In this collection, Perelman puzzles over the nature of the secret chocolate blend in Hostess Cupcakes, captures the excesses of Russian prose style in a story about cigarettes, and ponders the question of our time: poisonous mushrooms--yes or no?
Sidney Joseph Perelman, almost always known as S. J. Perelman, was a Jewish-American humorist, author, and screenwriter. He is best known for his humorous short pieces written over many years for The New Yorker. He also wrote for several other magazines, as well as books, scripts, and screenplays.
Ugh! As a nation, the United States sorely lacks behind other nations, including many of those embarrassing third world nations, in non-cliché expressively patterned putdowns. In order to delve into this hot topic conversation and afford opportunity of vocal lack-of-support to the non-producing, corner-sitting naysayers, let me attempt to get this ball rolling.
Here, then, for the edification of others, myself included, are a few sayings and statements that I use regularly, except in places where a person's mental health is concerned, in order to verbally put the dimwitted people straight in their place:
(Obviously I am referring only to dimwitted that are clearly my lesser and not the dimwitted that are on even par with me.)
"Why don't you remember the crushing, the well-nigh intolerable odds under which man has struggled to produce what may well be, in the verdict of history, the most picayune prose ever produced in America before you start that second stanza?"
Can be stated emphatically to some touchy-feely about-to-receive-her-G.E.D. it's-all-about-me via Facebook-type ball of mess girl.
"Denied every advantage, beset and plagued by ill fortune and a disposition so crabbed as to make Alexander Pope and Dr. Johnson seem sunny by contrast, he has nevertheless managed to belt out the Tuesday morning trash in a less distinguished manner and fashion than that of a previous Tuesday morning."
Could possibly be intoned while watching an alcoholic, wife-abusive (mentally abusive only), my-son-reads-Xbox-gaming-magazines-and-has-whiskey-plates-on-his-vehicle neighbor, under guise of dirty white undershirt with head held low, duly struggle to eventually bring a garbage canister or two to the front curb for immediate pickup.
"The elegant variation, the facetious Zeugma, the cast-iron idiom, the battered ornament, the Bowler's-bird phrase, the sturdy indefensible, the slip-slide, the unequal yokefellow, the museum of mediocrity, the monument to the truly banal, what Flaubert did to the French bourgeois, what Pizarro did to the Incas, what Jack Dempsy did to Paolino Uzcudun, sat down on the couch and turned on MSNBC."
This entire phrase is to be publically spoken whenever the mother-in-law shows up at the stately manor. Watch, then, as she helps herself to a big healthy dose of spilling-the-coffee-all-over-the-living-room-carpet. "Do you need help with one of your several oversized bags?" should also be stated, provided that deadpan is indeed exercised.
Humor at a very high point here. This is at once extremely sophisticated, funny and dense. I am in the process of trying to read everything I knew Groucho read and am having a great time of it. That these stories were published as regular faire in the the New Yorker indicates the pace of devolvement that quickens daily. Three hundred pages of the most witty and funny writing I know - these pages passed slowly. You need to be sharp to keep pace here and if you're lacking in attention or vocabulary you will struggle. This might suggest that this is the sort of highbrow humor you might expect from Rezzori but nothing of that type here. The subject is generally girls, booze, street-culture and all the usual monthly mag offerings but it is all done at such an elevated level that it somehow feels more that every-man stuff. It guess it's easy to see why Groucho and Perelman didn't like each other - they were fighting for the same laugh. Of course Perelman wrote for the Marx Brothers and Groucho always had a bit of an inferiority complex because his love for literature was not in proportion with his education. Perelman was Brown educated and his erudition, loquaciousness and sapience are on full display in these collected writings. I wish I had friends that wrote like Perelman but understanding that it was Harpo, not Groucho that was the darling of the Algonquin Roundtable - maybe it's better to just hang with my beer-drinking pals. They don't ask to borrow my books afterall.
A grind. The reader keeps waiting for this alleged "humor" writing to be humorous. It never is.
S.J. Perelman wrote most of these short pieces in the 1930s and 1940s, and they read like the semi-witty half-page pieces you'd find spr... [see the rest on my book review site.]
🖊 These essays were top shelf entertainment for me on those rainy, rainy days when I wanted nothing more than to read next to my warm, crackling fireplace and sip a cup of hot French chocolate.
📕Published — 1947.
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Funny, I know that. I just can't remember if he's the one who wrote the story about the man who fell in love with a gorilla. Also, I can't remember who wrote All my friends are up and dressed and dying. It has bothered me for some time. I believe I shall cease this palaver and go to yahoo and investigate. Cheery-bye.
Funny stuff! Some of these essays are pretty dated (I didn't understand all his references to 1930s celebrities and pop culture), but his writing style is reminiscent of Dorothy Parker and P. G. Wodehouse.
A zany collection of humorous essays, stories, and reviews. Fun to read, but many references are dated and difficult to follow. I'm sure he was a delight in his day.
I wish I could memorize everything by Perelman. Some of the humour seems dated but, overall, this collection kept me smiling and laughing and wanting more more more!