Category / New York Times

by DrMabuse

The Brownies Return

With Mark on deck with the Los Angeles Times Book Review and Scott Esposito watching the Chronicle, the time has come to restore the Tanenhaus Brownie Watch again. Starting this Sunday, we’ll be watching Sam with the same eagle-eyed stance of a jester and letting you all know whether or not Tanenhaus has earned his brownie.

(And, incidentally, should Sam Tanenhaus earn his brownie, we will in fact be sending them to him. Let it not be said that we didn’t honor our pledges.)

Now if someone else will step in with the Washington Post, the litblog community should have its bases covered.

by DrMabuse

Gray Lady Last to Discover That Willow Gets Around Outside of Sweeps Week

New York Times Corrections: “A picture in The Arts yesterday with a chart listing television shows that portray women kissing, to increase ratings during sweeps weeks, misidentified the actress being kissed by Alyson Hannigan in ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer.’ She was Iyari Limon; Amber Benson is another actress kissed by Ms. Hannigan in the series.”

by DrMabuse

Deborah Solomon: Under Pressure

Is Deborah Solomon trying to confess to us that she’s a closet meth addict? From today’s interview with Christine Gregoire:

As a veteran politician who has served as state attorney general for more than a decade, did you find it difficult to sit out the seven weeks during which the voting machines pegged you a loser?

It was very, very difficult.

Did you take up smoking?

Me, take up smoking? No. It’s not an option. I was the lead negotiator in the tobacco-company settlement that brought in $242 billion, the largest settlement in the history of the world.

Did you turn to sleeping pills?

I finally resorted to once in a while taking some Sominex. But at the end, the Sominex didn’t work.

So what did you do to ease your anxiety in the wee hours of the night?

I did all of my shopping for Christmas online at very odd hours.

Yes, heaven forbid that things like non-drug related activities like sex, exercise or shopping can be used to relieve considerable tension. Particularly since almost every gubernatorial candidate is, in the Deborah Solomon universe, a pill-popping, chain-smoking freakazoid ready to walk the plank right before through a career-making four-year term. That’s the way politics works. Right, kids?

by DrMabuse

Gone Fishing

I’d initially posted some ballyhoo about taking a break. But announcing yet another hiatus strikes me as not only repetitious, but vaguely dishonest. This blog has always served as a beacon for truth. A skewered truth, a truth restricted by my own blinders, sometimes a downright ugly honesty. But truth nonetheless. I’d be doing my readers a disservice if I didn’t explain why my appearances here will be less frequent.

William Gaddis once described it as “the rush for second place” and composed an essay on the subject in 1981. He dared to chart how a certain spirit of rebellion in American culture was often spawned by a gnawing sense of failure, a long and frustrated nose cantilevered against a morose and pockmarked face that frowned long into the deepest shadows of yesteryear. The feeling that one’s efforts weren’t worth much in the long run. The successful person in our society, the hard-liner who plays by the rules and makes partner or vice president after a decade or two of thankless labor, is in so deep that it would never occur to him that there are others who starve and scrape for an altogether different success. These lower-end feeders are often derided as failures. Their needs don’t meet the basic burden. But what would our world be without these non-conformists who perform unspoken deeds in the dead of night?

Whatever measure of success one finds, there are hard choices. Passion flaring over common sense. And when a bottom-end straggler reaches a certain age, when the hair falls out and the crow’s feet form around the eyes, there comes a point where one wonders why it continues. Because persistence pays off? Sometimes. Because no man is an island? Definitely.

The duty remains, the steadfast flow follows. But it requires rumination and rest and unseen labor and barely any sleep. I’ll be back, but right now I’m reoiling the wheels. And I’m smiling as I dance in the dark.

[UPDATE: In response to certain socipathic nitwits who clearly have more time than I do (and whose currency is so inflated that they feel the need to goad some A-1 folks), I quote Carl Sandburg: “Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.”]

[UPDATE THE SECOND: Publisher’s Lunch reports this item: “Separately, the NYT Book Review has announced that next Sunday’s issue will present a considerably slimmed-down 100 Notable Books of the Year. They will publish their list of top 10 books of the year on December 12. Editor Sam Tanenhaus says of the ‘more selective’ list, ‘In general, we favored strong narratives. This happens to be a year when some of the best books, fiction and nonfiction, were about or set in the past.'”

