Rampant New York Witticisms & Astute Observations

Review of:  i hate this place, The Pessimist's Guide to Life by Jimmy Fallon & Gloria Fallon published by Warner Books

Being a glass-half-empty type of person, I was immediately drawn to the title of this book. The fact that it was written by Jimmy Fallon and his sister Gloria didn't hurt, either.

I've been a fan of Jimmy Fallon ever since his Late Night days when I couldn't fall asleep – even after Jay Leno. Sorry I missed his SNL days. Now I catch them on reruns. Love Fever Pitch, too and Taxi isn't at all bad.

I'm also a closet fan of Gloria Fallon. I like her attitude. It out "franks" even mine. And I'm sure she is responsible for some of my more favorite passages from this book. Her reflections of how things really are, have been absorbed, I'm sure, from breathing the strident air of New York.

The illustrations by Howard Roberts are clever, cute and appropriate, but you have to look real close to see them as they are like watermarks behind the words. I was half-way through the book before I noticed them. Then I had to go back and really look at them. My favorites are the mad hare and the grim reaper. Then there's the guy with the screw through his middle.

Did I tell you that I really, really like this book?

Passages that caught my eye and got me thinking include:

(under Personal Reflections of the Pessimist) and I quote, "People seem to enjoy saying, 'Is the glass half-full or half-empty?' They stop smiling when I say, 'It'll be empty when I pour it over your head'."

(under Optimistic Advise You Shouldn't Follow) and I quote, "Don't Put Off 'Til Tomorrow What You Can Do Today – And if you die in your sleep tonight, you wasted your last day on Earth doing laundry."

But my absolute personal favorite (one I'm certain Gloria Fallon is responsible for – and I thank you, Gloria) is (under My Story), and I will frame it and hang it on my wall when I feel like making the effort to do so:

"I saw the face of death staring back at me today – cold-blooded eyes, hood and scythe.

I started to panic until I realized it was just a mirror."

I don't know where she was when she wrote it, but I know where I've been to appreciate it. Sad, maybe, but that passage has meaning for me.

On a lighter note,  i hate this place, The Pessimist's Guide To Life is a one-night read and will elicit a smile or at least a gasp, if not a "tsk, tsk" from anyone who reads it. And it is an invaluable part of a complete "Fallon" collection.

If you can't find it locally, you can, of course, find it on Amazon. In fact, I liked it so much, here's the link:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/044669231X/ref=cfb_at_prodpg

Thank you Gloria and Jimmy for a delightful insight into the "Fallon" psyche. Now, how about some more?

 

The World Did Not End

I am sorry the world did not end or at the very least shudder in its orbit. It seems we have gained nothing from a one-in-26,000-year event. The world continues as it is, with all its man-wrought flaws. I grieve for us.

Lament in the Wake of a Non-Event

By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

The end of the world came

And went,

And nothing happened.

The world still wobbles

In its orbit,

Revealing the sun and

The moon in turn,

Reigning feast or famine

On the just and unjust

With equal fervor,

Granting life or death

With equal magnanimity,

The promise of a new world,

Or its end, yet unfulfilled.

I am saddened that no

Fierce hand reached from

The heavens to form a fist

In defiance of our injustices,

Nor offered an open hand

In support of kindness done.

In short, if the earth

Had shaken in its orbit,

We would be better off;

At least some would have

Heeded the warning.

As it lies, we are doomed

To wink out in the full light

Of our hubris.

 

 

Words Are All I Have

I truly believe in the right to bear arms. I also truly believe that we don't need to bear assault rifles. But then there's that militia thing. I also believe in a well-armed militia being our final line of defense (not sure about the "regulated" part). I don't know where the answer lies, but I do know this - our innocents should not be paying the price.

Here is my contribution to the cause:

Innocents Lost

By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

Layer by layer,

The onion loses life, peeled,

By insanity.

 

Death by senseless death,

The world loses innocents;

Heaven gains its stars.

 

The tears of angels

Flood our universe with grief —

The tipping point gained,

 

Its settling unknown —

Known only this — attention,

This time, must be paid.

Sixth in my Series on Dying

In the Depths of Sweet Misery

          …on My Journey of Death

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

            NaNoWriMo is over, and having enjoyed a sweet respite from my life, I am now back, with a vengeance. I am dysphoric. I have always been dysphoric. I will always be… You get the idea. To those who have found happiness in this life, I make obeisance. Good for you, but for me, on the whole, life sucks, always has and probably always will.

 

 

 

When life hands you lemons,

Make lemonade.

Yeah, try that without the

Sugar to coat it.

 

My poem of the moment follows. In the Throes of Dysphoria — the sixth in a new collection which will be published at or before my death, depending on how long I have left.

 

In the Throes of Dysphoria

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

I'm sorry that I got

Old and near to dying.

That the myriad nails in

My coffin have all but

Burst this old, wounded heart.

Now I'd trade my life's long

Misery for a moment

Of fatal happiness.

For I'm tired in my soul

And find scant respite in

The fetid air I breathe.

Melancholy causes

The clouds to dark my sky.

The wind now barely moves

From dawn to dusk, from birth

To death. The tide brings in;

The tide takes out, and I

Lie washed upon the shore

Waiting, but biding time,

To be borne out again —

To lay my tired soul

In the arms of sweet peace

As I've not lain before.

This day I face regret,

I shall not die today.

