Edward Champion's Return of the Reluctant

MP3s Removed

Because of bandwidth I cannot afford, I have had to remove all MP3 files. If you're looking for the Star & Buc Wild file (or any of the other MP3s generated), you'll have to go elsewhere.

This site itself may have to disappear for several months. Thank you, India Times.

Keep The Dream Alive

Ain't No Room for Culture in the New I-Rack

The United States is now rivaling those who burned the Great Library of Alexandria as cultural destroyers. Having deliberately built a base upon Babylon, a new report from the British Museum notes:

• damage to the dragons decorating the Ishtar Gate, one of the world's most famous monuments, from attempts to prise out the relief-moulded bricks
• broken bricks inscribed with the name of Nebuchadnezzar lying in spoil heaps
• the original brick surface of the great processional route through the gate crushed by military vehicles
• fuel seeping from tanks into archaeological layers
• acres of the site levelled, covered with imported gravel - which Dr Curtis said would be impossible to remove without causing further damage - and sprayed with chemicals which are also seeping into the unexcavated buried deposits
• thousands of tonnes of archaeological material used to fill sandbags and mesh crates, and equally damaging, when that practice stopped, thousands more tonnes of material imported from outside the site, contaminating the site for archaeologists forever.

Dr. John Curtis, the writer of the report, noted that his charges "should not be seen as exhaustive, but is indicative of the types of damage caused."

In Defense of Conversational Adverbs

Apparently, some folks are taking offense to using "actually" in conversation. Actually, there's something very nice about using adverbs in regular conversation. Realistically, it beats the tongue-tied swagger or the awkward pauses because, actually, the brain gets an extra second as the beads of sweat form hideous spoors on your forehead while hot lights, cameras and an audience are upon you and you hope to hell that you're coming across as articulately as the perfectionist producers demand (yes, even on CSPAN!). Actually, it's not quite like that at all. But having been on camera, it's close. Inadvertently, in print, adverbs stick out long sore thumbs but, actually, adverbs announce a moment of discovery, a sense that one is discovering a point or a thesis in the process of response and, actually, if someone has a problem with this, well then we suspect that they may not have many ideas to contribute to the world, save complaints over very minute things. Actually.

You Should Be Dancing

Gwenda has a highly accurate account of dance lessons, complete with clumsy bald guys, sad middle aged couples and tittering dwarfs. I want to assure everyone that ballroom dance lessons are really like this, particularly the ones that involve neophytes getting to a dance hall two hours before everyone else to pick up a few moves from an instructor barking over an inaudible PA system (or, even worse, with one of those damn headsets).

Product Placement in Fiction

I'm not completely against describing products and cultural minutiae in fiction, but I have a distinct problem with the way Tricia Sullivan does it in Maul. This fascinating novel, an interesting cross between hard science fiction, riot grrls gone wild and cyberpunk which has yet to pick up a U.S. publisher, deals with a two-strand narrative. In the distant future, a Y-virus has wiped out nearly every male on the planet, leaving male clones (taken from existing tissue) to carry out a simulated program that involves teenage girls battling in a mall. Sullivan's novel is stacked to the nines with ideas. In fact, as if channeling Kathy Acker's ghost, it opens daringly with a girl masturbating with a gun and somehow manages to elude heavy-handedness. It's truly the work of a writer to watch.

However, Sullivan's too obsessed with girls wearing Red Hot Chilli Peppers T-shirts or handing over a Snapple. Okay, Tricia, we get the consumerist angle. It's clear enough by the title. But why would Sullivan choose bands like the Red Hot Chilli Peppers who have long lost their lustre in the present among the teenage crowd. Why not take a speculative fiction environment and create brand new companies? Isn't that a good deal more fun?

But even more infuriating is how these pop cultural asides get in the way of Sullivan's fascinating effort to explore feminism. The product concentration detracts from the intellectual expose and dates the book almost instantly. Which is interesting because it was published in 2003.

Conversely, Richard Yates' fiction (which I've finally begun reading after Lizzie threatened to have several Young Republicans remove one of my testicles) hasn't dated at all. Even a story like "A Glutton for Punishment," which deals with a 1960s-1970s corporate environment (and should date), still packs an emotional punch, while achieving a startling purity. I suspect that it's because Yates avoids product placement and uses sparse terminology ("cubicle" is mentioned once) to describe his environments. He is more concerned with what a character is feeling, the look on another person's place, the heat of a room, etc.

I used to believe that this so-called literary product placement was of value in fiction. The immediate example that came to mind was an image from a Stephen King novel that I can't immediately recall: something along the lines of a Skippy peanut butter jar filled with coins. The image's startling presence, however, has more to do with the effort to remove all the peanut butter from a jar and use it as a piggy bank.

