Cue Jim Eastman with your Wine & Politics--er, Technology & Community--laugh of the day.
(His closing statement, by the way, is why I like to admit that I'm a moron.)
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Europe Central
Well, I'll say this: you could do worse with your time than to block out a couple hours to sit down at the bookstore and read "Breakout," the Vlasov chapter from Europe Central. Just...I guess...well, be ready to feel like the air's been sucked out of your brain, by the end of it. I just finished that chapter, and now I'm kind of wondering why we ever bother to get out of bed, ever.
Dickens? In Cleveland? Hating on the mainstream media? What era are we in? ALSO: I'm a big dork and I'm exhausted, too
Been meaning to link to this for a while (actually, been meaning to link to a lot of stuff for a while, but, well, sometimes you got to take your book-bloggin' street-level, get down and nasty with the gluebound-funk, makin' deals in secluded library corners with your lit-posse, if you know what I mean...which if you do, that would make you weird, since I don't have any idea what I mean). John Ettorre has some fun Dickens facts for you, including that there's actually a Cleveland Dickens Fellowship (which I will admit to an intense, almost overpowering, sudden curiosity about), and that Dickens actually once visited Cleveland. That factoid has that real weirdly anachronistic feel to it. Like when you found out recently--when they stopped letting you send them--that telegrams had actually been around for a really long time, and you really thought about it? No, it didn't make sense. How did cavemen invent telegrams? Didn't they need electricity for that? How did they convince cowboys to put down their lassos and hitch up their utility belts to string all that wire? No. It makes no sense at all. And yet, there it is: true. Same for me and Dickens and Cleveland. I mean, the guy, he like, defined England, right? So what was he doing over here? And what kind of boat back then could cross an entire ocean? I don't get it. Truth be told, I don't even actually believe it. Lies! LIES! John Ettorre, in light of certain recent discussions about the nature of online conversations, I'm going to have to take off my gentleman's gloves and put on my fightin'-words gloves, and tell you how I really feel. You spread lies on the Internet! On the Internet! Yeah! Expletive! Expletive! Yee of low moral standing! You're a coward and a cur! Hiyah!
Yeah, wow. I didn't know that paragraph was going to go there. Live television, folks! Note to self: don't blog when tired.
Anyways, Dickens: if you ask me, I'm cool with Dickens. I'm due to read some Dickens, since I haven't in a while. And by in a while, I mean, I think what Dickens I have read, I can't actually count as having read anymore (link via). But I do remember trying to read Great Expectations in high school and thinking that Dickens was a little bit too British for my tastes at the time, but then I gave it another shot sometime after college and I remember thinking that Dickens was actually a little bit too awesome for my tastes. And then there was whichever one book I did manage to find time to read when I audited that Dickens class in college. I'm sure I'm pretty much cementing my reputation here as a completely hopeless dork, but whatever. It's cool. I'm cool with Dickens. Even though I actually literally can't remember which book I read when I took that class. Sorry. Audited that class. So not only am I a dork, but I'm a lame dork. Go me. (It was either David Copperfield or Dombey and Son. Wait. What the hell? Dickens wrote a book called Dombey and Son? A really long book called Dombey and Son? Seriously, what the hell? Was this guy paid by the word, or something? Er, oh...) Oh! And I do remember reading some of his journalism/essays in that class, too, which were actually really fun pieces. Short! Blog-posty in length, if I recall. I remember liking those. And I guess I read A Tale of Two Cities in high school, on my own time, too. Which doesn't make sense, I know. Also, I've checked the shelves, and it seems I have two copies of Great Expectations. What? Who am I?
But yeah, now that you all know I'm a big lame clueless memoryless dork, anyone want to read Bleak House with me? It's the one Dickens book I own that I know for an absolute fact I never read, except for maybe the first hundred pages, which I think I might have tried to read, before realizing I was about to graduate from college, and that reading was for chumps and suckers and that I didn't need to read anything ever again. So I figure maybe I'll try to tackle it this year. Say, maybe, in June, or July, which'll be about when I finish Europe Central, maybe?
