In the Tradition --

-- of how I've posted the first page of everything I finished, manuscript style, here's the first page of the first story I've written since March. Since I finished it this morning, I haven't had a chance to read it yet so I have no idea how it turned out.

It's called "Minor Theologians."

I Really Want to See This Movie:

It's called Were the World Mine. And it has singing, dancing, falsettos, and, from the looks of it, a lot of half naked boys.

Proposition 8: The Funny or Die Musical!

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

A Potential Way to Make "Twilight" Better:

Sad Day

ABC has offically not renewed any new episodes of the magnificant show, Pushing Daisies.

All right, we all know that the show was riding on the fence for this past season, considering more than a year passed since the season finale of season one and the premiere of season two; or that the ABC executives didn't advertise and promote the show through movies and billboards and relentless TV commercials; or that the writers' strike threw the piece into a conundrum. Yet there was still that distant, hopeful chance that the ABC executives would say, "We like this, there's a lot of acclaim and a built-in audience--" (Who, if they're like me, have been telling their friends to watch this show incessantly, and those people who didn't and I told you to, I'm ashamed of you) "-- we'll keep trying." If quality in the television world meant anything at all, this wouldn't happen, and the storylines would run their course until they were stale and unoriginal or until the creators thought that now would be a good time to stop them, when people didn't flock like mindless Communistic hordes to subpar medical dramas like Private Practice or Grey's Anatomy, which gain most of their audience not because they are well-developed and well-written shows but because the lead actors are incredibly attractive; or the consistant slew of crime dramas (though you could argue Pushing Daisies is a crime drama in itself, yet, unlike other shows on TV, it's so much more); and let's not forget anyone who thinks that Family Guy is something worth watching.

And ABC, in this case, is worse than FOX: FOX, at least when it came to regarding one of their biggest cult shows (Arrested Development), let it out for three seasons and tried to move it to so many different times to catch an audience (despite this being a primary reason it died).

Pushing Daisies was probably the most original, well-written, well-executed, wonderful to look at, full-character, spectacular show on television. The plots were interesting and the you cared about the people. There was humor and passion and depression and those heavy themes that do factor into fairy tales though you never see them on the surface levels. Sure, it could appeal to all ages, but the show worked because everyone cared about doing it.

Bryan Fuller has said that there will probably be a comic book series released to finish up the storylines (these might be the first comic books that I ever buy; I don't even own Watchmen, and wouldn't want to own Watchmen anyway) or that he might shop it around to other networks, or pitch it as a movie -- the show's more cinematic that Lost (also more interesting). And ABC hasn't said that it's "officially cancelled", though you know that's just to not get an armada of angry fans at their doorstep, making threats reminiscent of the time Marge Simpson rallied the people of Springfield to go against Itchy and Scratchy. So, of course, this comes off as patronizing, which might be even worse. I had heard Internet rumors that ABC would end the show at 13 episodes and then renew it for a third season, and as joyful as that sounds, it doesn't seem very logical.

So who's to blame for this? Well, obviously ABC for just moving their show to the backburner (it was off the air for two weeks so mindless drones could watch Dancing With the Stars results and the Country Music Awards), but that's too much of a cop-out. Really, it's you, the person who said, "Oh I'll get around to watching it sometime," after their friends who loyally watched it spoke highly and passionatley about the program; who decided that you'd rather watch something that didn't have any quality to it whatsoever, just so you don't have to think and can be carelessly entertained (sometime I'll talk about how I don't think entertainment has to make you feel like a vegetable). People should be ashamed of themselves.

This show should have been able to run its course, but it didn't and that's terrible.

Best TV on the Radio Song Ever

Pretty Much Fantastic:

From the sounds of it, they're going ahead with the Arrested Development movie. While Maxim may or may not be the most reputable source, Ron Howard's speaking pretty postively. Watch the video now:

Bands Worth Hearting

Hey, it's a video for The Deadly Syndrome, who are spectacular.

Off the Charts Homoeroticism

From Saturday Night Live. Are they meaningful, thought-out, and intense pieces of satire? No. Are they pretty hysterical and left me entertained? Why, yes.

Spiders Are Filling Out Tax Returns

Our Next President

President Obama. It's fantastic to say. (Right now.)

VOTE

It matters.

A Message from Moses

Candidate's Favorite Books:

Now, this is kinda important to me, but I'm always interested in what our leaders are reading. I feel that Obama's first choice is totally pandering, but the latter ones are honest and you can see a lot of his understanding of the world stemming from the novels.

Really, I'm not surprised at the McCain choices . . . I mean, Hemingway? The most goddamn masculine American author ever with a novel that's totally and completley about war war war. Personally, I don't much like Hemingway, and have put this argument forth many many times, that he's missing the humanity and complexity of Faulkner, the lyrcisim and poety of Fitzgerald, and the tragedy and immediacy of Steinbeck (I mean, Hemingway's all right, but he keeps getting all this attention that he doesn't deserve) and people have said, "Oh, you have to look underneath and between the lines to figure that out," which is silly since people are putting their interpretations and complications in themselves since it's hardly present and I'm going off on a tangent. Okay, I just wanted to say it makes sense McCain chose Hemingway, though, Senator, I'm pretty sure Robert Jordan is fighting the fascists not the communists (and not communistic fascists like Lenin or Castro, since Franco was all out right-right).

Alternative Covers

BookNinja recently had this, uh, contest to redesign book covers -- make them misleading and such -- so that they looked like cheap, trashy fiction. Here are some of my favorites (some of them are just inherently funny while others will tickle you have you read the novel):






Click on the BookNinja link to see the others.

Anti-Americans

The way I see it: the only people who are anti-American are the ones who don't go out there and vote.

Oh My Lord

I think this is funny.

What I Hate About TV

What I hate about TV is that you have to wait an entire week, after the plot has just gotten really intriguing, or the preview presents something that looks like it's going to be very very interesting, to watch it.

Case in point: Pushing Daisies, my favorite show right now and with each increasing episode becoming even better, for example, tonight being a very capabale balancing act of the drama (like last week's nun episode) w/r/t Emmerson Cod and his mother and his daughter, and that overly the top fantastic whimsy (like the circus episode), w/r/t the friend-escort company, which, of course, leaves me wanting more and realizing that there's a whole 'nother week before Ned's back.



So, come 7 o'clock next Wednesday, I'll be more than ecstatic but by 8'll be saying this exact same thing.

Okay--

--so I'm not doing a lot of actual "blog writing" lately, but, for the record, it's not like I have an actual focus with this thing, and then to talk about nothing yet to pretend you're talking about something strikes me as being a bit silly.