[I can’t tell you how sad this makes me feel. One of the great annual joys is seeing the NYTBR present a crazed list that backs up their credentials as a book review source for one of the nation’s major newspapers. It essentially communicates to the reader that, love or hate their selections, the NYTBR is doing its job. But more importantly, much like the recent joys of the IMPAC longlist, the sheer number of books is something to cheer about, an annual occurrence that offers a friendly nod to reading. The reader finds the morsels he may have forgotten about and a few titles he didn’t know about. It’s a win-win situation between reader and listmaker.

[That Tanenhaus would scale this down to a piddly selection of ten (no doubt with Leon “Scummy Little Reviewer” Wieseltier’s involvement) proves that, despite his recent poetry issue and the inclusion of James Wood prominently on his pages, he still remains an asshat who is, in all likelihood, Bill Keller’s corporate handmaiden. That he would dispense with such a proud tradition in favor of audience-friendly “10 Sexiest Books Alive” homages to People convinces me that, unless he offers a compelling alternative, he’s not going to get any brownies on my watch.

[NO BROWNIES FOR YOU, MR. TANENHAUS!

[UPDATE TO SECOND UPDATE: The good Dr. Jones, fresh from his excavations in Nepal, informs me that we can’t withhold baked goods until the final tally. To uphold the brownie fairness doctrine, I renege on my brownie decision until we see what happens over the next two weeks. Tanenhaus shall salivate at his own peril.]

by DrMabuse

Questions for Plum Sykes

plumsykes.jpgYour new novel, “Bergdorf Blondes,” have created some disgraceful and unintentionally hilarious Q&A sessions which demonstrate that you are a Tina Brown in the making.

I have a new disease, which I’ve called glitteratitis. I want Bret Easton Ellis to use me as an object in his next novel, preferably as a footstool.

As a writer for Vogue, you have ideas, right?

I’m too beautiful to be concerned about the human condition.

You’ve used “blonde” as a verb and every time you open your mouth, people have been actually lost brain cells listening to you.

You’ve got to keep the English language fun. Have you ever known an English teacher aware of this season’s fashion designs? I haven’t. Perhaps if these teachers paid attention to the way they dressed, English classes wouldn’t be so square.

How can you justify writing a book about these kinds of women with all that is going on the world?

After 9/11, I finally had the excuse I needed to open up my secret stash of candy. And I thought to myself that Jonathan Franzen needed to write a history of candy rather than these long novels about human behavior. He made my head hurt. Who really wants to pay attention to that sort of thing? This age is about comfort and self-entitlement. If you look at this lady with the cigarette in her mouth, she’s simply not in fashion. And besides, we have cheerier photos at Vogue.

What did you study at Oxford?

I wrote my thesis on the frizzy hair movement of the 1970s, drawing particular attention to the Farrah Fawcett feathering movement. It was well received.

P.T. Barnum once said, “Never underestimate the stupidity of the American public.” Would you say that you could apply this to being born in London?

How brilliant. Can you pick up lunch?

by DrMabuse

Chip’s Asleep at the Wheel

More journalistic endeavors later. For now, the NYT book coverage has me very concerned. Eurotrash is the NYT takedown queen, but I knows bad grammar whens I sees it.

From this Michael Kazin review:

“Susan Jacoby regrets in her new book” — Is that the only way Jacoby regrets? Through tomes?
“zealous Protestants secured laws to ban the sale of alcohol, erotic literature and diaphragms” — As opposed to executing them? I secure my pants and the Xmas tree on top of the car, thank you very much.
“the teaching of Darwinian theory in public schools” — Christ, why not just “teaching Darwinism in public schools?”
“Ms. Jacoby concludes her book with a shudder” — Too bad she didn’t conclude with a docey doe or a pirouette. That would have been something.
“Her title was shrewdly chosen.” Thank you, Tom Swifty.
“But parochial schools were originally established to provide an alternative to public ones where students routinely learned only the virtues of the Reformation and recited from the King James Version of the Bible, commissioned by a Protestant monarch.” Two icky adverb-verb combos in one sentence? WTF, Chip?
“religion is just a stew of unprovable myths.” Well, start cutting up those potatoes.

Kazin, incidentally, is writing a biography of William Jennings Bryan. A match made in heaven if you ask me.

Katie Zezima fares better, but not by much.

“A bar by the railroad tracks is named Casey’s” — Active voice?
“The 289 residents of Mudville” — Again, a voice that is more active?
“What is true is that Thayer” — What is true is that you don’t need anything before “Thayer.”
“Thayer went but soon returned to Worcester and wrote” — Well, make up your mind, Thayer. Three past tense verbs in nine words?
“A stadium is planned for the site where Casey is said to have played.”
 — A copy editor is planned for the essay that Katie is said to have written.