Yeah, wow. I didn't know that paragraph was going to go there. Live television, folks! Note to self: don't blog when tired.
Anyways, Dickens: if you ask me, I'm cool with Dickens. I'm due to read some Dickens, since I haven't in a while. And by in a while, I mean, I think what Dickens I have read, I can't actually count as having read anymore (link via). But I do remember trying to read Great Expectations in high school and thinking that Dickens was a little bit too British for my tastes at the time, but then I gave it another shot sometime after college and I remember thinking that Dickens was actually a little bit too awesome for my tastes. And then there was whichever one book I did manage to find time to read when I audited that Dickens class in college. I'm sure I'm pretty much cementing my reputation here as a completely hopeless dork, but whatever. It's cool. I'm cool with Dickens. Even though I actually literally can't remember which book I read when I took that class. Sorry. Audited that class. So not only am I a dork, but I'm a lame dork. Go me. (It was either David Copperfield or Dombey and Son. Wait. What the hell? Dickens wrote a book called Dombey and Son? A really long book called Dombey and Son? Seriously, what the hell? Was this guy paid by the word, or something? Er, oh...) Oh! And I do remember reading some of his journalism/essays in that class, too, which were actually really fun pieces. Short! Blog-posty in length, if I recall. I remember liking those. And I guess I read A Tale of Two Cities in high school, on my own time, too. Which doesn't make sense, I know. Also, I've checked the shelves, and it seems I have two copies of Great Expectations. What? Who am I?
But yeah, now that you all know I'm a big lame clueless memoryless dork, anyone want to read Bleak House with me? It's the one Dickens book I own that I know for an absolute fact I never read, except for maybe the first hundred pages, which I think I might have tried to read, before realizing I was about to graduate from college, and that reading was for chumps and suckers and that I didn't need to read anything ever again. So I figure maybe I'll try to tackle it this year. Say, maybe, in June, or July, which'll be about when I finish Europe Central, maybe?
Monday, February 13, 2006
In praise of Canada
Okay, so I'm totally kicking myself in the face for having missed this recent Dan Chaon event (as neatly discussed by Maureen McHugh, who I think would be great fun as the focus of a similar type thing). But it's okay, because I'm going to make up for it. I'm committing myself to attending as many of these upcoming Red, White, and Read events as I can make (there's a PDF of a brochure for the event linked off that page).
Red, White, and Read is a program being put on by the English department at John Carroll University (my alma mater). Judging by the kick-off reading, it's going to be a personally painful series, because I've gone into book-buying lock-down mode (when certain books decide they need to be purchased and read immediately, cutting in front of the other 20-30+ books on the coffee table that have been waiting patiently for their turn since way too long ago, never-even-mind the number of books I've been holding off on buying because I'd go broke if I did so, certain drastic corrective measures have to be taken), but I'm going to be strong and go anyway. Even though I'll be leaving empty handed. I'll be strong.
It's a neat idea and a fun theme. I made it to the Ann-Marie MacDonald reading last week. Her reading was captivating and entertaining (I now have an entirely new appreciation for the word "Bullshit!"), and whenever I grant myself use of credit and/or library cards again, I'll be picking up her stuff. This week Timothy Taylor will be reading on Tuesday and Nino Ricci will be appearing at the end of the month. And then there's four more writers after that in March and April. So, come join me, and send a little love up north.
Red, White, and Read is a program being put on by the English department at John Carroll University (my alma mater). Judging by the kick-off reading, it's going to be a personally painful series, because I've gone into book-buying lock-down mode (when certain books decide they need to be purchased and read immediately, cutting in front of the other 20-30+ books on the coffee table that have been waiting patiently for their turn since way too long ago, never-even-mind the number of books I've been holding off on buying because I'd go broke if I did so, certain drastic corrective measures have to be taken), but I'm going to be strong and go anyway. Even though I'll be leaving empty handed. I'll be strong.
