Month / August 2008

by Edward Champion

Responding to Orwell: August 18

George! You’re back. Was getting a little worried. Had figured that the weather, which you were dutifully recording over the days, had at long last taken the wind out of you. But here you are with not one, but two diary entries. I don’t know if your thoughts on barley represent some insight into Animal Farm. Was reading Daniel Levitin’s The World in Six Songs the other day, and I was struck by his observation about Paul McCartney (we don’t have newspaper cuttings here on the Internet, George, so I hope this blockquote is semi-tantamount to your prudent applique):

Similarly, Paul McCartney seemed to be trying to capture both the sound and the aesthetic essence of a forties dance-hall tune in a string of songs beginning with “When I’m Sixty-Four” (written in 1958, recorded in 1967), “Your Mother Should Know” (1967), and “Honey Pie” (1968). With each one, he got a little closer, until 1976, when he released “You Gave Me the Answer,” with production and orchestration sounding almost exactly like a Fred Astaire record. McCartney never attempted a dance hall-style song after this, and so I assume that he finally met his artistic goal and moved on to other experiments and other challenges.

I’m wondering how your current concerns about wood and barley fit in with this observation. Maybe you’ll be pursuing this question in your diary in the years to come, but to what degree, George, does your diary represent continued efforts to pinpoint the precise book you have to write? And since you expired so young, I’m hoping that your eyes didn’t close with too many regrets along these lines.

I’m sorry to report that greenheart wood (aka Chlorocardium rodiei) is now redlisted by the IUCN as a threatened species. The folks at the Orwell Estate don’t wish to point this out, but I think it’s important to place your enthusiasm in some context. I may be experiencing certain joys and pleasures that, sixty years from now, will be unthinkable. It is for this reason that I consider almost every day blessed in some sense.

I’m glad to hear that some of the blackberries have ripened and that the elder-berries have begun to grow purple! This may seem the kind of routine observation to be mocked, but I suspect those who have ridiculed your efforts fail to understand the pleasure of flora and fauna unfurling and adapting at a slow and leisurely clip.

When I get around to trying out my own efforts with lumber (sometime this year), maybe the two of us will swap some notes. Obviously, it won’t be greenheart. But I do plan to build a few bookcases. Just need to take some measurements of the apartment and draw up plans.

And thank you for referencing the Sardinian mouflon sheep on August 16. It’s a bit embarrassing, but I love the way that phrase rolls off the tip of my tongue and have uttered it a few times to ensure that it is indeed a mellifluous marvel.

Lots of work here, George, but let’s check in with each other.

by Edward Champion

Emails

Some anonymous scum has been spoofing my main email address, pulling a joe job on me and causing me to wade through thousands of bounced emails from time to time. And while steps have been taken to secure things, I understand from a few folks that some of my emails aren’t getting through. If I haven’t responded to you, please try emailing me again. Hopefully, things will be back to normal in the next week or so.

by Edward Champion

Dan Carlin: A Hardcore Podcaster

Dan Carlin is a very intense and passionate man. One can hear the veins bulging out of his neck when he talks about history. I do not know what the man’s caffeine intake is, but his podcasting presence is a welcome alternative to the soporific lectures sometimes associated with historians.

Carlin’s brio is a good thing. And it’s why I’ve become a fan of his podcast, Hardcore History.

There are regrettably no hyperlinks in Carlin’s archive, but if you spend a day or two bouncing around in his archives, you’ll find a 40 minute monlogue on the impact of drugs and alcohol on historical events, a febrile portrait of Winston Churchill (“A racist! A colonialist! An alcoholic! A bad parent! A reactionary! Militaristic! A megalomaniac! A shameless self-promoter and self-advertiser! These are just some of the criticisms that have been leveled at Winston Churchill throughout history.” And he’s only just getting started.), and speculation on what might have happened had events during the year 1066 turned out differently. He’s also managed to land an interview with Connections man James Burke, who sounds slightly wary of Carlin’s enthusiasm, but is a good sport.

If you have even a passing interest in history and science, Carlin’s energy will most certainly get you pumped up in ways that you may not expect.

by Edward Champion

Not Thinking About the Children

Two essays — one from Annalee Newitz and one from Lizzie Skurnick — express needless hostility to books that involve the young. The first essay quibbles over YA science fiction with protagonists under 18 being categorized as YA as niche marketing gone horribly awry. As Newitz writes:

When scifi novels with adolescent protagonists are marketed as “just for adolescents,” a curtain of taboo falls between most adults and that novel. In an era where there is so much legal panic around relations between adults and young adults, it’s hard to deny your knee-jerk response that there’s something slightly distasteful and pedophilic about an adult reading stories aimed at people under the age of 18.

