There’s currently some controversy about podcasts. According to Bridge Data, 80% of podcasts that are downloaded never make it to a portable audio player. They are either listened to on the PC or downloaded without ever being listened to.
Category / Uncategorized
Christopher Moore Podcast
The excellent Rick Kleffel, who is far more articulate than I am, talks with Christopher Moore.
Live Alex Robinson Interview
For those in San Francisco for Alternative Press Expo on April 9, I will be interviewing Alex Robinson, sui generis, in front of a live audience. I’m immensely honored to talk with the man behind Box Office Poison and Tricked. We’ll be talking about how Alex got his start, deconstructing a few panels and getting some audience involvement.
The results will eventually make their way into a podcast. But please feel free to stop by and say hello. Here are the details:
When? Sunday, April 8, 2005, 3:30
Where? The Concourse at 620 7th Street, San Francisco, CA
3:30-4:25 Spotlight on Alex Robinson—His new graphic novel, Tricked, weighs in at “only” 350 pages (compared to the 600+ of the collected Box Office Poison), but none of his readers feel gypped. Alex Robinson’s Tricked was one of the buzz books of 2005. He’ll talk about that book and what’s next with writer Edward Champion of the blog, “Return of the Reluctant” (www.edrants.com).
I’ll also be walking the floor and covering Alternative Press Expo again — this time, in podcast form.
The Three Brets?
Bret Easton Ellis is on MySpace. (Thanks, JMO!)
Hopefully I Hope Elder Statesmen Will Learn How to Speak English Again
Tim O’Brien: “Watch your modifiers. Do not write this sentence: `Hopefully, the teacher will give me an A.’ The teacher isn’t hoping, you are. Do write: `I hope the teacher gives me an A.’ If you don’t know the proper usage of the word, `hopefully,’ I hopefully recommend you don’t use the word at all. Moreover, if you don’t watch your grammar, I must sternly warn you, you could end up president.” (via Bookninja)
Well, We Can Only Hope Axl Ain’t Lyin’
Associated Press: “But it was a bizarre addendum to the statement, totally unrelated to the suit, that drew the wrath of Velvet Revolver lead singer Scott Weiland. Rose recalled a day last October where Slash, whom he hadn’t spoken to in almost a decade, showed up unannounced at his door at 5:30 one morning. Rose claimed that during their conversation Slash tore into his VR bandmates, calling Duff ‘spineless’ and Weiland ‘a fraud,’ among other things. Despite Slash’s hard-partying reputation, Rose insisted his former bandmate did not appear under the influence when he allegedly made these comments during this pre-dawn meeting.”
You’ve Had Your Download Time
Roundup
- Karen Joy Fowler on Octavia Butler. (via Gwenda)
- M.S. Smith on William Gass’s A Temple of Texts. (via Oakland’s Sexiest Man Alive)
- RIP John R. Gardiner.
- The New Yorker rejecting an advertisement for a book called White Trash Cooking? Who would have thought? After all, they have no problems capitulating their pages to a superstore for the masses.
- Rosemary Neill investigates the current state of Australian fiction.
- I’ve defended chick lit in the past, but this is a bit silly.
- V for Vendetta: 71% Rotten Tomatoes.
- Well, here’s a new angle for a podcasting article: The medium gives voice to the Faceless Other. But what you might now know is that podcasting is also the pipeline for the Two-Faced Stranger, the Long-Haired Entity, the Undetectable Shadow and the Twelve-Step Program.
- Peyton Place turns 50.
- David Kipen gets the Baltimore Sun treatment.
- They remade Just One of the Guys? Jesus, I need to pay attention.
- The Dan Brown plagiarism suit: All signs point to the missus.
It’s Sort of Like a Dadist Yearbook
Jennifer Weiner Chat Wednesday at 12:30 PM
Friend of RotR Jennifer Weiner will be hosting a live chat on Wednesday at 12:30 PM. She’ll also be conducting a lecture and book signing at the Salem Public Library at 7 PM on March 16. Do check it out if you can. Ms. Weiner is always good for some reliable laughs.
Million Writers Award
The Storysouth Million Writers Award Notable Stories of 2005 have been announced. Congratulations to Sarah for her nominated story. Other notable entries: Gina Frangello’s “How to Marry a W.A.S.P.,” Jim Ruland’s “On a Clear Day You Can See Scotland,” Cory Doctorow’s “I, Robot,” Rudy Rucker’s “The Men in the Back Room,” Richard Grayson’s “Three Scenes from My Life (With Special Guest Star Truman Capote,” Felicia Sullivan’s “Night Work,” Daniel Olivas’ “Hit,” and Kirby Gann’s “Tether.”
More AWP Reports
- Jeff VaderMeer, inclduing an overview of Austin bats!