So I just want to share these two YouTube videos of Barack Obama at a charity dinner, roasting away and having a great day. (Best line: "Barack is actually Swahili for 'That one.'")

All Right...(?)

Old News Regarding a New Book

By now, any real fans would have heard this and, certainly, I've been aware of this rumor for quite some time already, but I just now felt like sharing it for no reason in particular (except that The Simpsons were cancelled tonight so that there could be some baseball), and maybe to build up some excitement, though, in the end, I don't think hardly anyone I actually know cares, because the only person I've met who has said they've actively read Pynchon is lying and full of shit. STILL!

The rumor is this: Thomas Pynchon, awe-inspiring, paranoia-inducing, attention-grabbing, totally fascinating author of Gravity's Rainbow, Mason & Dixon, and, most recently, Against the Day, is said to have a new one brewing, coming out, about to be exposed to us. I first heard about this through the literary message board that I frequent and recall being rather skeptical because, this is a man who had nearly 20 years between two books and his last came out in 2006, which wasn't as long ago as we all think.

I remember carrying Against the Day, which is 1100 pages in hardcover, around campus, along with the Norton Shakespeare, a factor that helped develop bicep muscles more than any iron-pumping I may or may not have undergone, and I really do like that book. Anyway, I wasn't expecting another Pynchon novel for a long long time.

But from the rumors, and some reporting on the LA Times, it appears that this is true, and we're getting a new Pynchon in August 2009 and I'm excited.

Let's not forget the projected new one from Gabriel Garcia Marquez later this year.

Sock This Silly Sixties Pop Songs

The Facts Are These:

Pushing Daisies is the best show on TV right now.

A Defense of Oprah:

It's not an unknown fact that Oprah has an entire evil empire of media at her disposal. She controls television and magazines and dictates suburban housewives more than almost any other person on this planet. Yes, her story is as awe-inspiring as one of those self-help books and her reach is far and despite all the problems I have with her, her interview style and the way she introduces people ("Lades and gentlemen, Cormac MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMCCARTHYYYY!"), I think that the only honest part of her conglomeration, the only thing whose impact is actually benefical and benevolent, is her book club.

I've been through classes where people go, "Oh man, she chose that book?" And, yes, some of her choices have been real stinkers. Like:

A Million Little Pieces by James Frey (which doesn't go with that whole creative nonfiction ethics thing as much as the fact that the book is terrible on all sorts of levels.)
The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen (literary masturbation)
A New World by Eckhart Tolle.
The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
A couple collected works by Bill Cosby.

But, on the other hand, she has chosen some of the most important, moving, beautiful, and challenging novels of the 20th/21st century, including:

One Hundred Years of Solitude
Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
As I Lay Dying
The Sound and the Fury
A Light in August by William Faulkner
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugendis
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison (actually, Oprah seems to be a major Morrison fan.)
East of Eden by John Steinbeck
Ana Karenina by Leo Tolsty (!)

See, the thing about Oprah is that quite a lot of people listen to her and all these books suddenly become huge. I mean, I saw Love in the Time of Cholera and The Road at gigantic chain stores where most of the people probably have never heard of Garcia Marquez or McCarthy previously. She helps these authors climb up the charts and -- and this is the important part -- she opens a wider world toward suburban housewives and middle aged women, her, you know, primary audience. And Josh Peck.

People are reading these books! To me, that seems more important than anything else. They are reading them, thinking about them, wondering how the themes or the voice or the delivery affects them, and then discussing them on the Internet. Even the people who say truly stupid things like, "Oh this book was so depressing that I didn't like it," on Amazon.com have at least thought about it a bit. We could get into an entire discussion of the purpose of literature and the movement of words, but I can't see how people can complain if these works, major works in many cases, reach out to more and more people.

A lot of the reaction against her reminds me of a lot of indie kids I know. You know the kind, who like a band simply because no one else likes them, or rather a few other people enjoy them but not a vast majority. Then, once the band gets big and known, through a TV commercial or quirky indie movie, they are automatically uncool. That just doesn't make sense to me. If you like something, you like it for however long you do, and the influence of others should not defer from that.

And books are so much more personal than almost any other form of media. Each and every person recieves their own pictures and images, their own views of the characters and interpretations of events. Even when they're read aloud, the interpretations are vastly different from person to person. You can share a book but you can't share the experience.

So yes, sometimes Oprah picks pieces that are overly melodramatic (Wally Lamb), are focused on incest and abuse, but I think its fantastic Faulkner, for a summer, recieved a larger readership; that people picked up a Russian family saga; or the Colombian portraits. It's unfair that many of these highly literate books should be regarded to college campuses and libraries when pure and true trash occupies many peoples' bookshelves.

Of course, I can see the problem with that people are only reading the books because Oprah has told them to. That they aren't going to discover them on their own and once they close the covers of Sound and the Fury, they're going to preorder the newest Dan Brown or Nicholas Sparks or Danielle Steele book, which means they won't appreciate it in the way that it should be appreciated, but maybe, just maybe, a few seek out other books by the authors, refine their literary tastes and become better readers. Or, if not that, that these books remain with them for many many years later. Images from Faulkner and Garcia Marquez and McCarthy and Morrison still reside with me years after I've read them.

Her latest choice is The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, which I read over the summer and it is very good. Yes, it has flaws, but it's a debut work and Wroblewski will need to figure out what works and what doesn't, but overall, it's very very good. I mean, Hamlet set in rural Wisoconsin mixed with a simple boy-and-his-dog story? That's a brilliant idea. And someday I think Wroblewski is going to write something very very good. Amazing, even.

Don't read it simply because Oprah suggestted it, but because it is just a very fine novel.

Grab Some Popcorn

You May Have Heard

On September 12th, David Foster Wallace hanged himself.

Very strange and very unexpected.

Despite his meager output, in terms of quantity because The Infinite Jest is 900 pages with over 150 pages of endnotes and his collected works weigh as much as the average American male, I haven't really dug deep into his bibliography, having only read a few essays and Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, he was definitley an author I wanted to read more of.

He was one of the authors that people hold up of the best writers of "this" generation and played tennis when he was younger (actually charting).

He was only 46.

Here's some articles/net eulogies:

http://www.newsweek.com/id/158935

http://www.salon.com/books/feature/2008/09/14/david_foster_wallace/

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/15/books/15kaku.html?em

http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,1841102,00.html

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=94609615

http://www.themillionsblog.com/2008/09/david-foster-wallace-1962-2008.html

McSweeney's, under the header and above the typical archival links, is completley blank.

