia will be welcomed to soon but even that's problematic because the place is usually so thick with tourists looking to gawk celebrities that the fucking paparazzi can't even get in there. The jokes on all of 'em because the only "celebrities" who stop in there are people who are key grips or orchestrators who fill in the chords for the overpriced soundtrack composers. Oh sure, you occasionally see some star who's on the way down that they need to strut in front of the photographers and the dry cleaners from Des Moines so that they can make sure that people know they're still alive and vital but really, do you really want to see Pam Anderson that early in the morning when she's not made up and all?

Really, I mean like, it'd probably make a good story for your buddies at the 19th hole at the A.H. Blank Golf Course to say, "hey, so I was sitting there with my cup of black drip coffee from the urn at the fuckin' Malibu Trancas Starbucks (non of that foo-foo "half-caff, non-fat soy latte with a shot of tangerine syrup stuff that Streisand and her lib pals go for) when Pam Anderson comes in. I tell ya, I don't know what Tommy Lee saw in her, she's kinda trashy but in a real seductive way. Maybe it's the tattoos that they airbrush out of the pictures or something but let me tell you something, she's not what she once was but she's still something. Made the drive to the coast worthwhile, y'know?"

There are rumors that they're going to shut Starbucks down for a little while and redecorate it to include a wine bar. That'd be okay (hell, the Des Moines fellas are okay drinking Sterling or Edna Valley Chardonnay (allegedly they'll also have the largest allocation of Rombauer Chardonnay's new "Cougar Juice Vineyard" bottling because well, it is Trancas) while they gawk Gary Busey reliving the good times he had making "The Buddy Holly Story" or Mel Gibson beating the shit out of some poor barista because she put full decaf instead of half-caff in his half-caff, non-fat soy latte with a shot of tangerine syrup breakfast). It'll be the largest Starbucks ever, seeing as how they'll add groceries and hardware items to the inventory. The lines will be interminable but it'll still be better than having to drive over to Thousand Oaks to hit Target and get the same crap. I think you can even get Starbucks coffee at Target these days, completing the circle. There's something vaguely Buddhist or zen-like about the whole thing, but I'll check it out with my friends at Polished (the local nail salon) because they're all tranquil and into that sort of mantra-chanting stuff that would probably be good for me. But even Polished is like 7 miles away. Between here and there I can get my cat's nails trimmed, buy surfboards, get gas at $4.89 a gallon and will soon be able to drop mega-bux on a pair of blue jeans that will be über-stylish yet ultra painful to wear, what with creasing certain parts of the anatomy so I can better keep up with the Kardashians in every way but revenue streams. But what sucks is that I can't buy a goddamn pork chop within about 15 minutes driving. And I can't even get there quickly because the goddamn LA County Sheriff has decided to use that particular stretch of road to generate Kardashianesque revenue through the issuance of speeding tickets. I ask you, is it fair to be cited for going 57 mph in a 55 mph zone? It's like a $450 ticket, and even if you fight it it'll still cost you $250 in non-refundable fees. Is this a world anyone wants to live in? I think not. I may be forced to jump off the Herman Cain bandwagon and vote for Ron Paul instead. Besides, "Ron Paul" sounds like the name of someone who'd be successful making high-quality hair care products, while I can't help but think that "Herman Cain" would be the protagonist in a Stephen King novel about some acne-scarred assistant manager in a pizza joint dreaming about rising to a level of world domination and all the pussy he could handle. It wouldn't be one of King's better books, but it might serve to get him out of a bad publishing contract or maybe to sell to The Onion or Andy Borowitz for syndication.

I'm thinking that my best option now would be to get into some sort of legal domestic relationship with Pam Anderson (who's from Canada) or Mel Gibson (who's from Australia IIRC) or Gary Busey (he's from Mars) and we can move back to any of their respective countries (or planets) until Jerry Brown comes to his senses and orders the replacement of the jeans shops with a proper supermarket and that Starbucks has to get rid of non-coffee related merchandise and stick to what they know best, which is probably tea and high-fat cold coffee drinks. Maybe they could share the space with Peet's and cover all the bases, or even better, split their site with an In 'n' Out Burger franchise. Everybody wins that way, because what's better than a burger and a half-caff, non-fat soy latte with a shot of tangerine syrup? The tourists will love it and the paparazzi will grow rich with all their pictures of real celebrities (I'm talkin' Lindsay Lohan or Paris Hilton level at least) dripping cheese oozing from their Double-Doubles down into their decolletages where it'll mingle with the grilled onions.

-Eden (I'd buy the Enquirer to see that for sure)
 
I have just received a missive at my personal email (eden@taintnobigthang.com) from a reader who was whingeing about the fact that my previous post had fuck-all to do with wine but was about local commerce with sub-hints about the nature of modern celebrity and that all of this might be considered odd, given that the name of this site is "wine disorder".

In the words of Steve Martin, well, excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me!

Mea culpa and all that, but in a world where over-oaked Chenin or Sauvignon Blanc is regularly mistaken for Argentine Chardonnay, even by candidates sitting the Master of Wine exam no less, is it a sin of omission or a sin of commission to confuse "wine" with "whine"? Conceptually, are they that far apart to tick someone off? I think not. To some people (eg: say, a candidate to the Court of Master Sommeliers), both words are cringeworthy most of the time. And what is winedisorder.com about, if it's not about cringing, or at least about causing other to consider the cringe? Easy though it may be to mistake cringing with cowering, groveling is another story, and I don't detect a lot of groveling here, not even when Abe Schoener or Levi posts something that could be helpful career-wise to their adherents.

So yes, maybe I was whining a bit, but can you blame me? As they said in the Marines back when Audie Murphy meant more than Ronald Reagan (and before he began endorsing German cars), "shit happens" (or maybe that was when NASA was still racing the commies to shoot up rockets). "It's all good", as the kids said sometime between the Martha Quinn era at MTV and the "Justin Bieber Impregnated by Lady Gaga" headlines of today.

-Eden (staring at a desktop that brings to mind the work environment of the aforementioned Lt. Tyrone Slothrop)
 
Vent on. The usual hipster wine whining does get a touch jejune at times.

I read GR many years ago (25?) and sadly don't remember much other than some parts I'd just as soon forget. I went into the book cold and I was still clueless as to era, location, theme etc some 75 pages in, which was a fairly interesting and unique feeling. Very few authors would dare leave the reader untethered for so long.
 
Great rant, Eden, but may I be so bold as to suggest that perhaps -- just perhaps -- a "half caff" may not be out of the question for your early mornings if you wish to contain those urges to soliloquize? Assuming for the nonce that it's caffeine rather than Bolivian Marching Powder that's to credit?

All the best,
Mark Lipton
(Who's used "Tyrone Slothrop" for decades as his nom de guerre when registering for almost any non-essential purpose)
 
originally posted by MLipton:
Great rant, Eden, but may I be so bold as to suggest that perhaps -- just perhaps -- a "half caff" may not be out of the question for your early mornings if you wish to contain those urges to soliloquize? Assuming for the nonce that it's caffeine rather than Bolivian Marching Powder that's to credit?

All the best,
Mark Lipton
(Who's used "Tyrone Slothrop" for decades as his nom de guerre when registering for almost any non-essential purpose)

This makes me worried about the safety of my "Genghis Cohen" registrations.

Jb (who is also wondering about the security of that "cryinglot49" password)
 
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