Let me try and understand this strange logic. If I, a balding and bearded thirtysomething man, wander into a YA section at a bookstore, I will immediately find my name listed in the Megan’s Law database. I cannot possibly purchase a book and claim it to be “for my son” or “for my niece.” (Not that I would. Because a book purchase is nobody’s goddam business but mine. And besides, I have braved the apparent choppy waters of the kiddie section many times in purchasing several copies of E. Nesbitt and L. Frank Baum for friends to give to their children to read.) To wander into the kiddie section is now apparently equivalent to clumsily divagating through the beads separating the “adult” titles from the regular movies in a video store. Never mind that, when it comes to YA, it is parents who hold the purchasing power.

And, of course, I cannot possibly read a YA book on a subway. Not even if I remove the dust jacket and make the book’s title difficult to identify. Apparently, the minute that I open up a YA book, all eyes will veer to my perverted and demented form. There can be no other judgment. Not even the usual apathy. You may not know this, but every YA book can be easily identified by the government-mandated bleeping yellow light whenever anyone over the age of eighteen starts reading it. The appropriate authorities will be summoned. I will be thrown in jail and sentenced to a chemical castration. For I have transgressed the boundaries.

For what it’s worth, I have read a few YA titles on the subway and have not yet experienced any such problems. Perhaps Ms. Newitz has some legislative evidence with which to support her utterly strange claim. But I seriously doubt this.

Then there is Ms. Skurnick’s essay, which quibbles with Chris Adrian’s short story collection, A Better Angel. She first casts doubt on a 9-year-old narrator’s ability to recite Emily Dickinson’s poems. (Casual YouTube searches suggest otherwise.) The idea that a 9-year-old would consider More Joy of Sex is likewise impossible. (Never mind that kids are quite curious about anatomy. I should point out that I acquired an illicit copy of The Joy of Sex when I was 6. Puritanical households make children curious quite swiftly.)

Both essays have been dutifully responded to by, respectively, Colleen Mondor and John Fox. Fox suggests that Skurnick failed to read one story correctly and used this to paint a needlessly broad stroke against the capacities of children.

But what is really going on here? I have appreciated both Newitz and Skurnick’s work in the past. However, these essays both represent foolhardy and illogical positions. These two idiotic essays read as if they were written to draw traffic to their respective outlets. Forget reason, ratiocination, or even a modicum of common sense. Newitz and Skurnick both decided that they’d throw all that into the incinerator. And in doing so, they have both settled for pernicious and discriminatory positions that threaten the possibilities of literature. If we cannot accept a 9-year-old who likes Emily Dickinson, then I suppose we should disregard the wisdom of Holden Caulfield or the musings of Huckleberry Finn. After all, all dem kids must be dumb! Likewise, it’s worth pointing out that there was once a time in which anyone reading or writing science fiction was considered a pervert or a loon. (For example, consider this 1954 Time article in which a Cleveland psychiatric social worker declared that science fiction plots betrayed “schizophrenic manifestations” in the minds of their authors.) It is extremely disappointing to see the editor of a sizable science fiction website fall into this same fallacious line of reasoning for YA.

by Edward Champion

Daniel Murphy, Esquire Hack and Blog Pilferer

August 8: Reference here to self-defense video and Bas Rutten.

August 15: Reference at Esquire blog to self-defense video and Bas Rutten, along with August 10th Bas Rutten mention.

Can’t these hacks come up with any original material these days?

[UPDATE: Daniel Murphy writes in to correctly point out that his Bas Rutten summation came on August 10, 2007, not August 10, 2008. On this point, I was wrong. But like Dwight Garner, who claimed that he “had never seen” Largeheartedboy before after he ripped off Book Notes for his “Living with Music” series, Murphy claims that “he has never visited” this website. I’m sure that Esquire has likewise “not heard of” Matthew Tiffany’s site. Never mind that Mr. Tiffany called Esquire out for a sentence pertaining to Joyce Carol Oates, which mysteriously disappeared without an apology or an explanation.]

by Edward Champion

Slow News Day

Leon Neyfakh: “The editors and assistants of Farrar, Straus and Giroux received an upsetting e-mail yesterday morning from the venerable publishing house’s director of operations informing them that the water in their building on 18th Street was being shut off until the following day. The building manager had reported ‘unanticipated problems,’ but a promise was made that they would be resolved very soon.”