Obviously, this is very affecting; he was a really fantastic writer.

Grandparent's Day

It's Grandparents' Day today, so in celebration, I thought I'd give them some attention.




Awesome people. And I swear to God, I'm not being sarcastic.

Can't Wait to See This:

Because it's, you know, for the kids.

Ezra Koenig is a Real Cutie

Awww.

CHANGE:

"America, we are better than the last 8 years."
--Barack Obama.

I Want to Read this Book:

I read her short story collection and though it gets bogged down in its own quirkiness and idiosyncricies towards the end, there's some delightful wordplay throughout and interesting characters. Here's another good one:

New TV on the Radio Record Coming Soon!

Being home for a couple months really threw me out of the loop (I've been saying this a lot) so I just found out about a week ago that there's a new TV on the Radio record coming out on September 23rd.

It's called Dear Science and I've only heard two songs thus far, both of which I like quite a bit, and one of which is streaming on tvontheradio.com ("Golden Age").

There seems to be far more of a '50s influence, but TV on the Radio have always been a doo-whop/trip-hop/experimental rock sort of band, so it's in their genre, though they seem to be a lot looser and having a lot more fun. A lot of their loops and hooks remind me of the first Menomena album, which draws me to the record further.

As with any TV on the Radio song, it takes a few listens to really get it, both songs I've heard thus far -- "Golden Age" and "Dancing Chose", which, after he stops this bizarre rap, is simply fantastic -- but I also think that that's the appeal of TV on the Radio: on your first listen you go, "What did I just listen to? I have no idea but it was awesome." And then gradually you realize there's something even more amazing than what you originally thought.

Dear Science, probably won't be Return to Cookie Mountain, or it might be better, I doubt it (I'll explain theories about growths of bands later, if I remember), but I'm definitley buying it come September 23rd.

tvontheradio.com

Incidentally, I hear Okkervil River's sequel to Stage Names is pretty good. And Of Montreal have a new one coming out soon, too.

A Great Interview

This week, Bookslut put out a really good interview with Chris Adrian, writer of The Children's Hospital, Gob's Grief, and A Better Angel. Adrian is, by far, hands down, one of the best writers working today, and I read Children's Hospital this summer and was so blown away that once this transfer comes through, I'm going to go and buy the hardcover McSweeneys edition.

I tried to order his short story collection when it came out in Springs, but that Barnes and Noble never delivered for some reason and I'm trying my luck again with this one in Fort Collins.

I guess in celebration of his short story collection being put out, Bookslut conducted this interview and the guy comes across as very humble and very funny. Here are some great moments:

Supernatural experiences are a big part of your fiction, but while there are other writers, like Kelly Link or Amiee Bender who use the supernatural or the fantastical as devices in their fiction, I don’t see you as part of that tradition. Do you?
Not so much, though I like those. Those are the types of writers that I think are interesting. I think all that stuff is neat. If there’s a magic pony in the story, chances are I’ll read it. I feel like I write about magic ponies a lot. Part of that is what keeps me interested, but also that I have a hard time telling the stories or, not so much the stories, but the sort of emotional transformations that occur to me, as possible and interesting to describe. I always have a much easier time with the help of a magic pony or a crabby angel or a ghost of a suicide or whatever.

The Children’s Hospital is a really big book. Was it longer when you started editing, or did it just keep getting larger?
Eli [Horowitz], the editor at McSweeney’s, and I cut out about four hundred manuscript pages. Almost none of it was stuff that happened on the hospital -- except for the big zombie scene.
I’m really, really upset that I’m never going to read the big zombie scene.

The zombie nurse attack.
That’s unbelievable. You’ll have to send it to me.
I tried to find it. When I was doing readings, I thought it would be more fun to read from the stuff that had been cut. But the zombie scene is now truly lost.
One day someone will find it in a trunk, like Emily Dickenson’s poems. The big zombie scene.

I like the sequence. I like ending with “Why Antichrist?”
The book was supposed to be called “Why Antichrist?” but they wouldn’t let me call it that. I wanted it to be a black cover with a little upside down white cross on it, but they seemed to think no one would buy it.

And then I’m doing a goofy kids book.
A kids book? That’s interesting. Is it already written?
I wrote one draft of it, and it got rejected from about, I guess, fourteen or fifteen children’s book publishers. The common refrain was, “What made you think this was suitable for children?”
That’s hilarious. So, have you found someone who does think it’s suitable for children?
No, but my editor at FSG is interested in seeing it. He heard a little bit about it and thought it sounded relatively neat, so I think he probably will say the same thing, but his being interested in it made me go back and look at it again. It’s fun to work on it anyway.

Incidentally, I don’t think of you as a gay writer, or someone who’s writing gay stories, but you’re clearly not in the closet either.
Someone looking hard enough at my books could probably find some stuff that makes sense in that way. But I never thought I warranted a cover with a shirtless guy with 3D nipples. That’s what seems to be on the cover of a lot of gay writers’ books. You get the shirtless 3D nipple cover.
Is it something you prefer people not mention?
No, it doesn’t matter.
Does your gayness go over at divinity school? Has it been an issue at all?
Everyone else is gay there too. Not really, but there are a lot of gay people there. It is decidedly not a problem. I’ve been lucky in that way. There are a lot of gay people in pediatrics too.
There’s this gay doctor who appears in your all of your books, Doctor Chandra…
Whose name…at one time you could rearrange the letters of his name to spell Chris Adrian.
I wondered how much of was a self-flagellating kind of thing. You’re always sort of bullying Dr. Chandra in your books.
I think of him getting bullied, not so much because he’s gay but because he’s incompetent. I guess it’s gratifying in some way to exaggerate that aspect of myself in a way that’s scary for the poor patients, I bet. I had a mom realize that I was the person who wrote that just as I was about to put a needle in her son’s back.

Really, it's a fantastic interview and you can read it all here. Then, go out and read The Children's Hospital or Gob's Grief, or A Better Angel, but I haven't read that one yet.

A Fantastic Premise

In one of my many excursions on the Internet, as well as a site I frequently frequent, I came across this short story. And the premise is just so spectacular I had to talk about it (I would have done so earlier but I'm on the computer a far less time at home than I am at school). In a nutshell:

We all know about how scientists say eventually parents might be able to control the genes of their children -- give them blue eyes, equistrian features, and on -- to build the perfect child. With that option and the idea that being gay is a genetic condition in the same vain as being left-handed or near-sighted, parents might be able to make sure that the gene which carries the homosexuality trait (sidenote: I do believe this, the genetic thing), would be able to be erased, thusly, not forcing their kids to undergo the persecution, prejudice, and intolerance that comes with being gay. Unfortunatly, the same gene that carries the homosexual strand is the same one that contains the artistic one -- now, it's not saying that all artists are gay or anything, but that's the same gene homosexuality happens to reside, whether or not it's dormant -- and after years of eradicating that gene, the world suddenly loses all of its art.

