Author: Brian J. Noggle

Like Bad Monkey, I got this book down in Clever in June, and I read them back to back, which is just as well as they feature the same characters. Well, a couple of them.

In this one, the agent of a cable television star who stars in a knock off of Duck Dynasty is in the keys to perform at a comedy club. But he’s an accordian player from Milwaukee (well, Whitefish Bay) only playing a redneck on television, and when his agent is accidentally kidnapped when a woman rear-ends his car whilst shaving her bikini area (we discover where the title comes from very early), the television star causes a near riot with, erm, jokes about gays and disfavored colloquialisms for black people in a club featuring many black gay men. So he, the television star, goes into hiding, and the agent is eventually helped out by the Razor Girl, but a big fan of the television star who wants to be more bigoted than his redneck hero kills a swarthy fellow on the tourist tram and ends up kidnapping his hero to become his friend. Meanwhile, there are some subplots about mobsters and recycled sand scams. Andrew Yancy’s girlfriend the coroner-turned-ER doctor flies to Europe to leave him behind. Yancy investigates the situation while trying to keep an attorney who is addicted to the hazardous aphrodisiac deodorant that he’s running television ads for class action lawsuits from building on the lot next to his house.

Again, a crash of various threads, characters, and zany situations where the mystery is solved in the middle of the book and the rest of it is resolution amongst the whacky characters.

Amusing; not a waste of time, but not high literature, and it has not overtaken in my heart the things I’ve read of his long ago from long ago.

But I know what you’re wondering:

• Trump? Yes, of course, but only a mention that someone has Trumpish lips. This book might have been written before he ran for president or during. Not when he somehow won.
• The baddest word? I thought that Hiaasen had given it up because he uses the N-word early in the book, but the redneck antagonist does, in fact, invoke the whole badness.

He has a later book, but it does not appear to be a Yancy title.

Apparently, Bad Monkey was turned into a television series just this fall and stars Vince Vaughn as Yancy. So it might be worth a watch when it comes out on DVD. Which is likely never, as most streaming does not.

After reading The Downhill Lie, Hiaasen’s nonfiction golf book, I gave myself permission to read this book, a recent acquisition. I have read many, many fine Hiaasen books in the past (see also Skinny Dip, Strip Tease, Nature Girl, Lucky You, Stormy Weather, Basket Case, and even the YA novel Hoot). Still, this is a 21st century book, so I was looking for a sucker punch, but the book came during the holy interregnum of the Obama administration, so none was forthcoming (spoiler alert!).

At any rate, the story focuses on Andrew Yancy, a former police detective in the Florida Keys who has been busted from the force for publicly sodomizing with a cordless handheld vacuim the husband of a woman with whom Yancy was having an affair. His allies on the force help to get him a food inspector gig which he talks reluctantly. A tourist on a fishing charter catches the arm of a swindler about to be taken down for a Medicare scam, and Yancy is given the job of pawning it and the case off on the Miami police. He does not succeed and pursues a murder investigation on his own time. Was it the wife and her mystery man? Meanwhile, Yancy is trying to scare off a real estate speculator who has bought the lot next to his and wants to build a large home which will block Yancy’s view. Also, he is trying to woo the medical examiner in Miami while trying to determine what to do with the woman with whom he is having an affair, whom he learns is a fugitive teacher who seduced a student fifteen years ago. Oh, and someone is building a resort on a Bahaman island, the homestead of a simple fisherman who won the titular bad monkey and who commissions the local woodoo woman to curse the resort builder.

All these threads come together, of course. The book makes the Big Reveal about half way through the book, and then we get another half where the characters deal with the ramifications of the big reveal and a gradual denouement that probably goes on a little too long.

But you’re not reading the book for the plot, per se. Instead, you’re reading the book for the characters and the zany situations and…. Well, I was kinda meh. Yancy’s a bit of a slacker, and he smokes a lot of pot, and one wonders how it is he gets these attractive women to throw themselves at him. And it might have a couple too many situations and characters to be truly compelling. Or maybe I’ve outgrown Hiaasen and Dave Barry (maybe not–my review for The History of the Millennium (So Far) last year doesn’t indicate meh, but perhaps it was the nostalgia for a simpler time–2008–talking).

Two things:

• Does Trump make an appearance? You betcha! This is a pre-presidency book, though, so it’s not hateful. A character says:
  

  “Showin’ off is all. He said he come into serious money, but that could mean he won eighty-five bucks on the Lotto scratch-off. Now all of a sudden he is Donald fucking Trump.”

• The baddest word appears. This came out in the first year of the second Obamanency, which is far later than you find it in other writers. In the dark age of the 20th century, as in this book, it appears to show how backward the person using it is, but that petered out somewhere around 2005 in most books, or at least most books I’ve read after that (which is not that many, I admit). But it was noticeable mostly for the copyright date of the book.

Just things you can comment on and notice about books and how just the asides can date them. Or not.

So the book was all right. It didn’t drive me away from Hiaasen, but it looks as though I’ve read most of his ouevre already anyway.

Oh, and the titular monkey? I’m really not sure why he got the title slot, honestly. Perhaps Hiaasen had bigger plans for him.

I picked this book up in Davenport, Iowa, earlier this month, and when I sought a book of poetry to leaven my evening reading, I grabbed it. As I mentioned, this is a lavishly illustrated 1909 book that makes me want to buy some Mylar to wrap it. It’s in fine condition and was only $10. I guess Riley fans are few and far between these centuries.