Me? I’m waiting for the forthcoming story on Jonathan Galassi’s bowel movements. If it’s that slow in the Observer offices, I suspect some bored art director might come up with a disturbing infograph.

by Edward Champion

Review: Best Erotic Comics 2008

It is doubtful that Best Erotic Comics 2008 (Last Gasp, $19.95), edited by Greta Christina, will receive any kind of mainstream reviewing attention. The volume has, much like Tim Pilcher and Gene Kannenberg, Jr.’s Erotic Comics (released earlier this year), even eluded the seemingly more permissive pastures of alt-weeklies. But it does warrant some attention, if only because erotica, fantasy, comics, and horror remain some of the only areas in American culture where certain forms of human behavior can be portrayed without needless censorship.

Like many anthologies, this volume relies on a few notable names to draw attention. Work from Daniel Clowes, Phoebe Gloeckner, and Gilbert Hernandez is included. In the case of Clowes and Hernandez, these are reprints from material that anyone remotely stepped in comics is likely to know about: excerpts from David Boring and “Kisses for Pipo,” respectively. Gloeckner’s one-page contribution, entailing a medical illustration of a blowjob, is, like most of her work, especially striking. But some of the more juvenile inclusions, such as Ralf Konig‘s “Roy & Al: Sniffing Around,” bog down the collection. Konig’s work, which chronicles two dogs watching two gay lovers copulate, is artistically crude and predictable, too taken with hysterical text balloons (“OH, YOU LOVE ME?! SO C’MON, GIMME A KISS, MY TREASURE!!”) and an uninteresting situation that made me long for Catherine Breillat’s wit.

Toshio Saeki‘s excerpt from “Inkenka” captures some of the taboo-breaking, quasi-hentai images that Saeki is known for: a doctor performing cunnilingus on a legless girl bandaged to a bed, and a man hacksawing a clitoris (with a distressed observer seen looking through the window at the top of the illustration). But these images don’t go nearly as far as Saeki’s other work and the inclusion here feels more like perfunctory padding.

One of the more surreal inclusions is Dave Davenport‘s “Gigantic,” which features King Kong trying to get it on with Godzilla. Davenport knows how to get much out of his shading, and his paneling is interesting, but he doesn’t explore the intriguing possibility of how the human population, seeing their city destroyed by this kaiju copulation, are likely to be influenced or even titillated by this big beast action.

This failure in storytelling also plagues Ellen Fornery‘s somewhat interesting “After Hours,” which involves a group of women bonding while they snap pictures of themselves in various poses. Forney knows how to set up a story. She’s even willing to draw unshaven armpits and comment on body image. But there’s a diffidence on her part to dwell upon what the greater emotional truth entails. We get a pat gotcha ending that anyone will see coming a mile away. (This is admittedly an early 1994 work from the Seattle-based cartoonist.)

Susannah Breslin’s “My, My American Bukkake,” which I’ve seen in a few other collections, offers a comic documentary for the uninitiated. Katie Carmen’s “Thrift Town at 3 A.M.” is also a standout, largely due to the penciling and colors. The art captures a lonely rendezvous between strangers at the famed Mission District store quite well. The faces are tired. The sex is lustful and desperate. And the world will go on tomorrow without any awareness of the present. Dale Lazarov and Steve MacIsaac‘s “Talk Show Queers” falls into similar territory, but ends on a moment of sweetness readily combats the bombast and oppression of sensationalistic television.

I would have liked to see more “erotic comics” along these lines in this collection. Sandez Rey’s story expends considerable illustrative effort for a pedestrian fantasy. Likewise, while Justin Hall’s “Birthday Fuck” has a playful anecdotal quality, it’s nothing more than a stock rentboy situation.