Where the hell’s Tanenhaus?

by DrMabuse

A New Plan for the NYTBR

keller.jpgThis morning, while I was lying in bed, at long last forming an intricate theory about James Doohan’s purpose in “Spock’s Brain,” I came across this stunning news. The NYTBR editor search is being restarted.

Let us not vex ourselves too much. The Times has plenty of cash and resources to blow up their noses for these parlor tricks, but not nearly enough to pay their pressers.

But no matter. It’s clear that Bill Keller is wasting all of our time. As my loyal readers know, I campaigned vigorously here on behalf of two editorial candidates who made the shortlist. Ads were prominently placed. Envelopes with stacks of Franklins were given to the appropriate people. I played the game first for Ben Schwarz. And then when Schwarz tried to appeal to centrists by dissing literary fiction, I switched my allegiance to Sarah Crichton. Not long after she took New Hampshire.

But today’s move illustrates that Keller hasn’t respected any of these efforts, nor does he respect democracy. And not a single soul knows whether he appreciated the strip dancer I sent to his office. What’s more, the NYTBR been jumping the gun, moving towards more repeat profiles (such as the lad lit angle and the endless American Sucker coverage), covering popular fiction over literary fiction, and giving far too much space to thick nonfiction books that spend hundreds of pages stating the obvious.

In other words, Bill Keller has a mission in life: to bore the socks out of book enthusiasts. Yet even with this solitary goal, Bill Keller doesn’t seem to have the management or people skills to go about doing it.

It’s clear that political campaigning has had little success. We all know that money won’t buy Bill Keller. He’s a man inflexible in his love for Jonathan Franzen, but who barely gives David Markson the time of day. Firm principles, to be sure. But perhaps humor can change his mind. In fact, humor may have been the very thing missing in Bill Keller’s life.

Have you ever noticed that Bill Keller has not once smiled or cracked a joke this whole time? Perhaps that’s been the problem all along.

So here’s the plan: The time has come to bombard Mr. Keller with gag gifts. Constipation crisis kits, fake vomit, false bumper stickers, Mr. T in your pocket. Name your weapon of choice. Each gift should be sent to the Times with the following message: “For the love of humanity, for the love of literary fiction, learn to laugh, laugh and love, you crazy waffler!”

These packages must be sent religiously to Mr. Keller’s office until one of three things happens: (a) he confesses that he might cover literary fiction, (b) he makes up his goddam mind, or (c) he reveals that, all this time, he’s been suffering from a nervous breakdown and offers to resign in protest.

Packages can be sent to:

Bill Keller
Executive Waffler
NEW YORK TIMES
229 West 43rd Street
New York, NY 10036

Remember: It is every American’s duty to restore the former glory of the NYTBR. And if Keller can’t do it, perhaps mass gag gift hypnosis may help us bring the NYTBR into alignment.

by DrMabuse

NYTBR — A Dead Place for Fiction

Perhaps an inadvertent confession from Laura Miller? “The only thing more powerful than a worldwide conspiracy, it seems, is our desire to believe in one.”

Incidentally, the NYTBR fiction coverage is still looking grim. Far too much non-fiction (and yet another review of the Biskind book). The most telling sign is that David Markson’s Vanishing Point, which would seem to me one of the most ideal literary books for the Times to cover for a full-length review, has been ghettoized to the “And Bear in Mind” section.

by DrMabuse

NYT vs. Blogs

Wired: “So Withers decided to start the Wilgoren Watch, dedicated to deconstructing The New York Times’ coverage of Howard Dean’s campaign. Within weeks, the site had a prominent visitor: Wilgoren herself. The reporter has mixed feelings about the site. ”

Slate: “For his labors, Radosh earned an ugly set of threats from Landesman. And though apologies were eventually extended to Radosh by Landesman and the Times Magazine for Landesman’s behavior, the writer still reserves the right to punish the blogger in court for what he wrote.”

OpEdNews.com: “David Brooks, who joined the New York Times op-ed page with a reputation as one of the few neocons with intellectual integrity, has seen his reputation dwindle rapidly under the scrutiny of the blogosphere.”

by DrMabuse

Maslin: Pop Lit Ghetto ‘Ho

Janet Maslin is a good critic, but any doubts that she’s been ghettoized by the Times as the “pop lit gal” should be removed. In fact, considered with this unfortunate headline, part of me suspects an anti-Maslin conspiracy.