The problem with using brands as shorthand for character attributes is that, when we're considering the perseverance of fiction, today's telltale brand could be tomorrow's failure. (Who can't chuckle at the Pam Am flight seen in 2001, which immediately undermines its future?) I'm inclined to believe that unless fiction involves a specific time and place, on the whole, brands really don't belong in literature.

First Image from Titan

(Thanks, D__________!)

Y Tu Tanenhaus Tambien

For those interested in speculation upon Tanenhaus's NYTBR, check out Juana Libedinsky's "Un cambio polemico," where we were delighted to see that declining book coverage is of international concern, and that our thoughts were happily preserved in Spanish. Interestingly enough, the Book Babes are there too.

FCC Responds to Star Complaint

Econ Junkie has posted the response he received from the FCC. As I have tried to point out, unless Star & Buc Wild are sexually explicit (see 182 U.S. Code Section 1461), the First Amendment permits them to broadcast whatever they want, provided they fall within broadcast requirements. Your efforts are best directed towards the radio station, Clear Channel, and the advertisers. The advertisers may consider withdrawing their commercials if they are informed of the content they are supporting. Particularly if you write thoughtful (not abusive or inflammatory, but thoughtful!) and well-reasoned letters demonstrating that they essentially support a pair of DJs who insensitively play plane crash sounds and abuse call center employees for laughs. Now it's just up to someone in New York to start listening to 105.1 FM beginning on January 17 and begin compiling a list of advertisers.

Love for Three Miévilles

For those who are as devoted to China Miéville's Bas-Lag books as I am, there's a lively debate on The Iron Council over at Crooked Timber. One thing I didn't realize was how close Miéville (along with Louise Welsh) was to being named one of the Granta 20.

In fact, Miéville himself has even popped in. He has some very interesting things to say about Tolkien, why he dwells upon the bleak, his struggles to present nuanced sociopolitics, and his indebtedness to page-turning storytelling.

Roundup

• Nadine Gordimer is shepherding a short story collection, Telling Tales. The book's proceeds will go to fighting AIDS. Some of the heavyweights involved: Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Gunter Grass, Salman Rushdie, John Updike, Margaret Atwood and Woody Allen.
• Because the hardback wasn't turgid enough, the paperback release of Bill Clinton's My Life will be published in two paperback formats: one that describes his presidential achievements and the other describing the linguistical disadvantages of referring to people as "that woman."
• A rare set of George Washington letters is being auctioned. The letters show that Washington consulted with Thomas Jefferson on capitalizing certain nouns. But because Washington was a hopeless speller, he was more interested in a cookie recipe for Martha that Jefferson had devised at Monticello.
• Upton Sinclair is heading for a comeback. Historian Lauren Coodley has edited a book showing that Sinclair was far more than a muckraker. He published 100 books, he was a health nut, and, contrary to popular belief, not once did he step foot in a jungle.
• And Jim Warren, the man behind fantastic back cover ads for skulls and Famous Monsters of Filmland, gets a thorough profile.

It's Good to Know the Experts Are Pooling Their Resources Together for the Hard Issues

Press Telegram: "The online 'Onion' once reported that Brad Pitt was bored with Jennifer Aniston's naked body, a claim that virtually every male of any age and almost any species recognized to be insane or an underhanded insult directed at Pitt. The notion now has been debunked by Peter Castro, executive editor of People magazine the publication that broke the story of the Pitt-Anistan separation."

The Dirty Art of Author Publicity Photos, Part 1: Jennifer Haigh

PHOTO DESCRIPTION: Ms. Haigh doesn't smile. She wears an austere "we mean business" look on the safe side of the nihilism fence, provenance enough for the Barnes & Noble crowd. She wears a black dress that reveals a bit of leg. The bench has been positioned so that we don't really see it. In fact, factoring in the cleavage pushed forward into an expanse of black, the overall effect appears to be an author ready to mount the table. And then there are the positions of her hands. Her right fingers fold over to draw our eye to her leg. Curiously, her knee has been cut off.

WHAT WE THINK THE BOOK MIGHT BE ABOUT (based on the photo): A dark and tawdry tale with potential erotic riffs, but without the benefit of a knock-knock joke.

WHAT THE BOOK IS ACTUALLY ABOUT: "Baker Towers tells the rich, enveloping story of one Polish-Italian family in the small Pennsylvania coal-mining town of Bakerton - where the sardonically named "towers" of the title are two huge heaps of sulfurous waste from the mines. When it comes to employment, Baker Brothers, the mine-owning company that dates back to the 1880's, is the only game in town." (Janet Maslin)

He'd Blog Us If He Had the Chance

Some truly fantastic folks have set up The Conversation, which serves almost as an antidote to Charles Taylor's hubris and A.O. Scott's neuroses. Do check them out.

Star & Buc Wild Suspended

It's a small achivement that doesn't mean as much in light of the move to New York. But it's an achievement nonetheless. The outcry has resulted in Star & Buc Wild being suspended for a day. Thanks in part to your efforts, Power 99 FM received more email and phone calls in the entire station's history.