- Felicia Sullivan.
- To shit talk the man further, Stone Cold Poetry Bitches, bitch!
- Photos from Zachary Schomburg.
- A full report to come from Adam Clay.
- Best AWP Photo?
- Reb Livingston on reactions to her Bedside Guide cover.
- The best part of AWP? Sitting around with a bunch of random men, apparently.
- Various posts from Shanna Compton.
- Man, I’m going to have to go next year. Looks like much fun was had!
[UPDATE: And a blog panel summation from Mr. Cheney.]
[UPDATE 2: The indefatigable Mr. Wickett has a sampling of responses from many.]
And In Other News, You Might Have the Munchies If You’re Lit
New Scientist: “Long-term users of marijuana gradually become worse at learning and remembering things, a new study suggests.”
RIP Maureen Stapleton
Drawing Blood at SXSW
On the Austin sidewalk stood hordes of the righteous authors and bloggers, some consulting their Blackberries for the latest emails, the better to deliver their enmity and fulminations against mavericks and independent litbloggers. While I had no real proof, I knew that they were all conspiring against me.
Yes, I was there. I was there when those bastards passed me over for Best American Weblog, Best Tagline of a Weblog, Best Podcast of a Weblog, Best Self-Referential Post, Best Blog Written by a Balding Thirtysomething, and Best Use of the Word “Fuck” in a Blog. I was angry. More enraged than Annie Proulx. Ready to draw blood. Because that’s what the Bloggies were all about. Sabotage.
I showed up to the ceremony, trying to buy votes by throwing random $20 bills around. Unfortunately, a few day laborers who were in the processing of parking Jason Kottke’s Rolls Royce managed to abscond with my entire billfold. And my blog had to actually stand on its own merits. I defied the dress code by actually tucking in my shirt and wearing a dependable sportscoat. I suspect this might have worked against me. Because all the winners wore T-shirts.
The people connected with Return of the Reluctant, which only consisted of me and my hubris (if you want to tally two), hoped that, having not been nominated for a single Bloggie, the geeks gathered for SXSW would somehow see the light. Maybe they’d see my blog as a sort of Web 1.5 which they might award to a graceless guy who didn’t really know what Ajax could do. (If you are looking for smart judging based on merit, skip the Bloggies next year and just come here. Like any sturdy Stalinist system, you’ll get nothing but unilateral boosterism, the only true gauge of quality.) We should have known conservative bloggers would have different ideas about how you could win hits and influence readers. While we had never been linked by Boing Boing and likely never would, it was only too clear how out-of-touch Cory Doctorow, who led the 6,000 Bloggie voters, was. When was the last time that man had seen an optometrist anyway? There was something highly suspect about a man who had quit his job to become a “full-time writer.” And rumor has it that Heather Champ and Derek Powazek inunudated the Bloggie voters with free CDs of LINUX with the words “Boing Boing: The Only Lifetime Achievement Choice” written in prominent gold letters. Drinks had been purchased and imbibed. There had even been a few unreported sexual favors. Next year, I suppose we can look to the awards for yet another nomination given to that Ernie guy over at Little, Yellow, Different.
For those who call this little piece a Sour Grapes Rant, “Lay Lady Lady” or perhaps most of Blonde on Blonde. After all, I’m the one drinking here. And I’m entitled to enjoy a little Dylan while I cry over my misunderstood genius.
AWP Reports
They’re rolling in:
- Michelle Richmond on the sex panel.
- Kassia on the book digitization panel.
- Incriminating evidence and a brief report from Pinky’s Paperhaus.
- Ron Hogan’s report.
- Matt Cheney with his nonrealist fiction panel presentation and a lengthy report.
- Jeff VanderMeer’s initial thoughts.
- The Happy Booker has not one, but two reports: Christy Zink and Chris Meeks and Christy Zink again.
- Tony Tost relays a “‘hick comes to the bigtop’ giddiness.”
- C. Dale Young uncovers blog prejudice.
- Some posts to come from Mikeyblog.
- Collin Kelley looks at the AWP from the poetry perspective.
- Robert Archambeau praises the lawn behind the Bouldin Creek Coffeehouse.
- Some photos from Laurel Synder.
- Simmons B. Buntin offers Austin photos and an exhaustive report: Day 1, Day 2 and Day 3.
- Amy Braziller takes umbrage with the cell phones.
- Reports from Fade Theory: Part I and Part II.
- And did anyone talk shit about Jim Behrle?
Graywolf Fails to Recognize Braverman’s “Genius?”
Apparently, Kate Braverman made a very public break with Graywolf Press at AWP. Ron Hogan has the scoop.
Tanenhaus Stops the Stag Parties This Week?