Perhaps the audience for this collection wants nothing more than generic erotic comics. And that’s fine. But if alternative comics have found artistic credibility in the past few decades (which in turn caused other alternative comics artists to push the boundaries further), I’d think to think that erotic comics were capable of similar potential. Some artistic truths are too important to be kept inside the closet.

by Edward Champion

Response to Moynihan: August 15

Michael: I have never professed to be a Kremlinologist. And indeed I have not ventured a lengthy opinion about the Georgia crisis, in large part because I don’t currently feel sufficiently qualified to write about it. Not now, at any rate, until I’ve read many books on the subject (now being obtained). And while I do tend to swing left on matters of geopolitical import, this does not necessarily mean that I will gravitate to Russia or Georgia before my considerable reading on the subject. I am not certain what blogs you read or reference. But some of us out here are giddily impetuous on some topics (generally those which are ephemeral and thereby remain ripe for satirical musings), while remaining quite serious about other topics that require due diligence. Let us not fall into tendentious lines, sir.

by Edward Champion

Responding to Piggott: August 15

Mark: You are clearly unaware that most writers are inept when it comes to minding the store. Hence, the whole agent thing. Like the church and state-like separation of advertising and editorial at a magazine, the agent ensures that the writer can carry on writing his novel without concern for how it might sell. For that is the agent’s business. If the agent is good, the agent will understand the writer’s temperament, work very hard to maintain a scenario in which both agent and author benefit, and figure out a way to make a manuscript marketable. Just about everything out there has an audience. It is not the writer’s concern to care about the scope of that audience, but to simply write as true as he can. It is the agent’s concern to translate what the writer has offered into something that the publishing industry requires: namely, a salable book. The current literary agent system creates a protective buffer, unless the writer is avaricious enough to write for the lowest common denominator and take matters into his own hands because he may have a perfectionist impulse. Chances are that such an individual is not really a writer, but is probably an agent incognito. You have obviously had some bad experiences with agents. Perhaps like other writers, you cannot mind the store. This is your problem. And you need to stop playing the blame game and take responsibility. The world does not owe you a living.

by Edward Champion

Responding to Freeman: August 15

John: “Does a fine job” doesn’t tell us anything about the book and says everything about your love for cliche. But your review gave me a lot of laughs, in large part because it revealed much about your woefully humorless soul. “Humor hounds” and “humor fiends?” “Convulse in respiratory spasms?” Is anybody editing you anymore? Or is this what they cobbled up from what you turned in?

by Edward Champion

Brief Roundup

by Edward Champion

Responding to Richards: August 14

Linda: Nothing wrong whatsoever in dwelling upon or lusting over chairs. To evoke the words of MFK Fisher (who once defended her culinary exactitude by pointing out just how much time one spends over a lifetime eating), if one works a sedentary profession, a chair is most certainly important. My own writing chair is not the most ideal. The leather on the right arm has started to fray and light green (hopefully noncarcinogenic) fluff now bulges outward. I suspect this is because I accidentally spilled a beverage on this particular spot about two months ago. But I do have a strange emotional attachment to this chair, even though I know that it will crumble to dust eventually. I suspect I would have an emotional attachment to any chair I spent happy moments writing in, even if it caused one too many trips to a chiropractor. Of course, the Barcelona chair is not really made for writing. At least not the way we know it today. But perhaps you dwell upon this exemplar because you are having some doubts about your present furniture. Doubts about furniture are to be expected in life, and reveries do help assuage certain feelings. Or perhaps you are currently thinking that you need to sit lower to the ground. The buttocks to floor distance is certainly diminished through Mies van der Rohe’s design. And yet the famed German did not live in a world of computers and laptops. I’m wondering now how much computers and laptops have permanently altered the forward-thinking low-leaning furniture aspirations of today’s visionaries, and whether it might be resisted through living without this technology for a period of six months.

by Edward Champion

Responding to Dixon: August 14

Darby: About these protean layouts of yours, I recognize the compulsions of a fellow neurotic. Really, sir, it’s the words that count more than anything else. And it seems to me that you’re tinkering around with the look because you’re too damn concerned with the more important component of blogging: the words. You’ve even gone so far to hide them with that preposterously large graphic at the top. Minimalist, my ass. You’re avoiding your duty. To write something on the blog every so often, to keep things fun, to tell us what is on your mind. Do I have to go out to Ohio and kick your ass? Stop this right now. Write. Simply write. You have my vote of confidence. But what of your own? Don’t give a damn about the audience. Write. And write again. Let us see what you’re writing. We don’t give a damn about your layout. We care about your words. Write. Leave the visual trickery to those who are truly frightened. Write.

