• The sexiest litblogger in the City of Angels serves up hot compare and contrast on the Holmes front (Sherlock, that is).
• Jenn-W (yo!) gets press with the Jewish Ledger, talking ’bouts Simsbury (not Rocks or Maxis), autobio elements, and the forthcoming film ‘doption dapplin’ down with In Her Shoes. Dig?
• Emily Auerbach sez that Jane Austen is underappreciated as a writer. Does A-bach gets awayz from the burbs? Because here in these cits, hot young bespectacles cants get enough of Pride and Prejudice; hence, prejudicial to Auntie Jane’s books more so than V-Woolf. Get busy, Ems. You’re out to lunch.
• Dakota Fanning’s the kidlit child star. First Alice, then Charlotte’s Web. An Olsen Twin in the making?
• Mira Nair and Jhumpa Lahiri. BUZZ!
• Tintin’s got an amusing explan about his Fountain o’ Youth. Well, Holmes, pass the Courvosier!

Bud reports that the next issue of The Missouri Review will have three previously unpublished stories from William Gaddis. All three stories date from well before The Recognitions.

Holy frijole! Our Pal the Rake has found the DFW lobster essay (PDF). If you didn’t pick up the issue or check out the essay, you won’t be sorry. It’s a barnbuster.

Zest fulfilled a gambit without plan or particulars as the machine offered ivories and I took the dimples by surprise, avoiding a hanging in Florida, though unaware of November’s forthcoming execution. Charmed somehow, flushed by two plying folks cheesing it up while the aerosol fumed away. Who knew that the PA system would be revived? I have no wish to churn my own juices, but it’s better to avoid bitter butter. Fermenting this passage to survive northwesters and to retain the smiley for the next jane.

And so it smoothed out rather nicely, even if it was a bit fruity. While other giants roamed the earth, the quartet played and the maven managed. ‘Kay, ‘dyou catch the urban stomp? Rowr! Plausible deniability, hands reaching around my neck despite education, suffering foolishness gladly, carrying out the hefty trash bags while my own refuse was ridiculed.

Righteous rows shook the vessel and soon I transmuted into a man o’war. The sun zoo, an artistic menagerie with swollen heads and without Shatner. It stayed together, but no praise from my lips was enough.

I did my best, convinced that years of our lives would advance with all limbs intact. Balancing act without much sympathy, although to be fair, there was part of me that played the devil. But nobody’s perfect, even when you discover a lemon.

No time like the present, pushed and prodded by niceties, the electricity sparked despite a low current. Mexed missages as the crow flies. Rumors on the Internets.

Able to see clearly without the rain gone, I lied low on the job, circling wagons before the ho. Declared a moratorium on expanding the frontier, and then did the decent thing with an update, which resulted in me being cited as a bluestocking and a bushwacker. Advised by pals to drop it, and did. And by these elaborate stanzas, deleting diminishing ducking, I step out of the shadow completely to take in peaceful weather and expand my fellowship. Why? Because I’m a man and I speak no ill of the dead.