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Fitzgerald, F. Scott

The Crack-Up

If Miette’s Bedtime Story Podcast was a CD**, today’s would be the secret bonus track hidden at the very end. If this was called Miette’s Bedtime Story TV Miniseries, today’s would be the Exciting Second Half that you’d be Staying Tuned for, except without the special effects. If it was Miette’s Bedtime Story Green Salad, this would be the succulent bite of endive to Friday’s sweet pear.

Or, listen, if this was The Two Faces of Miette’s Bedtime Story Podcast, this would be the moment just before Joanne Woodward puts on that smokey dark voice and her eyes glaze over and she’s suddenly Eve Black talking about sailors and boozing.

In other words, not only am I not podcasting a story this time, but I’m giving you more Fitzgerald. What can I say? He’s the writer so nice he has to be read twice, that’s him.

But I warn you: It’s serious business, grownup stuff, this time around. If you want a nice light bedtime story, I’ve got em in spades, never fear.

But today’s, serious. Rather than give much further elucidation of this plaintive essay written for Esquire in somber post-flapper days, this person has the facts and history. I’m just the reader.

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** I mean old CDs, the kind we bought for, like, fifteen, twenty dollars, with music ALREADY burnt onto it, and a booklet with the lyrics sometimes printed on it or nice glossy photos, and it only held AT MOST fifteen songs or so, ‘member?

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Categories
Fitzgerald, F. Scott

Jemima, The Mountain Girl

Okay, someone was a little smartasinine requesting this one, for reasons that most of you will never know, given that this is not one of those soundbiting autobiographic shows and hence most of you don’t know that my real name is, in fact, Jemima, and I, too, paid my way through school with whiskey. Curious, that.

Even though it was a bit of an elbow-ribbing, request-speaking, this one picked up my mood considerably. I couldn’t read it without cracking once or thrice — if you can do better while listening, let me know and the next request is yours. If you can’t, don’t let me know, just listen to this as proof that Fitzgerald will always be funnier than you, crackups and all.

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