Students now spend an average of $828 per year on academic books. A new study reports that the average textbook costs over $100, and that the cost has risen from $650 in 1996-1997. In related news, sales of Top Ramen have risen along the same exponential curve.

And you thought the David Denby coverage was bad? When I think about who to ask about sex, Steven Bochco is probably the last guy in line.

The lower your testosterone, the greater your chance of developing Alzheimer’s. Scientific proof that Ronald Reagan and Charlton Heston were never men’s men.

Donald Trump has a new book out in April, How to Be Rich. Random House will be paying Trump close “a lot more than a million dollars” with sizable royalties. Guess the folks at Random House didn’t learn from the book, did they?

The Sunday Times claims that Pete Dexter is the most injury-prone writer in the world and then, because the writer of the article doesn’t believe his own thesis, he offers a long expose of Dexter’s physical condition. What next? A 2,000 word essay on Saul Bellow’s hair?

Pay no attention to the title. Vintage Didion is not a Slouching/White repackage, but represents Didion’s work in the Reagan era.

Norman Mailer turns 81 on Saturday and the Scotsman tries to examine why he isn’t considered “America’s greatest living writer.” Without, of course, asking anyone here why.

Is the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette appropriating Crooked Timber’s Books I Did Not Read This Year idea?

Sarah compares the TMFTML imbroglio with Moonlighting.

And cool enough that Yardley champions A.J. Liebling, a guy I’ve been meaning to read, but Teachout’s there too.

by DrMabuse

NYTBR Smackdown

The Observer leaks the shortlist for Chip McGrath’s replacement.

SARAH CRICHTON: Former publisher of Little, Brown, fired, with charges of commercialism and fights with Warner publisher Maureen Egan. Accused by Joe McGinniss of not promoting books. [Working glimpse of Little, Brown.] Before that, editor at Newsweek. Recently worked with Liebermans and collaborated on A Mighty Heart, Marianne Pearl’s book on her husband Daniel.

The Upshot: She was a champion of popularizing literary fiction at Little, Brown. And her journalism background and brief stint as an insider is a plus. Strong personality will be either problematic or embracing.

ANN HULBERT: Slate contributor. Wrote Interior Castle: The Art and Life of Jean Stafford and child development book. Acknowledged as “baby expert” by Boston radio.

The Upshot: Varied journalism background, including books, but emphasis of late has been outside the fray. Non-fiction edge?

BENJAMIN SCHWARZ: Literary editor of The Atlantic Monthly. On the National Book Critics Circle Board until 2006. Delivered clear manifesto in last Atlantic on why certain books are reviewed.

The Upshot: Schwarz embraces obscure work and is clear about his intentions. Although I’m not convinced that the Caitlin Flanagan Dr. Laura review represents the pop-to-literary balance that Keller is hoping for.

JUDITH SHULEVITZ: Writer of the Close Reader column in the NYTBR, which stopped last year. Ex-New York editor of Slate. Made so-so attempt to understand blogs. Might be counted upon to profile juicy disputes. Attacked Dave Eggers.

The Upshot: For those looking for some good fights, Shulevitz might be the one to do it. However, given her power couple status and connections, it’s likely that the bluster may be more talk than action.

RETURN OF THE RELUCTANT PICK: Benjamin Schwarz.

[UPDATE: It’s Schwarz, not Schwartz. Blame really bad Mel Brooks movies for the problematic spelling.]

by DrMabuse

NYTBR & Keller Update

I’m stunned by the sudden influx of email I’ve had concerning my call to action re: Keller and the New York Times Book Review (thanks in no small part to the Mighty Book Blog Cabal kind enough to link it). Apparently, a lot of people care about literary fiction. (If I don’t get back to you all immediately, please bear with me. I’ll do my best.) Since I see the makings of a multilateral coalition, I’ve started outlining a plan. More details later.

by DrMabuse

The Times: What Is To Be Done

Folks, folks, folks, folks, folks, folks.

It’s terrible news, yes. But it hasn’t happened. It ain’t a fait accompli. Here is what we must do. In order to prevent this horrible thing from happening, we must take action. We cannot just sit back and allow Bill Keller and his puppet NTYBR editor to have their way. We must let the Times know that such a move will destroy the Sunday Times reading experience. We must flood Keller with letters, with phone calls, tell this bonehead that he is eviscerating an institution and that he will face hard consequences if he tampers with something that ain’t that broke to begin with.

