Ernest Hemingway, affectionately nicknamed “Big Mama” by his fans, was well known among writers of his generation for his yearly Christmas “back rub gift certificates” and gifts of crocheted socks.
Every year Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald rented a lakeside condo together in New Hampshire to work on their trust falls.
Hemingway invented capri pants and the concept of “Let’s just stay in tonight” even after you’ve already promised to go to a party.
Hemingway was actually the originator of the phrase “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who matter don’t mind and those who mind don’t matter.”
After serving in World War I, Hemingway worked in journalism and completed a groundbreaking around-the-world voyage under the pen name “Nellie Bly.”
He was allergic to nightshades and most varieties of pollen.
His first book, a collection of acrostic poems, was published in 1926. He also worked briefly as a script doctor on The Patty Duke Show.
He was a size six.
He thought Red Lobster’s cheddar biscuits were “sinful.”
Hemingway was married to the same cat his entire life.
His favorite cocktail was “lemonade, with an extra lemon squeezed into it.”
In his later years, Hemingway frequently went big-game hugging on Kenyan game reserves. “I’ve hugged bulls in Spain, wildcats in Michigan, and F. Scott Fitzgerald all over the world,” he said, “but for my money, the best big-game hugging is in Kenya, hugging a wildebeast.”
His first play was Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
At the time of his death, Hemingway had more than 800 Hermès scarves in his collection.
He briefly dated J.D. Salinger before the outbreak of World War II, and often referred to him as “the best one” for the rest of his life.
His all-time favorite movie was Moonstruck.
Hemingway’s lifestyle/dining memoir, A Moveable Feast, was not published until after his death, but it is almost certainly the first published instance of an American quiche recipe.
Tags: ernest hemingway, heroes, literary figures, writers
Aww, I would read the HELL out of (this fictional version of) Hemmingway’s tumblr.
Tumblr? Oh no no no, THIS Hemingway uses Pinterest.
This is my favorite kind of misandry. Thank you, Mallory. I didn’t know my life was missing this list until I read it.
The one about the cheddar biscuits: Hemingway, alone at Red Lobster, staring longingly at the basket in the center of the table. EAT THE BISCUIT, Hemingway. Eat the damn biscuit.
gotta watch that size six figure though
Aw, c’mon. What’s one biscuit?
I sort of stopped having feelings about Hemingway BUT we are both Oak Park bred and every time I’m out there buying comic books or eating tequenos (why are you on Oak Park goddamnit) or riding my bike, I laugh and laugh at the fact they use him as an economic development driver (COME TO THE HEMINGWAY DISTRICT) because dude hated the place and to be fair, his assessment of it wasn’t that off base (wide lawns narrow minds).
And yes, I’m prepared for any OP folks to come at me. COME AT ME. But Tasty Dog foreverrrrr.
OP-bred Toasties! Between Hemingway and Frank Lloyd Wright, I sure got a healthy dose of dudes who were Visionary But Jerks growing up, I tell you what.
Tasty Dogggggg. Also: Gina’s on Roosevelt and Johnnie’s on North Ave for Italian ice.
YEP YEP! I read that awful Frank Lloyd Wright book that was tops with a billion ladies a few years ago and was like, welp, you continued to make Frank Lloyd Wright suck, but thanks. Although Robie House is one of my favorite places to go.
Dammit I want some Johnnies. UGH.
You thinking of T.C. Boyle’s ‘The Women’? I was fond of that one, so from your description I think you aren’t referring to it!
Also re Oak Park, you ever read ‘Building Stories’? It’s the only graphic novel I can handle.
Point of order: was he using the word “sinful” in a joke-y, Gladys-from-the-office sense, or in the actual Biblical, God’ll-be-pissed sense? Because the latter will not be borne.
Little know fact: Hemmingway actually wrote the words to “I Hope You Dance” as a send-off to his departed cat Snowball.
Literally spit water at my computer.
“trust falls”
“Cousins, identical cousins all the way!” Now that song will be stuck in my head all day.
