No sales.
But sent a gift “Cheesesteak” to a woman in Oregon. She had been part of my primary social circle in high school, but we had had virtually no contact in 60 years until her recent re=surfacing in an e-mail chat chain.
And swapped a “Goshkin” (and IOU for my next book) to my café pal Gene, Berkeley’s Boccaccio of contemporary seniors erotica. He’d put his COVID-imposed downtime to good use assembling a new collection of Tillie-and-Elmer stories, while penning and illustrating a Tillie-and-Elmer novel of positively gargantuan dimension.
Not that inquiring travelers didn’t drop by my table.
One was an amply bearded – but only partially toothed – fellow, with whom I bantered about ethnic make-ups of our childhood environs (San Leandro his; West Philly mine) and, surprisingly, our shared background in workers’ comp (attorney me; claims adjuster him). It was only after I excused myself to return to my laptop that I realized we’d had a similar lengthy – and unprofitable – parlez maybe two years ago. I should have recognized the gums.
There were also one or two musicians. I’m unsure because the first had said he’d be back and, while people who say that rarely do, they were about the same age and size and both played piano. Let’s go with “two,” which makes sense since the first said he was also an illustrator, which the second didn’t, and the second said he “covered” James Taylor and Stevie Nicks, which the first hadn’t. But their non-holding, non-spending habit was sure, bottom-line, similar.
In other news…
My most recent published piece, the result of impressive (to me) effort, received a discouraging zero reaction where it originally appeared and only four (comment-less) “Like”s when linked to at FB. But my blog, where this link also appeared netted a couple engaging e-mails, one from a friend and one, surprisingly complimentary, from a correspondent who generally prefers to push my socio-political buttons. “The Writings of a Master,” he said. I won’t argue.
Even better were the responses of the publisher’s representative who had sent me the book in question and that of its creator. They offered a level of connection and communication I don’t often experience from people I don’t personally know, but which warmed the heart. I often – bemusedly – wonder why I keep doing this, and happenings like these are reason enough to continue.
Bob’s books are available from www.theboblevin.com
blog
JOKE BOOK
My most recent article is up at http://www.tcj.com/joke-book/
It begins:
How did this get here?
If I had been looking for someone to review Infinitum: An Afrofuturist Tale (HarperCollins. 2021), it would not be a 79-year-old white guy, who had not read science fiction, except for Phillip K. Dick, in, what, 50 years. Who had never read or watched or heard an Afrofuturist, except for Sun Ra, and, at the time, the ‘80s was it, all he knew from Sun Ra was he was a Black guy (then, a black guy), who played free jazz and dressed funny, though no funnier than the Art Ensemble of Chicago, and may have been off his rocker – no harm, there.If Bob Dylan Says ‘House’
My latest piece is up at FIRST OF THE MONTH.
http://www.firstofthemonth.org/if-bob-dylan-says-home/
It begins:
Out our front door, Marin is so steep the mountain goats need crampons. But the Hispanic fellow, early 40s, GE Appliance truck, curbed his wheels and popped out. Adele had the garage door open and he’d spotted the Mustang. “Can I take a look?” .
He walked around it. Twice. “I’ll give you thirty-five, Cash.”
“Let me get my husband. He’s the one who drives it.”
Adventures in Marketing — Week 269
The economy is booming. All praise Joe Biden.
1. Sold a “Schiz” to a classical musician, a regular at the café, who had never previously expressed any interest in my books. He looked at the four I am currently displaying, then consulted with a neighbor of his/friend of mine and decided I was worth the money. He is a Renaissance fellow, winemaker, bird watcher, connoisseur of classic cars, and he now periodically sits himself down and fills me in on details of his personal life, which far exceed what I know about most people, as well as his recommendations for books and tv series, one each of which I am about to take him up on.
2. Sold one “Cheesesteak” and one “Goshkin” to a jolly, white haired fellow, a history teacher at Berkeley High. “You aren’t S. Clay Wilson!” he said, drawn to my table by my Checkered Demon sign. He then confided his life had gone ZAP Comix, LSD, and, I guess literally, the rest was “history.” He had to rush off to an 8:00 class, but I hope to hear from him again.
3. A high school classmate, who resides in France and had promised to cover postage if I sent a “Goshkin,” sent, I am sure, more than enough, so I have additional profit there. (I’ve promised her “store credit.”)
In other news…
1) Faithful – even not-so faithful – readers may recall my offer, last “Adventure,” of a copy of my next book to anyone who sent a SASE to my post office box. Alas, faulty memory-wiring or my subconscious caused me to give the wrong zip code, so while this provides some solace for the apparent lack of interest that ensued, it does cause me personal embarrassment. THE CORRECT ADDRESS IS POB 9492, BERKELEY 94709. The offer is still good, and if you wrote the old address and it wasn’t returned, let me know and we’ll work something out.
I Don’t Even Play a Doctor on TV, But…
1.) Adele’s PTP advised her yesterday not to watch TV news. “It’s bad for your health.” That’s the second doctor who’s said that to us, so I quit cold turkey. No more Nicole. No Chris or Anderson. Good-bye Joe and Mika and John and Brianna. It’s been 21-hours and I’m not shaking yet.
He didn’t say anything about newspapers, so I’m still reading the Times. It and the Post’s where all their news comes from anyway. The rest is opinions and I can get that in the locker room (when it re-opens) or on the phone and no one’s opinions matter. Events are going to occur or not occur and TV news is mainly entertainment and checking hairstyles and who’s in and who’s out – admit it.
