Higher Learning
Here’s a holy cow headline from nypost.com: “Taking Viagra cuts the risk of Alzheimer’s by up to 69 percent.” I’m tempted.
For those who still doubt China is our enemy, here’s a snippet from an NYP editorial: “China is the primary country of origin for illicit fentanyl and fentanyl-related substances in the United States.”
The Curious Sicilian file has grown to 162 pages, 38 short of my target for a print version. I added two non-fiction pieces, one set in Brooklyn, the other Kalamazoo. I don’t believe I’ve ever used either in any of my twelve books, although I know I’ve blogged about the first at least twice. Of course, I have no idea if readers will like them. The writing of this book has been such fun, as it came unexpectedly. Then again, I’ve probably hit a wall and may not be able to get to the goal. I don’t want to add filler. I’ve already passed on a number of pieces that don’t fit or aren’t up to par. Here’s an excerpt from Higher Learning, a few minutes read:
I was a fraud as a college student, majoring in Phys. Ed., minoring in Spanish, which came to me easily, as there were many similarities to Italian. I hoped it would enable me to flirt with Latinas. I cheated a lot, especially in courses such as Anatomy and Physiology, the only tough parts of the PE curriculum. My diploma is a sham. I do not blame Western Michigan University. It’s a fine school. It was my own failings. I graduated in December 1971. I was stunned when in 1989, visiting Michigan for the only time for a weekend, Dr. Ray, chairman of the department, remembered my name. I assumed he recalled just about everyone’s. Why would he have recalled an academic nonentity such as I? What I remember most about him, besides his decency, is an occasional lament: “That one-percent” that plagued society.
The people I met on that beautiful campus is what I remember most, particularly three couples with whom I’ve remained friends. The lone class I remember fondly is Art and Ideas. The instructor, Mrs. Penny David, pronounced Da-veed, probably just shy of 40, had a warm, positive presence. She once said, if not for work, she would be home eating Bon Bons all day.
On one exam I referred to Picasso’s Les Demoiselles de Avignon, a group portrait of prostitutes, no surprise, as my mind thought of little else but sex. I devoured a publication titled Sex to Sexty, to which one of my suitemates subscribed, probably Bruce. While he and Keith were at football practice, I was…
Something Mrs. David wrote in the margin beside the title of the painting remains with me to this day: “I’m impressed.” I approached and asked if it referred to the spelling. She cackled and said: “Yes.”
There are two other, more noteworthy aspects of that class, which should have prompted me to switch my major to Liberal Arts. I don’t regret that I didn’t, as I studied on my own, at least topics I enjoyed, for decades.
I was the star of a five-minute short that had a post-apocalyptic theme, directed by the tall, good-natured George, whose last name escapes me. We lived in the same dorm. One of the final scenes focused on a trash can way too long. Mrs. David said an artist should be wary of commenting on his own work. George handled that jab with grace. His roommate, Eddie, was studying French and they often joked about the term for chicken soup: Creme de la Coque. They beat it to death — figuratively.
My thanks to kind folks who snapped up a bunch of CDs, DVDs and video games at today’s session of the floating book shop, and to the woman who did a two-for-two swap of books in Russian; and to the man and woman who each purchased two books in that language. Only one in English sold: Everville by Clive Barker.
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