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Fandango, v. 3, issue 3, whole 11, Spring 1946
Page 8
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I'd hardly call Blues in Your/My Flat typical of Goodman, and must admit they slipped my mind when I was speaking of Lulu's Mood in comparison. To me, the typical Goodman small group side is one of the old standby pop tunes--like I Surrender Dear or More Than You Know or Body and Soul---skillfully and sensitively interpreted, it is true, but relatively lacking in the kind of earthy kicks found in Wallner, or Satchmo, or James P, or any of the rest of our boys. Put it this way, Meyer; I can easily imagine Bigard accompanying Bessie and sounding swell; somehow, I can't see Benny and Bessie on the same side. [line break] ---oo0oo--- [underlined] HORIZONS I can see no earthly use in commenting on this issue when remarks made therein have inspired me to write no less than two composed-on-the-stencil articles, the first of which follows immediately. [line break] ********************* [large thin letters] OF LARS & PENATES (Dedicated largely to sheerly indefensible bragging on myself, a practice known among the elite as ego-boo, as well as by several less printable terms; but lesserly intended to inspire Lebensraum Harry to emulate my recent herculean efforts of file-setting-up.) [line break] -o0o- Fans whose activity is not backed up by a comprehensive file system just don't realise how much time they waste pawing through stacks of junk, how often they find themselves in a hole because they can't lay hands on some certain letter or carbon, how much fun they miss simply because they don't have everything they own right where they can lay hands on it. Prior to my Reformation, my system of classification was conspicuous largely by its absence. Books and prozines were fairly well arranged in shelves, and the major fanzines were quasifiled in special file boxes. But the smaller fanzines, FAPA mailings, letters, carbons, mss, Acolyte material, duplicates, and everything else you might name was dumped indiscriminately into my desk. Since my desk is a very small one, it frequently overflowed, and each time that happened, another stratum was deposited in a locker affair in our front hall, or else in a box in the kids' closet. The only way I could find anything was to remember approximately [underlined] when I had last had it and then dig for that particular layer. Occasionally I had astounding results, riffling blindly through a great stack of junk and emerging nonchalantly with the sought-for item in my hand, much to the awe of my colleagues. More often I would spend as much as six or seven hours and still not find that for which I sought. My dear wife got so sick and tired of having my junk underfoot that she gave me a four-drawer file cabinet for xmas, with positive orders to utilise it. It is of all-wood construction, stained a dark olive green, and has very fancy lucite handles. Nor was this a particularly expensive proposition, the cabinet cost, new and delivered, only 20.50 while 200 file folders cost slightly under five bucks more. The top drawer (which in cubic volume is about the same as the largest of the three boxes I had stuffed full of letters) contains all of my correspondence except as noted in a moment. Each correspondent has a file folder of his own, and all the letters and carbons are in chronological order. The letters are unfolded, those of more than one sheet are stapled together, and the envelopes have been thrown away. To solve the problem of the ephemeral correspondent, the guy who sends 15c for an issue of Acolyte for example, I got a small letter file -- 8 --
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I'd hardly call Blues in Your/My Flat typical of Goodman, and must admit they slipped my mind when I was speaking of Lulu's Mood in comparison. To me, the typical Goodman small group side is one of the old standby pop tunes--like I Surrender Dear or More Than You Know or Body and Soul---skillfully and sensitively interpreted, it is true, but relatively lacking in the kind of earthy kicks found in Wallner, or Satchmo, or James P, or any of the rest of our boys. Put it this way, Meyer; I can easily imagine Bigard accompanying Bessie and sounding swell; somehow, I can't see Benny and Bessie on the same side. [line break] ---oo0oo--- [underlined] HORIZONS I can see no earthly use in commenting on this issue when remarks made therein have inspired me to write no less than two composed-on-the-stencil articles, the first of which follows immediately. [line break] ********************* [large thin letters] OF LARS & PENATES (Dedicated largely to sheerly indefensible bragging on myself, a practice known among the elite as ego-boo, as well as by several less printable terms; but lesserly intended to inspire Lebensraum Harry to emulate my recent herculean efforts of file-setting-up.) [line break] -o0o- Fans whose activity is not backed up by a comprehensive file system just don't realise how much time they waste pawing through stacks of junk, how often they find themselves in a hole because they can't lay hands on some certain letter or carbon, how much fun they miss simply because they don't have everything they own right where they can lay hands on it. Prior to my Reformation, my system of classification was conspicuous largely by its absence. Books and prozines were fairly well arranged in shelves, and the major fanzines were quasifiled in special file boxes. But the smaller fanzines, FAPA mailings, letters, carbons, mss, Acolyte material, duplicates, and everything else you might name was dumped indiscriminately into my desk. Since my desk is a very small one, it frequently overflowed, and each time that happened, another stratum was deposited in a locker affair in our front hall, or else in a box in the kids' closet. The only way I could find anything was to remember approximately [underlined] when I had last had it and then dig for that particular layer. Occasionally I had astounding results, riffling blindly through a great stack of junk and emerging nonchalantly with the sought-for item in my hand, much to the awe of my colleagues. More often I would spend as much as six or seven hours and still not find that for which I sought. My dear wife got so sick and tired of having my junk underfoot that she gave me a four-drawer file cabinet for xmas, with positive orders to utilise it. It is of all-wood construction, stained a dark olive green, and has very fancy lucite handles. Nor was this a particularly expensive proposition, the cabinet cost, new and delivered, only 20.50 while 200 file folders cost slightly under five bucks more. The top drawer (which in cubic volume is about the same as the largest of the three boxes I had stuffed full of letters) contains all of my correspondence except as noted in a moment. Each correspondent has a file folder of his own, and all the letters and carbons are in chronological order. The letters are unfolded, those of more than one sheet are stapled together, and the envelopes have been thrown away. To solve the problem of the ephemeral correspondent, the guy who sends 15c for an issue of Acolyte for example, I got a small letter file -- 8 --
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