It's a neat idea and a fun theme. I made it to the Ann-Marie MacDonald reading last week. Her reading was captivating and entertaining (I now have an entirely new appreciation for the word "Bullshit!"), and whenever I grant myself use of credit and/or library cards again, I'll be picking up her stuff. This week Timothy Taylor will be reading on Tuesday and Nino Ricci will be appearing at the end of the month. And then there's four more writers after that in March and April. So, come join me, and send a little love up north.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
And at the quarter, it's Thumb Drives and Oven Clocks 1, and William T. Vollmann OMG WTF?!?
Warning: scattershot reactions ahead.
So I'm around about a quarter of the way through Europe Central, depending on whether or not you count the end notes. (I, generally, haven't, though in some cases, I have.) My reaction so far can be summed up by the words "annoying" and "brilliant", in varying ratios, depending on the page, paragraph, hell, the sentence I'm reading at the time. It's like, I know that 20th Century military/cultural history is difficult, complex stuff, but at times, I wonder if Mr. Vollmann isn't going out of his way to make things more difficult than they need to be. (His weird rhetorical verbal ticks often just annoy the hell out of me; compare to DFW's "like"s which are mostly just fun. When WTV's narrator(s?) repeatedly says, "you know," I mostly want to grab him [them?] by the throat and say, "No, I don't! Why do you think I'm reading this book! It's your job to make me know!") And then at other times I'm wrapping the gold book in a lemon slice and bashing my brains out with it, when he drops a line or two of seriously Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster levels of genius. So yeah, I dunno.
It's just a big damn difficult muscle-car of a book which is sometimes really rewarding and sometimes just really difficult and I guess there's no way around it.
Maybe it's weird, but I do like the longer chapters better; I think he does better when he tells an actual story and has real narrative flow upon which to drape his observations and ideas and thoughts and whatever. Admit it: you secretly adore shorter chapters in novels, because it makes the book feel snappier and sometimes less like "work". But in Vollmann's case, the shorter (couple page) chapters have kind of made me roll my eyes in advance, because, chances are, if there's going to be places he loses me, it's going to be those chapters. (Like, if DFW tried to write Infinite Jest as a piece of flash fiction...although maybe that's a bad example because DFW's longer chapters in IJ often epitomized the idea of "literature as work", so take that as you will.)
Mostly as ever I feel my shortcomings as a reader; here's a lot of data and info and story and what not and I'm sometimes just not processing it right, I worry. It's a book I'm already wondering if it wouldn't be better digested when re-read. Not that I really intend on re-reading it right away--I've got a lot of other damn large books I'd like to read this year.
Lest this reaction seem too negative: the 80 page chapter "The Palm Tree of Deborah," which I just read yesterday, was pretty much completely ecstatic and lemon-slice-wrapped-gold-brick painful. (Also the longest chapter so far, and looks like second longest in the book, and knowing what I think I know about the way this book is going, I really can't wait for the longest chapter, which is way the hell out there near the end of the book; fab.)
So I'm around about a quarter of the way through Europe Central, depending on whether or not you count the end notes. (I, generally, haven't, though in some cases, I have.) My reaction so far can be summed up by the words "annoying" and "brilliant", in varying ratios, depending on the page, paragraph, hell, the sentence I'm reading at the time. It's like, I know that 20th Century military/cultural history is difficult, complex stuff, but at times, I wonder if Mr. Vollmann isn't going out of his way to make things more difficult than they need to be. (His weird rhetorical verbal ticks often just annoy the hell out of me; compare to DFW's "like"s which are mostly just fun. When WTV's narrator(s?) repeatedly says, "you know," I mostly want to grab him [them?] by the throat and say, "No, I don't! Why do you think I'm reading this book! It's your job to make me know!") And then at other times I'm wrapping the gold book in a lemon slice and bashing my brains out with it, when he drops a line or two of seriously Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster levels of genius. So yeah, I dunno.
It's just a big damn difficult muscle-car of a book which is sometimes really rewarding and sometimes just really difficult and I guess there's no way around it.