by Edward Champion

Responding to Orwell: August 14

George: Nothing from you in the past few days. What’s going on? Hesitant to log weather and reddening blackberries? I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Who could possibly have anticipated so many souls hanging onto your most pedantic words seventy years later? And, yes, George (can I call you Eric?), I’m one of them. I know that, being dead, you’re not exactly in a position to care about what your readers might think now. But if some residue remains aside from the tomes that settle in the dust, don’t let the haters bring you down. At least you have the comfort of writing words without getting instant feedback from readers. None of us have that now, George. Not anymore. I suppose that’s why the book exists. There, we can write about damn near everything and in the early stages of applying the nib to paper (or, more pragmatically, fingers to keyboard), we can machete through an unfettered wilderness of words before we start hunting endangered species. Got caught in the rain myself this afternoon. Heavy downpour, soaked shirt, no grass snake. Wildlife encounter yesterday. Loud squeak from rail, followed by rat just more than a foot long, dragging a bit of Styrofoam into a hole, then screechy onset of approaching car. The rats do seem to know when the subways come, making their cameos at the eleventh hour. This evening, saw spitting image of old high school friend in the streets. Gait, swagger, height, loping arms, and frame a total match. Followed man a block to see if he was truly a Doppelganger, but when he turned, there was no physiognomic resemblance. Phone rings frequently now that cell’s back in action, but am trying to make this more of a luxury. Frequently unplugging from Internet to get work done, to map out terrain while there’s still some time. Rest easy, George. Am eagerly awaiting your next volley and will respond in kind, even though some are losing patience with this format. Well, I like it. So there.

by Edward Champion

Excerpt from David O. Russell’s “Alienated”

[EDITOR’S NOTE: Reluctant Habits has obtained an excerpt of David O. Russell’s new book series for children, Alienated. The series will center around two children who work for “an old tabloid that covers the worlds of freaks and aliens.”]

The alien had come into the tabloid’s office for a profile piece. But why couldn’t she understand Penelope’s simple instructions? Why couldn’t she see that Penelope had greater plans for her?

“Fuck you,” said Penelope, whose cute golden curls glistened with venom. “I was trying to fucking help you. Do you understand me?”

The alien, whose name was Lily and whose curls did not glisten with venom, sat at the desk, puzzled that an eight-year-old girl would use such language.

“Try being a fucking collaborator. I was trying to help you figure out…”

Penelope had a point to make. She was, after all, a freak. Nobody understood her. And it was necessary to throw a tantrum so that the extent of her genius — her fucking genius — would be understood. Why couldn’t Lily understand her? But this was all for the best!

“Hey bitch! I’m not here to be fucking yelled at! I’ve worked on this fucking tabloid for three fucking years, and to have some cunt….”

Penelope kicked a binder on the desk for emphasis. Her genius extended into musical rhythm. It was good to be a freak. Good to be angry. Good to watch one of the secretaries cower near the door in the corner. They’d never treat her with contempt again. Penelope was surprised that Lily was calm the entire time.

“…yell at me in front of the fucking staff when I’m trying to fucking…fuck you, bitch. Figure it out yourself! Fuck yourself!”

Penelope began to beat her fists into the wall. It seemed the right thing for a genius to do.

by Edward Champion

Segundo Distribution Update

If you are a program director interested in airing Segundo, please note that the first 230 shows of Segundo are available in a one-hour format, with the shows all running just under an hour. While the running time ranges from 23 minutes to 58 minutes, if you are looking for a literary program that you’d be interested in stripping during a post-midnight slot and you have an automated system that can fill in the remaining gaps with short segments, please email me and I’d be happy to discuss arrangements.

A half-hour syndication package, involving a more scheduling-specific 28:30 format, will be available in a few months.

I was as surprised as anyone to learn that the entire Segundo oeuvre now runs close to 10 gigs in MP3 format. (About 98% of these shows fit on two DVD-ROMs.) Because of this, I’m going to soon be releasing twelve torrent packs for these shows that will be uploaded to The Pirate Bay (with the older ones repacked), so that Segundo can be disseminated further.

For those who simply want copies of the shows on DVD, so that you can simply copy the shows over to your iPods or MP3 players without having to download them all, I plan on working out a scenario in which you’ll be sent the first 225 or so shows on two DVD-ROMs for a reasonable price.

In the meantime, the August pledge drive is still on. We’re still short of our goal. So if you haven’t donated, your support will help us continue the show. We’ll have more news on all this later, as well as another podcast up very soon. Thanks again for listening.
















by Edward Champion

Why Don’t You Throw In a boo.com Account and a Sock Puppet As Well?

