Cannery Row by John Steinbeck (1945)Submitted by Menckens Ghost on Thu, 01/23/2014 - 00:27
Oh, John, how I love you.
Doc said, "Look at them. There are your true philosophers. I think," he went on, "that Mack and the boys know everything that has ever happened in the world and possibly everything that will happen. I think they survive in this particular world better than other people. In a time when people tear themselves to pieces with ambition and nervousness and covetousness, they are relaxed. All of our so-called successful men are sick men, with bad stomachs, and bad souls, but Mack and the boys are healthy and curiously clean. They can do what they want, They can satisfy their appetites without calling them something else." This speech so dried out Doc's throat that he drained his beer glass. He waved two fingers in the air and smiled. "There's nothing like that first taste of beer," he said.
Richard Frost said, "I think they're just like anyone else, They just haven't any money."
"They could get it," Doc said. "They could ruin their lives and get money. Mack has qualities of genius. They're all very clever if they want something. They just know the nature of things too well to be caught in that wanting."
I don't always like Chesterton, but when I do, it's because I'm reading one of his good books.
We all know how this works by now.
Reading John Barleycorn (Alcoholic Memoirs) by Jack London, loving every minute of it. I'm always loathe to share what I'm reading while reading it, lest it lose any of its magic. That's how I am when I find a gem of a book, but I will risk it for you guys.
The season of C.S. is over (for now) http://www.dailypaul.com/294269#comment-3153761, I've got my whiskey in the tumbler, eyes set to seaward, the warm liquid rolling around my belly.
"I was five years old the first time I got drunk. It was on a hot day, and my father was ploughing in the field. I was sent from the house, half a mile away, to carry to him a pail of beer. "And be sure you don't spill it," was the parting injunction."
Easy to forget how great London can be when you're spoiled by a bout with Twain.