Maybe it's weird, but I do like the longer chapters better; I think he does better when he tells an actual story and has real narrative flow upon which to drape his observations and ideas and thoughts and whatever. Admit it: you secretly adore shorter chapters in novels, because it makes the book feel snappier and sometimes less like "work". But in Vollmann's case, the shorter (couple page) chapters have kind of made me roll my eyes in advance, because, chances are, if there's going to be places he loses me, it's going to be those chapters. (Like, if DFW tried to write Infinite Jest as a piece of flash fiction...although maybe that's a bad example because DFW's longer chapters in IJ often epitomized the idea of "literature as work", so take that as you will.)
Mostly as ever I feel my shortcomings as a reader; here's a lot of data and info and story and what not and I'm sometimes just not processing it right, I worry. It's a book I'm already wondering if it wouldn't be better digested when re-read. Not that I really intend on re-reading it right away--I've got a lot of other damn large books I'd like to read this year.
Lest this reaction seem too negative: the 80 page chapter "The Palm Tree of Deborah," which I just read yesterday, was pretty much completely ecstatic and lemon-slice-wrapped-gold-brick painful. (Also the longest chapter so far, and looks like second longest in the book, and knowing what I think I know about the way this book is going, I really can't wait for the longest chapter, which is way the hell out there near the end of the book; fab.)
Friday, February 10, 2006
This is what I see when I look over that way, when I'm trying to come up with intelligent things to say for you fine folks
I actually do have lots of things to blog about, but, uh. Erm. Well, y'know.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Further proof that 2006 is the coolest year in the history of coolness; or, if I learn of one more thing I have to look forward to, I'm gonna lose it
I...I just...words, they...the facts...oh, yes, the fact.
Here, let's state the fact: Mark Z. Danielewski has a new book coming out this year.
I'm. I'm like. Oh, oh gosh.
Oh no.
Oh. Hell yeah.
Hell. Yes.
(Syntax of Things has links.)
Here, let's state the fact: Mark Z. Danielewski has a new book coming out this year.
I'm. I'm like. Oh, oh gosh.
Oh no.
Oh. Hell yeah.
Hell. Yes.
(Syntax of Things has links.)
Monday, February 06, 2006
One thing I can say right away as I work my way into William T. Vollmann's Europe Central...
...is that it's not a book to try to read when you're tired. I imagine you can see cartoon question marks of confusion floating like balloons off the top of my head, right now. Yeah.
*bug-eyed stare*
*bug-eyed stare*
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Random thoughts on a snowy Sunday afternoon, following a breakfast and shower that were in the wrong order, while now waiting for the coffee to brew
Actually, no. I've got nothin'. Mostly I just needed to get that blogpost title out of my head.
But so long as I'm here I'll mention that I started reading William T. Vollmann's Europe Central last night so, aside from my usual random mid-book thoughts, it might be a little while before I come around here raving about something I've read. This will give you the chance to catch up on my most recent new favorites. Unless you are friend Chris, then you need to finish reading the Steve Erickson books from last year. Also, unless you are my girlfriend, in which case, you need to pretty much do whatever you want, because you're more awesome than me.
Also, "ulysslexia" is the best new word of 2006.
And well, also, I know it came out in 2003, but if you never picked up a copy of the Steve Burns album Songs for Dustmites then, hey, no time like the present, right?
Okay. Coffee's done. Go Browns! Woof woof woof!
But so long as I'm here I'll mention that I started reading William T. Vollmann's Europe Central last night so, aside from my usual random mid-book thoughts, it might be a little while before I come around here raving about something I've read. This will give you the chance to catch up on my most recent new favorites. Unless you are friend Chris, then you need to finish reading the Steve Erickson books from last year. Also, unless you are my girlfriend, in which case, you need to pretty much do whatever you want, because you're more awesome than me.
Also, "ulysslexia" is the best new word of 2006.
And well, also, I know it came out in 2003, but if you never picked up a copy of the Steve Burns album Songs for Dustmites then, hey, no time like the present, right?
Okay. Coffee's done. Go Browns! Woof woof woof!
