Overheard at the Press Club
Went to the Press Club on Friday night. They were having a membership drive for local media types and as a quasi-journalist, I thought I'd go have a little look-see and check them out. George Clark told the funniest story - it seems a priest, a rabbi, Bill Brady and a duck wandered into this biker bar. There's a kangaroo behind the bar pouring drinks and he looks at the duck and says, .... Oops. Almost forgot the first and only rule of the Press Club - anything said in the Press Club stays in the Press Club. Nothing goes further than those four walls. ... But what the heck. I'll save that story for another time. In the meantime, I did learn something that's just too exciting not to share. I met a couple of kids there, ("Hey Butch, hey Kathleen!") and they let me in on a little secret that is going to lead to a whole new way of looking at what you read on this blog. Now, a lot of you have written in lately wondering why I never indent paragraphs. Is it a stylistic thing or a Jack Kerouac affectation? Are my thoughts written down in one Kerouacian spontaneous burst of energy that flows as one long unbroken paragraph? No. The sad truth is that I simply didn't know how to indent.
Until now! Thanks Butch & Kathleen!
Apparently, to indent, all you have to do is hit the 'enter' key and that allows you to do what is called a 'hard return.' Kinda like physically hitting the carriage-return key on an old-fashioned typewriter. And I can tell you, that one tip has revolutionized all my correspondence since then.
Not only can I now start new paragraphs, but I can also leave a line in between paragraphs - just by hitting the hard return key two times. Watch this -
Cool, eh?
I tell you, this new concept is going to change my life. Ya gotta love the hard return. I am the King of the Hard Return. I'm even thinking of changing my porno-movie name from 'Dick Divine' to 'Hard Return.'
Oh, incidently, turns out I was turned down for membership on Friday night. Apparently, I'm jut not "Press Club material." Of all the gall. Of all the nerve! Can you imagine that? Turning down a nice guy like me?" Well, it's just as well. I have my own outdoor social club for writer guys. Know what it's called? I can't tell ya.
But I can hardly wait for our next meeting just so I can tell that Bill Brady story.
Until now! Thanks Butch & Kathleen!
Apparently, to indent, all you have to do is hit the 'enter' key and that allows you to do what is called a 'hard return.' Kinda like physically hitting the carriage-return key on an old-fashioned typewriter. And I can tell you, that one tip has revolutionized all my correspondence since then.
Not only can I now start new paragraphs, but I can also leave a line in between paragraphs - just by hitting the hard return key two times. Watch this -
Cool, eh?
I tell you, this new concept is going to change my life. Ya gotta love the hard return. I am the King of the Hard Return. I'm even thinking of changing my porno-movie name from 'Dick Divine' to 'Hard Return.'
Oh, incidently, turns out I was turned down for membership on Friday night. Apparently, I'm jut not "Press Club material." Of all the gall. Of all the nerve! Can you imagine that? Turning down a nice guy like me?" Well, it's just as well. I have my own outdoor social club for writer guys. Know what it's called? I can't tell ya.
But I can hardly wait for our next meeting just so I can tell that Bill Brady story.
posted by Sonny Drysdale at 9:48 AM
9 Comments:
Do we need a 'Keeper of the Flame'? I can't tell ya.
What the Press Club does need is some good ol' fashioned bar-room wenches -- the kind that used to hang around the Wellington Hotel on Friday and Saturday nights.
You know the type.
They always got an extra 20-spot in their purse for a thirsty studmuffin looking for a place to bed down for the night.
The kind of woman that comes to bail you out of jail with an ice-cold 12-banger of beer in the trunk.
The kind of woman that gives a fella an impromptu flute recital while he's driving over to Port Huron to score some cheap smokes.
That's what the Press Club needs and George Clark knows it.
Butch - it sounds like you want to be the "Keeper of the Flame" at my other secret executive club. Know what it's called? I can't tell ya.
I ain't light in my penny loafers an' you know it, pal. I don't want no part of that flamer stuff.
It's hard enough in this day and age to find a few good sheep dogs to keep the chill off, let alone looking for pillow biters.
Pssst!: I overheard this at the Press Club the other night: that Shmuel Farhi owns the building that the Press Club is in and that ...
Mr. Farhi has impeccably good taste but I don't think anyone could improve on that '1970s rec-room ambience. Star Kist don't want tuna with good taste. They want tuna that tastes good.
No no ... it's much more clandestine and nefarious than that. Think positive media coverage in return for reduced rent.
Follow the money Bernstein ...
Sounds like a New York Post kinda shakedown. "Pay up Mr. Multi-Millionaire and I can guarantee there will be no negative publicity in the gossip column." But c'mon, Butch - that Allyson Graham seems like such a nice girl. I can't see it happening.
Bernstein, it's the hard news end of things. Nothing to do with Graham's BJ column for losers and schmoozers.
Hard return X 2.
We're talking parking lots and downtown development. Demolition of the Capital Theatre, demolition of homes on Central Avenue. Folow the money, Bernstein. Farhi gets a free ride from the foot soldiers at the Freeps.
Post a Comment
<< Home