But this is only the beginning of the fight. Since the two DJs have been repeatedly hateful and since the one day suspension amounts to a consolation prize (Star & Buc Wild were moving out of Philly anyway), the DJs will quite possibly settle into the new routine at 105.1 FM in New York. If there are any able listeners in New York willing to keep track of advertisers, now would be the time to mobilize for a future campaign. Because in light of their history of abusive radio, these two will try again.

[UPDATE: Again, because the racism and the hatred in the comments are too prevalent, and I have neither the time nor the inclination to moderate, I have closed the thread. I have tried to remove some of the more racist messages and have banned the IP addresses of those who would use this site to preach hatred. Some of you folks should be ashamed of yourselves.]

Mitchell on the Shore

I don't know how I missed it, but Mitchell takes on Murakami's latest. Which makes perfect sense, given how much of a fanboy Mitchell in turn is of Murakami! But to be fair, Mitchell quibbles over the homogeneity of Murakami's tone, pointing the reader to other great Murakami tomes in place of this one. Even so, "respect is due." (via Tingle Alley)

Shuffle is Apple Lingo for "Flash Drive"

Using stunning new technology available on nearly every MP3 freeware program and flash drive, Steve Jobs has announced a very silly product called the iPod Shuffle, which (get this) actually plays your songs at random. And I've got a bridge to sell you in Brooklyn that you will never cross the same way because your feet will always hit different parts of the surface.

That shuffling you hear is the sound of Steve Jobs cashing in the chips of Mac zealots. I guess Mac users have never heard of MuVos and Zen Micros on the PC side, which, for a few dollars more, offer as much as 60 Gigs of music within the MP3 format.

Wake me up when there's a real revolution.

No Reading Statistic Left Behind

South Florida Sun-Sentinel: "Gov. Jeb Bush wants to increase spending on reading by $43 million this year and make reading money a permanent part of Florida's public school budget."

Hey, Jeb, give $43 million to me and I'll give you all the reading you need. And then some.

I don't know what bothers me more: the notion that $43 million given to "reading" without a specific spending plan sounds more like the cocaine tab hidden within blockbuster movie budgets under the heading "accessories" or the idea that money would somehow translate into a new generation of enthused readers through a osmosis involving dinero.

But then these are the kind of silly impressions one forms when an article fails to point at the specifics, which can be found here. And if you read the fine print, it isn't about the reading at all, but the scores. No wonder some kids aren't so crazy about books.

I Hear Voices Too

Sarah's put up a thoughtful post regarding hearing voices when she reads. I can relate to this because, although my own inner ear parses text differently, I sympathize with the notion of those voices inside the book that tell me to do things.

Whole chapters of Ian McEwan, Alex Garland and David Peace have encouraged me to wash my hands more. Because when I'm reading a farrago of brisk one-to-two word sentences ("Fuck," "Noon," "My arse."), I feel as if I'm channeling the spirit of Howard Hughes. If I'm, say, reading part of the Red Riding Quartet, chances are you'll find me in the restroom, washing all of those evil smelly life-destroying molecules that CLUTTER one's existence and otherwise INTERFERE with the precious bodily fluids have you ever seen a Russian drink anything other than vodka? that do me end and PREVENT me from living greatness, must keep the people happy and prevent the germs from spreading UP UP & AWAY flowing through my veins and arteries like some infernal beast, parasites that can only be seen under a microscope...

But I digress.

Conversely, when I am reading a paragraph-long sentence (a la badly translated Dostoevsky or W.G. Sebald), I suddenly find myself talking too much during a conversation. These austere paragraph-slingers wish me to expatiate and I must honor their wishes, for I too have something dreadfully important to say, so important that it must be framed within the context of a sentence with endless verbs, commas and wends that convey the Sense of Importance. Never mind that the people who listen are trapped there, wishing to be polite, hoping that the blathering fool who is recycling some heavy-handed Marxian metaphor will stop.

So, yeah, the short answer is that I hear voices too. And while I come from a family that is very musical, it takes me about an hour or two to sight-read a sheet of music. Largely because I have been too indolent to learn how to do it in real time (to use the technological parlance of our time) and because all I know how to play on my guitar are pentatonic scales and chords. O such a wasted existence! If only I had shown more initiative! If only I had known that more practice with an instrument would result in vaguely edible fruit!

But at least there's karaoke to offer such a dubious surrogate. And at least there are the voices which assure me that reading is good and keep the deviant at bay so I can function in America's troubling capitalistic system.