Mark Penn: “I CAN BE PRESIDENT. This idea has potential for a viral campaign among moms — it is about your sons and daughters believing that they too can be president. Your success paves the way for them. It is about the emotional connection between you and their dreams for the kids, especially their daughters. We are making a video with celebrities saying what they would do if president. The launch of this has good potential to catch on.”

If you’re fond of observing political implosions, there’s a big article in this month’s Atlantic (and a hearty list of memos) chronicling the rise and fall of the Hillary Clinton presidential campaign. It amazes me just how out of touch some people are about the Web in 2008. (via Ghost in the Machine)

by Edward Champion

Bob Costas, The Only NBC Interviewer with Balls

COSTAS: But given China’s growing strength and America’s own problems, realistically how much leverage and influence does the U.S. have here?

THE PRESIDENT: First of all, I don’t see America having problems. I see America as a nation that is a world leader, that has got great values. And leverage is — I don’t think you should look at the relationship as one of leverage. I think you ought to look at the relationship of one of constructive engagement where you can find common areas, like North Korea and Iran, but also be in a position where they respect you enough to listen to your views on religious freedom and political liberty.

COSTAS: If these Olympics are as successful as they are shaping up to be, most people believe this only further legitimizes the ruling party in the minds on most Chinese citizens. And even absent true liberty as we understand it, the lives of hundreds of millions of Chinese people are much better than they once were. Therefore, what’s the party’s incentive to reform?

THE PRESIDENT: Well, first of all, if you’re a religious person, you understand that once religion takes hold in a society it can’t be stopped. And secondly, I think the Olympics are going to serve as a chance for people to come and see China the way it is, and let the Chinese see the world and interface and have the opportunity to converse with people from around the world. This is a very positive development, in my view, for peace.

You can watch the first part of the interview here, and here’s the full transcript.

by Edward Champion

Responding to Asher: August 13

Levi: It is always a good habit to admit when one is wrong. I am wrong about something or someone almost every day. This afternoon, I blushed when a quite beautiful woman seemingly flirted with me on the subway. Minutes later, her boyfriend arrived behind me. Through the power of mathematics, the woman’s gaze and the boyfriend’s position lined up almost exactly. And I was more than a bit embarrassed. But there was a great sense of relief in knowing that I was wrong. And I’m man enough to admit it. So apparently are you. Let us both establish a secret society.

Sometimes, my wrongs almost make me want to see how much blood I can draw upon repeatedly stabbing myself with a spork. It is indeed a maddening and all too human feeling to be wrong, but also quite liberating. (The answer, incidentally, to the spork scenario varies from person to person. You do have to be quite patient. But I’ve found that it takes approximately 136 downward stabs, all aimed at the same spot, before one draws a near microscopic, but nevertheless evident burst of red. Of course, the last time I carried out this experiment, it was more than two decades ago.)

But here are a few facts you may wish to consider. In a six month during 1975, Americans bought five million Pet Rocks. To cite a more apposite technological example, the Sinclair MTV1 is, to my mind, a sleek-looking device. I like its black rectangular frame and the way that you tune into the channel as if trying to pinpoint a radio station. Its inventor thought that it would become a commonplace form of watching television. Three decades later, who has one?

Of course, it’s just possible that the Kindle may prove to be of stronger stuff. But 240,000 units doesn’t represent a paradigm shift. Let us wait this out like gentlemen before offering lofty conclusions. And then we can begin a series of spork tests.

by Edward Champion

Responding to Tanenhaus: August 13

Sam: Very tepid on your blog. Not hot at all. Am told the men caught another snake nuzzling into Keller’s neck and that the snake responded to your name. Who knew that serpents could colloquize? In any event, a missed opportunity with your latest post. To suggest that only one party can be right in this case is to miss the very particular points that Messrs. Wood and Baker were making. Wood responded to Updike’s passage with an aesthetic eye. Baker rejoined with a clear passion for language. Cannot both be right? To suggest that there is only one opinion on a passage is to have a very limited and incurious mind indeed. Those of us who actually love literature may love a sentence for its feeling while simultaneously loathing it for its bombast. Have adopted this gimmicky Orwell-inspired approach to blogging that I find quite fun, but one commenter lodged his displeasure. Is he right? I would not deign to suggest that I have a superior opinion of my own writing because I happen to have written it. But some may judge it good, others bad. But nobody is “right.” Nobody has the ultimate answer. Did you not learn from Freud, Sammy Baby, that when one presents a definitive codex of human behavior, it will be easily usurped and outmoded in half a century? And have you not learned in your years as editor of The New York Times Book Review that literary criticism or even the casual appreciation of literature is not a matter of being “right,” but of presenting a thread to be picked up by another resourceful stitcher.

