The Observer: Camille Paglia, who traded blows with Ms. Wolf in the early 1990’s over their radically different views on female sexual power, said she was no longer at war with Ms. Wolf, but was “shocked” to learn of Ms. Wolf’s accusations against Mr. Bloom, who is a long-time mentor of Ms. Paglia’s.

So I guess in Camille’s world, “you are either with us or against us.” I’m guessing here that Wolf is Oceania and Paglia is Eastasia. Either way, I’d love to see how Bloom gets out of this. This could be the Greer-Mailer matchup of our time.

And in the same article: Caitlin Flanagan’s been hired by the New Yorker to write pieces on “modern domestic life.” Would that involve how a well-to-do mother can blow $100,000 a year on child care? I think that’s something within everyone’s resources, don’t you?

Okay, back to recuperation.

Away for a few days or more.

Asimov’s somehow emerged as a magazine choice in a school fundraising drive. But one mother flipped through the magazine and was “shocked” to read about “young girls with no panties, young girls in white socks, young girls looking at his wank-mags with him, young girls doing it with one another while he watched.” What pisses me off about this is not only does Ms. Suburban Mom miss the point about what spec-fic is about, but that this perpetuates the impression that spec-fic is nothing less than stories about bug-eyed monsters and gender domination. A quick glance through the collected works of Urusula K. Le Guin, Octavia Butler or Margaret Atwood (the latter having escaped the “science fiction” ghettoization) shows that it’s a lot more than this. And if Ms. Suburban Mom can rally against the “naughty” qualities of spec-fic, how dare she remain silent about the sexuality expressed on magazine covers, television commercials, album covers, advertisements that eroticize children, and the like. Fuck the yokels in Grandville, MI. And fuck ’em hard.

The New York Times interviews Anne Tyler by e-mail. Amazingly, she characterizes her work as “truthful.” Hey, Anne, I’ve got your truthful right here. It’s called five figures a year. Apparently, Tyler’s based in Baltimore these days. If that’s the case, please, Hag, beat some sense into her.

Following up on the Jacqueline Wilson news, the Guardian has the top 100 borrowed books in the UK up. It’s not inspiring.

Well, fuck me, the Globe has tried to examine “fuck” without mentioning it.

Cinemorgue: Easily one of the most disturbing sites I’ve ever encountered.

Rashomon’s been asking bloggers what their top 10 albums to take on a desert island are. Here’s my ten (at least right now in my present quasi-bronchitis mood, and discounting classical):

1. Johnny Cash, At Folsom Prison
2. Bob Dylan, Blonde on Blonde
3. Janis Joplin, Cheap Thrills
4. Jurassic 5, Quality Control
5. The Kinks, Something Else by the Kinks
6. Miles Davis, A Kind of Blue
7. Minor Threat, Complete Discography
8. Nirvana, Bleach
9. Sly and the Family Stone, Fresh
10. The Who, Tommy
10. Hank Williams, The Complete Hank Williams