While I’m in Orlando riding the Disney buses from one resort to the other, here’s my monthly column in the Undie Press on collecting rare books. This time, I discuss a literary journal that had humble origins but is now a publishing powerhouse. Along the way, I reveal the source for all my best ideas and quips. Hint: they’re not exactly original.

We went to a luau tonight and between the main course and the Polynesian fire dance, the woman sitting next to me whipped out her tit and breastfed her infant. If I were a more evolved individual it wouldn’t have bothered me but, I’m sorry, it did.

I usually keep close tabs on world events but it’s hard when you’re on a holiday. I got back to the hotel this evening and saw that the West has dropped a shitload of tomahawk missiles on Muammar el-Qaddafi’s ass. The New York Times is reporting that he’s using women and children to shield his compound.

Did you know that the Arab League went to the United Nations and asked them to intervene? Once again, the Arab world is incapable of taking care of its own.

Question: Why doesn’t the Arab League mass an army on the outskirts of Tripoli and march in?

Answer: Because we’re addicted to oil so they don’t have to. They’re crafty.

On my lunch hour, I visited the Mary Boone Gallery in Chelsea to see performance artist Terence Koh’s latest work, nothingtoodooterencekoh. In it, a (supposedly) 45 ton pile of rock salt was dumped into the center of the gallery and Koh circumnavigates the pile ON HIS KNEES from the time the gallery opens until it closes. It’s madness.

Some performance art is quite lovely to behold but I was going there to laugh at him. It seemed like a pretentious stunt. I don’t know what it was supposed to signify. I NEVER know what it’s supposed to signify. I don’t do subtlety My judgments are all very base. Is it pretty to look at? I was sure that this was not.

There is no interaction with the audience. He has taken a vow of silence for the length of the run. Sometimes, he lays prostate on the floor in front of the pile. Initially, he was crawling on his knees without the aid of knee pads but he had to give that up because it was tearing his knees up.

As I said, I was going there because I thought the concept was a big joke. But a funny thing happened. Once there, I got swept up in it and it was actually quite beautiful. I can’t explain it! The pile of salt was a perfect, perfect inverted cone with a sharply defined edge. His white garments seemed to mesh with the salt. The only light was the light that poured in from the skylight. There were about a dozen people there and they were all respectfully silent. There was something very calming about watching the whole thing and I didn’t want to leave but I had to get back to MY pile of rock salt.

Disneyworld is pretty much the last thing that comes to mind when I think of taking some time off and going away on a relaxing holiday. But then I get this:

I know what happens.
I read the book.
I believe I just got the goodbye look.

So that pretty much settled that. I’m going to Disneyworld. I just got an e-mail from a friend who is, as this very moment, vacationing in Venice. It was a lifetime ago that I saw Italy and it’ll be another lifetime until I can return. Until then, I’m off to the happiest place on earth. So help me Bog, it had better not rain. Not for the kind of money I had to burn.

Won’t you pour me a Cuban breeze, Gretchen?

Last Sunday, The New York Times printed their semi-annual fashion magazine, T. This was the spring issue. It’s thick and glossy and nothing but ads, really.

One spread featured Lou Reed wearing a Rick Owens jacket ($1,602), t-shirt ($286) and pants ($750).

Lou Reed!

Wearing a friggin’ $286 t-shirt!

I guess I’m glad for Lou because he certainly did earn it, but it makes me kind of sad, too. When I was a tyke, I saw Lou tour his Sally Can’t Dance album at Cleveland’s Music Hall. He had platinum blond hair. At the beginning of the show, someone walked a dazed Lou out to the mike at center stage, strapped a guitar on him and he stood rooted in that spot for the entire show. But he got through it!

Now he’s a model.

Okay. As Bukowski put it, scramble two.

“Look how he abused me and beat me,
“How he threw me down and robbed me.”
Live with such thoughts and you live with hate.

“Look how he abused me and beat me,
“How he threw me down and robbed me.”
Abandon such thoughts and live in love.

In this world
Hate never yet dispelled hate.
This is law,
Ancient and inexhaustible.
You too shall pass away.
Knowing this, how can you quarrel?

from the Dhammapada

I suppose this can be dismissed as a platitude, but it got under my skin and stayed with me. In reading it over and over, I revealed an unattractive truth about myself. It’s something I’m working on.

I had to stay in the city overnight so I got a hotel room. When I walked out the next morning at 6:30, I turned onto 57th Street and was hit with a blast of frigid crosstown wind. The Hudson River to my left, the East River to my right. Caught in the crossfire!

I simply can’t take the cold anymore. It’s been a long, cold winter. I fought my way eastward to the A train against a wind gust that stung my ears and made my eyes water. I lost it. I had a moment of insanity and started cursing God. I called him the most vile and foul things I could think of. Take it from me. I can be pretty imaginative.

To remedy this I am exercising the only option I have. I’m playing the Disney card. I’m taking all The Girls to Florida next week. So help me God, if the weather is bad when we get there, I’m going to find the nearest Catlick Church, kick the door in and give the Holy Father a piece of my mind. I’m not kidding.