“Hemingway invented capri pants”
coffee spewage
Didn’t he write about this in “Old Man and the Seam”?
Mallory, I’m not saying I want to divorce my husband and marry you, but….ok that’s exactly what I’m saying.
But was he a *perfect* size 6? Did he wear a gold lavaliere at all times?
Look, unless he was a hundred feet tall and menstruated knives like Virginia Woolf, I’m not interested.
MARRY ME.
Also: would she take menstruated knives to a gunfight?
MARRY MALLORY; I’M JUST QUOTING HER.
And yes, the knives are powerful electromagnets that attract and absorb bullets and store their energy until the time is right, or so I would not be surprised to learn.
I want to live in the alternative universe where this is a true story. Both Salinger and Hemingway would have written such better novels.
His novel The Sun Also Rises is oft-quoted for its inspirational lines about seeking tranquility with your true love and abiding quietly in your corner of the world. The overarching theme is that while there is beauty in watching the sun set with your one true love by your side, in a committed relationship you will also have the chance to watch the sunrise together, perhaps with your children and your children’s children nearby.
Mr. Morgan: So, what did everyone think about The Sun Also Rises?
Perky girl: I loved it. It was so romantic!
Kat: Romantic? Hemingway? He was an abusive alcoholic misogynist who squandered half his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers.
#obligatory
Hemingway invented at *least* 40 shades of grey.
A positive thing about Hemingway: his love of daiquiris. I can’t understand how they became the frozen maligned things they are, because it seems like they ought to be respected as the manliest man drink that ever fought a bull, and then I could get a proper one at all bars. I don’t get it.
Dirk Pitt is also a daiquiri man!
In his later years, Ernest Hemingway often spent days at a time fishing for compliments in the Gulf of Mexico with an elderly Cuban fisherman named Santiago. The book “The Old Man and the Sea” is based on that experience.
The Old Man pulled a small tuna. It dropped in the boat and the Old Man hit it with an oar. The fish did not die. It flopped in the hull.
“I’m not much of a fisherman,” the Old Man said.
“Jesus, will you stop passive aggressivelly trying to get me to validate your existence, dude? I mean, for Chrissake, you’re old. It’s fine that you can’t kill a tuna with one hit. IT’S FINE,” the boy said.
That night the Old Man dreamed of the lions again, who told him his haircut looked stupid.
Hemingway was a size 6 by today’s standards, but back then he was really a size 14 and would be considered “too fat” to work in Hollywood today because he was a man with ~real curves~.
You thinking of T.C. Boyle's 'The Women'? I was fond of that one, so from your description I think you aren't referring to it!
Also re Oak Park, you ever read 'Building Stories'? It's the only graphic novel I can handle.
An excerpt from Hemingway’s early drafts of moveable feast revealed his and F Scott Fitzgerald’s nicknames for each other were; Puppyeyes and Fuzzy Paws:
“It was in the fall, and we drank, the leaves fell, we were young. When you are young in the fall, that is when you cling together. So we snuggled and I called him Puppyeyes for he was Scotty the dog, with his big brown eyes. And I was his FuzzyPaws and that was good, as it is when men snuggle, natural and manly like two kittens in a nest of leaves. Later in the winter, we were tattered and torn by the cold, but then, in the fall, it was good, the snuggling of men. Puppyeyes and I, Fuzzypaws.”
Hemingway wrote four hundred thousand words of Jane Austen fan fiction
“I’ve hugged bulls in Spain, wildcats in Michigan, and F. Scott Fitzgerald all over the world,”
Write this on my tombstone.
Zelda Fitzgerald wasn’t always nice to F. Scott (blame the schizophrenia and alcoholism) and would often tell him that he had a small penis. F. Scott became so insecure about it that he asked Hemingway to look at his penis. Hemingway looked at it and was like “you’re good, bro.” (This is a true story that I read in a biography of F. Scott Fitzgerald… ok, maybe not the “you’re good, bro,” but you get the picture.)
I read trombone.