The. Best. Book. Ever. (A Series)

I have a deep, abiding love for a type of book that I believe should constitute its own category in the Library of Congress catalogue. My name for this literary genre: The. Best. Book. Ever.

How to know when you are in the presence of The. Best. Book. Ever? You quickly develop a curious tic, the constant need to read aloud to anyone in the vicinity.

I submit:

Anita O’Day’s High Times Hard Times.

Now I was in a different frame of mind. I felt I was old enough to check out this thing called sex. Not with Don or Carl or anybody who was in love with me, but just with somebody I dug. No strings attached.

But then I looked past the effects of constant boozing.

….There was no cough syrup on open shelves to wean myself on anymore. I couldn’t support and no way to make decent amount of bread anymore. When I turned on the radio I didn’t even hear my kind of music. It was all Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard and Bill Haley or Pat Boone, Perry Como, Frankie Avalon and, of course, the Beatles. I don’t think I felt sorry for myself. I know I didn’t complain. But my sunny disposition began to curdle and I grew bitter.

My head was like a bicycle that had lost the chain. I kept pedaling, but I wasn’t moving.

I can just hear you asking, “What was she ? Double-dumb?” Maybe. Double-dumb and double-dedicated to doing my thing—entertaining the world.

Deborah Grace Winer’s Night And The Music: Rosemary Clooney, Barbara Cook, And Julie Wilson, Inside The World Of Cabaret. Sadly, I do not have a copy of the book on hand to support the inclusion of this title, but trust me.

Kenneth Anger’s Hollywood Babylon I and II. Any page will provide evidence of the Best-Book-Ever-ness of these volumes, but the section about Charlie Chaplin “balling” someone on a bearskin rug immediately springs to mind.

And, really, I suppose any book that includes the term “balling” will fall into this category. Which, I believe, means the entire oeuvre of Jacqueline Susann. (Also, I have yet to read Diana Vreeland’s autobiography, but I have it on excellent advice that D.V. is The. Best. Book. Ever. as well.)

All of this is by way of saying that I am currently reading… The. Best. Book. Ever. From The Unsinkable Bambi Lake: A Fairy Tale Containing the Dish on Cockettes, Punks, and Angels, I am compelled to share the following:

Those were the days of real Academy Award performances for getting on welfare. People painted themselves gold, peed on the floor, covered themselves in mud and molasses. I’ll never forget the great line, “I am Brian. You are the moon. And everything is okay.”

She had true decadent, tattered, whiny Warhol star appeal.

Mary and Arthur were the adopted children of the man who invented the Kellogg snack pack.

My first show with the Angels was the Christmas pageant, Whatever Happened to Baby Jesus? in 1970.

I think Teri Garr worked there, too.*

The show didn’t do so well, apparently because they partied a bit too much at Jacqueline Susann’s apartment before opening night.**

Everything was romantic to me, even the way my landlord had thugs kicking at our door when the rent was late.

Very old school. Very Lana Turner.

[I]t was very George M. Cohan. Very Gypsy.

Think Piaf. Think Lotte Lenya.

Think The. Best. Book. Ever.

*any work of literature that mentions Teri Garr is going to be T.B.B.E.
** also, any work that mentions Jacqueline Susann is going to be T.B.B.E.

High Times Hard Times
Night And The Music: Rosemary Clooney, Barbara Cook, And Julie Wilson, Inside The World Of Cabaret
Kenneth Anger’s Hollywood Babylon I and II
D.V.
The Unsinkable Bambi Lake: A Fairy Tale Containing the Dish on Cockettes, Punks, and Angels
Jacqueline Susann

Retraction: Actually, I suspect that Jacqueline Susann’s Every Night, Josephine! probably does not contain the term “balling.”