Here's a grimly funny, bleak article about the latest M.L.A. convention.

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Well, sort of. He's just not renewing his contract as a staff artist. Big whup, you might say--the interesting thing is the reason he gave. "I find as much fault with David Remnick's New Yorker as I do with American media in general. It's insanely timid."



Couldn't have said it better myself--it's one thing for such a statement to drop from the mouth of a blogger, but it's nice to know that somebody else notices, too. Here's hoping Spiegelman will find a more appropriate venue, wherever that may be.

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Friend Diana Lutz forwarded me this link, a song parody lamenting Windows 95. Out-of-date, but I thought it was excellent for its type…



Also, in its rather morbid "If You Aren't Depressed Enough Already, Guess Who Died This Year" roundup in the Magazine, the NY Times had an excellent overview and appreciation of Spike Milligan.

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A wire story reports that Russian authorities are investigating whether the Harry Potter books incite religious hatred. What humbug--intolerant religions cause religious hatred. (What's Russia for "duh"?)



Hope everybody's Xmas was merry and brite.

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More powerful than any nuclear bomb…



Happy Holidays, everybody. Hope your stockings are full!

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As some of you know, I'm a huge fan of the Beatles, so after Kate passed this along, I had to post it. Cheeky, unfair, but by gosh, not exactly wrong, either: Slate's David Samuels carves up the post-Beatles output of Lennon, McCartney, and Harrison.

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This week's Chicago Reader has a 16-page pullout cartoon section; if this is what alternative comics are about these days, count me out. Self-absorbed would be putting it kindly. (At least I limit that side of my personality to a blog! Poor you.) Worse yet, they're boring. Since when were alternative comics BORING?



Let's look back to what started this whole thing: Kurtzman's MAD, Eisner's Spirit, and the first wave of underground comix (ca. 1965-75). What do all these things have in common? They entertain. They want to connect with and please a wide audience. MAD's whole reason for being was to make you laugh; The Spirit was a classic detective comic; and the undergrounds mined that most perennial of topics, sex, in a grubby, gripping way.



Then comes Maus, right? Comics as art form, right? Well, I hate to say it, but it seems that the more respectable comics become, the more boring they get. Maus succeeded because its subject matter was extreme--fascinating and horrific; a weekend spent fighting with your parents is not. (In fact, if you've ever seen one of Spiegelman's early treatments of the material that became Maus, he places it within the context of his relationship with his mother. Not nearly as successful, in my view.) Call me callous, but I don't care about three tumultuous (but not particuarly essential) days in your life; I don't have time for slight whimsy; I don't care about your facile political observations.



In my experience, artists who truly have a talent for storytelling are rare. Just as writers who have a talent for drawing are. And yet there's this bizarre auteur theory present in comics which produces reams of great, interesting art in the service of stories that make you go, "feh."



Everybody who picks up a pen--to write or draw--should ask themselves, "Do I really have anything to say? Has what I want to say been said better, before? Do I really bring anything new to our communication-choked world?"



Of course there's a powerful incentive to say "Yes!" to all of these. And God knows I've pumped out enough less-than-memorable stuff in my own short career. But God, is there no end to all the quiet, head-bound, self-absorbed, slightly depressed, trivia-obsessed comics out there? It's better to tell dirty jokes than be boring, isn't it? Are alternative comics now as bland and conventional as alternative music? If so, what a shame.

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Neal Pollack's spoof Best Books of the Year is funny. If you're me. Which I am.

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Someone's tax dollars at work: What do politicians do at summits? Call hookers, apparently.



The New York Observer has a mildly funny roundup of the year in magazines running. Only click if you know--and care--who people like Bonnie Fuller and John Huey are.

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The book continues to stagger 'em in the UK, lowering the tone of Christmas stockings from London to Land's End, Exeter to Aberdeen. The people at the publishing house are starting to get giddy, so if any of you know anybody there, now's a pretty good time to borrow five pounds with no intention of ever paying it back.



Reviews of "The Two Towers" are coming in. Here's the New York Times. Feel free to opine, blog-mates.