RIP Mr. Monitor

Our monitor is at death's door, we won't be able to replace it for a few days, and we're overwhelmed by the stunning response regarding the Star & Buc Wild post. Factor in the other things we're doing, and this has resulted in an uphill battle in email responses and regular bloggin. But for now, here are some highlights from the literary world:

• As noted widely elsewhere (and kept under wraps with great glee here), many congratulations to Laila.
• Birnbaum interviews T.C. Boyle. It starts off with the question, "Do people call you Tom?" We have to confess that we've been asked that question a few times ourselves, albeit in entirely different circumstances.
• On the Star & Buc Wild front, thanks to the efforts of Devalina Guha-Roy, WUSL-FM's reaction has made the Philly Inquirer. There have been more than 130 e-mails and phone calls. Of course, the problem isn't the broadcast or Star's antics, but the "insensitive" employee who posted the clip online. Clearly, WUSL hasn't gone nearly far enough to ensuring that "racially inflammatory" programming on this level won't occur again. What's particularly interesting is that Star & Buc Wild's move to WWPR has elicited more publicity. It seems that in the wake of Star's disgraceful banter, his publicist decided to issue a press release.
• John Intini suggests that this generation has become too "resourceful" and suggests that readers of Arts & Letters Daily, McSweeney's and bloggers in general are as bad as Trivial Pursuit junkies. We think he's onto something, but we're wondering what's wrong with having a capacious storehold upstairs? Granted, when such brainpower is reduced to remembering Usher lyrics, it's a considerable problem. But we can think of far worse things to remember and recite than, say, a passage from a Jonathan Lethem novel.
• Lip Service is a UK-based theatrical and radio group who transmogrify literary classics. They sound like a lot of fun.
• Is Patrick White Australia's most unreadable novelist?

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?

Memo to Film Producers: Please Leave Old Science Fiction Television Series Alone

The latest potential cash cow to be dug up is The Tripods. (via Quiddity)

Talk in a Time of War

With escamotage that seems outside Tanenhaus's grasp, Sunday's Washington Post features a retrospective on David Halberstam's The Best and the Brightest -- pointing out that the book is not only a masterful study of foreign policy but elucidating a few potential comparisons between Iraq and Vietnam. Warren Bass and David Halberstam will discuss The Best and the Brightest online on Thursday, January 27 at 3:00 p.m.

So Is Tom Hayden Saying Hitch Drinks White Russians?

Tom Hayden: "In the film 'The Big Lebowski,' several decades later, the stoned 'dude' played by Jeff Bridges claims to have written the Port Huron statement. Perhaps that is where Hitchens took his cue, for it certainly didn't come from reading the document."

We Can't Say "Fuck" on American Television, and Tiny Glimpses of Nipples Are a Problem, But Network Executives Are Assured a Long Life Here

The Scotsman: "It is believed Roly Keating, the controller of BBC2, and Jana Bennett, the director of television, are among those who have been given security guard protection. "

Indecent Proposal 2: No Dollar Left Behind

Director Adrian Lyne announced that he would be directing a followup to his 1993 film, Indecent Proposal. Robert Redford and Demi Moore have agreed to reappear. Set ten years later, Redford will reappear as the millionaire -- this time, having moved to Pennsylvania Avenue. Moore's character has divorced Woody Harrelson, changed her name to Armstrong Williams, and become a journalist.

REDFORD: There are some rumors on the Internets that ten years ago, I offered you $1,000,000 to sleep with me.

MOORE: Well, you did.

REDFORD: Christ, Karl did all he can to cover up that missing year. I thought he brushed this one up.

MOORE: You weren't particularly good in bed either.

REDFORD: Ssshh! Lower your voice! Do you want Laura to hear? I keep sending the twins in there with more books so's I can meet with you.

MOORE: Frankly, I don't care.

REDFORD: What will it take to shut you up? I mean, this kind of thing worked for Ted Kennedy.

MOORE: Well, how about this? Give me $250,000 and a syndicated column.

REDFORD: But what do I get in exchange?

MOORE: I'll promote the No Child Left Behind Act.

REDFORD: $250,000?

MOORE: And it has to be tax dollars. I figure the way you're throwing money around, nobody will notice.

REDFORD:

MOORE: You'll just have to learn to live without it. You've got lackeys for that.

REDFORD: Alright. Take this slip down to John Snow. Ask him to file it under petty cash.

Amusement

YPTR has discovered George Saunders Land. No amount of money or persuasion, however, will get the Walt Disney Corporation to add this onto Disneyland. Which is a pity, because Disneyland could always use a Saunders short short.

The Drunk

"I can't breathe, motherfucker! I can't breathe!"

The drunk had only his voice left, but he was determined to fight. A neighbor and I called from the window. We begged the police not to harm the man, to give him oxygen, and the fuzz knew they were being watched. So they didn't beat him. The drunk had only blurred stamina and a voice that alerted every adjacent domicile that there was a skirmish in the premises. His limbs were pinned down by seven of San Francisco's finest in the alley adjacent to my apartment. I had to wonder just what the hell it was he did exactly. Had he spurned chase? Had he assaulted an officer? Was he simply belligerent? There was a savage determination in the man's voice to beat the odds. It took seven police officers to hold him down. Seven.