by Edward Champion

Responding to Champion: August 13

Edward: Well, that’s a cynical attitude to have. Are you really going to give up so easily? You and I both know that you are a stubborn mule when it comes to living the good life, even if the good life brings its share of penury and isolation. But here’s the thing. I think what you’re really upset about is having to abdicate your joie de vivre for a supporting role in a humorless office. But this does not necessarily have to be permanent. And it does not mean that you have to sacrifice your vivacity. While the obituary is by no means final, maybe Segundo isn’t what you’re meant to do. There are these novels that you’re writing. Two unfinished. And what of the polyamory play (also unfinished) that you did all that research for? Or those radio plays you wrote? You’ve been grumbling about being so caught up with work and saving Segundo that you’ve had no time at all to write fiction. Maybe you’re just postponing the inevitable. Because you know they’ll go after you once it’s out there.

by Edward Champion

Responding to Orwell: August 13

George: No diary entry today? Come on, pal. I know you’ve been taking some flack because of your concern for weather and blackberries. And I know that I’m not the only one waiting around here to see just how the blackberries will redden or how you will describe other garden snakes and the like. But your diary entry encourages me to produce my own. And when you don’t write, what am I to do? Guess I’ll have to do the work for us. Somewhat hot, with an insinuation of autumn cool. Am currently hacking away at Segundo shows I need to get in the mail, reducing them to 58 minute installments. Hard and often painful job, but if someone has to make the cut, it may as well be me. Future of Segundo uncertain and may have to pull the plug after all. Future on freelancing also uncertain. But then you’re well aware of that uncertainty. Uncertainty seems to be the new certainty. But if I have to pack it in, at least I had a good run. 235 shows over three years is nothing to complain about. Nor was the newspaper work. Just wasn’t good enough to stay alive doing this. That’s capitalism for you. Or maybe social Darwinism. Of course, once one has tasted the nectar of the gods, it’s a bit difficult to go back to tepid tap water. Which was probably why I drank so heavily last night. Still, I remain pro-active, hoping for an eleventh hour reprieve stemming not from fortune or coincidence, but my own industry. We’ll see.

by Edward Champion

Responding to Orwell: August 12

George: Always going on about the weather, I see. Not as hot an August afternoon here in New York, naught eight. But I’m beginning to understand why your diaries haven’t been publicly released until now. You’d be alarmed by the BlackBerries we have these days. Unfortunately, they don’t redden, and neither do their users. Unless, of course, the recipient has just received a naughty email. Alas, it’s business as usual with most BB communiques, with the recipients playing King. Really, just as disheartening as always writing about the weather. Then again, weather is one of those safe topics which harms nobody. Last night, two crazy nightmares involving John Barth dying and my website being replaced by a monotonous voice telling readers, “We’ve corrected him. Don’t worry.” Very funny in the waking world. It made me laugh anyway. But at 3AM, I had to race to the computer in a barely awake stupor to make sure that this wasn’t real. Did you ever have nightmares like this? And if you raced such imaginative steed, did you spill your seed upon your diaries? Or is the Orwell Estate holding back on the juicy stuff? And for goodness sake, what are you reading these days? Me? I’ve read Auster’s new one and am working my way through Jane Mayer’s The Dark Side. Both quite interesting. Very hot in the morning. In the afternoon sudden thunder-storm & very heavy rain within the head upon realizing the full scale of what Mayer’s writing about.

by Edward Champion

Is Thomas Hawk a First-Rate Jerk?

[6/30/2017 UPDATE: One of the parties named in this article contacted me. And I have decided to change his name, in the interest of fairness and after listening to his story and given that this incident was ten years ago and everyone has the right to move forward.]

Thomas Hawk is at it again. But this time, he’s determined to smear a man’s reputation based on his own decidedly subjective account.

For those who haven’t followed Hawk’s blog, Hawk is a San Francisco photographer who campaigns against institutions wishing to ban photography. If a building or a museum won’t let him shoot a photo, he blogs about it. He uploads photos of those who wouldn’t let him snap shots, and fires back shots with impunity.

He’s been doing this for some time. Sifting through Hawk’s blog, Hawk’s unalienable right to take photos are often more frequent than the photos.