 

Ann Wilmer-Lasky is living and dying in Roswell, New Mexico where she writes Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror novels. Her published works include: The Chronicles of Acqueria: Blood Moon Treachery , The Seasons of Sam Rock  and the 25th Anniversary Edition of The Castleweaver's Tales - all available on Amazon.com

Journal Read in Winter

Journals…

          …A Journey of Death

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

            I found an old notebook with some journal entries from 1988. I'm writing this in that notebook now, while sitting in a lounge chair in my backyard, watching the Great Tailed Grackles rummage for pecans. Gorgeous, raucous birds. The sleek black males look majestic even, walking among the blades of grass where the nuts have fallen, although, since the gods saw fit to put their tails on sideways, they fly clumsily and not very far.

            But back to sitting outside. The sun is out and its rays are warm, but I'm covered with a fleece blanket because it's colder than a well digger's ass out here. I'm going to miss communing with Earth Mother and Sky Father. The winters are not so forgiving here as they were in southern California. Lately, I regret moving to Roswell since my husband has been unable to find work here. But we couldn't have made it in California either. The cost of living is obscene there.

            Back to sitting outside again. I write well when I am drenched in nature. The freshness of the air, the warmth of the sun, the sky, the clouds, the birds, the trees - life. They are important to me. They bring their freshness to my thoughts and my words.

            Back to this notebook. What I wrote in 1988 never came to fruition. I have not seen the words and notes written here in twenty-five years. Perhaps if I had periodically reviewed my journal, I would have better stayed on track. But as it is, I have failed miserably in my stated purpose in life. A purpose then not totally beyond my grasp - but, out of sight - soon out of mind and the daily drudge of making a living took over.

            Well, I made a living, and it is now mostly gone. I did not make a life or pile up happy memories against my dotage. I just pretty much used everything up.

            Now I am left with regrets and little time or chance of renewing my purpose. As I half-heartedly yell at my dachshunds for digging holes in my yard (that is what dachshunds do), I take a deep breath (made easier with the medications I now take) and let out an audible sigh. What a waste.

            Being the Virginia Woolf type person that I am, I mainly recall the depths of my existence. My husband surely deserved better.

            My advice (to sum up my ramblings for today):

 

 

Keep a Journal

Write in it frequently

Date your entries.

Occasionally read what you have written.

Don’t let 25 years slip by only to discover your purpose lies unfulfilled.

 

 (In other words don't be like me.)

            My original journal entry will be the subject of another blog and will be appended there. My poem of the moment follows. Mortal Winter - the fifth in a new collection which will be published at or before my death, depending on how long I have left. It is a plea - don't do as I have not done. Keep the promises you make to yourself.

 

Mortal Winter

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

The chill upon my skin

Sinks deeply in my bones.

My soul shivers and my

Tears turn to ice upon

My cheeks. I wipe my nose,

Toss tissue in the trash,

Lament the life that lies,

Nestled in dregs and waste.

I shall yet dive under

Covers, bury my head

In the forgetfulness

Of tortured sleep and dreams.

But I shall not rise on

The morrow to fight yet

Another fight - tilt at

Windmills, curse the sadness.

I only rise to curse

The rising and the short

Unsweetness of what life

I have left. Scant time to

Undo the little that

I've done and not done well,

Scant consolation in

The certain knowing that

I shall not die today.

 

Ann Wilmer-Lasky is living and dying in Roswell, New Mexico where she writes Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror novels. Her published works include: The Chronicles of Acqueria: Blood Moon Treachery , The Seasons of Sam Rock  and the 25th Anniversary Edition of The Castleweaver's Tales - all available on Amazon.com

Change of Focus

Change of Focus…

          …A Journey of Death

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

            Perhaps I should change focus from contemplating my final dying breath to merely exploring my more imminent mortality. It may not be as direct, but perhaps, it would frighten my friends and relatives less.

            And as long as I am living a little more than day-to-day, perhaps I should also get my ducks in some sort of order. I have nine novels in various states of completion, and I have a memoir to write. Also, my DH should at least know where the financial and legal papers are located (as soon as I locate them, of course).

            As to why I should finish my novels and write my memories when it appears few are interested in my work - even my dying declarations - I simply ask why not? They may mean nothing to anyone else, but at least they will occupy my mind and keep me from sleeping what's left of my life away.

            Also, since I have lived through most of eight decades some of what I remember may be of historical interest. At the least I can offer opinions and comparisons of the times and draw some conclusions that no one will bother to heed. (I sense a trend here.)

            Do you know it used to take seven long hours to fly from Midway Airport in Chicago to Los Angeles? And that's non-stop on a prop job with actual propellers. And LAX was in the middle of farmland as far as the eye could see. Even in the 60's gas was 25¢ a gallon, if you crossed the county line a few miles away. A loaf of bread was also a quarter, and those hamburgers from under the golden arches were 15¢ - 2¢ extra for cheese.

            Not much ranting today - just some and some advice:

A half-empty glass

Is still half-full.

 (An admission of perspective.)

            My poem of the moment follows. Mortal Writer - the fourth in a new collection which will be published at or before my death, depending on how long I have left.

 

Mortal Writer

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

I am merely mortal,

Yet embrace thoughts of gods.

In my well-penned hand I

Do create paper lives

And deal them blows or boons

With equal whim, fancy

That I might perhaps gain

My own most mortal coil.

I write death's scenes for good

And evil as the same,

Nor feel within my soul

That justice ought prevail.

Among the words, I blur

The good deed done and flaunt

Perpetration of bad.

For grayness tints and taints

Life as I perceive it.

And I would not draw those

Lines as black, nor as white.

If I could curb my words,

I would say the same of

My life as the life of

My neutral pen's worst fiend

With bold audacity

To create life and claim:

I shall not die today.

Ann Wilmer-Lasky is living and dying in Roswell, New Mexico where she writes Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror novels. Her published works include: The Chronicles of Acqueria: Blood Moon Treachery , The Seasons of Sam Rock  and the 25th Anniversary Edition of The Castleweaver's Tales - all available on Amazon.com