The Corner

The one and only.

Derb Checks In


Apologies for absence. The Phileas Fogg regularity of my life gets severely disrupted around Christmas time. Wednesday night I did a radio show that went on till 3 o’clock in the morning. Now, I’m an early-to-bed guy. Far as I’m concerned, 3 a.m. is horological Siberia. It didn’t help that I went to the studio straight from the New Criterion Christmas party & post-party dinner, so by the time they sat me down at the mike I was (a) hoarse from talking, and (b) moderately well likkered up. Goodness knows how I came over on the wireless. They asked me if I wanted a CD of the segments. I said no, thanks.

Fellow guests included pop/country music icon & institutional memory Hal Bynum and his wife Rebecca of

Hal & Rebecca are two of the sweetest people alive, as well as great friends of NR… though Hal’s innate good nature doesn’t hold him back when he thinks a verbal sock on the jaw is appropriate. (In his younger days it rarely stopped at the verbal.) After I disagreed with him on a point of opinion, Hal fixed me with his glittering eye and
said: “Ain’t nobody from a town or a city any good.” Defending myself as best I could, I said that the town I came from was a very small town, but it didn’t get me off the hook. It was all in sport, though, and we parted the best of friends. Merry Christmas, guys, and to Beau too.

Then I did one of those slightly weird late-night segments with some kind of New Age mystic on one side of me and a gay comedian on the other. The New Age guy struck me as sincere but with some crazy ideas. However, I have a very low threshold of tolerance for pseudoscience (who knew?), so I may be misrepresenting him. Check him out for yourself here and if this is the kind of thing you go for, have him do a “reading”
for you. Heck, everyone’s got to make a living, and at least this guy doesn’t want his stuff promoted in high school science classes.

The gay comic — his name I think was Ed McElroy, but it was 2:30 a.m.
at this point so the name might be something utterly different, Wladislaw Przebiszczevsky perhaps — was funny, which it is his business to be. I liked him a lot. To get a feel for him: “I’m old gay. I hate young gay. You see them shopping together at the supermarket, with little May Ling in a stroller.
Yecch. No, I’m old gay. I want to have fun.”

The only thing to be said about 3 a.m. in New York is that you have the roads to yourself. It’s not often I get to use cruise control on the Long Island Expressway. Got home around 4 a.m., stumbled around in a daze yesterday, and now here I am back in the land of the living.

There’s a column in the hopper and a Radio Derb coming up after I’ve walked Boris and done a little spackling.