Rasputin: “Trust me on this one. Rich people will be okay. I am officially giving you permission to not give a rat’s ass about them. When a person achieves a certain amount of wealth, they become permanently okay forever. In fact, the only thing that can ever unseat them from this vaunted status is their own grotesque stupidity. Now, you don’t feel bad when poor people manage to get themselves fucking killed, why should you feel bad when rich stupid people get themselves thrown in jail or rendered poor?”

Sarah Jessica Parker: “Part of me is happy that people who could not afford HBO will now have the opportunity to meet the four women whose love lives were chronicled on the show.”

Who are these people, Sarah? Okies wandering the Midwest? Crazed gypsies? Hobos? The rabble? The great unwashed? With invitations like yours, I’m sure these people that we shall not identify, probably smart enough to do other things than sit on their asses watching HBO all day, will love strutting into your vapid world of shoes and affluence.

I saw the first season of Sex and the City shortly after reading Bushnell’s book. I haven’t seen a single episode since. Beyond my DVD rental and reading mistakes, I regret nothing.

(via Beatrice)

Mark gives Rose/Birnbaum a run for their money and interviews Dan Rhodes. While there aren’t any Elton John-like confessions, the interview’s a good read. I hope other literary blogs will start taking it to the next level and start interviewing authors who come through their respective towns.

Marty Beckerman claims that he was misquoted by Rebecca Traister. This isn’t the first time Traister’s been accused of overeager journalism, though, to Beckerman’s credit, he never demands a brawl with David Talbot. (via Bookslut)

Spalding Gray’s body may have been found. An autopsy is underway to determine identification.

And a London librarian claims that nursery rhymes are naughty. Of course. We all know that the spider sitting on Little Miss Muffet’s tuffet is really a horny dude with eight dicks. The curds and whey are clearly graveside bukkake. We all know that the grandma-eating Big Bad Wolf represents a guy with an older woman fetish and a closet subscription to MILF Monthly. And we all know that Sleeping Beauty was the princess that the rabble couldn’t chat up and take back to the inn. Nursery rhymes are indecent! It is my fervent hope that the Bush Administration will prevent this filth from corrupting the minds of our children.

If you don’t believe me, one hard look at “Georgie Porgie” should obviate all innocence:

Georgie Porgie, puddin’ and pie

[Clearly, the elided G illustrates that the rhyme is not about “pudding,” but about “putting it in.” Centuries before the naughtiness of American Pie, “Georgie Porgie” establishes in its first line a distinct pastryphilia. The implication of “Poor G” after “Georgie” implies a guilt for the events about to happen. Furthermore, like Nostradamus predicting the threat of Saddam Hussein, the basis for Georgie is not George IV, but George Michael and his infamous bathroom incident.]

Kissed the girls and made them cry.

[If Georgie Porgie intended merely to kiss the girls, then his behavior would be relatively harmless. But the fact that the girls are crying suggests one of two possibilities: (1) either Georgie Porgie has halitosis (unlikely) or (2) Georgie Porgie is a closet rapist, causing untold grief. Note how easy it is to replace the line with “Screwed the girls and made them cry.”]

When the boys came out to play.

[Not content with forced debauchery, Georgie Porgie expands his horizons and illustrates to his peers that he swings both ways.]

Georgie Porgie ran away.

[Again, by anticipating the furor over same-sex marriages, the nursery rhyme proves to be well ahead of its time. Instead of coming to terms with his polymorphously perverse nature or indeed atoning for his sins as a rampant rapist, Georgie Porgie decides to run away and return to his cave. The subconscious message being fed to children is that not only is it okay to “make girls cry,” but that one’s true deviant nature must be kept from the populace, ideally in an isolationist environment, much like the Catholics.]

A Welsh booklist has been considered too highbrow to be relevant. The Welsh have insisted that booklists aren’t for them. A spokesman for the Eisteddfod Preservation Society said that they’d rather spend all day complaining about the weather than caring about contemporary culture. “Besides,” said the spokesman. “We were telling stories long before Chaucer.”

T.C. Boyle has no hope whatsoever. Beyond that, there’s the question of why T.C. Boyle remains hit-or-miss with the literati. The Chronicle doesn’t get many answers, but they do get some quirky quotes from Boyle. His National Book Award-nominated novel, Drop City, hit paperback not long ago. He’s currently on tour. If you pick up this month’s Harper’s, you’ll find a Boyle story. There’s also another great story called “Chicxulub” (referenced in the Chronicle piece) in the March 1, 2004 New Yorker.

Meanwhile, NPR has some fun audio clips up of T.C. Boyle’s old band (including T.C. singing “I Put a Spell on You”).

If you haven’t read Boyle, and you’ve failed to perceive my mad gushing for the man, some good titles to start with are The Road to Wellville and World’s End.

Sara Paretsky has a new V.I. Warshawski novel out. (And I’m curious as to why everyone’s favorite mystery blogger has remained so silent on Paretsky, beyond an enigmatic high school connection which nobody need talk about.)

While Yardley dismisses Studs Lonigan, Roger Ebert, of all people, digs up an evening he spent in 1968 with James Farrell. There’s some interesting tidbits, including Farrell deliberately avoiding sleep so that he can write 20 hours at a stretch, four of Farrell’s novels burned in a fire (and thus unpublishable in the days before computers), and Farrell’s personally penned obituary. Even James Brown, having met Farrell early in his career, had to concede “the hardest working man in show business” title to Farrell after discovering his working habits. However, when Farrell died in 1979, the title was officially restored to Brown.

Intersting statistic: Michael Moore sold 1.1 million copies of Stupid White Men in Germany. Probably because the title of Bill O’Reilly’s latest book was mistakenly printed up as Are the Crazy American Conservatives Looking Out for You Now? Run Away! They Get Very Angry on Television!

The New Yorker: “[Christian historian Elaine] Pagels explained that the four gospel writers of the New Testament probably wrote between 70 and 100 A.D. These were the years following the Roman defeat of the Jews, which left the Temple and the center of Jerusalem in ruins. Acts of sedition by the Jews against their conquerors were met with swift execution. As a result, Pagels said, the Gospels, which were intended not as history but as preaching, as religious propaganda to win followers for the teachings of Christ, portrayed the conflict of the Passion as one between Jesus and the Jewish people, led by Caiaphas. And, though it was the Roman occupiers, under Pontius Pilate, who possessed ultimate political and judicial power in Judea, they are described in the Gospels�and, more starkly, in Gibson�s film–as relatively benign.”

Frank Rich: “Thus we see the gospel according to Mel. If you criticize his film and the Jew-baiting by which he promoted it, you are persecuting him � all the way to the bank. If he says that he wants you killed, he wants your intestines ‘on a stick’ and he wants to kill your dog � such was his fatwa against me in September � not only is there nothing personal about it but it’s an act of love. And that is indeed the message of his film. ‘The Passion’ is far more in love with putting Jesus’ intestines on a stick than with dramatizing his godly teachings, which are relegated to a few brief, cryptic flashbacks.”

The Washington Post: “The District school system is investigating allegations that a teacher at a Southeast elementary school showed sixth-grade students excerpts of the R-rated movie ‘The Passion of the Christ.'”

The Miami Herald: A man in Jacksonville sold out of all Passion-related merchandise.

Reuters: Passion still #1, moves past $200 million mark.