Author / Edward Champion
Roundup
- There are fourteen new Segundo podcasts coming, which will include the bounteous audio recorded at APE and BEA. The first two are almost finished.
- Richard Rorty is dead. There are remembrances from Dan Green and Christopher Shea.
- Carlin Romano talks with John Updike, with Updike disturbing a pristine bar within minutes. Who knew that Schweppe’s could set Updike off? There’s also an abruptly engineered 12 minute podcast of the conversation.
- Michael Redhilll gets a bit goofy about Roberto Bolaño.
- Tom Bissell on Ryszard Kapuscinski.
- Tao Lin: “if a novel called the statutory rape of dave eggers by al gore existed there would be less depression and loneliness in the world.”
- Katherine Dunn is guesting at the inferior 4+1. To be clear, “inferior” is part of the name of the site. I need to bounce around like a Java-programmed jumping bean to see what the skinny is on this LiveJournal and can therefore not bandy about a modifier like “inferior” until I’ve examined the goods. All I know is that Dunn is there, and I remain curious if she will ever follow up Geek Love with another novel. These are the things, I suspect, a dutiful reader should put forward to a guest blogger. (via Gwenda)
- Like Howard Junker, I too prefer John O’Hara to Frank.
- Paul Collins on the Biotron.
- Does Will Smith watch Woodstock? And will this prove disastrous as I, Robot? With Akiva Goldman mangling Richard Matheson, I think it’s a sure bet that the Will Smith Adapted Science Fiction Rule will hold: Under no circumstances should one see a science fiction movie adapted from a classic novel starring Will Smith and expect quality results.
- Alcatras Versus the Evil Librarians.
- There aren’t any decent book reviews in the blogosphere, did you say? Check out Colleen’s latest YA column.
- Moonlight Ambulette: “And so he attempts to give this brief reading (the Accompanied Literary Society was somehow involved in the event) but of course it’s this loud, crowded room and no one is listening. Well, like 12 of us are listening. In the middle of rock bands! What a thing to do to a writer! So he reads about half a page from Wake Up, Sir, before he gives up and says, ‘You know what? Why doesn’t someone just come up here and paddle me with my own book? That would be less painful.’ And so someone does! A sunglasses-wearing lady appears out of no where and gleefully thwacks Jonathan Ames on the bottom with his own hardcover book. Again and again and again. And then she lets him spank her with the book, too.” Between boxing a much younger, albeit physically inept writer and attempting to read between bands (should he not know better in both cases?), I’m wondering what’s going on in Mr. Ames’ mind these days. (via Matthew Tiffany)
- So here’s the question. Why weren’t podcasts represented in this panel?
- Canadian author Rebecca Eckler is suing Judd Apatow for certain similarities between her book and Knocked Up. Apparently, both Eckler’s book and Apatow’s film contained a small appearance by Harold Ramis. Eckler has insisted that Ramis is funnier in Canada, despite the fact that Ramis was born in Chicago. Apatow has countered, pointing out that there have been several enjoyable mainstream comedies directed by Ramis in America and that Eckler needs to understand that Canadians often come to America in search of more fame and cash, and that this often comes at the expense of their edge. Ramis, thus far, has said nothing. We shall see how this all unfolds. (via Big Bad Book)
- 100 Words That All High School Graduates Should Know. Dream a little dream.
- The Shyness Reading List. (via Books, Words and Writing)
- And the latest print hit piece on blogs? Joe Klein.
- RIP Michael Hamburger.
- Neil Gaiman on H.G. Wells.
Self-Absorbed Monsters
I made it through fifteen minutes of this film and I had enough. There wasn’t one moment of humility. Not one moment of self-deprecation. Not one moment where the “artistic” worth of the two main subjects was questioned. In fact, the damn thing was a selfish and humorless affair. I felt like I was stuck in a DUMBO hipster hellhole.
The level of self-absorption, narcissism, and self-entitlement contained in Four Eyed Monsters appalled me. Do these two kids not know anything of humility? I understand that this film was a hit at Slamdance. But is this the best that the emerging generation of Internet filmmakers can offer us? Begging for money for their precious pretentious nonsense as if they are entitled to it? Fawning in such a self-absorbed show for the cameras and failing to give us one goddam whit of humanity about the growing development of online relationships? Jean-Luc Godard did this kind of documentary many times before and, compared to these kids, he’s the humblest filmmaker now working in cinema. That’s saying something.
Maybe I’m becoming that grumpy old bastard shouting at the kids to get off my lawn, but, as much as I look out and try to support work by new artists, Four Eyed Monsters is about the most solipsistic cinema I’ve had the misfortune to sit a quarter of the way through. Imagine 70 minutes of lolcats in cinematic form. Sure, it’s cute for the first minute. But can you really sit there and take it for 70 minutes?