I dunno, I just thought that that was genius and though the story is a piece of erotica (so: not safe for work), it is a really neat idea in general. I'm not going to say thought-provoking or anything along those lines, but I like it a lot. The story itself doesn't do a lot with the idea except set up a place for two boys to get in heat, which they do, but you have to wonder how this would have gone over had it been presented in a different medium?

Best Record of the Year (So Far [In My Opinion])

Vampire Weekend!



The playlist I got is a little out of order but seriously, there's been no other record from 2008 that I can consistantly play and never get tired of as well as jump to any song I please and still not feel like I'm missing out.

Also the playlist has some songs that aren't actually on the album. You'll figure it out.

I hope I'm not contributing to these guys' eventual, probably inevitable sophomore slump.

My Youngest Brother's Heroes

Found out the other day my brothers heroes are Barack Obama and Hannah Montana.

I am not making this up.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom the Crystal Skull

Is a very good movie.

To the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

A lot of people saw this at midnight last night, but with being a person unable to stay up into the wee hours of the morning, I get to see it today at 9:45.

This is Indiana Jones, people!

Due Out:

A brand new Gabriel Garcia Marquez book.

This is really exciting, Garcia Marquez really changed my writing style and all that sort of stuff, gave me a new view of how I could approach writing things or reading literature or whatever. Apparently, it's due out towards the end of the year.

I'm going to buy it, even if it's the disappointing like Memories of My Melancholy Whores or Of Love and Other Demons. Because at least his exuberant prose style can carry some aspect of the narratives.

Follow this link to Guardian article announcement!

Though if it comes out later this year, it may get pitted against Roberto Bolano's supposed magnum opus, 2666. Whatever; I'll get both.

This is a Test of the Pitchfork.tv Broadcasting System

(This is a test it is only a test you can stand single file put your head between your legs you can stop drop and roll because this is only a test dig it.)

Dumb Laws

This commerical has been running fairly frequently lately and, I dunno, I think it's kind of silly. I mean, aren't there far more dangerous things than seatbelt-less drivers? Ooh, 50 kids died last year for not wearing seatbelts, but how many died from drunk drivers or were tasered by loose cops, bro?



And it's also difficult to take a commercial seriously where a grandmother runs over a bush on a lawn mower. Bet she was wearing her seatbelt though.

One of the Best Scenes Ever:

So it's May and very very soon Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull will be coming out. And we're going to prepare ourselves for it, together, as a community (of three people), and it's going to be fucking awesome because it's Indiana Jones, people. To start things off, here's one of the best scenes ever committed to film:



Loads more Indiana Jones things coming up when I think of them.

Fortune Cookies

Is it just me, or have fortune cookies got kinda lame? I mean, I love Panda Express and eat there all the time, but, goddammit, these cookies just aren't cool:

Do not hide your feelings: let others know where they stand.

You have a yearning for perfection.

An investment opportunity will be profitable for you.

A photo doesn't capture your charm.

Now, if anyone knows any fortunes that are cool (I dunno, something like "You will find love on Flag Day"), that actually tell fortunes, share 'em! Because it might be that I'm eating at Panda Express....

Still My Favorite Human Giant Skit

Before they made it to MTV, The Human Giant were big on the Internet and I discovered them when I first discovered Tapes 'n Tapes (they have a new album out called Walk It Off which is all right, though not as good as The Loon. I mean, with The Loon, you could play that thing loud. I mean, it was a record meant to be played at full volume: total unpretentious, unbridled rock and roll. And while this new one does provide a good listen, I guess it's kind of lacking the energy of the debut, which is sad). Clell Tickle was their marketing person and he's an indie marketing guru. If you watch, you'll see why.

For David Foster Wallace Fans:

Birthday

Today's the birthday of the bard Shakespeare
Strangely enough he died today as well
Today he also happened to bite dust
Cervantes too for that matter, oh man
Of all day's to die today would be it.

Anniversary:

On April 20th of my freshman year (2006?) I premiered the last movie that I made that was actually any decent. It was called Toilet Trained and Dumb; I kinda liked that one.

Ha!

New Dæmonomania Cover

I was just thinking about last night or this morning -- actually, I'd been thinking about it for quite sometime, constantly checking Amazon.com or the Overlook Press website, trying to find news of the latest edition of Dæmonomania, the third part of John Crowley's Ægypt cycle.

All four books of the cycle have been released so far: Ægypt (now The Solitudes), Love & Sleep, Dæmonomania, and Endless Things, all in different editions from different publishers. Overlook Press, this small independent publishing company who pretty much delivers what their name promises, have so far put out the first two books in the series, with the latter two coming out in May and September respectively. They are trying to make the books look like they belong together in a series (only time will tell if anyone ever puts all four books together in one massive omnibus; all together there are still much longer books: War & Peace, Against the Day, the Spanish edition of 2666, which is coming out this November, more on that later) and I'm all about that.

John Crowley is quite possibly the best living author in America; he ranks with the best living authors of the entire world; he'll probably be someone revered and studied decades from now. He's that good. He has magnificent prose, spectacular characters, relatable but still bizarreevents . . . pretty much anything you could ever ask for in a book. And in the end, it's all very human and beautiful and you go through wide ranges of emotions and all stuff. On top of all that, it's just fantastic writing.

If I had $100 at my disposal, I would've totally ordered the 25th anniversary edition of Little, Big, but I don't.

Anyway, to help clear up this sporadic entry, here's the cover of Dæmonomania, which I cannot wait to read. I hear it's the most hyper, energetic, and wild entry of the series, which would make sense, since the first book serves as an introduction, the set-up; book two is like a dream, lyrical and with everyone amazed at where they're at; so the third book would have to be when all hell breaks loose, and the final part brings up the conclusion.

Read the other books in the series. Or Little, Big, which is my favorite book right now (I'd say of all time but at this time last year that was One Hundred Years of Solitude, which I still find fantastic).