Now Hawk’s target is the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Or rather a man named Klimt. Hawk was taking photos under an open photographic policy. There was an altercation. He was kicked out. It’s clobbering time. Hawk initially called Horace Klimt, its Director of Visual Relations, “a first rate asshole” and published a photo of Klimt. He later replaced “asshole” with “jerk.”

As someone who has had to persuade a few folks with chips on their shoulders that my podcasting equipment isn’t intended for terrorist purposes, I can sympathize with Hawk to some extent. While most proprietors I’ve encountered in my podcasting adventures have been friendly and permitted me to conduct an interview (some of them becoming so fascinated with the conversation that they’ve asked for the URL), there have been a few petulant managers who have remained hostile to the idea of a room or a table being used for unanticipated purposes. They have made unreasonable efforts to eject me. But I have not named these names. After all, maybe the manager was having a bad day. Maybe the manager has been screamed at by somebody else and the manager is taking this out on me. At the end of the day, I figure that the podcasts will trump these inconveniences. But in a few cases, reason (and bountiful tips) has won out, and I’ve returned to the establishment for another interview.

What troubles me about the Hawk contretemps is how Hawk and his acolytes are so willing to crucify Klimt when Hawk hasn’t once suggested that his own conduct may have been one of the reasons that things escalated this far. Unlike monologuist Mike Daisey, who showed real class in trying to contact the individuals who walked out of his show and poured water on his notes, Hawk hasn’t even tried to open up a broader debate by directly contacting SFMOMA. To give you some sense of the outcry, a commenter at the SFist writes, “If Klimt read this SFist article, he just soiled his pants and will be out of a job by Monday,” taking apparent glee in this shitstorm.

This is not a case where the offense comes from a third party. This is a situation in which we have only Hawk’s word to go by. But what of Klimt himself? It’s not as if Klimt has a high-traffic Web page or runs a major newspaper outlet in which he can respond to Hawk’s charges. Does he even have an online presence? Is this really a fair battle? Many have remarked upon this incident, but nobody has thought to contact Klimt to get his side of the story.

If Klimt had a history of banning photographers from SFMOMA when the museum keeps an open policy towards photography, then I might be one of the first people in line to criticize his actions. If there was video of the exchange presenting unimpeachable evidence that Klimt was out of line, then I’d be more inclined to cite this as another example of free speech being muzzled in a post-9/11 age. But this is only one incident, perhaps poorly handled by both men. And the broader debate about artistic expression has been lost in the skirmish.

Hawk’s blunt words about Klimt seem unreasonable to me. It makes the blog medium look bad. Hawk is unwilling to suggest that he may have been wrong, and his undiplomatic efforts here suggest that he is more interested in being a half-baked martyr than an activist. Hawk was just as autocratic in his grievances as Klimt was in kicking Hawk out of the museum. And it makes bloggers look like the first-rate assholes that the mainstream media continues to portray them as. In an age when Jason Fortuny humiliates people by invading their privacy, there are vital questions that must be asked.

by Edward Champion

Save Segundo Update

First off, thanks to those who have pitched in, both with kind words and dollars, to the August pledge drive.

For those who missed out on the Save Segundo Campaign, here’s an update on where we’re at. We’re still working hard to line up advertising for the show and have had a few kind leads and nibbles (nothing firm yet), and we will be stepping up our efforts big time in the next few weeks. We have also scheduled as many interviews as humanly possible during the time we have left, which is roughly around mid-September. (We’ve just released two more shows, and we’re planning on releasing a very special show, which involved a considerable amount of reading and preparation for a forthcoming guest whose time we certainly don’t want to waste, later this week.) The hope is to keep Segundo going uninterrupted for the next few months. However, we’re still facing a shortfall for our pledge drive. And if we can’t raise these funds, which represent a stopgap between the present and a future time in which we will have advertisers in place, then we’ll be forced to abandon Segundo for a month or longer while we scrape together the money to stay afloat. And if that’s what needs to be done, that’s fine.

But we’re hoping that we can continue to keep Segundo on the air without interruption. There are many authors coming through in late September and October who we’d like to devote our energies to. Your continued support of the show through this pledge drive will help us to carry on at the pace of eight shows a month.

So if you’ve enjoyed Segundo, or found any of these conversations valuable, feel free to chip in a few bucks to keep the joint running. If you can’t, no harm, no foul. We’re going to try and keep this operational as long as we can.

Thanks again for listening.