Nobody’s going to say it. Because these kids have amassed a tremendous credit card debt. Nobody’s going to say it. Because it’s the dream that everybody wants: to be a self-sufficient artist.
It’s impossible to create after working a nine-to-five job? What a bunch of bullshit.
Glam rock is back, boys and girls. But it’s worse than it was in the 1970s. Because where the glam rock artists realized that their stage presence was a pretense and that there was compartmentalization between this presence and the real life, these new glam rock amateurs, in the form of Arin and Susan, do not.
And the hell of it is that they will be rewarded for their crass irresponsibilities, both fiscal and artistic.
Goodbye San Francisco
I lived in San Francisco for thirteen years. All of my twenties. A fragment of my thirties.
I’ll miss the fog and the summers in the Mission and the drum circle on Hippie Hill. I’ll miss the burritos. I’ll miss the Haight-Ashbury, the neighborhood that I’ve been lucky enough to call home for the past two and a half years. It’s going to be extremely hard to find a replacement for Rockin’ Java, where many things were written, or the Booksmith or Ploy II or, hell, just everything really. I’ll miss the fag hags, the creative swindlers, the misunderstood people on the more interesting half of Polk Street, the guy who drums the same beat for hours on plastic buckets on Powell Street next to the meticulously groomed evangelist telling all who will listen that sex is evil. I’ll miss Frank Chiu, the tech geek crowd, the strange exhibitionist empathy, and the unapologetically corrupt politicians. I’ll miss Dan Leone’s Cheap Eats column. I’ll miss many friends and acquaintances, those noble soldiers of the Sunday Writing Circle, and I’ll even miss the sneers of some of my enemies. I’ll miss trips to Berkeley and the Great American Music Hall and the Red Vic and the Lucky Penny, easily the worst diner on the West Coast. I’ll miss Ross Mirkarimi. I’ll miss the incongruous automated voices inside MUNI buses, the capacious thatch of Dolores Park, the dogs flitting about Duboce Park, the almost perennial sixty degree temperature, the sex subcultures, the San Francisco Independent Film Festival, Bottom of the Hill, the Edwardian and Victorian houses, the many confused kids and misfits demanding spare change, the martinis at Blondie’s, the post-2AM crowd at Sparky’s, The Mint, the hills and the valleys, the earthquakes, the smell of oak trees in the Panhandle, the interesting developments around Divisadero Street, the snobs at Reverie, and the pretentious Marina crowd. I’ll miss the Exit Theatre, the Castro Halloween Parade, the lonely people I talked with during Christmas, the nice Russian ladies at the Yellow Submarine, the influx of Indian food in recent years, the notebooks at the Blue Danube, the sand hills near the Pacific, the drunks writing for the Guardian, and too much to list here really.
Goodbye San Francisco. It was a great run.
Is the WaPo Manufacturing Journalism?
I uncovered this remarkable Craig’s List ad:
Small publishing company seeks qualified writer to interview director Michael Moore during press conference June 19 in New York. The ideal candidate will have the ability to write and communicate and produce the interview quickly and cleanly. Candidate will have access to Mr. Moore’s press conference. The candidate will have to deliver the article by June 22 with 1,300 words and incorporate the asked questions during the interview (specific questions will be sent to you in order to provide guidance and focus for the article/interview). Payment for the final written article is limited to $200.00. We understand this is amount is low, but the opportunity is unique for a strong writer to interview Michael Moore. Send resume and writing samples to editor Karl Hente by June 12.
I’m wondering precisely how any journalist can “write” or “investigate” a piece, if the journalist’s questions are “prepared” by another party in advance (were these questions, for example, pre-approved by Michael Moore?). A Google search reveals that Karl Hente appeared with Ivan Weiss at a May 2006 conversation, revealing that he copy-edited at the Washington Post (“Current projects: new business development, grantwriting, research.”). Hente’s involvement with the Washington Post is corroborated by his work here on an April 2007 “Community Guide” as copy editor. Although Hente claims to have left the Post, a “Karl F. Hente” is listed on the WaPo staff page.
So what happened? Was a Post staffer assigned the Michael Moore piece? And did he then walk away in disgust when Moore’s staff demanded all of his questions cleared in advance? Did desperate editors proclaim that a Michael Moore piece was too important not to feature, no matter how fabricated the journalism, and did copy editor Hente then continue on in panic? And did this then result in the Craig’s List ad with this “unique” “journalistic” opportunity?
I will be making calls on Monday to determine if this was indeed a Washington Post article or possibly a side project. I certainly hope that such dubious ethics aren’t being practiced by the Post or elsewhere.