A Sex Scene I Once Wrote

Placing kisses down Isaac’s neck, his chest, his stomach, Skyler slowly descended down towards the button of his jeans and utilizing his teeth he was able to pull them open and down and he rubbed his face over the cloth of Isaac’s boxers who lifted his hips, dug his fingernails into his palms and strained strained strained while Skyler removed his underwear completely, presented one of the condoms, licked Isaac like a lollipop before he slid the condom on and before Isaac had a chance to do the same to him, Skyler had stripped off his own pants and put on his own condom and then Isaac felt the other boy’s weight on him and for awhile he couldn’t see anything but close-ups of Skyler, not only limited to his face, and even when Skyler did something to him that he couldn’t do at the same time, all he focused on was his partner, and on the radio the CD changed and Isaac grabbed Skyler’s head with him still in Skyler’s mouth as the CD player switched discs, then Iggy Pop’s “Some Weird Sin” came through the speakers and Isaac allowed him to resume and moments later Skyler was inside of him and at first it hurt really badly but then he was inside of Skyler and their bodies were soaked with sweat, Isaac’s Beatle-hair splattered against his forehead in long, wet strands stinging his eyes while Skyler’s shorter hair jutted out in points mimicking Gothic cathedrals and Isaac found out that he was, in fact, a moaner and many times Skyler had to envelop him with his mouth as they thrust and moved and sweated until at that last singular moment when the condoms were ripped away and the explosions followed, shaking their bodies, sending them into spasms, and they collapses into one another, gluing together into each other’s boy-milk….

Poetry:

As a voracious reader, it should be said that I'm horribly underread when it comes to poetry. Unlike with prose or fiction whose major limit is that there's just way too much to get to, I don't actively seek out poems. And it's not that I don't like them or anything -- some poems have loads to say and they say them magnificantly -- it's just that . . . and I'm trying to think of the best way to say this without coming off as a philistine . . . I don't actively seek them out. The reasons why this may be true probably run long and deep and through woods that I'm not about to explore in the blogosphere but mostly because they don't interest me, I suppose. Bad experiences with classes maybe? Too many terribly read poems from high school? The failure of my own poetry from the very first creative writing class I took o so long ago? I don't know. I'm trying to justify this and I already said I wouldn't.

The last poem (until these) I sought out was Pale Fire, which was a piece of huge metafiction, so it wasn't just a poem but a dissertation of a poem, a chase adventure, a gay romp through imaginary kingdoms, an exploration of envy and a man's mentality breaking down, and just a fascination with the written word. And the poem in that book might not have been all the important to the actual understanding of the book, you know?

Anyway, in class we read "Emergency" from Denis Johnson's Jesus' Son collection, which I read wrong the first time I read it (I didn't know if I should read them as a series of short stories or as a mix-up novel) and I was speaking to the professor about Johnson just in general, because it appears I'm the only one who's read other books by the guy. He told me the guy started off as a poet, which is why you get some fantastic lines in the prose (just because you're a poet initially doesn't suggest that's the only way to write fantastic lines of prose; look at: John Crowley, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Cormac McCarthy; we could go on), and suggested I look at The Incognito Lounge.

Which is a strangely compelling collection. Look at these:

THE CIRCLE

I passed a helicopter
crashed in the street today,
where stunned and suddenly grief-torn
passers-by tried to explain
over and over, a hundred ways, what
had happened. Some cried over the pilot,
others stole money from his wallet --
I heard the one responsible for his death
claiming the pilot didn't need it any more,
and whether he spoke of the pilot's
money or his life wasn't clear.
The scene had a subaqueous timbre
that I recognize now as a light
that shines in in the dreams I have when I sleep
on my back and wake up half-drowned.
However I tried to circumnavigate
the circus of fire and mourning --
the machine burst ajar like a bug,
the corpse a lunch pail
left open and silly music coming out --
I couldn't seem to find a way
that didn't lead straight to the heart of the trouble
and involve me forever in their grief.

THE INCOGNITO LOUNGE (final stanza)

Every bus ride is like this one,
in the back the same two uniformed boy scouts
de-pansting a little girl, up front
the woman whose mission is to tell the driver
over and over to shut up.
Maybe you permit yourself to find
it beautiful on the bus as it wafts
like a dirigible toward suburbia
over a continent of salons,
over the robot desert that now turns
purple and comes slowly through the dust.
This is the moment you'll seek
the words for over the imitation
and actual wood of successive
tabletops indefatigably,
when you watched a baby child
catch a bee against the tinted glass
and were married to a deep
comprehension and terror.

The other day I was at my show and just looking up stuff about Wilco. Jeff Tweedy in particular and much to my surprise, turns out the guy wrote a book of poems and, further to my surprise, our library carried it (Morgan Library is the best library in the world; maybe not but it's the best I've ever had a membership with). I grabbed it and read it and liked it, a little dismayed at first because the poems sometimes felt that they needed that musical arrangement to really beef them up (there's this guy who said that the people who would be poets in the '60s became rock musicians, i.e. John Lennon, Bob Dylan) but then I stumbled over this really fantastic one:

ANOTHER GREAT THING

the best way
to fell your blood
is to lie

tell bold ties
about books
(even better)
say
you write

listen,
lying won't help at all
unless,
you pick the right people

people who know
how to write and lie

o, and then the blood will pound
discoteque-esque
otherwise
it won't at all

Now, I've written song lyrics and yes I think that they can be poetic or whatever (look at Cloud Cult: "You can take it in stride/Or you can take it right between the eyes/Suck up/Suck up/Take your medicine"; "I shook hands with a man who honestly thought he was the Grandson of Jesus with a penchant for pinchies/He served us communion of cola and twinkies") but I also thinks there's a different rhythm that poetry in the epic general and song lyrics fall on and often times you get these really fantastic lines that are just missing something without that musical arrangement. And the Tweedy book kind of goes in and out of those kind of things.

So there's been the extent of my poetry reading lately and chances are I'm not going to really look for a lot more since I have some Flannery O'Connor, Cormac McCarthy, John Crowley, Roberto Bolano, E. L. Doctorow, David Foster Wallace, Denis Johnson, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Tim O'Brien, Steven Millhauser, William Shakespeare, Oakley Hall, Thomas Pynchon, Zadie Smith, Chris Adrian, Doris Lessing, Herman Melville, Richard Adams, Michael Chabon, and Christ knows how many more left to read.

Conan Smith

In my three years in Creative Writing classes I've had most of them with this kid named Conan Smith. The shortest way to describe him, I suppose, would have to be a socialist cowboy, and his stories -- very McCarthy in nature -- occur in the old West or the modern West, or just somewhere where violence is prevelant. Except for one, which was Kerouac in nature and wasn't that great, but I attribute that mostly to the Kerouac influence.