Naomi Wolf in the NYTBR on young adult fiction.
Janson’s Stalinist and Sexist Revisionist History of Art
The new edition of Janson’s History of Art is out, and, if you can believe it, they’ve replaced Whistler’s mother with a younger woman in an effort to appeal to broader audiences.
Another List
The New York Public Library sends word that they’ve now chosen the 25 Books to Remember for 2005.
Exclusive Excerpt from Alan Greenspan’s Memoir
[EDITOR’S NOTE: Return of the Reluctant has obtained an exclusive chapter from Alan Greenspan’s memoir, a book that Penguin Press recently declared bankruptcy to get the rights for.]
Chapter 18: Ayn and Me
It was 1958. I had risen up through the ranks quite rapidly. By now, I had plenty of minions at Townsend-Greenspan who hung on my every word. They were terrified by my economic prophecies. They wilted as I passed them in the halls. Sometimes they bought me coffee. Decaf. Sanka, in fact. Back in the benzene days when drinking decaf meant something.
I was known affectionately around the office as “Uncle Alan.” I was loved. I was feared. Sometimes, I was even kissed.
Even so, I felt a slight empty feeling making all that money. Could I really rule the world so effortlessly? Could I bend the world to my will? Even Bill Townsend didn’t know that most of my private capital was tied up in abstruse mutual funds, all designed to take advantage of the United States Tax Code, which I had memorized at the age of seven.
I decided to take a constitutional around Wall Street. One could play the clarinet only so long. I decided to pay an impromptu visit to a friend, and it was there that I entered an elevator and saw a slinky Russian smoking a cigarette with a prominent brow, lips that were deliciously cold and a nose that was as sexy as Lincoln’s.
“Hi, I’m Ayn.”
“Ayn Rand, the writer?” I asked.
“Why, yes,” she said, blowing smoke into my face. “And who the hell are you?”
Of course, I knew Ayn’s work. I had read Atlas Shrugged ten times. Sometimes, I had my African-American manservant (we called them “coloreds” back in those days) read me passages just before bedtime, alternating these readings with lectures by Keynes.
Well, apparently, despite the hostility, Ayn knew me. And she knew me well.
“What are you doing right now, big boy?” she asked.
At that moment, I could have gone back to my office and made two hundred thousand dollars in a few hours. But there was something about Ayn, perhaps the fact that she never smiled, that attracted her to me. And I had to prove to myself that there was more to Uncle Alan than making money.
We took a taxi across the East River and checked into a seedy Brooklyn motel. Ayn explained to me that she was growing bored with Nathaniel, who was still having difficulties finding her clitoris. I confessed to Ayn that aside from the “Money” speech, I was a big fan of Atlas Shrugged‘s sex scenes.
“Do you like it cold and hard, Alan?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, taking off my glasses.
“Good,” she said. “That’s exactly how I like it.”
She then proceeded to tie my wrists to the headboard and removed my Brooks Brothers suit. She took off her blouse and carefully pressed skirt, revealing a garter belt and a black leather bra with a swastika on each cup. She then barked at me in German, Geld ist Energie!, and trilled her fingers across my chest. I was feeling excited. I was feeling aroused.
“Are you my bitch, Alan?” shrieked Ayn.
“Uh…”
She hit me across the chest with a riding crop. I had no idea where the crop had come from.
“Yes,” I croaked.
“Do you feel empty?”
“Yes.”
She struck me again with her riding crop and repeated the three German words. She then removed her swastika bra, revealing her pendulous breasts, and wrapped the bra around my neck. She moved closer to me.
“Answer again,” she whispered. “Do you feel empty?”
“No.”
Sehr gut!
Then Ayn took the bra around my neck and tied it around my eyes. It was tight. It hurt. I couldn’t see anything, save a portion of one of the swastikas.
That’s when Ayn began to straddle me, while also summarizing Wicksellian theory.
It was at that moment I decided that money was the root of all good.
Joe Keenan’s My Lucky Star
I’m knee-deep in books right now (you think I’m kidding, don’t you?), but this hilarious excerpt has put Joe Keenan’s My Lucky Star at the top of my TBR pile after the books I have to read right now. (via Emily Gordon)
Garnering
David Abrams has unveiled his first January review since returning from Iraq. And it’s Kirstin Allio’s Garner. And Dan notes that Garner, recently described by Mr. Segundo in Show #23 as “The Rockford Files, but more literary,” is nominated for the Art Seidenbaum Award for First Fiction.