The liquor had fueled him. It had told him that he was immortal, whatever his problems, whatever his affliction. It had worked the same way that PCP might in another: the abject faith that he was above the law, that he would win in the end, that vengeance of an altogether irrational sort would be his. But the addiction, apparently, was too much for him to operate in society. Tonight, anyway.

Of the seven cops, one was a woman. The drunk, singular in his rebellion, had bitten her hand while they pinioned his limbs down. He called her a dyke. he egged them on. Aside from a feral "fucker" from the lady (an understandable impulse from anyone who had blood drawn from their hand), the SFPD did their job containing him without beating the man down. This was no Fajitagate. They only wanted to get him into the wagon. And the wagon arrived, backing into the alley and colliding into a few trash cans. There was a mesh grille behind the double doors, and I wondered if anyone else was there.

The drunk had been in the Marines at one point. He had been stationed on Treasure Island. So he said. You meet a lot of homeless people in this city, many of them claiming some military stint, some pledge unfulfilled. And he was determined to "fuck your fascist shit up," thank you very much.

Me? I felt like one of Kitty Genovese's watchers. Who the hell was I to cast judgment? But if the police clubbed this guy to death, I was determined to run into the alley and stop the violence. Fortunately, they didn't.

But I sympathized with him. I wondered if he had been left behind at some point. I wondered about his military experience. I wondered what had caused him to become so blotto and so enraged. Had he been abandoned? Had he served in the Gulf War? Or was his life a grand lie?

One police officer for every limb. They threw him into the van and laughed a bit afterward. But I pondered the man's fate. What would our current local services do to help him? What would our social programs do to reach him? Would he be released to the streets, only to unleash violence again? Or would he somehow find himself? Was this a drunk left to drink himself to death? Another high-maintenance person abandoned to the fateful gods of the streets?

Coffee-Deprived Roundup

• Good Reports has unveiled its second end-of-the-year panel, with Robert "Not a Jejune Fan" Birnbaum, Jessa Crispin, Alex "Johnny B." Good, Maud "Will Most Certainly Finish Her Novel" Newton and Michael "Coolest Initials in the World" Orthofer.
• Scott Esposito has stumbled upon what may be the TBR photo to end all photos. The metadata reminds me of the moment in Fight Club where Edward Norton's apartment turns into IKEA catalog items.
• Was Lincoln bisexual? Leave it to Gore Vidal to explore the theory. (via Moby)
• Sara Nelson files her last column at The Post, pointing out the lavish promotion funding thrown at Linda Fairstein. Too bad Fairstein's net sales don't seem to match the $1 million per book price tag. But apparently, an appearance on The Today Show has worked this time around. Her latest is one of the top 100 books on Amazon.
• Stephen King's pimping Ron McLarty, who's getting published after 32 years of effort.

Whitbread Winners

The Whitbreads go to:

Novel Award: Andrea Levy, Small Island (She also won the Orange Prize.)
First Novel Award: Susan Fletcher, Eve Green
Biography: John Guy, My Heart is My Own: The Life of Mary Queen of the Scots
Poetry: Michael Symmons Roberts, Corpus
Children's Book: Geraldine McCaughrean, Not the End of the World

Star & Buc Wild: Racist on the Radio

Moorish Girl posts to this item from Turbanhead. Apparently, the wakeup crew at Philadelphia's Power 99 radio think that it's absolutely hilarious to call a customer service line outsourced to India and berate an employee with sexist and racist banter.

The MP3 has been removed from the Power 99 site, but, in the event that Turbanhead's servers get overloaded on this, I've mirrored the file here and I urge anyone who cares to host the file too. For those who can't play audio at work, here's a transcript:

NARRATOR INTRO: Wakeup with Star and Buc Wild in the mornings of Power 99 FM.

STAR: I'm going to play this call from earlier before we get out of here. This is the, uh, call that I made to -- I thought it was a company here locally. Not that I was surprised.

(laughter)

STAR: I saw this infomercial about, uh, what are these things called again? Oh, the, uh...

FEMALE VOICE: Bead? Oh shoot.

STAR: Anyway, let -- let's just play the call. I was surprised when I got somebody on the line in East India. These little beads that I saw. Little white kids, uh, a little machine that puts them in their hair.

FEMALE VOICE: Mm'hm.

STAR: Play it.

(tape begins)

STEENA: This is Steena. How may I help you?

STAR: Hi, Stain-a, you say?

STEENA: Yes.

STAR: (in fake Indian accent) Yeah, I called and I just got hung up on. I'm calling from America about the quick beads for my daughter's, uh, hair. Quick beads.

STEEA: Okay. May I have your ZIP code please?

STAR: 10274.

STEENA: 10274?

STAR: Yes. Get it right. Now are you in India? Because I just spoke to someone in India who hung up on me.

STEENA: Thank you. I am from India, ma'am.

STAR: Okay. So my call is being outsourced to India.