Like every writer in our age group, his stories are not devoid of weaknesses: cliches, contrivances, awkwardness, underdeveloped characters, missed opportunities . . . but one thing that shines out in all of the fiction I've read of his so far is just his prose style. Yes, sometimes he gets a little winded and overstates, or doesn't find the exact way he wants to say something, but when he gets it, he probably has the best prose styling of pretty much anyone in my classes.

Look at this paragraph:

He sat there on the hand quilted afghan that somone put a lot of time into. Its bright orange design jetting off in a few different directions, partially revealing a peace symbol. He glanced down and watcher her side move up and down slowly with each breath -- as he began to lose his. Such a flawless creature lying perfectly, such a beautiful set of Aegean Sea colored eyes and a well manicured complexion. Her long brown hair with bright highlights spilling over the pillow and blanket. He snuggled in next to her and nibbled her ear while exhaling his warm freshly brushed teeth into her ear. Her body shuddered and she rolled over. He pulled the pink and black sleeping patch off, revealing those bright evil eyes. She pulled him in for a kiss, no ordinary kiss but a kiss of love. She reached into his pants and pulled him out. They went at it for eight or ten minutes, with her turned around not facing him and only feeling his member and hand pulling her hair back as she let out brief cries of satisfaction. As he released himself into her he pulled her hair and held his other hand strong around her lumbar pressing in hard causing a spasm of muscular tension to release. She collasped on the bed and he leaned back. Her legs began to shake and twitch involuntarily and he rached to the back of her neck. He pulled her close, kissing her on the back and shoulders to distract her from the nervous tick.

The night sky was turning from a light shade of balck into a dark blue as the air became crisp and new.

Pages from My Previous Notebook

And it's okay if this world had a billion saviors, 'cause there's so many things to be saved.

--Craig Minowa

There Will Be Vader

Top 10 Lists

Everybody does them, and for some reason, people choose to do 10. Why not 8? Why not 5? Or 3? What's so special about 10? I guess it's just a nice round number.

Well, in an act of pure pretentious, pompousness, and anything else, here are my 10 favorite records and movies from the year 2007 . . . postdated by 3 months. Alas. Also, I'm bored at home and it's too cold outside to take the dog for a walk. Bummer.

MOVIES:
Ratatouille (this is actually my favorite of the year. For long moments I thought of No Country for Old Men and There WIll Be Blood, as they are the ones who recieved the most attention; but I feel -- like The Indredibles before it -- that there was no other movie so well put together, so satisfying, so heartwarming, funny, sad, hopeful, looking, and magical, yes magical! movie than Ratatouille. It's my number one.)
No Country for Old Men
There Will Be Blood
The Simpsons Movie (which stands as the movie I most watched in 2007.)
3:10 to Yuma
Juno
Hairspray
The Bourne Ultimatum
The Darjeeling Limited
Stardust

MUSIC:
The Meaning of 8 -- Cloud Cult
Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga -- Spoon
Friend and Foe -- Menomena
Sky Blue Sky -- Wilco
Person Pitch -- Panda Bear
In Rainbows -- Radiohead
The Ortolan -- The Deadly Syndrome
100 Days 100 Nights -- Sharon Jones and the Dap-King
Boxer -- The National
Sound of Silver -- LCD Soundsystem

And as for books, since that's what I'm mostly all about, here are the ten best reads I had, because I don't remember all the books that are strictly 2007 (not including any re-reads).

BOOKS:
Little, Big by John Crowley (best book ever.)
Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon (started in December of '06 and finished January '07.)
The Autumn of the Patriarch by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon
The Realm of Possibility by David Levithan
Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows by J. K. Rowling
The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznik
The Aleph and Other Stories by Jorge Luis Borges

All right, I'm done . . . for now!

100 Best Last Lines from Novels

The American Book Review recently published this list, which someone brought to my attention. If you can't infer from the title of this post, it's a ranking of 100 great last lines of books; something you don't always see. It's a pretty good list: strong, with a good mixture of good books. Not perfect (I mean, On the Road has been included -- screw you Kerouac -- and My Antonia and two Hemingway pieces), but really really good.

Some of my favorites, in order of their appearence:

4. …I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes. –James Joyce, Ulysses
(1922)


12. I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita. –Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita (1955)


15. Before reaching the final line, however, he had already understood that he would never leave that room, for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors (or mirages) would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth. –Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967; trans. Gregory Rabassa)


20. ‘I shall feel proud and satisfied to have been the first author to enjoy the full fruit of his writings, as I desired, because my only desire has been to make men hate those false, absurd histories in books of chivalry, which thanks to the exploits of my real Don Quixote are even now tottering, and without any doubt will soon tumble to the ground. Farewell.’ –Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote (1605, 1615; trans. John Rutherford)


25. It was the devious-cruising Rachel, that in her retracing search after her missing children, only found another orphan. –Herman Melville, Moby-Dick (1851)


31. Now everybody— –Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow (1973)


50. "Poor Grendel’s had an accident," I whisper. "So may you all." –John Gardner, Grendel (1971)

66. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing. –A. A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner (1928)


78. He never sleeps, the judge. He is dancing, dancing. He says that he will never die. –Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian (1985)


94. From the sky a swift Angel descends, an Angel with a golden helmet and green spurs, a flaming sword in his hand, an Angel escaped from the Indo-Hispanic altars of opulent hunger, from need overcome by sleep, from the coupling of opposites: body and soul, wakefulness and death, living and sleeping, remembering and desiring, imagining: the happy boy who reaches the sad land carries all this on his lips, he bears the memory of death, white and extinguished, like the flame that went out in his mother’s belly: for a swift, marvelous instant, the boy being born knows that this light of memory, wisdom, and death was an Angel and that this other Angel who flies from the navel of heaven with the sword in his hand is the fraternal enemy of the first: he is the Baroque Angel, with a sword in his hand and quetzal wings, and a serpent doublet, and a golden helmet, the Angel strikes, strikes the lips of the boy being born on the beach: the burning and painful sword strikes his lips and the boy forgets, he forgets everything forgets everything,
f
o
r
g
e
t
s
–Carlos Fuentes, Christopher Unborn (1987;
trans. Alfred MacAdam and Carlos Fuentes)

With the exception of the Fuentes entry (which was too cool not to post) I've read all those, as well as a good majority of those books on the list. Bragging rights all around.

I think it's interesting to think of last lines. So often there has been a lot of focus on the first line, on how that's what grabs the reader and keeps them reading your work; but the last line is just as important, because that's what stays with them.

Though of course, if the entire book sucks the last line isn't going to save anything -- I'm looking at you The Swimming-Pool Library.