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...quoth Mike Sloan, who found a site with fan-fic about Pong. Here are some of the titles he passed along:

"Boop Boop

The White Mass

Pong: A Ball’s Revolt

Pong: The Great Adventure

The Epic Tale of the Pong Warrior and Little Jimmy

Enter the PONG

Pong: The Legacy

Pong: The Everlasting Legacy

Pong: Where Are They Now?

Game Over"



The range of human creativity is staggering. And frightening.

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There's a really cool 17th century Chinese house at the Peabody Essex Museum in Massachusetts, and a really cool website about it, which wasted most of my morning.



Also self-described "Trottermaniac" Simon S. just sent me this spoof poster he made, using elements of the various covers of BT. I thought it was very funny, and since Simon didn't provide a title, I think I'll call it "From His PC to God's Ears."

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There's a great article on Barry Trotter by the Reuters wire service this morning.



Also, a friend of my wife, Ali Davis, does a funny blog about her day job as a clerk at a porn store.

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After the Globe and Mail column earlier talking about how people don't read as much as they used to, or ought to, and the guilt which attends that, here's a thoughtful response. The verdict: it's not our minds that are going mushy, but the books themselves.

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The LA Weekly slams it; I was going to link to it on the National Lampoon web site, but every time I tried to load the page, my browser (IE 5.1 for Mac) crashed, and something tried to download. So beware.



Anyway, maybe now is not the time to make a lot of jokes about the Jewishness of Hollywood, so perhaps the parody's a victim of timing. Better luck next time, guys.

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Check this out, forwarded to me by Randy Mack.

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Mike Sloan sent me a poem he wrote this morning, which I liked. "It's only a rough draft," the ever-modest Mike writes, but I like it just the same.



"The Writer’s Desk



I sit somewhere with a mug and photographs

And I wear sandals.

On the worst of mornings,

I just scratch my head.



I like a cushion on my chair –

Sometimes A Tale of Two Cities.

I stare at photographs

And am mindful of my dog, who notices everything.



I stay close to my bed

And remain suspicious of language.

I vacuum

And watch movies.



I get telephone calls

And dinner.

I take the glasses off my head

And brush my teeth.



When I was in high school,

I wrote for twenty-four hours.

Today, it’s three

And I’m asleep."



Also: adding to yesterday's post about Doonesbury, Rob Schlaff wrote to say that the entire run of the comic strip is archived at www.doonesbury.com.

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National Lampoon, in an effort to "rejuvenate its brand," has created a 16-page parody of The Hollywood Reporter and sent it to 4,000 industry people. The joke quoted in this wire story is particularly tired and hacky, but reporters have a sixth sense for doing that--personal experience talking--so hope springs eternal. Has anybody out there seen it?



Here's some free advice, NatLamp, on how to "rejuvenate your brand."

1) Stop saying things like "rejuvenate our brand." The public doesn't care about your strategies, and its inappropriate for a company of your history and mission to sound like AOL/TimeWarner.

2) Stop slapping the NatLamp name on crappy stuff for a quick buck. You've used up the credit "Animal House" and "Vacation" gave you. It's time to do it for real again.

3) Follow MAD's lead and reprint all the good stuff from the past, so that even if the current stuff isn't as good, you'll get reflected glory. A 12 year old doesn't know Kurtzman's dead, and he won't know that Doug Kenney is, either. (Witness Bored of the Rings' success in the UK.) Additionally, resist the urge to edit, add, and otherwise meddle with the old stuff. You won't make it any funnier, but you could make it less funny.

4) Your brand is only as strong as your material. That means that the future of your company depends on excellent comedy, and nothing else; not an IPO, not market positioning, not any of that crap. The best--the only--thing an executive can do to make this happen is hire good people, pay them decently, and give them as much freedom as possible. So go find good young comedy writers--not people lurking around the sitcom demimonde who will work for cheap--put them together in a room with plenty of coffee for a year, and see what happens.



Good luck--I'm pulling for you!

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...with Neal Pollack in Bookslut. I like his attitude, but the more passionate--and specific--he gets, the more inconsistent he seems. I won't try to simplify it here; read it yourself if you're interested.