STEENA: That's right.

STAR: In... in regards to my six year old, white American daughter who wants to get the quick beads like Serena and Venus Williams.

STEENA: Now. I'll definitely place an order for that. See...

STAR: What's that?

STEENA: ...in the ad, she called to place a quick bead of counier. To ensure proper handling...

STAR: Ma'am, I don't know what the hell you're saying. Hang on a second. Let me try and get something straight here. The quick beads, like Venus and Serena Williams, that to advertise to -- to the white kids on television. This call has been outsourced to India?

STEENA: That's right.

STAR: Well, ma'am, what the eff would you know about an American white girl's -- uh, uh -- hair? And quick beads.

STEENA: Just to inform you, ma'am, we're a national chain services company. And we're just taking calls on the opposite...

STAR: Listen, bitch! Don't get slick with the mouth! Don't you get slick with me, bitch!

STEENA: Now if you continue to speak this language, I will disconnect the call.

STAR: Listen to me, you dirty rat eater. I'll come out there and choke the eff out of you.

(laughter)

STAR: You're a filthy rat eater. I'm calling about my American six year old white girl. How dare you outsource my call? Get off the line, bitch!

(laughter; end of tape)

STAR: Pull it up.

(laughter)

STAR: Heard they listen well out there.

The call letters of Power 99 are WUSL. It shouldn't be too much of a surprise to learn that the station is owned by Clear Channel. In light of the station's Stop the Violence and Increase the Peace campaign, it might be worth addressing this verbal violence to the WUSL manager and to Clear Channel Corporate. Letters written on actual paper or faxes are the best way to deal with this. Emails can be overlooked, but paper is a physical presence. You can find addresses and fax numbers right here:

Power99 WUSL-FM
440 Domino Lane
Philadelphia, PA 19128
General Business Line: 215-483-8900
Fax: 215-483-5930
Director of Urban Programming/Program Director: Thea Mitchem
Operations Manager: Todd Shannon
General Manager: Dave Allan

Clear Channel Communications
200 Basse Road
San Antonio, TX 78209
Phone: 210-822-2828

Ron has pointed out that DJs Star and Buc Wild have been added to WWPR-FM (Power 105.1) in New York (also a Clear Channel radio station). Clear Channel has apparently invested $17 million to sign Star and Buc Wild to the morning lineup. In addition to WUSL, Star can currently be found on Hartford's WPHH station.

Star apparently has a history of savage radio behavior. In fact, he prides himself on being "the Hater" and his website notes that "he has the audacity to be unconstrained by neo-conservative intellectual influence." The exclusive Star interview further notes, "Hate is one of the truest natures of mankind. We'll always have Hate, even when we branch into outer space and set up new civilizations. To eradicate hate would mean becoming desensitized or emotionless" and then qualifies this statement with a followup, "Does a fat bitch love cheeseburgers? Absolutely."

When he worked at WQHT, he played plane-crash sound effects when Aaliyah died, complete with a woman screaming, causing his former co-host Miss Jones to walk out. Star has promised to "bury his old station" when he gets to New York (the first show is set for January 17, 2005.

Of course, listeners aren't really the people who matter in corporate radio. Advertisers do. It might be fruitful for watchdogs in Philadelphia and New York to keep a list of loca and national advertisers that air commercials during Star's broadcasts on Hartford's WPHH and Philadelphia's WUSL. And when Star moves to New York on January 17, maintain the list of advertisers on WWPR.

If we hope to win the war against hate radio, then the time has come to mobilize with diligence and action. And that means paying attention to who pays the bill.

(UPDATE: It's also worth noting that Star's real name is Troi Torain. He's also made anti-Semitic comments. Funny how he's sensitive when J-Lo uses similar language. Apparently, Torain's former New York employer Emmis has been trying to block his WWPR gig. Torain was suspended after the Aaliyah incident. The clause in his Emmis contract has kept him off New York radio until this year. That didn't stop him from ripping about 20 award plagues from WQHT and storming off the office. And there's more, even a book deal.]

[FURTHER UPDATE: The outcry has resulted in Star & Buc Wild being suspended for a day. Thanks in part to your efforts, Power 99 FM received more email and phone calls in the entire station's history.

But this is only the beginning of the fight. Since the two DJs have been repeatedly hateful and since the one day suspension amounts to a consolation prize (Star & Buc Wild were moving out of Philly anyway), the DJs will quite possibly settle into the new routine at 105.1 FM in New York. If there are any able listeners in New York willing to keep track of advertisers, now would be the time to mobilize for a future campaign. Because in light of their history of abusive radio, these two will try again. ]

[THIRD UPDATE: Because of the abusive comments (despite my repeated requests), I have closed the comments. I'm appalled by the behavior from some people here. Hate is not the way to respond with hate. I can understand anger, but by drawing generalizations about Africans or Americans, you are giving into the same spiteful tone voiced by Star. And I don't enjoy my mailbox being pummeled with hatred.]

