Three Little Indians (and The…Clerk)
First the three little Indians:
1. I bought, from Bells, the Arcadia book on Candlestick Park. I noticed on page 28 reference, by Ted Atlas to a Coastanoan mound that was disturbed in the building of the stadium.
2. Further, it says, on page 35, that the architect patterned his design for Candlestick after something he had seen on a Mayan dig.
3. Circling back to Zizek, I should elaborate (and thanks to the dude whose cellphone video revisits the events, and provides a document, though paling compared to actually being there) about my reference to Native Americans. Zizek says that in visiting Missoula, Montana Native Americans there (Cree, or Creek?) said they like the term “Indians” because it is a model or monument to white man’s stupidity.
4. On my way to madly add this to all things “plastic” or “alto” (or as I said a few posts before, if horizontal axis goes from “P” to “A” then vertical goes from “M” for “Marx –Groucho” to “R” for Riemann (or should that be a “Z” for Zeta?) I grabbed from the library shelf a couple more potential dramitis personers. To wit:
5. David Leavitt, “The Indian Clerk” I seem to recall hearing about this; was it made into a play or musical? I believe it to be – from the cover – a reference to the famous lower class or lower caste South Asian clerk who corresponded with real mathematicians at Cambridge and then was invited to study there. I think his name was Pollygollydingdonganddem or something. I think that when I met recently the visiting scholar (as far as I can tell) Satish and put him on the line with Paul J. Cohen’s son Eric that we learned a) that Andrew Wiles work on Fermat was not one of the Hilbert 20 and b) Paul Cohen didn’t think much of the feat. Unless I am confusing one, two, three, or many recent conversations about math and India, Satish could recall quite easily the actual name of Pollygollydingdonganddem; certainly he knew the story, though he was a Brahmin. I recall Leavitt being a few years ahead of us in high school, coming to the freshman classes to recruit for his literary magazine.
6. Mary Morgan Finegan I reference last post, my classmate and former neighbor back in the 94022: it was she who talked me out of taking a Freshman Seminar on “The Untouchables” and suggested Marlowe (and James Shapiro). This only fits because Dartmouth was of course the Indian.
7. But certainly I will have to check with my guru on all things black I mean red Mateo Romero on whether the Zizek story resonates; Mateo who was part of a lawsuit about either Washington Redskins or Atlanta Braves or both. Mateo the Cochiti. Who joined a black fraternity at Dartmouth, Alpha Phi, he said because he was the only light-skin on a mostly black football team at Berkeley High circa 1985. I actually kinda remember the step dancing routine with the five or six pledges and the tall lighter guy (phenotype not on-his-feet) at the end of the line. Mateo is said to be visiting soon The Bay Area (the Yeh Area??? We could only Hopi) as is my Oaxacan Brahmin exchange brother Guillermo Gomez Abascal. Memo, perhaps feeling the fleetingness of life due to the demise of Jobs, is coming for four nights and also to check out his beloved Los Steelers at The Stick (hey this is kinda hanging together, well-woven, as it were, like Two Grey Hills or what-not.
And I also found a Larry McMurtry book in non-fiction – I am writing from public library natch – “Oh What A Slaughter: Massacres in the American West, 1846-1890 (Simon Schuster, 2005).
8. True or not I now believe my namesake Morton Benjamin Weiss was a real estate developer in Chicago who with partners built Indian Village there; art deco faux Indian little Lomaquha-esque gems.
9. This is not Indian (other than it partly takes place at Stanford) but I have a new initiative I may even debut tonight, at the Lardner Y Hermosilla called working title “The Harbaugina Monologues” about Our Boy Jim. I wanted to call it The Vagina Monologues because Jim Harbaugh is a pussy — a squaw — but the name is taken. I want to tell my little Harbaugh stories until the inevitable day – as Zizek says, quoting Stalin, “we just serve history” – that Harbarph, incised and scrafittoed by these accounts, comes to the show and either a) most likely, punches the little Jew out – in which case I donate $10,000 to domestic abuse charity or something or b) kisses me on the lips in which case I donate $1 million to something PLUR (peace love understanding respect). So far I’ve polled Eugene Robinson who is going to train me to take that punch; be prepared; Dave Siqua librarian and former St. Francis gridiron monster – who suggests I go ring Harris Barton. I left a voice mail monologue on this for Dr. Doug Scout Shevin in Springfield, IL, and I also had about 30 seconds with Joe Sib whose “Callifornia Calling” is an influence and has a riff about flag football. I also had written Doug Keare about my 8th grade flag team with Nick Sturiale. My parents were right, I know just enough about football to get my teeth knocked out.
10. I will add this above but the Shakespeare play (not sure any Indians lurking therein although my Bevington is red, if not well-read), but the last tragedy is called Coriolanus.
Go long. (or is that “Go to”?)
How? Or did I mean the Agatha Christie book movie:
edit to add, Oct. 30: Maybe the Harbaugh piece could be called “The Squaw-baugh Monologue”?
This thousand words rant is a massacre of narrative.