As it stands, this is not a collection of poems, but a single poem lavishly illustrated. Pages with text have a series of borders with color illustrations of schoolday activities rotating at the top, and the book also features 10 slick full page illustrations woven throughout. The poem itself is a nostalgic look back at school days and a bit of the first romances you have at school, which leads to a bit of a question as for whom the book was made. Children still in school? They would like the pictures, I guess. Older people reminiscing? Perhaps it’s designed for parents and grandparents to read to children.

The poem itself is not something I’ll memorize, but the book is beautiful, and I’m glad to own it.

I’m also still a James Whitcomb Riley fan, although apparently Little Orphant Annie and Other Poems remains the only other book I’ve read. Maybe I’ll get that 10-volume set from ABC Books yet.

It seems like I just read Hondo, but I guess it has been a couple of weeks. Which is a very short “just” in terms of the passage of time in my head, but it’s still been a couple of weeks. This book first appeared only a couple of years after Hondo, which was apparently his L’Amour’s first, but it actually reads more like a men’s adventure paperback or later work than the straight forward Hondo.

In this book, wandering gun Matt Brennan comes to a small town in Utah and falls in love at first sight with a young woman. He learns that there’s a bit of trouble between two large cattle operations squeezing a single man building a ranch in the canyon between them, and violence is breaking out. Turns out that the girl whom he decides he will marry is the daughter of one of the big boys. He has trouble with a man who thinks he’s courting the girl (the guy beats the tar out of him), and he (Brennan) signs up with the man in the middle ranch. But that ranch owner is killed but before he does, he gifts the ranch to Brennan, who vows to defend it. The girl’s father dies of a gunshot wound on the ranch, and Brennan is briefly considered a suspect. His name is still Mudd, but he discovers a third party plot to stir up the violence between the ranches for what might be a silver strike initially found by another courter of the girl who left suddenly. Or was he murdered?

Compared to Hondo, it is a very busy novel with the intra-human intrigue coming to light slowly and with the characters, particularly Brennan, spending paragraphs or pages mulling over not even so much the possibilities but how much he cannot figure it out. So a bit more like the Pendleton Mack Bolan books in that regard.

Which is probably why this book is not considered in conversations about L’Amour’s best works. Not that I am privy to those conversations. I’m just a guy on the Internet, providing elementary school-level book reports and hoping not to get asked tough questions about them. Because I’ve read a couple of books since this one and only dimly remember it outside of the brief summary I’ve listed above. And the thought that gunslingers in the old West should not really punch men in the face a couple of times and expect to close their hands around a gun butt anytime soon.

I just read Carl Hiaasen’s golf book The Downhill Lie, so I figured that there would be no better time to read George Plimpton’s golf book as now. I’ve previously read his Paper Lion (in 2016) and Open Net (just last year). At some point when I was moving books on the shelves, I put this book right next to Open Net so I knew where it was exactly. Which meant I had no reason not to read it at this time, especially as I am not a golfer, so I’m not reading golf books all the time.

The conceit is similar to Paper Lion: George Plimpton joins the PGA Tour for a number of tournaments, although he plays in the Pro-Am events and not the actual professional tournaments. And, as is his fashion, he drops a hella lot of names even when they’re not golfers. He meets Bing Crosby at the Bing Crosby tournament; Andy Williams calls him over to give him some golf advice; and Samuel F.B. Morse, not that one, his relation who was wealthy on his relation’s inventions; and so on. He relates numerous heresay stories, including one about Bobby Riggs who was a notorious gambler even in 1969 and older golfers who retired decades before.

The chapters break on two things: First, topical stories which discuss things like the “yips” (nerves) which afflict golfers, the life of a caddy and stories they tell of golfers, superstitions of pro golfers, and so on, and second, the events and people he meets on the tour. He is not as good of a golfer as even Hiaasen, and he ruminates and marinates in that an awful lot (and says at the end of the book that he probably did too much of it instead of enjoying the experience).

The book climaxes with a locker room interview with Arnold Palmer where Plimpton is a bit awed by the professional and does not get the information out of him that he wanted and suspects he did not impress the legendary golfer (extra legendary because he was retired when I was a kid and is now known mostly for his soft drink). Jack Nicklaus and Lee Trevino are mentioned in passing, and they’re the only golfers whose names I recognize.

I enjoyed the book far more than the Hiaasen book. Plimpton provides real insight into the pro tour in the 1960s, such as how much a pro had to make in each tournament to cover the cost of travel (they generally drove from tournament to tournament in their own cars) and lodging, the lives of caddies (in the summer, professional caddies were essentially laid off so that country clubs could use local teens), the rise of the driving ranges just off of the highway (what, Top Golf and Big Shots Golf were not 21st century inventions?), and others. His writing style is definitely richer as he’s a long form writer writing a book, not just a columnist trying to stretch a couple of essays and a diary into a book. Also, Plimpton is a generation or two ahead of Hiaasen so he probably has a better-rounded education, and his upbringing in New York gives him a wealth of stories and names to drop (which bothered me less than in Paper Lion, apparently).

Plimpton has quite a bibliography. I should look for more of his books in the wild as I seem to be running low (as far as I can tell). But who knows what I might find in the wild if I actually look in the P section?