For one thing, I’m sure you all have subscriptions that the Times counts upon for revenue. I can tell Keller for a fact that if literary fiction reviews are removed from the Book Review, then I will cancel my subscription, and not even the allure of the crossword or Randy Cohen’s smug columns will bring me back. And I will encourage all of my book-reading friends to do the same.

So let’s hit this Philistine fucker where it hurts. Let’s pick a day and deluge the Times not with emails, but letters, phone calls, faxes, hard things to lodge into their mailboxes, a tangible protest to spell out just why this is a bad idea. Let’s take a stand right now and stop the Times from killing a vital hub for tomorrow’s writers. Nip the fuckers off at the bud and stop giving them any kind of revenue. If it goes down, cancel your subscriptions. Refuse to buy the paper. If fiction is to go, then I’m bolting over to the Post or the L.A. Times for my Sunday newspaper experience.

The Internet was used to give Howard Dean a sizable war chest. It’s been used to draw attention to things that otherwise would have remain ignored. It is a medium that’s been used to polarize. So I’m suggesting that the book blogs, and the journalists, and anyone who cares put their passion where their mouths are.

We can’t allow this to go down without a fight. And even if Keller kills the NYTBR, at least we can say we didn’t try to stop the gorgon.

So who’s with me?

by DrMabuse

Who Needs Those Two-Page DeLillo Reviews When You’ve Got John Grisham?

Horrible news about the NYTBR‘s change in direction:

Well, if you write non-fiction, review non-fiction, or prefer to read non-fiction, break out the champagne. “The most compelling ideas tend to be in the non-fiction world,” Keller says. “Because we are a newspaper, we should be more skewed toward non-fiction.”

What’s more, if you’re perplexed or simply bored with what passes for smart fiction these days, the Times feels your pain. More attention will be paid to the potboilers, we’re told. After all, says Keller, somebody’s got to tell you what book to choose at the airport.

Personally, I’d rather suffer through Laura Miller’s columns every once in a while than see the Gray Lady cave like this.

(via Old Hag)

by DrMabuse

Hey, Chip, You Rock My World!

Well, since folks are either making confessionals or unabashedly whoring, I’m more than happy to join the collective hue and cry. In fact, Chip, send me a book and I’ll wash your windows in a garter strap! Not a pretty sight, I know. But if that fails to quell the current cries of sexism, then I’ll legally change my name to “Pia Zadora.”

[1/23/06 UPDATE: Two years and countless criticisms of Sam Tanenhaus later, I haven’t been called by the NYTBR. Not so much as a thank you note for the brownies I sent Sam Tanenhaus. My pitches to my own hometown newspaper have fallen on deaf ears. (Never mind that they have taken out-of-town litbloggers for their pages.) The newspapers don’t want me, either because I come across as too volatile or I simply can’t write. As a man who has been on staff for a magazine, I’d like to think it’s the former. I don’t mean for this update to sound as if I’m throwing a pity party or to imply that I’m bitter or anything. I still plan to go on writing, even if it means most of my words being deposited here. But this is a telltale warning to all you whipper-snappers out there. The fresher, the more distinct and the more original you are, the less likely the mainstream media will want you. At least that seems to be my experience.]

by DrMabuse

The Un-Ethicist #2

unethicist.jpg
unethicist2.gif

What’s the real story, Lil Miss Anonymous? Do you want to play ball or don’t you? Life’s a bitch, ain’t it? One minute, you’re lying flat on your ass eating Cheetos and faxing resumes, not getting a single interview. The next minute, bang, a job lands in your lap with all the gainful ardor of a chihuahua with a bladder problem.

Your altruism is commendable, if more than a little suspect in a capitalist republic that favors a ruthless dog-eat-dog mentality — to give you a specific analogy, it’s a bit like lapdogs and chihuhuas taking bites out of each other beneath a sneezeguard at a Vegas buffet with a broad culinary swath. First off, did your friend know about this specific ad? The great thing about the help wanted section is how some of these painfully cheery recruiters try to disguise their ads by giving you a private fax number for a specific venue (though tracking the telephonic prefixes and the general language used can easily keep you ahead of the game), or don’t give you any information at all (“Apply: Position #342”), or offer you very strange instructions on how to apply (“Please arrive on Wednesday at 9:30 a.m. Prepare for further application procedures. Bring dungarees.”).

My brother Randy mentioned Samuel Beckett when answering this question, and I have to say that, despite his complacency and attempts to be down with the liberal arts crowd, he’s onto something. If you feel the need to throw in the towel (because your friend will find out), keep in mind that the employment world is so hopelessly Byzantine that with any “Luke, I am your father” revelation to your friend, there’s probably a million variables you can fall back on.