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Barry Trotter and the Shameless Parody continues its merciless romp on the bestseller lists--in this Sunday's London Times, it will be listed at Number TWO! Thank you, England, Scotland, and Wales (and possibly the Channel Islands) for making my mom so happy.



Here's an interesting snippet about fellow Yale Record alum G. B. Trudeau's appearance on UpClose, which I missed unfortunately. I'd like to ask everybody--Doonesbury hasn't been in my newspaper for years, so I don't read it--but is it just as good as ever, or has it slipped?

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Here's an interesting, if exhaustive, article in the Toronto Globe and Mail about losing the habit of reading.



And, courtesy of "Trottermaniac" (his word) Simon, here's the hysterical, surreal Babelfish translation of the Japanese edition's home page.



Chicagoans! I'm doing a book-signing at 12:00 pm (note time change) this Wednesday, at Brent Books, 309 West Washington St. Mention this blog and I'll give you a dime.

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Note that broomstick=penis jokes are truly universal.

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Jon Schwarz writes: "Did you know that George Bernard Shaw said, 'When a thing is funny, search it for a hidden truth'? That old randy Englishman was right." I have nothing to add except: "When a thing is said by an old randy Englishman, suspect it to be right."

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In case anybody runs it down, Japanese tentacle porn apparently has a long history. The link goes to a rather wry catalog description of an item from the 1760s being auctioned. They're as smart as housecats, you know.

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...and here's an interesting profile of Harry Shearer.

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"Put this link on your blog: http://www.fox.com/firefly/watchit/



I will point out that it's in your best interests to keep Firefly on the air because it's one of the only things standing between you and a wife who has no choice but to watch "24" every week. Don't fancy a lifetime of Tuesdays filled with puerile plotting, ridiculous dialogue and stagant character development? You know what to do."



I almost didn't open the email because, as Kate admitted, the subject line "Do your wife a favor..." sounds like a penis-enlargement spam. And those just bring up bad memories...I was young, it was Mexico, and "Boogie Nights" made a career in porno so damn attractive...

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Friend-of-a-friend Mary Jacobi writes, after translating that Japanese web-review of Barry Trotter and the Whatever-They're-Calling-It-In-Japan: "Oh the people in Japan like it a lot, some of them read it on the bus, others read it tateyomi (standing and reading in bkstore) Japan's national pastime, and they all said that it was omoshiroi (funny, interesting) and they laughed (warai) a lot!" Of course I'm very pleased--I have always considered myself a humble soldier in the service of omoshiroi.

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An interesting article on Bill Maher's new book. He says all the right things, but I still wouldn't want him to marry my sister…As a producer of American entertainment, I am pleased with the results of a poll documenting the world's attitudes toward America…Good books often don't sell, says a new report; goes on to say that Pope is often Catholic…Finally, I pass along this casual by Ed Park on the new movie "Adaptation."

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The annual winner of the Bad Sex in Fiction award has been announced. The author, Wendy Perriam, told Reuters, "I'm stunned, because this is a book about bunions, panic attacks, and abuses in old people's homes...about three of the most unsexy topics you can imagine."

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Editor Simon tells me that ol' Barry will be listed at #3 this Sunday in the London Times list. You could cut the flabbergastion here with a knife!



Also: Potter fans will be interested by this article detailing the problems facing the movie series. I found it rather depressing.

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There's a new Strong Bad email. Also, magazine junkies might enjoy Peter Carlson's review of two magazine articles about magazines here.

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Anybody with a ghoulish turn of mind should check out this interesting "solution" to the infamous Black Dahlia murder case. The evidence is convincing--it would be more so if it wasn't cloaked in pseudo-Chandler gobbeldy-gook--but as with Jack the Ripper, so much time has passed that any solution is encased in quotes. (Until the LAPD comes clean about it?) Why doesn't somebody do the JFK assassination up right, web-wise? You'd think with all the researchers…Anyway, there are some gory images here, so be warned...

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Jody Schwarz, the irrepressible mother of my writing partner Jon Schwarz, sent me this witty ditty, which I pass along.



(Sung to the tune of "If You're Happy And You Know It Clap Your Hands")



If we cannot find Osama, bomb Iraq.