Guy Davenport Dead

First Sontag, then 100,000+ lives from the tsunami, then Will Eisner, now Guy Davenport. This is a pretty shitty week. Wood S Lot has plentiful Davenport links.

Afternoon Tea

• Dean Koontz's dog has written a book: a chapbook-sized ode to lapping toilet water.
• An inmate has sued Stephen King for The Green Mile, claiming that there are, in fact, no magical black men inside prison.
• It's been reported elsewhere, but Cynthia Ozick's book tour diary dishes fun dirt.
• Amber Frey is set to release a memoir this week. Sample chapter titles include "Oh My God! Laci's baby is due on my birthday!" and "You know, Scott, this murder might affect our relationship."
• The Rutles 2 is coming to DVD. Believe it or not, Salman Rushdie is in it.
• A number of prominent Canadians highlight their top reads for 2004 (including Neil Peart, who champions John Barth's The Book of Ten Nights and a Night!).
• The Age does an admirable job trying to account for The Da Vinci Code's success.

Someone Needs to Tell Charles Taylor That the Real Enemies Are in Washington, Not Those Who Were Humbled By Pauline Kael

Slate Movie Club: "If we must address the Paulette issue, let me say this about those who make that particular charge: Fuck 'em. Not one of the writers who have done their 'I Was a Paulette for the FBI' routine have ever done it without relying on gossip, insinuation, and outright lies to make their case. I never had to pass any test for loyalty to remain her friend. Was never discouraged from saying what I thought, never feared disagreeing with her, which we did often. Doesn't anybody notice that the anti-Paulettes all claim the alleged Paulettes have no independence but every single one of them talks about how they couldn't bring themselves to disagree with Pauline? Let me get this straight—I'm supposed to be a camp follower because you didn't have the stones to stand up for Kramer vs. Kramer? Your therapists get paid to listen to this, boys. Spare the rest of us."

(via Greencine Daily)

RIP Will Eisner

Will Eisner has passed on.

Aides Prepare Pinochet for Hanging Out to Dry Sensation

Publishers Weekly Locked in Full Nelson

Sara Nelson is taking over as Editor-in-Chief of Publishers Weekly, having demonstrated to the NYC publishing world that one can be simultaneously peripatetic and upwardly mobile. (via Sarah)

More Odd Books

• Tawdry Books: the dark side of Vintage paperbacks.


• Harry Stephen Keeler: one of the strangest writers who ever lived.


• The Lionel Fanthorpe Appreciation Page: complete with a random excerpt generator. (An example: "The grey voice of the grey Seaforth glided greyly on to their ears, like a tide of putrescent grey molasses.")


• ...By Its Cover: A great collection of odd paperback covers.

The Erotomaniac

Somewhere between Proust's Remembrance of Things Past and Fanny Hill is My Secret Life, an eleven volume, one million word memoir written by "Walter." The entire text has been placed online and is searchable. Other interesting facts: The books were owned by Aleister Crowley, Harold Lloyd, and Josef von Sternberg. "Walter" was, in all likelihood, Henry Spencer Ashbee, who collected thousands of books in a London bachelor pad and left 1,600 volumes of erotica to the British Museum. On the sex and reading front, Ashbee seems to have found the best of both worlds. From Vol. 9, Chapter XIII:

We used at times to lay in bed reading baudy books. Then I would gamahuche her, and she liked the lingual exercise continued almost directly after her spend. A few minutes' repose only and I'd fuck her, then we'd go on reading. Sometimes she'd read until suddenly she'd frig herself, laying back, grasping my prick hard with one hand, even hurting it sometimes, with eyes closed, more frequently looking me full in the face eyes wide open, with a wonderful voluptuous expression, till her breath shortened, her lovely thighs and belly quivered, then her eye lids drooped till her body was quite tranquil. — Then with the remark, — "We are beasts," — our reading was resumed.

Related: Odd Books, "a home for the oddball and offbeat in literature," which includes pages devoted to Frank Harris (another womanizer whose five-volume MY Life and Loves was published with several photographs), forgotten romantic writer Amanda McKittrick Ros (acclaimed by the likes of Twain, Lawrence, Huxley and Powell) and big-time crank Webster Edgerly, whose strange notions on health may have inspired to T.C. Boyle. Edgerly went by the psuedonym of "Dr. Everett Ralston." By a twist of fate, today (January 4) is Ralston Day!

Hemon Revisited

In arrears with hot potatoes, we had a number of things to say about last year's Aleksandar Hemon/Operation Homecoming contretemps that had begun at Lizzie's and GalleyCat's. But our damn browser crashed and a 1,000 word post was lost into the ether. We'll only say that, having finally gotten around to reading Hemon, The Question of Bruno is a fantastic achievement and that the NEA's history of censorship pressured by reactionary forces does back up Hemon's claims to some extent, even if it fails to account for the strange machinations of government in general. Our basic point was this: The difference between Crouch and Hemon is that the former is a pugilist looking for a fight, while the latter remains an idealist pining for a certain faith in honest government. Is this such a bad thing to argue for in these corrupt times?