Well, We Yanks Have Benedict Arnold, the Baltimore Riots & McCarthyism In Our History…For a Start
Peter Carey on James Frey: “It’s trite to say it, but the US is a country run by liars going to war on a fantasy, so it’s interesting to see people getting self-righteous about James Frey. And by the way, if you’re going to publish a memoir by an addict in rehab, everyone knows that one of the corollaries of addiction is lying. So I don’t see why everyone gets into such a fucking uproar because an addict is a liar! Oprah acted like a total bully: talk about about crushing a butterfly on a wheel–or a cockroach on a wheel– because that’s what she did on television to this little creep.” (via Galleycat)
And Speaking of Lackluster Narratives…
The Taste Runs in the Family
Since Dave Itzkoff has seen fit to produce his top ten science fiction novels “for the ages,” I asked Brad Itzkoff, who is Dave’s older brother, to offer his top ten literary choices of all time. Brad tells me that he’s always been “a good older brother” to Dave. The two brothers have shared many days watching episodes of Hogan’s Heroes together and can apparently quote entire scenes from memory. Dave has inherited much of his literary sensibiliites from his older sibling.
So here’s Brad Itzkoff’s list of favorites, with commentary, by the older brother of the writer of the Book Review’s new science fiction column. Titles are listed in alphabetical order.
Atlas Shrugged (1957)
By AYN RAND
Dude. I read this when I was a teenager and it blew me away. I still live by Ms. Rand’s philosophy. The “Money” speech still gives me goosebumps. Plus, rough sex scenes! Always the stuff of literature! That’s the only reason that a chick is on the list. By the way, I have a nude photo of Ayn Rand that I’m selling on eBay if anybody wants it!
The Da Vinci Code (2003)
By DAN BROWN
Arranged in very short chapters that you can read between commercial breaks, there’s a reason why this novel has attained its stature as an instant classic. Just edgy enough to make you think at times, just restrained enough not to be offensive. The way a novel should be.
The Firm (1991)
By JOHN GRISHAM
Before I read this breathless thriller, I had no idea what it was like to be a lawyer. I figured it was a bit like being Perry Mason. But, boy, am I glad Grisham, a true genius if ever there was one, set me straight!
Hawaii (1959)
By JAMES MICHENER
My father gave this book to me when I was sixteen. And he gave me an ultimatum: read it or move out. Well, of course, not having a job, I was obliged to read it. But as it turned out, pops was right! This was a manly book written by a manly man. One of the great novels of the twentieth century!
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (1979)
By DOUGLAS ADAMS
Yes, I know it’s science fiction. But it made me laugh. This book gets a space because it’s so easy to read.
Jonathan Livingston Seagull (1972)
By RICHARD BACH
It’s not just an exciting story about birds, but it’s a parable for the modern age. I first read this after a bad acid trip as a teenager. Well, needless to say, I laughed my ass off! Then I read it again, with the Neil Diamond score playing in the background, and I must say that Bach taught me exactly how to live my life. Had it not been for Jonathan Livingston Seagull, it’s quite likely that my little brother wouldn’t have been the success he is at the New York Times! I’m so proud of him!
Love Story (1970)
By ERICH SEGAL
I don’t understand why people badmouth this book. It certainly lives up to its title. It’s a story. And it deals with love. What more can you ask for?
A Prayer for Owen Meany (1990)
By JOHN IRVING
I sobbed myself to sleep many times during the six months it took for me to read this long, long, LONG novel. Plus, dwarfs are funny!
Scarlett (1991)
By ALEXANDRIA RIPLEY
A sequel to Gone With the Wind unfairly derided. Ripley takes her cue from the bodice-rippers and gives you all the answers to all the questions that Mitchell failed to answer in her book. I don’t know about you, but a book without even the tinge of ambiguity really isn’t worth my time. Don’t let the fact that she’s a chick prevent you from reading this book!
The Stand (1978)
By STEPHEN KING
The most brilliant novel of all time, and possibly the longest book I’ve ever read. I’ve spent far too many evenings staring into the distance, wondering when Captain Trips will come and kill me. Dave reminds me it’s just a novel, although I think Stephen King is a prophet! M-O-O-N, that spells classic!
I’m Not A Commercial Fan, But There ARE Exceptions…
The Rolling Stones, circa 1964, sell Rice Krispies. (via MeFi)
London Book Fair
Chad Post offers some initial comments, with more to come from “the 51st most influential liteary person in the UK.”
Because Who After All Needs Artistic Context?
Chris Krauss: “Contemporary art has a way of putting people on the spot, but I found if you smoke a joint outside the museum, go inside, sit in front of the work, and see what it has to say to you, your guess will be as good as anyone else’s.”
“Da Vinci Code” Movie Ordered Pulled
The Christian Council of Korea has protested the May release of The Da Vinci Code: not because of any specific blasphemy, but because the CCK, being serious film fans, can’t see what good can come of teaming Ron Howard and Tom Hanks again for an overwrought Hollywood picture.