If the markets hurt your Mama, bomb Iraq.

If the terrorists are Saudi

And the bank takes back your Audi

And the TV shows are bawdy,

Bomb Iraq.



If the corporate scandals growin', bomb Iraq.

And your ties to them are showin', bomb Iraq.

If the smoking gun ain't smokin'

We don't care, and we're not jokin'.

That Saddam will soon be croakin',

Bomb Iraq.



Even if we have no allies, bomb Iraq.

From the sand dunes to the valleys, bomb Iraq.

So to hell with the inspections;

Let's look tough for the elections,

Close your mind and take directions,

Bomb Iraq.



While the globe is slowly warming, bomb Iraq.

Yay! the clouds of war are storming, bomb Iraq.

If the ozone hole is growing,

Some things we prefer not knowing.

(Though our ignorance is showing),

Bomb Iraq.



So here's one for dear old daddy, bomb Iraq,

From his favorite little laddy, bomb Iraq.

Saying no would look like treason.

It's the Hussein hunting season.

Even if we have no reason,

Bomb Iraq.

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I have discovered a site that apparently has reviewed my book, but since I don't speak Japanese, have no idea what the reviewer says. Could some kind person out there help me? A quick synopsis would be sufficient...

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Jon pointed me to this new Sandy Frazier piece in The New Yorker. More a flavor on the tongue than a straight humor piece, but still excellent in its way. He's an interesting, interesting writer.

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My UK publisher has just informed me that we've broken 100,000 copies over there! And mark my words: as long as the flabbergasting success continues, so will the human sacrifices. Don't prattle to me of your petty morality!



If you're a veteran of a college newspaper--as both my wife and I am--you might enjoy this opinion on the state of the art.

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Friend Toby Young (author of "How to Lose Friends and Alienate People") has an interesting piece in The Spectator. If your interest is sufficiently piqued, his site is here.

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For those of you stuck at work, there's always Something Awful's Photoshop Phriday. This week's topic is "rejected software." The first few pages are a bit IT for me, but it warms up.

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Some Canadian spiders lose their minds.

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Talk of sodomized nuns touched a nerve with at least one reader. A. Bourguilleau writes to say:



"Yes Michael, these kind of things happen in France. some nuns get sodomised on cathedrals (and sometimes in cathedrals, but that's another story). You might be interrested to hear that a lot of obscene scuptures and painting used to decorate holy places in Western Europe during the Middle Ages, not to mention the famous "danse macabre", showing skeletons, demons and (usually) nude women dancing altogether in some very interesting postures sometimes.... Lots of these paintings were destroyed by the Renaissance clergy who found them very unholy (the poor idiots! now their churches are empty and they keep on wondering why!).



So if you want to settle in a country where the religion and the state are separated (there is no 'In God We Trust' on our banknotes nor in our constitution, we're grown persons, remember!) and where nuns have some earthly delights, feel free, but beware. You might become [viscerally opposed to the Bush Adminstration] in a few months. French people are contagious, specially if you drink with them."



To which I say: if loving jazz and eating well and a history of innovation in the field of kissing are contagious, I don't wanna be well. If I could just figure out how to say, "The slightest bit of butter, cheese, cream or any other milky substance makes me violently ill," Kate would put us on a plane vite vite.

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Here in the U.S., it's Thanksgiving. For the rest of you, here's some lesbian pornography.

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Friend Garry Goodrow sent me this poem, which I liked a lot. If you pass it along, please attribute it to him.



NOTHANKSGIVING



No thanks to Rumsfeld, Cheney, Perle,

(and Condoleeza, that oily girl,)

nor to Ashcroft and his team,

the ayatollahs of the new regime.



No thanks to William Rehnquist and his clique,

who think democracy is past its peak

and must be dumped in history’s dustbin

along with socialism, unions, sin,

and other mistakes of hoi polloi —

like fairness, honesty and joy.



No thanks to those others, what is more,

Republocrats like Lieberman and Gore,

who see elections only as a test

of which cheap slogan will serve them the best.



No thanks to our indentured press as well,

who would describe a trip to hell

in terms of the best route for drivers

if that would please their advertisers.