2.) Then I saw my cardiologist. She reported (a) on a dinner with her husband at a restaurant in Arizona, jammed with drunk, noisy, unmasked, probably unvaccinated people – probably in town to help with the recount. When neither he nor she came down with COVID, she concluded “Probably Pfizer works”; and (b) this has been her healthiest winter ever. No colds, no flus, despite all the patients she’s seen. She attributes it to masks. She recommends sticking with them, like the Asians.
Adventures in Marketing: Weeks 261 – 268
Sold one book.
It happened on my second of two widely-spaced café sits. (I have since made a third and fourth.)
The buyer was probably the café’s longest-tenured regular. (He says he came the day it opened, For a while his usual table bore a “Reserved” sign.) He’s a multi-talented man-a out-many-cultural-corners-of-town, an author of several books, one of which I purchased, and though we’re friendly, he’s resisted mine. (I, not to my credit, keep track.) “I guess it’s about time,” he said.
I described – and he looked at – the four currently on display. (The illustrations interested him most.) Finally, I recommended “Cheesesteak,” a good Bob Levin starter-course, I figured.
In other news…
1.) I gave away two copies of “I Will Keep You Alive.” One went to a visual artist who, having read of my “pre-owned” cowboy boot mania at “First of the Month,” reached out with helpful advice ranging from applying baby powder to socks before forcing them onto feet and mink-oiling (and baking in oven) for general conditioning. (“Don’t you dare,” Adele said to the second part of this suggestion.)
The second went to a physicain/step-daughter of my oft-mentioned friend Budd. He offered to pay but since he’d written one of the book’s only two reviews, I couldn’t accept.
2.) And for anyone who reads this far, I am on schedule – assuming I stop revising – to get a new book out this summer. I plan to give copies to anyone who sends me a SASE ($2.91, domestic; 81/2: X 91/2″ or thereabouts). If you don’t already know my home address, POB 9492, Berkeley 94708 will do.
Further notice will come but I’m curious to see what responses this will bring, particularly since I’m not going to say a word about what the books about.
My :Latest” — and I mean “latest”
Four years ago, I was asked to write for a new handsome, hardbound, oversize, quality ($25) quarterly, FULL BLEED. My contribution to its inaugural issue was to be “The Five Most Important Underground Cartoonists (Not Including Robert Crumb).” The idea was to familiarize FB’s readership, an anticipated younger demographic with the UG.
But though I ‘d been paid, my article was bumped, supposedly for the second issue, but by then I’d submitted a second article which FB ran instead. (That article had been sitting somewhere else, where I hadn’t been paid, with an editor who couldn’t tell me when or if he’d ever run it, so I’d pulled it and gave it to FB — who paid much better anyway.
Meanwhile, things had slowed at FB. The editor who’s recruited me left. Funding dried up. Time between issues grew. (Issue 3 appeared without me.) But Vol. 4 “The End” is out — and here I am.
It begins:
When I tell people I write about underground cartoonists, the best response I get is, “You mean like that guy in the movie with that weird family?”
Yeah, them.
But if even the fellows in the locker room have only a hazy knowledge of Crumb, he may have had enough ink already. How about, I thought, the others?
Remember, “Those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it.”
Of course, with the fun the UG gang had, this warning may not scare anyone into the library. Still, let’s fill some of knowledge’s holes. And this can’t omit Crumb entirely.
Two Girls and a Dog Walk Into America
New at First of the Month
I have two pieces in the newly released FOM but, unfortunately, I can’t seem able to link to them. So if you are curious, you will have to go to www.firstofthemonth.org and look for them One has an April 16 date and one an April 17.
One, which is one of my mini-s, begins:
On the day Stanford beat Arizona for the Women’s NCAA Basketball Championship, its coach, Tara Vanderveer defended women’s basketball in the New York Times. “I don’t think anyone says, ‘Well, professional basketball, they’re bigger and stronger, so I’ll just want to watch professional basketball.”
Actually, I say that.
The other, which is a poem, which I called FORE! but the editor didn’t, begins:
Sure nice to see Lydia Ko win again.
Hope you find them. (There’s other stuff there too, not by me, stuff of substance.
Last 10 Books Read (viii)
In order of finishing.
1.)”A Dangerous Character”: Humphrey Carpenter’s bio of Ezra Pound. Character, he was. Poetry, not for me;
2. Hilary Holaday’s bio of Herbert Huncke. Surprisingly sympathetic.
3. My pal Michael Lydon’s continuing memoir, “Into Music”;
4. Joan Didion’s “Let Me Tell You What I Mean.” I’d probably read all or most of these pieces before, but I can never get enough of her;
5. Elsa Morante’s “History.” Discussed at length in future-to-be-linked-to article.
6. Tom Cushman’s “Muhammed Ali & the Greatest Heavyweight Generation.” Cushman was a terrific boxing reporter and his piece on George Foreman, II, was excellent;
7. Deborah Eisenberg’s “Under the 82nd Airborne.” A couple of great short stories.
8. Sybille Bedford’s “Trial of Dr. Adams.” I’d liked the three or four of other books I’d read more.
9. Carolyn Pennington’s “The Black Gum Well.” Novel set in Appalachia in the 1940s by the mother of a cartoonist pal. (See my Amazon review.)
10. “Childhood.” The first of Tove Ditlevsen’s “Copenhagen Trilogy.” Superb.
Happy to discuss any or all.