December 14, 2020
Working on a pretty amazing lawmen who is finally starting to get his due.
I read John le Clarre's obit this morning with some interest. The spy novel-author-extraordinaire had a story, or two, to tell and he told them so well. But the invigorating element of his life, to me, is his brutal honesty.
"I'm horrified at the notion of autobiography because I'm already constructing lies I'm going to tell."
—John le Carre
To his credit, he never did that autobiography and he also owned up to his pen name. His real name was David John Moore Cornwell, but according to the legend, his employers (British Intelligence) forbid him from using his real name and he came up with the sexy "John le Carre." Over the years he gave different explanations for how he came up with it, finally admitting he could not "remember, which, if any, were true."
Oh, to be that honest with the world!
I also read recently, that another Brit, Paul McCartney, is, by his own admission, "a rememberer of dreams." The cute Beatle confessed that both "Yesterday" and "Elenor Rigby" were spawned by dreams. With that in mind, I had a dream last night that I should write my deathbed confession and make it brutally honest. Then when I read the le Clarre obit I knew what I had to do.
My Pre-recorded Deathbed Confession
Growing up, my cousin, who was a girl, beat me over and over again in "Horse" and I never really got over it. I also never did graduate from college—six units shy of a degree in art—total failure, my parents spent all that money and it was shameful. Also, I hated "The Prom." Just a total piece of shit.
Yes, I'll add to it as I think of more crap I've done or failed to do. Trust me, eventually, I'll have a full deathbed confession.
According to Scott O'Connor, this is his mother's uncle, or, Sandra Day O'Connor's dad's brother.
The other day I mentioned the Cliff House Restaurant in San Francisco and how I hoped it was surviving the pandemic. Well. . .
Thanks to Daryl Drake for the heads up.
"Accept your mediocrity."