Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Midnight In Paris and the Blog O' The Month. . . .

So about thirteen years ago (Jeezus CHRIIIIIST, blink o' an eye ago), the Mythical Monkey and I hung out together in Paris.  Indeed, we shared a room.

Uh uh; "I wanna party with you, Cowboy, but the two of us together?  Forget it!"  Neither Katie-Bar-the-Door nor Sue Storm had anything to worry about with us.  But I digress.

Much like Woody Allen, we were there to momentarily revel in the artists of those who'd landed in Paris from abroad to make great art.  Picasso, Hemingway, Joyce -- we wanted to celebrate them.  The Monkey, who had just whelped a towering novel of delight, was able to join his predecessors in resting after the accomplishment. I, on the other hand, was there hoping to avoid suicide.  It loomed large in me legend at the time, and I was working on just about anything to stave it off.  Berlin with the Jestaplero and Paris with the Monkey (while the Jestaplero played) seemed as good an idea as any to avoid killing myself.

Here is the MythMonkey doing what MythMonkeys do best: biding his time.


please click photos to enlarge
The Mythical Monkey Concentrates.
Headline on Int'l Herald-Tribune?
Pakistan Joins Nuclear Club: Five Tests Answer India


Unfortunately, the suicide thing was no joke.  I was so morose that I failed to notice the scantily clad women strolling through Paris.

My comrades helped see me through this problem.  They offered show-dlers to cry on.

For a while.  On night two, as I restelessly looked out the wid-know down a few stories to the people below, the Mythical Monkey said:

mister muleboy, if you're going to jump, could you go ahead so that I can get some sleep?
I decided I wasn't ready to jump.  So I strolled the streets at midnight.


Owen Wilson I'm not, although I did have a shock of mussed blond hair.  No cars whisked me away to see Hemingway, and I didn't get a chance to talk to Freud about my sadness and psychosis.

Instead, I got two thousand roller-bladers protesting new laws that limited street roller0blading.

I guess they hadn't heard about student strikes and '68 and all that shit -- their protest was from 1:00 AM to 3:00 AM.

Anyway, I got back, and found myself sad and tired.  But able to make another day.

So the Monkey and I strolled the streets by daylight.  Here, near the Opera House, is the Mythical Monkey doing his best Stuart Sutcliffe impression:



MythMonkey Sutcliffe at or near the Paris Opera House

I survived the trip; indeed, I had a goddamned ball, although I was miserable throughout.  Anyone looking at these photos should know that I took thirty-four rolls of film (kids, that was a weird memory card from Rochester, NY), and every picture looked like these.  That's how I saw the world: blurred and askew.

But I survived.  And thrived.  I'm so damned happy that I could kill myself.

The Mythical Monkey survived too.  After a brilliant second novel, he turned to his true love (after K-T-B-t-D), movies, and began, well, you know.

And that You Know (his blog on film), is now winner of the coveted, unparalleled honour: Blog O' the Month from

If Charlie Parker Was a Gunslinger, There'd Be a Whole Lot of Dead Copycats




which happens to be the greatest website in the universe. Bar none.

So kudos [singular!] to the Mythical Monkey for writing a good blog. And, along with the Jestaplero, for saving my life.

5 comments:

Mythical Monkey said...

I think of myself as a sensitive, empathetic soul, but obviously not.

Well, I'm super glad you didn't jump.

And Paris is on a short list of my favorite cities in the world ...

thingy said...

Thank-you, MM.

mister muleboy said...

Well, either

Mister
Muleboy

Or

Mythical
Monkey

owes Thingy a "you're welcome!"


You're welcome!

mister muleboy said...

btw, MythMon, you are a sensitive, empathetic soul.

But you were also a sleepy, Jesus-Christ-do-I-have-to-watch-this-guy-mope-anymore kinda guy too.



And besides, think of all the major French tookie I pulled thanks to your urging!!

Mythical Monkey said...

Major French Tookie? He ain't even in this war!

And yes, thank you, Thingy. You are too kind.