After working for a radio show with a well-known host, I wrote an essay about it, without naming the host or show, although anybody who’d heard the show could have identified both. I did not vilify the host but characterized him with amused detachment. When I mentioned the essay to a friend who works for an organization associated with a show, he implied, without reading it, that publishing it would be wrong. Would it? A.B.S., NEW YORK.

When William Goldman wrote about his experiences (Adventures in the Screen Trade), he had no problem dishing the dirt. He characterized several stars and directors as utter buffoons — in a few cases, outright avaricious ones. You could make the case that Goldman was trying to sabotage his own career. He was, after all, around 51 when he wrote it. So a case could be made that the hostile chronicling arose from a mid-life crisis. But something very strange happened. The book became a bestseller and is often referenced in film classes. And Goldman still has a career, albeit writing crap like Dreamcatcher.

What do you really want to do, A.B.S.? That’s the real question here. Obviously, you have a hankering to publish this puppy (assuming it bears enough merit to be published). But why the hell are you writing to Randy? If you’re not prepared to make a hard decision between your job security and your desire to emulate Rex Reed, then I’d say that you need to put some more complications into your life. Publish it. Accept the consequences. Take a fucking risk for once, you chicken. The fact is, A.B.S., that you’re just too passive-minded for my time. So if you want me (or Randy) to make a decision for you, then I’d favor the harder choice. If only to get these silly journalistic urges out of your system and put a little hair on your chest.

Jesus, the radio business turns people into a bunch of wishy-washy bores, doesn’t it?

by DrMabuse

The Un-Ethicist

Shortly after Xmas, I was astonished to get this email:

Dear Mr. Champion:

Randy’s at it again. Every time our family gets together for the holidays, not only does my older brother go on and on about the ethical way to carve a turkey, but the little fucker can’t stop going on about his lucrative Times and NPR gigs. I’m sick and tired of being the odd sibling out. I’m sick and tired of introducing myself as “Randy’s younger brother” at cocktail parties, only to have these people gloss over my fine haircut and unusual eating habits. What’s a younger brother to do?

Yours,

Miguel Cohen

I hadn’t heard of Miguel Cohen before, but I could sympathize with his concerns. I put two and two together and realized that he was actually Randy Cohen’s brother. We had a few email volleys. And I learned that Miguel, beyond having a few “unique” views on life, is also quite an interesting writer. I asked Miguel if he was interested in having a regular place here on Sunday. And he pitched me on an idea that was questionable, but nevertheless fair. He plans to answer the same questions pitched to Randy.

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Hey, R.P., get with the fucking program! Those student loan companies are rapacious vultures. No less a benign authority than David Sedaris says so. Since it’s illegal to kick those greedy bastards in the teeth, or to cut off the heads of their roan ponies and make them offers they can’t refuse so they can stop sending those “consolidated” forms to you, what better way to get back at them than mining this 9/11 thing for all its wortht?

Making money off tragedies or freak occurrences is a grand American tradition that goes back to P.T. Barnum and spans out, more recently, to Jerry Bruckheimer with that stupid Pearl Harbor film that lots of people paid ten bucks to see. The plain truth is that there are a lot of dumbfucks out there who will pay big bucks for this kind of memorabilia. And, besides, it’s not as if you’re auctioning off Nazi china, or some other memento mori from a fascist regime. (Then again, the way things are going, and judging by the way my bourgeois brother keeps his complacent trap silent on politics, and all of these paranoid emails I keep getting from Conspiracy Nation, it may end up that way.)

Even so, sell the motherfucker. Get some boob to pay for it, preferably to someone employed by Sallie Mae, and keep the sale relatively anonymous, if you’re concerned about this thing becoming public. In the grand scheme of things, even if it does become public knowledge that you sold this ticket, people will judge you by the collective scope of your actions. And who knows? Maybe years from now, when this tragedy isn’t being exploited by the Republican National Convention, you’ll have a funny yarn to tell your grandkids.

You’ll probably be accused of dishonoring the dead, but keep in mind that the 9/11 widows and widowers have been given more money than you’ll probably ever make in a year. And after those limitless Portraits of Grief that ran forever in my bro’s paper, they’ve had more than enough attention. Meanwhile, where are you, R.P.? You’re probably working some job you’re overqualified for, wrestling with all those damn student loans.

Sell the sucker now while it’s a hot item. And if your friends disown you, you just tell them Miguel says it was okay. And if they don’t like it, I’ll kick their teeth in.