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Aw, geez
Sometimes good literature sticks together in the reading pile. Elizabeth Crane's All This Heavenly Glory blew me out of the water only for me to then a couple days later land in the cold snow of Ander Monson's Other Electricities. Two very different books you really should read.
It's a funny thing, books, that are good or bad; I don't know how much you're like me when you read but I often have my mind made up pretty early on in a book: this is a good book, I'll think, and then it stays good; or this is a dull book, and etc's, with many pages left to go. Elizabeth Crane's book pretty much staked out its ground as a very good book from the get-go: that first sentence/paragraph/story is just awesome. And the rest of the book delivered on the promise of it. But it kept surprising me; it never really fell into the doldrum of being just thoroughly good. It kept catching me off guard. I laughed out loud, a lot. (Seriously, best use of Christina Applegate outside of Donnie Darko ever.) I kept reacting. It kept me there, the whole time.
Ander Monson's Other Electricities, I honestly think maybe I didn't think I was going to like the book much, once I started it. Don't know why. Sort of like I was thinking it was just another book like "that kind of book". It was okay and all but, it was following a tough act. But dammit, the book won me over. Just...damn. Damn. That's some writing right there. (The "Elsie and Henry" story is as life-affirming a piece of story-telling as I think I've read in a long time, and is surely not to be missed.)
So, the next time someone insists literature is dead, send them my way. I'd like to tell them to go to hell. Because, seriously: it's not. So very not.
It's a funny thing, books, that are good or bad; I don't know how much you're like me when you read but I often have my mind made up pretty early on in a book: this is a good book, I'll think, and then it stays good; or this is a dull book, and etc's, with many pages left to go. Elizabeth Crane's book pretty much staked out its ground as a very good book from the get-go: that first sentence/paragraph/story is just awesome. And the rest of the book delivered on the promise of it. But it kept surprising me; it never really fell into the doldrum of being just thoroughly good. It kept catching me off guard. I laughed out loud, a lot. (Seriously, best use of Christina Applegate outside of Donnie Darko ever.) I kept reacting. It kept me there, the whole time.
Ander Monson's Other Electricities, I honestly think maybe I didn't think I was going to like the book much, once I started it. Don't know why. Sort of like I was thinking it was just another book like "that kind of book". It was okay and all but, it was following a tough act. But dammit, the book won me over. Just...damn. Damn. That's some writing right there. (The "Elsie and Henry" story is as life-affirming a piece of story-telling as I think I've read in a long time, and is surely not to be missed.)
So, the next time someone insists literature is dead, send them my way. I'd like to tell them to go to hell. Because, seriously: it's not. So very not.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Not to get topical, but..
..is it just me, or is the bloggers-vs-MSM hate-fest actually just a big huge hate crush? The only thing I can't tell is, which side is Jason Lee, which side is Joey Lauren Adams, and where we're going to find a Ben Affleck to bring them all together in one sweet weekend of love-making. And baby-making.
Er, oh, wait...the movie didn't end that way, did it. Damn. Back to the overcooked metaphor drawing board.
But anyway, what do you think that bastard baby offspring would look like? I know: it'd look like someone who would STFU about it and get the job done.
Yeah. Huh. Crazy.
Er, oh, wait...the movie didn't end that way, did it. Damn. Back to the overcooked metaphor drawing board.
But anyway, what do you think that bastard baby offspring would look like? I know: it'd look like someone who would STFU about it and get the job done.
Yeah. Huh. Crazy.
Bullet point rock: the things/products I'm generally looking forward to consuming edition
- This.
- This.
- This, whatever it turns out to be.
- This (third story from the bottom) (though I probably already basically have it, sort of, in pieces/parts).
- This guy is coming to town. Guess I have to get that album now, huh. Also, just found out about this group of guys. Oh, none of it's the same or could be the same as the Catherine Wheel, but...something, right?
- This. I think, at least. I mean...Jim O'Rourke as producer? You tellin' me you callin' in the O'ROURKE FACTOR? Get the hell out. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm calling it: the Wilco of 2006 is Beth Orton.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Where was this information two months ago?