So Cool:

You may have heard of the Take Away Show -- this French blog that features indie bands walking the streets of (usually) Paris, playing their songs. Architecture in Helsinki leads a conga line to "Like It or Not"; Final Fantasy -- aka Owen Pallett -- tries to make a running escape; Yeasayer perform a few numbers, between giggles, in the subway; Vampire Weekend takes a nice stroll into a cafe . . . it's really a great site and since I've really discovered it (I swear I've seen some of these videos on YouTube before), I'm addicted.

Just like since really finally giving Menomena the listen they deserve, I've become addicted to them, too. My stereo has been overtaken by the new Cloud Cult (which is amazing), Friend and Foe (which is also amazing), and Return to Cookie Mountain (which I guess you can infer is also amazing) and I think that's a really great treat for my stereo, you know? Well, Menomena did the video and they played in the alleyway but these kids started dancing and it's really worth checking out.



#62.3 - Menomena - Wet and Rusting
by lablogotheque

Wander over to the site; you won't find a better way to spend some time.

Is There Anything Jeff Tweedy Can't Do?

I mean, he can take the chaotic arrangement of "Spiders (Kidsmoke)", an outstanding song, and maybe it into this haunting acoustic piece:



And he knows how to work the crowd:



I've been listening to these guys since high school...I gotta get him into KCSU.

Quite Proud of Myself

On Friday I finished the first draft of my latest short story, called "Ojitos." I've been running through already, creating the typescript, and I think that it's all right. There's certainly some moments I'm proud of and others I'm just like, "What was I thinking when I wrote that?"

Every once in awhile someone will ask me what it's about and I tell them basically one of the characters and they go: "Oh, like that monster in Pan's Labyrinth?" And I go: "No, it's more like Minority Report." Which I hold as Steven Spielberg's strongest movie of his dark period, the one that started after Schindler's List and has continued on today (look at AI, War of the World, Saving Private Ryan, Munich, and The Lost World: Jurassic Park if you don't believe me). I love Minority Report, I don't think I've ever said that enough . . . I don't think you can say it enough. It's just so well-executed, such a great balance of ideas, character, story, and adventure.

Anyway, this is the scene in question:



This story is the first one I've ever written in first person. I mean ever. Well, I did first person plural once, but that doesn't count. I just hate the first narrator, I think it feels cheap, almost an easy way to handle things (at least I did). But writing this story was an uphill struggle and each page was written two or three times and God knows how many the typescript's going to get. At least I can say I did it and can no return to my detached third person narrator, where I can go on any tangent that I want, talk about anything that I feel like, and not always have to ask myself if the character would say that with each and every sentence. Screw that. And my third narrator is just a disembodied thing so take that.

Screw you first person. I hope you get cholera.

Oh, I also finished writing an essay, read the first half of this book called Tabloid Dreams, and workshopped a 34-page story. Been quite a productive weekend so far but I think the afternoon's shot because I want to go watch that movie now.

And More Importantly:

Happy birthday, Gabriel García Márquez!

If you haven't already, go out and buy and read these books:

Those are his three best and if you click on the covers, it should take you to some links.

So happy 81st birthday, Gabriel García Márquez; to a life of spectacular literature! Can't wait for more.

He's one of the writers who seriously changed my life.

This May've Made Star Wars Even Better:

You know: if it were done by Saul Bass:



And the special edition:

It's Out!

Cloud Cult put out the digital download of their new album today. I'm listening to it now. I'm diggin' it.

Jeff Tweedy is Increasingly Becoming More of One of My Heroes

These are from a year or so back, but who cares? Wait till about 1:10 into the video:



His explanation:



Then he talks about talking:



Then he messes up:



You could make a narrative out of these things.

Emo-o-mania!

Yesterday I was at Barnes and Noble, which has become a staple of my Saturdays, but I don't care (I actually bought something this time around: The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolano. Can't wait to read it). I came across this book called Dorm Porn -- there were actually two volumes of them and I looked at the second one because the kid was hotter; that shaggy hair and everything -- which was one of the most hysterical things I've read in awhile. It's basically the equivalent of those videos where a guy orders a pizza, then the delivery boy, who always is really attractive, shows up and the orderer can't find any cash to pay him with and the delivery boy says: "Well, you did order extra sausage," before they end up going at it on the steps or nearest couch, except in print. I also read a couple anthologies of Edward Gorey's work.

Has Hot Topic claimed Gorey yet? I know they have a hold on Tim Burton and even Invader Zim has fallen into them; but has Gorey been incorporated?

Whatever it is, Gothic-Victorian picture books are all that any kid ever needs!

The Gashlycrumb Tinies.

A Nabokovian Debackle

Thus far, I've only read three novels by Vladimir Nabokov. One was a piece of absolute genius (Pale Fire), one was pretty good (Lolita) and one I didn't care for as much (Pnin). I'm still going to get through Ada one of these days -- in all likelihood sometime in the next coming year (yet I did read three Pynchon books within months of each other and it's been about a year since I finished Against the Day and have finally started pursuing Mason & Dixon). I do like Nabokov, though sometimes it's difficult to remember that you have to absorb his novels slowly, like you would for a Pynchon or a John Crowley (whose better than any of them), because they're about 300 pages or so for the most part and you get that momentum of flipping through the pages. Anyway: he's worth checking out.

Which brings up this point: apparently before he died, oh so many years ago, he was working on another novel and had gotten someway into the first draft-- which he wrote on lined index cards, a craft he gave to John Shade -- when he kicked the bucket. He instructed his son not to publish the novel, to burn it; it was far from finished, written out on only 50 index cards, which apparently makes up about 30 manuscript pages, and I suppose he didn't think it was strong enough to carry the Nabokov label. As it turns out, his son did not burn the draft but he didn't publish it either, keeping those notebook cards under safe keeping someplace or another. Now he's debating about whether or not it's time to allow us, the reading masses, to see the novel.

Slate recently ran a couple pieces concerning the piece, which you should read right now (this isn't a non-profit radio station; the FCC isn't watching me, I can call to action as much as I want):

The Last Work of Vladimir Nabokov Part I

The Last Work of Vladimir Nabokov Part II

Both links provide plenty of other links to other parts of the site, of other opinions, and whatnot, that could very well keep you glued here for hours. They are worth checking out, as well.

The novel itself does sound interesting, according to these articles, and I bet there are plenty of people out there who would jump at the chance of reading it, as unfinished, incomplete, or unputtogether (I made that last one up) it is. The whole story surronding the debackle is ripe for a story of its own, and Rosenbaum numerous times compares it to Hamlet. Which, if you read the article, you'll find it makes more sense.

