Tito alerts me to this article at the Voice that involves sharing absinthe and conversation with William T. Vollmann. There’s some fascinating revelations about what Vollmann thinks about post-9/11 politics and how Vollmann tries as hard as possible to live, as well as observe, the lives of others. But the most interesting remark is this:

“There are people dead as a result of [American] political and religious praxis,” he says. “Whether we owe those dead bodies a tight, middle, or panoramic gaze, we owe those dead bodies a story.”

(And for what it’s worth, long gestating in the Future Entries Department is my final entry on The Rainbow Stories for The Vollmann Club. I finished the book a month ago, but hope to go through it story-by-story.)

Kevin Smith now has a blog. What’s odd is that the man is determined to chronicle everything. He has a post up every day. Even more disturbing: the man casually reveals that he eats almost nothing but sausage and fesses up to “delicious little fuck sessions.”

(All criticisms of Mr. Smith’s public posturing aside, I should note that Jersey Girl was unfairly maligned, that the film dared to offer a visceral take on fatherhood and life choices when Smith acolytes expected more Jay and Silent Bob, and I hope that Mr. Smith continues to develop as a filmmaker.)

Washington. The White House.

Enter KARL ROVE

Rove: Now is the moment where Plame will pay
Made glorious by our gov’ment secured
And all the clouds that lowr’d upon the Left
Not nigh the bosom of state secrets buried.
Now are our brows bound with unilateral wreaths;
Our bruised reporters thrown in jail;
Our false alarums changed to random orange;
The dreadful bias squashed by delightful measures.
But I, that am not shap’d for Adonis tricks,
But made to court a haughty looking-glass;
I, that am rotundly stamp’d, declared an evil genius
To strut before a wanton bumbling Bush;
I, that will be pardoned before thrown away,
Eluding social justice, and bars which confine;
To set the hounds upon Prince Scott
My fingers fold for further plans;
Hark, reporters come!

Enter JOURNALISTS, chasing SCOTT MCCLELLAN. ROVE hides behind curtain.

Journalist #1: How now, odd Scott? What falsehoods hath thou wrought?
Journalist #2: In June the King did plege to purge, and now your hands are caught!
Scott: Do scratch thy pads. I’ll never ‘fess. The investigation’s on.
I’m well aware of what I said. Your questions do now con.
I’m glad to talk when an apt sun sets
Or our polls go up, or your appetite whets
If you’ll let me finish, I’ll aid and abet…
Did I say that? Shit, I’m toast.
Journalist #3: You’re not saying much.
Journalist #4: Where’s your Midas touch?
Journalist #2: It’s the same thing through and through.
Journalist #3: It’s a bad spot, Scott.
Journalist #1: Out out damned spot?
Journalist #2: I’d cop or you’ll be through.
Scott: Again, I’ve rejoined. You’re aware and I know.
You continue to ask. Let me breathe.
I appreciate questions and welcome suggestions
Will you titter when I go home and seethe?

ROVE from behind curtain.

Rove: They’ve unearthed my grand plans!
But I’m Bush’s brain. And they daren’t loosen my hold
If they fry me in jail or a scum pounds my tail
I’ll return, raging wolf in the fold

The Royal Shakespeare Company will perform every known piece of writing by Shakespare. Within one year.

That’s damn ambitious and damn cool.

Here are some more details:

• 18 British theatre companies are involved.
• Sir Ian McKellen will play King Lear.
• Dame Judi Dench will be in a musical adaptation of The Merry Wives of Windsor.
• Patrick Stewart to be in The Tempest.