The funniest thing you'll read this week is at Intersecting Lines:
For decades, the debate has been raging amongst literary scholars: "Which is better? James Joyce, or a train timetable?"
...
A train timetable: "Pro: Can be used as a bookmark, thus making it even more useful."
Ulysses, by James Joyce: "Con: Huge book. Can not be used as a bookmark, ever."
Red brackets
This is the kind of thing I get caught up in, when I'm suposed to be doing things that are marginally more important. It's no wonder I'm not famous yet.
More of that hard-hitting, in-depth TDAOC literature analysis you've grown to love and loathe
If Elizabeth Crane's novel All This Heavenly Glory is "chick lit," then dress me up in Prada and hand me my pitchfork, because, yes, this book rocks like all hell.
(There's convo this week about the book at the Litblog Co-op, along with a podcast I'll have to download. Elizabeth Crane should be blogging there today, too (Wednesday). Bonus!)
(There's convo this week about the book at the Litblog Co-op, along with a podcast I'll have to download. Elizabeth Crane should be blogging there today, too (Wednesday). Bonus!)
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Hate mail, bloodshed, and whack-funk exoskeletons, this week on Lost. Er, I mean, here. On my blog
Gay cowboys? Cowboy presidents? Oh, silly America! You know you ain't got nothin' on...
BULLET! *devil horns*
POINT! *power chord*
ROCK! *explosions*
BULLET! *devil horns*
POINT! *power chord*
ROCK! *explosions*
- Tod Goldberg hates you. Er. No. I mean: Tod Goldberg hates mysteries, and you hate Tod Goldberg. At least, if your name is Mike Dorsey. Or if he's ever called you a fucktard.
- You got two links that lead you to this list here of the 100 best opening lines of novels. Ready...set...DEBATE! (The "two" link, by the way, leads to another list-in-development, which you should contribute to, though this week, your suggestion can't be possibly as wicked-awesome [hint, hint, for the astute, dedicated TDAOC reader!] as my own.)
- Want.
- It's gonna be a full-on rumble at the The Morning News 2006 Tournament of Books. Can you dig it? I can. Last year's winner, Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, was awesome; this year, I just want to see some hits. A Jonathan Safran Foer/Nicole Krauss spouse-fight! Kazuo Ishiguro bitch-smacking Ian McEwan! Mary Gaitskill's Veronica being in like four places at once, Zadie Smith using a little Beauty to stun her opponents, Garner coming out of like nowhere and The Historian totally eating the turnbuckle! OH YEAH!
- No I mean seriously, want. In the future, all music will be created by animatronic-looking British women robot people. It's going to be awesome.
- Dan Green has lots of things to say about Stephen Dixon which I feel too dumb to even begin to agree or disagree with. Except for the line, "His relative lack of popularity among even readers of serious literary fiction is both surprising and understandable", which I'm pretty much totally in agreement with, though his explanation for that isn't what I'd have said, maybe. What I'll say is this: Stephen Dixon's books hit me in the gut in a way no other books do. And his prose style, which seems really out there, when you read it for the first time, it's funny, but you start to see it other places. David Foster Wallace, for example; moments here and there, you see Dixon's style melded in there, and you understand it better, in a way, for having known some Stephen Dixon along the way. Plus, you know. Dude's my cousin. And us Dixons, we represent. (Well, extremely distant, unrelated cousin, anyway.)
Monday, January 30, 2006
I also hear they want me to learn how to friggin' cook already, but I don't want to push it too much for one day
If there's anything I've learned in my time on this over-caffeinated wet ball of a planet, it's that your cardinal rule of blogging is also your cardinal rule of life: Give the Ladies What the Ladies Want. And right now, what the ladies want is a hot interview with poet/novelist/S4N Books co-founder Tim Miller and a sneak preview of his current epic poem and work-in-progress, To the House of the Sun. Paul M. Jessup's got the hook-up:
Head this-a-way for more-a-that.