I read both Stoppard and Banville's responses to the first article and they both make interesting points. Till when do we respect the wishes of the artist about his work? When an artist releases his or her piece, it's out of their hands, up for interpretation from anybody despite what the artist initially intends. Sure, their ideas could influence how people think of their work, but once it's gone, it's gone. So, doesn't it make sense that an artist, of any medium, really, should have enough time to perfect it to the best of their ability before it's released?

Then again, many of us readers are hard-core readers, and often times when you find someone you like, you want to read everything they've written, no matter how long it takes (I only have one more Gabriel Garcia Marquez book to read before getting through his completed works). And even the lesser work of a great writer is still better than the best work of an average or mediocre one.

On top of that, without people who have been instructed to destroy manuscripts before they were released we wouldn't have most of Franz Kafka's works, This Side of Paradise, or works by Truman Capote, Mark Twain, Balzac, and Marlowe. Yet that poses another problem: the responsibilty of it all. Though Frank Herbert's dead, there've been a great deal of Dune books based off the notes he left, and the same thing's going for that Wheel of Time serires. Both of which are absolutley dreadful and I wouldn't cry if they were lost in the labyrinth of time. Then you have Tolkien's son. The publication of The Silmarillion was understandable but the man pretty much whored out all of his father's works. We keep getting them and they're all terrible. I mean, even if I'm not as big a fan of Lord of the Rings as I used to be (great setting; not-so-great characters), don't you think there needs to be some level of respect?

As for this issue: I'm not going to put my allegiance to one group or another just yet (I mean, this isn't Barak Obama/Hilary Clinton decisions; this is far more important). I will say that I will be really disappointed if those 30 cards meet the flames -- and I'll get over it -- but if the book comes out, I'll definitley read it.

Another Cloud Cult Song

Based off these two songs I've gotten, the new album is going to be great.

http://www.mediafire.com/?0lmel0sjzfm

New Cloud Cult Song!

Imagine coming home from classes, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwhiches before going off to work on the radio, and finding a new CLOUD CULT song! It makes for one splendid Friday midday.

Irony:

I was talking about it the other day to a friend: I'm really private when it comes to music. Sure, I'll share it with anyone, but I don't listen to it with groups of people. I like having it for myself, experiencing it by myself; and somehow, sitting in a room listening to a music with a group of people just doesn't appeal to me. Nor does playing video games or watching me. I'm a very solitary person I suppose. What makes the whole music thing more hilarious is that I'm a DJ. Though that's the whole sharing thing again. I'm playing the music, but not actually listening to it with anybody, trapped in the basement of the LSC, all alone with that soundboard.

Weird.

Also weird: I'm writing my first story ever in first person. I usually hate using it, it feels a cheap way to make you associate with the character and I'm all about keeping psychic distance, but right now it's a really interesting experience. Testing it out, seeing what I can do with it. Which is what I use short stories for: experimenting with literary methods (that almost sounds sexual -- and you know what? it is). I can go back to anyone of the short stories I've written, as craptastic as they may be, and tell you what I was trying to do. I'd list them now, but without having read them, it wouldn't make much sense would it?

To the Church of the Red Cave

Something about this song almost makes me cry. I can't explain it.

Note:

So: in the new Indiana Jones trailer, there's a bit that looks a little computer-touched, if you know what I mean. It's maybe a minute in, right after Dr. Jones is first officialy introduced -- the thing people on the IMDB boards are calling Ray Winstones's CGI pants extravaganze. What happened, to explain it all, is that the MPAA told Paramount and Spielberg that having guns that close in the frame wasn't appropriate for all audiences, never mind the shootouts, car crashes, punches, gun cockings, explosions, and imitiable dangerous actions that follow afterwards. In the international version the weapons are intact and also the American flag has been 86ed.

Strage.

Why are the MPAA still around? What's it going to take to bring them down? Come on, filmmakers, someone out there has to have the power of Radiohead and say "Screw you" to the bigwigs. The MPAA itself, which treats us as mentally challenged children -- us! usually intelligent, grounded people -- doesn't seem like it should be that difficult to bring down; already it's too loose in its construction, barely holding together any respect or acknowledgement anymore. You don't need This Film is Not Yet Rated to tell you that (though it is interesting).

Funny how something created to protect artists from censorship became the biggest black-blocker there ever could be . . . oh wait, no it isn't. It was inevitable.

Oh My God, oh My God, oh My GOD!

Screw Batman and Speed Racer and Harry Potter and Hellboy and pretty much anything else that's coming out this year. You wanna know why? That's right: it's the latest installment of Indiana Jones!

Now you know what? Raiders of the Lost Ark may be my favorite movie. I don't think it's one of the greatest movies of all time, or that it should be held in regards with others: it is the greatest. That movie has everything that movies were invented for: fun, adventure, hilarity, thought-provoking questions, which can get bundled down, as well as a hero who is just plain lucky and unlike the lower level French professor who is just one lesson ahead of the students, you're right in line with this course of thinking. It's brilliant filmmaking and I've watched that movie so many times...but still get all invested into the story.

So the trailer for the new installment was released today: I cannot wait to see it. And you shouldn't either.

Found It!

It's the version of "Brazil" featured in the film of the same title. Can't tell you how long I've been looking for this.

Things You can Apparently do with Guitar Hero II

So someone manipulated Guitar Hero to play Buddy Rich's "Channel One Suite," which may be my favorite jazz song of all time. I remember I played it when in my high school jazz band and it probably stands as the most difficult song I've ever attempted. The first time I got through it completley, with the least amount of screwing up, was probably one of the best days of my entire musical career. There's about seventeen different time changes and tempo variations, and once you nab down the sequence of notes (I'm speaking of the real ones here) you have to then keep the rhythms going, which, as I mentioned, tend to fluxuate at their own whim. Once played together it sounds amazing, spectacular, and just plain ole awesome. Our group only did it once live and it was all right -- there were better verions in rehearsal -- because most people didn't care about the music, which was sad. I worked on that song so much I still have a lot of it memorized.

However, I still think it's more impressive if you can play the song for real, but this is fun to watch, though he does cut out the drum solo. What's with that?


Incidentally, does anyone know how to make YouTube not suck with Blogger? I can't post both videos. Lame. Anyway, scroll down to see both videos.

Guitar Hero- Channel One Suite part 1

Guitar Hero- Channel One Suite part 2

I've Finished

Finished the first draft of my novella, "The Fabulous Destiny of Theo Urata". Here's a preview of what it looks like right now:

There's 35 pages written like that. Soon enought it'll all be typewritten and everything.