No thanks at last to all those folks

who can be pacified with jokes

about Saddam Hussein’s moustache

while “Christian” hustlers steal their cash.



(Come Thursday evening’s indigestion,

“Who to thank?” will be the question.)



You can email Garry, if so moved.

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My wife Kate is constantly lobbying for us to move to France, which would result in a speedy death-by-dairy for yours truly. However, I read something today that may make me reconsider. An article about a flap over a poster for a jazz concert ends thusly: "He recalled that a gargoyle on the nearby cathedral of Villefranche-sur-Saone represents an imp sodomising a nun."



Now every nation has that kind of stuff. But I really admire a country easy going enough to put it ON A CATHEDRAL. Who was building that thing? Abbot Al Goldstein? Hospitals have statues of doctors and nurses,, engaging in frottage; military bases sport s&m themed frescoes...Chalk up another convert to the land where underwearless dancing was born!

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Moving on, there's a new parody of "Animal Farm" out, with a supposed anti-capitalist bent...Is book publishing "a field that the rest of our culture has begun to regard with the quaint benevolence one feels toward children and old pets"? I would say no, I like my old dog Lucy much more than that, but here's an interesting perspective on the National Book Awards...Speaking of, if you missed Michael Kinsley's breathtakingly obnoxious piece about voting as a judge for those awards without actually reading many of the books, here it is. The only good thing about Kinsley is that you can make fun of him, but the worst thing about him is that it's so easy. What a creep...Finally, sources say The New Yorker will post a profit of $1 million this year, reducing their total deficit under Newhouse to $214 million.

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Check out this site's list of the 100 Best Albums of the 80s, and I bet you'll waste 30 minutes like I just did.

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England's annual prize for Bad Sex in Literature is about to be awarded. Here's an article, along with one of the entries, which, needless to say, is awful.



My friend Dan sent me this bit of interesting clap-trap: a Weekly Standard writer pens a paean to Star Wars' Empire.

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No--I can't even comment. Read this story from The Sun at your own risk. You better not be eating anything.

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A Swedish scientist is claiming that talking to yourself--in funny voices, no less--is good for you. Now I know why I only get one cold a year.



I'm doing a reading--or in my case, a mumbling--tonight; After-Words Books, 23 E. Illinois St. It will also be simulcast via satellite hookup at Wembley, Japan's Budokan, and Madison Square Garden.

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...is proving much more pleasant than Mao's. Editor Simon revealed today that my mongrel will be at #7 in the London Sunday Times list this Sunday. Yowsa!



While emceeing the National Book Awards, Steve Martin got off a good line or two. While presenting a Lifetime Achievement Award to Phillip Roth, he quipped, "If he's so great, where's his Golden Globe, his Emmy, his house's layout in In Style magazine? And if he's so great, where’s his hit sitcom, `Philip'?"



Tomorrow to uh, celebrate the 39th anniversary of JFK's assassination, NPR will air new recordings that were sent to Kennedy's cabinet that day, as they were en route to a conference in Japan. It's must listening for Oliver Stone, and myself. Did you ever hear what the CIA said when confronted with the fact that an agent named "George Bush" was in Dallas that day? "That's a lie!...Okay, it's not! But it was a different George Bush!"



If something happens to me on the way to my reading, IT WAS NO ACCIDENT.

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People at Chicago's After-Words Bookstore (23 E. Illinois St) have extremely unwisely asked me to do a reading at their store this Friday, Nov. 22nd at 8pm. So anybody in the area who would like to endure two hours of mumbled punchlines and half-bemused muttering, shouldn't miss it! In more Barry news, it continues to sell like crack in Britain. In a show of solidarity Kate and I have been eating a lot of bangers and mash...



Recently opened medical records reveal that JFK was an utter wreck…Fans of the Sub-Mariner (and who isn't?) check out this site…There's a new Strong Bad email introducing his website…



And finally, this is GREAT: a piece Jon and I wrote for the Village Voice this Spring, "Why the ____s Hate the ____s," has been circulating the 'net like crazy. Here it is translated into Serbo-Croatian; then in a Albanian magazine. When we submitted it to The New Yorker, they said, "Gee, it seems a bit pat." If your biggest problem is getting your kid into the best $18,000/year preschool, yeah, I guess it is...