I read about a contemporary writer, a guy who won a Pulitzer a few years ago, who said he was actually worried that novels had to compete with television and paint ball. I read another thing where a professor said Eliot's Waste Land was only an "artifact of language." I don't understand either stance. Other people can treat books the same as hamburgers or reality TV, and other people can dissect literature and try to make a science out of it, people can treat these things as something to study rather than experience, but I would hope the writers could continue to see the soul in what they're doing. It's really a sacred and holy thing.
Head this-a-way for more-a-that.
No, I mean, seriously: wicked-awesome
The opening chapter of All This Heavenly Glory by Elizabeth Crane is one of the finest sentences I've read in the last five years. That opening chapter/sentence is ten pages long. It's seriously wicked-awesome.
And then the couple chapters after that are pretty sweet, too.
The book is up for discussion at the Litblog Co-op this week. The book will also be in my hands every free minute I have the next few days until I finish reading it. It's one of those books I've been sort of loosely meaning to read for a while now, and now that I'm into it, I'm wondering what took me so long. Because, seriously.
And then the couple chapters after that are pretty sweet, too.
The book is up for discussion at the Litblog Co-op this week. The book will also be in my hands every free minute I have the next few days until I finish reading it. It's one of those books I've been sort of loosely meaning to read for a while now, and now that I'm into it, I'm wondering what took me so long. Because, seriously.
Friday, January 27, 2006
The only comment about the James Frey ordeal that matters
This just in! My sources tell me that The Smoking Gun is set to investigate Dave Eggers and his best-selling memoir A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, which faces allegations that--as one industry insider put it--"Toph didn't really talk like that". More on this story as it develops...
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
It would seem we've achieved the state of having "got nothin"
Well, it's not so much that I've got nothin' as that...well, yeah. It's so much that I've got nothin'. Really. Nothin'. I'm looking through my links and it's all just David Foster Wallace crap, which you're better off just skimming through yourself at my del.icio.us DavidFosterWallace tag, rather than having me just post links to stuff and be like, "Hey, here's some more David Foster Wallace crap, as if you really want to follow me any farther down that dark road".
Beyond that, though, the old concentration circuits are shot right now. Like here it is, once again well past the time I meant to go to bed, and I'm all like, "Hey, maybe I'll rearrange my furniture", except thankfully I get distracted by something else before I start--and subsequently stop mid-stride--anything time-consuming that's likely to leave my apartment more awkwardly disorganized than it already is. I actually put down a book tonight, and I don't think I'm picking it back up, and I feel bad about it because it's really quite a decent book, it's just...every two pages I'm off looking for coins to sort into piles, because for some reason that will just seem more interesting at the time. That or like, something else. None of which "other things" actually happen because I wind up instead clicking around on Flickr which I think I've decided is basically the Platonic ideal form of timesuck; it's like Orkut and Myspace and Friendster and whatever else you kids use, but it's got pretty pictures and for some reason I've decided it's my new life's goal, this week, to become friends with everybody on it. I'm sure I'll forget about that goal soon enough though. I mean earlier tonight I was working on a short story and then the next thing I knew I was Swiffering the damned kitchen floor. There was no transition. It's like my life has become a Fiery Furnaces song or something. Which is weird since I've actually been doing most of this tonight to the sounds of Godspeed You Black Emperor for the last like four hours so you can understand maybe the kind of apocalyptic scatter-brained mind-stance I've been standing in, if you know the band, at least.
Anyway I'm mostly hoping this is a temporary condition, a passing phase, and that pretty soon I'll be back to talking about things that interest me without paying any attention to the fact that, like, the world's on the Internet, now. I mean I saw that AT&T Blogging billboard recently and I nearly drove off the road under the sheer weight of the absurdity of it. If I could go back in time and tell 13 year old me that, like, there would be obscenely large corporations trying to profit off the stuff I was at the time doing with my Commodore 64--namely, communicating with other human beings--I would have...well I would have been really fucking creeped out, because, you know, Future Me? Dude gained weight. And grew his hair out. Future Me is weird, says 13 year old me.
