Tag Archives: Carl Hiaasen

From Carl Hiaasen’s Skinny Dip

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“Tool stood six three and weighed 280 pounds and owned a head like a cinder block. His upper body was matted so heavily with hair that he perspired copiously, even in cold weather, and found it uncomfortable to wear a shirt. Nearly a year had passed since Tool had been shot in broad daylight by a poacher who had mistaken him for a bear. No entry wound had been visible, as the slug had uncannily tunneled into the seam of Tool’s formidable buttocks. Because bleeding was minimal, he elected to forgo medical treatment—a decision that would come back to haunt him.”

— Skinny Dip (Carl Hiaasen)

To die of old age

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My first blog post back in 2002 was a quote from Carl Hiaasen’s Basket Case. I’m rereading the book for the umpteenth time and came across the following which… resonates.

“Early on I made up my mind not to die of anything but old age. Stopped smoking because I was afraid of the cancer. Swore off booze because I was scared of driving my car into a tree. Gave up hunting because I was scared of blowing my own head off. Quit chasing trim because I was afraid of being murdered by a jealous husband. Shaved the odds, is what I set out to do. Missed out on a ton of fun, but that’s all right. All my friends are planted in the ground and here I am!”

Name the Beatles

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One of my favorite bits of dialogue in Carl Hiaasen’s Skin Tight:

“But I don’t want to many you,” she said. “I promise. Even if you ask me afterwards, I’ll say no—no matter how great it was. Besides, I’m not a waitress. You said all the others were waitresses.”
He groaned and said, “Tina, I’m sorry. It just won’t work.”
“How do you know it won’t work?” she said to Stranahan
“I’m too old.”
“Bullshit.”
“And you’re too young.”
”Double bullshit.”
“Okay,” he said. “Then name the Beatles.”
“What?” Tina forced a caustic laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious” Stranahan said, addressing her from the edge of the roof. “If you can name all the Beatles, I’ll make love to you right now. ”
“I don’t believe this,” Tina said. “The fucking Beatles.”
Stranahan had done the math in his head: She was nineteen, which meant she had been born the same year the band broke up.
‘Well, there’s Paul,” Tina said.
“Last name? Come on! Let’s hear it.”
“McCartney, okay? I don’t believe this.”
Stranahan said, “Go on, you’re doing fine.”
“Ringo,” Tina said. “Ringo Starr. The drummer with the nose.”
“Good.”
“And then there’s the guy who died. Lennon.”
“First name?”
“I know his son is Julian.”
“His son doesn’t count.”
Tina said, “Yeah, well, you’re an asshole. It’s John. John Lennon.”
Stranahan nodded appreciatively. “Three down, one to go. You’re doing great.”
Tina folded her arms and tried to think of the last Beatle. Her lips were pursed in a most appealing way, but Stranahan stayed on the roof. “I’ll give you a hint,” he said to Tina. “Lead guitar.”
She looked up at him, triumph shining in her gray eyes. “Harrison,” she declared. ”Keith Harrison!

That guy in Wings?

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Reading (3rd time) Carl Hiaasen’s Skinny Dip. One of the main characters is a middle-aged guy that has been divorced six times. All waitresses. Part of his screening process was to ask them to name the Beatles. If they could not, the cultural gulf was probably too wide. How could you not know the names of the Beatles?

While discussing last night’s American Idol performances (Taylor Hicks sang a Beatles song) with a female co-worker today, I asked if she (mid-20’s) could name the Beatles. She could only come up with McCartney. Alas.