Back to the salt mines, where trout are being fished out of agua with stunning alacrity.

Gone Fishing

Irvine Welsh's Pride and Prejudice

That Darcy bloke won't give me a fag. Crusty polite little bugger. Hangs out with Bingley sometimes, but the man needs a drink. Several, in fact. I'd like to see Darcy loosen up a bit, maybe light under the foil and inhale Great God's fine smoke.

The odd thing is that Darcy's so polite. He should be some cunt hosting a late night teevee show or cringing at the thought of using a public restroom. I'd like to see that uptight bugger fetch for his suppository.

What kills me is that one of Bingley's sisters actually fancies him. Wouldn't stop going on about his penmanship. The prim cunt ignored her.

- You fuckin shite, I said, - how many fuckin birds care enough to fuckin pay attention to your fuckin handwriting? For fuck sake, she gets enough fuckin hell from Elizabeth. Are you fuckin listening?

Darcy said nothing, though he took a liking to Elizabeth. The poor fuck was badly in need of a shagging and could only do so through legitimate marriage.

See, that's the kind of sad case Darcy was. I'd hoped he'd piss off and find a proper place in the suburbs where he wouldn't plug a finger up our miserable Scottish arseholes.

Boringcakes

Heather Harvrilesky has the perfect response to a passive long-distance relationship:

This is how you find the man/woman of your dreams, stupids: You refuse to waste time on the man/woman of your loneliness-fueled spreadsheets. And if you can't get worked up over anyone... well, Jesus, what is wrong with you? Can you get worked up over anything at all? Here in LA, lots of people wax romantic about movies, but when it comes to their real lives, they're fucking numb and alienated and don't see the raw thrill, the breathtaking drama of every little minute. Blahblahblah boringcakes, motherfuckers! The girl who made you your coffee this morning has beautiful green eyes, and she paints weird portraits of her customers and keeps chocolate and rope stashed in her nightstand and she reads books about gardening and she knows what she wants. You could spend the next two months in bed, honkwinders, getting tied up and eating chocolate and watching old movies in the middle of the night. You could be swooning and sighing and feeling like the world is opening up like a flower. So why are you watching "Survivor" with that guy who bores the shit out of you, and pisses you off, and doesn't give a flying fuck about how you feel, ever, and mostly just wants you to get to the point and stop crying? Why are you heating up canned soup and wondering about the long-term viability of negotiating a reasonably satisfying coexistence with someone 3,000 miles away?

Guantanamo Bay -- An Internment Camp in the Making

It's bad enough that FBI agents willfully witnessed prisoners being abused at Guantanamo Bay. Because we all know that when you see a human being getting a lit cigarette stuck into his ear, the immediate thing to do is to stand and do nothing while the vultures continue to beat the guy down further. Horrible enough that the suspected "terrorists" held at Guantanamo Bay have little to no evidence and that these people are being denied due process. But even Richard Lugar is against the latest scam to leave suspects there for life, even when there's nothing to back up the government's claims. Funny how it comes down to chump changehelping out Sri Lanka while the Defense Department sees no problem blowing $25 million for Camp 6, a prison designed for "more comfort and freedom than they have now." Spokesman Bryan Whitman said, "This has been evolutionary." On the contrary. It's downright recidivist, if you ask me.

Here are some of the highlights:

• A British detainee was tortured using "strappado." Strappado was commonly used in Latin American dictatorships and involves hanging a prisoner from the bars by his handcuffs until they cut deeply into his wrists. What was his offense? He was caught reciting the Koran while talking was banned.
• David Hicks, an Australian citizen was beaten before, during and after interrogations, threatened with firearms and other weapons, and was hit in the face, head, feet, and torso with hands, fists, various objects and rifle butts. Over one eight-hour session, the man was handcuffed and blindfolded and hit randomly with a group of other detainees. Hicks was also offered the services of a prostitute if he agreed to spy on other detainees.
• Another detainee is on the verge of madness. His physical condition is deteriorating and his father is concerned that he will turn into a cabbage before his appeal goes before the U.S. Supreme Court.
• Between October and December 2003, FBI reports document that detainees were subjected to sleep deprivation, humiliation, and forced nudity.
• The FBI memos have been provided by the ACLU.

Beta Testers Wanted

Ladies and gentlemen, our research is done. The writing has begun. Very soon, the beta testing will begin on the next play (tenatively entitled Four Square). This one's quite different from the last one, inspired very much by Chekhov's underrated play, Ivanov. If you're interested in completely decimating theatrical narrative with the most brutal of constructive criticism, feel free to email me at ed @ edrants.com with your qualifications. I anticipate a release of Version 1.0 around the beginning of February.