Uhm. Oh, speaking of Commodore 64s, if you were a fan, then this will blow your brain out. Maybe that's where all my problems came from? Maybe I made the joke one too many times and it was bound to actually happen--that eventually my brain would literally get blown out. Weeeeird.
And on that we'll close with a dimly related question. George Nemeth at BrewedFreshDaily wonders what the theme song of your blog would be. Me, I'm totally stumped as to what the theme for TDAOC would be. For a bit today I was thinking it would be "Whatever Happened to Soy Bomb" off the Eels' latest album, but then I realized, no, that's got nothing to do with the blog, that's got everything to do with the fact that I've spent at least an hour a day for the last seven weeks humming the song in my head. Yeah. I've got a bitchin' mental-remix of it and Prefuse 73's "Choking You" going on, that, ah, if only I could plug my brain in to the USB port and let it see the light of day. Ah. Yes.
So let's hear it. What's my theme song? What's your theme song? And, if you've got any ways to, like, fix a brain, let me know about that, too. Do they make Concentration Duct Tape?
Beyond that, though, the old concentration circuits are shot right now. Like here it is, once again well past the time I meant to go to bed, and I'm all like, "Hey, maybe I'll rearrange my furniture", except thankfully I get distracted by something else before I start--and subsequently stop mid-stride--anything time-consuming that's likely to leave my apartment more awkwardly disorganized than it already is. I actually put down a book tonight, and I don't think I'm picking it back up, and I feel bad about it because it's really quite a decent book, it's just...every two pages I'm off looking for coins to sort into piles, because for some reason that will just seem more interesting at the time. That or like, something else. None of which "other things" actually happen because I wind up instead clicking around on Flickr which I think I've decided is basically the Platonic ideal form of timesuck; it's like Orkut and Myspace and Friendster and whatever else you kids use, but it's got pretty pictures and for some reason I've decided it's my new life's goal, this week, to become friends with everybody on it. I'm sure I'll forget about that goal soon enough though. I mean earlier tonight I was working on a short story and then the next thing I knew I was Swiffering the damned kitchen floor. There was no transition. It's like my life has become a Fiery Furnaces song or something. Which is weird since I've actually been doing most of this tonight to the sounds of Godspeed You Black Emperor for the last like four hours so you can understand maybe the kind of apocalyptic scatter-brained mind-stance I've been standing in, if you know the band, at least.
Anyway I'm mostly hoping this is a temporary condition, a passing phase, and that pretty soon I'll be back to talking about things that interest me without paying any attention to the fact that, like, the world's on the Internet, now. I mean I saw that AT&T Blogging billboard recently and I nearly drove off the road under the sheer weight of the absurdity of it. If I could go back in time and tell 13 year old me that, like, there would be obscenely large corporations trying to profit off the stuff I was at the time doing with my Commodore 64--namely, communicating with other human beings--I would have...well I would have been really fucking creeped out, because, you know, Future Me? Dude gained weight. And grew his hair out. Future Me is weird, says 13 year old me.
Uhm. Oh, speaking of Commodore 64s, if you were a fan, then this will blow your brain out. Maybe that's where all my problems came from? Maybe I made the joke one too many times and it was bound to actually happen--that eventually my brain would literally get blown out. Weeeeird.
And on that we'll close with a dimly related question. George Nemeth at BrewedFreshDaily wonders what the theme song of your blog would be. Me, I'm totally stumped as to what the theme for TDAOC would be. For a bit today I was thinking it would be "Whatever Happened to Soy Bomb" off the Eels' latest album, but then I realized, no, that's got nothing to do with the blog, that's got everything to do with the fact that I've spent at least an hour a day for the last seven weeks humming the song in my head. Yeah. I've got a bitchin' mental-remix of it and Prefuse 73's "Choking You" going on, that, ah, if only I could plug my brain in to the USB port and let it see the light of day. Ah. Yes.
So let's hear it. What's my theme song? What's your theme song? And, if you've got any ways to, like, fix a brain, let me know about that, too. Do they make Concentration Duct Tape?
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