Tuesday, July 21, 2009

R.I.P. Frank McCourt

So I haven't actually read Angela's Ashes (except for the first scene, I think, where the kid pukes up the Jesus water and then goes back to confession because his mother makes him). But let me take this opportunity (probably ill-timed) to bring your attention to the below transcript from a 2002 episode of Saturday Night Live in which John McCain played the late-great Mr. McCourt and was actually quite funny. It's the only thing I can think of when I think of Frank McCourt now.

(By the way, what stood out to me about this skit was the fact that McCourt made such an impact on popular culture that he was featured on SNL. How often does a book do that?)

Patrick Fitzwilliam: Alright. Our first guest is the Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Angela's Ashes. If you believe that Ireland is a whiskey-soaked, stinking cesspool, you're probably a big fan. Please welcome, Mr. Frank McCourt!

[ Frank McCourt enters and sits ]

Frank McCourt: Thank you, boys. Morning!

Patrick Fitzwilliam: So, Frank, how are ya?

Frank McCourt: Well, the cab ride was cold and dark. Like the day me father was run over by a truck!

William Fitzpatrick: Surprise, surprise - Frank McCourt's depressed.

Patrick Fitzwilliam: Hey, your parents must be so proud that their son took their most private moments and put them on a page where anyone with five quid could see.

William Fitzpatrick: I had always dreamed that I could write that me father was a drunk, and me mother was a slut! But you beat me to it! Good on ya, sir!

Frank McCourt: I will not stand for this! I'm Frank McCourt! [ stands ] I... am leaving!

Patrick Fitzwilliam: Ah, have a drink, Frank!

Frank McCourt: I... am staying! [ takes his drink and chugs it ]

Patrick Fitzwilliam: Down you go... down you go...

Frank McCourt: Perhaps I could read you a passage from me new book. It's entitled: Too Cold to Die: An Irish Christmas Fairy Tale. [ reading ] "The pus dripped from the lackey's eye, like a teardrop. We were grateful to see it; it was all we had to eat that Christmas." And that's all I've written so far.

William Fitzpatrick: [ sniffling ]

Patrick Fitzwilliam: Not here. Not here, not now! Not here, not now! Not here, not now! Not here in front of the dartboard, not now at this time of October!

William Fitzpatrick: [ stops sniffling ]

Patrick Fitzwilliam: Brilliant work. A credit to the Irish, you are.


Homero said...

In other big literary news, I'm suprised you haven't written anything about this:

Lindsay-with-an-A said...

I considered it but I didn't have much to say except BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU.

Slightly off-topic, I attended an "Ethics and Compliance" training yesterday and apparently corporate IT has all my passwords for all my accounts, so if anything slightly... odd... shows up here, you know why, haha.

Homero said...

Even for your Blogger account? How did they get a hold of that?

Lindsay-with-an-A said...

All of our passwords (bank accounts, Sallie Mae, yahoo, facebook, EVERYTHING) gets saved in the company server if we log in at work. Of course, if they actually start logging into any of my accounts, that means I'm probably the subject of an investigation, anyway, so I'll have more things to worry about than whether or not they're posting "I Luuuurve Dan Brown" posts on here...

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