“But megagazillion-sellers like the ‘The Da Vinci Code’ prove a book doesn’t need literary quality to score big in the quantity department.” And the Hartford Courant proves that a newspaper doesn’t need to avoid the obvious to score lackluster in the op-ed department.
Forget literary merit. Today’s memoirs can now be judged solely on who has the most interesting sex life. What next? Books judged by which author is more likely to put out?
Some disturbing news from Sasha Frere-Jones: “Mariah Carey is thirty-six years old, and, barring a debilitating illness, or another movie as bad as ‘Glitter,’ her 2001 vanity project, she will likely break the world record for the most No. 1 songs before she turns forty.” No word yet on whether Ms. Carey will require more personal assistants to balance her checkbook, wipe her bottom or occlude her gaze from the riff-raff.
Poet Roger McGough has pulled out from a Liverpool concert after hearing that Condoleeza Rice was showing up. (via ReadySteadyBlog)
Large Hearted Boy initiates Large Hearted List, an itemization of the top eleven music posts that caught his eye during the past week. No plan yet on how he can make the Pitchfork people any less bitter.
Tito has pics up of the Flaming Lips Noisepop show.
Apparently, there’s an epidemic of unsolicited manuscripts in France. Part of the blame has to do with the 35 hour French work week, but mostly it’s because a substantial bloc of the French population is completely insane.