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John Lennon's dope box and pipe are being auctioned off--put your bids in now...

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...bulk discounts on Barry Trotter for book burnings! Anyway to celebrate (?) the release of Harry Potter and the Chamber Full of Money, the anti-HP kooks are at it again. And why not? It worked so well the first time!

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...and A.O. Scott says it's slightly better than the first, while Ebert frankly gushes. He writes: "What's developing here, it's clear, is one of the most important franchises in movie history, a series of films that consolidate all of the advances in computer-aided animation, linked to the extraordinary creative work of J.K. Rowling, who has created a mythological world as grand as "Star Wars," but filled with more wit and humanity....What a glorious movie."



Fair enough. But whenever somebody uses a phrase like "movie history," I wish there were more than one hundred years of it to judge by. Liz Taylor's "Cleopatra" made movie history, for example, but who thinks it's much good today? Pardon the segue, but this makes me think of an excellent book I ran across this past Spring, "The Monster Show" by David Skal. For anybody interested in the history of horror movies, it's must-reading. (Note I did not use the phrase "horror-history history."

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Former NY-er casual editor Dan Menaker has some very interesting things to say about a recent appearance by Woody Allen. Allen was appearing at the 92nd St. Y, and talking about psychotherapy.

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Here's the latest…Anglophiles (or simply Anglos) should check out TV Go Home, an excellent UK humor site…Did George Lucas swipe the design for the Jedi Archive from Trinity College's famous Long Room Library? See for yourself.…Poor Michael Jackson and his horrible, freakish appearance…A year after the Liberation of Gnomes began, it may have ended, with the discovery of a cache in Southern France. No word as to whether they will be crucified along the main roads, ala Spartacus.

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Three Texas Republicans win, tallying the exact same number of votes: 18,181. At least whoever hacked into the vote-counting software remembered to shave off the .8181818. Otherwise it could've been embarrassing.



Repeat after me: We don't steal elections in this country. That's for pissant banana republics and foreign dictatorships. We have democracy!

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Barry will be down a slot, to #9 this Sunday, thanks to a new Terry Prachett being released and bloodying everybody's nose. (If you have never read T.P., I encourage you to do so. He's very funny.) But anyway, sales continue to go up, and the book's logged an incredible seven weeks on the list! Incredible to me, I mean. I am without cred.

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New Strong Bad email.

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An Irish website reports that John Cleese is writing a Superman comic. Something about a blancmange from the planet Andromeda...? (Help me out here, Simon; did I get the Python reference right?)

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The Oakland Journal is apologizing after printing a headline that read "Pistons rain 3'nigs on."



By the way, I don't know if anybody watched Monday Night Football last night, but the Raiders beat the Broncos 34 to nigs.

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...you'll be happy to know that the 75-year-old used bookstore is expanding. The best part of all: improvements to the bathroom, which the article calls "truly horrifying." The store's website (which does a surprising 15% of its business) is here.

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According to this site, my co-workers call me "Sugar Plum." And by "co-workers" they must mean the cats.

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...this site. I never watched the show, but the creators of this site give it the kind of scrutiny usually reserved for Aristophanes. Even though I'm allergic to stuff with laughtracks, it makes me think I should check it out in re-runs.

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CNN Update: The Barry Trotter segment is now transcribed at CNN.com. (For some reason Blogger spat out my link to it.)

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A friend of mine in Connecticut called to say that CNN ran a segment this morning about Barry Trotter and the Unauthorized Parody. Apparently a woman bought a copy of Barry at a York, Pennsylvania book fair for her seven year old. She read five pages and was shocked, shocked, I tell you! They even brought the poor seven year old on:

"And what do YOU think of this book?" asks the reporter.

"It's bad," murmurs the kid.



The whole thing was very scare-oriented. They didn't mention that it was a parody, or even ONCE give the full title. Or mention that the back cover says, "If you're wondering whether this book is too old for you…" Or talk to me, or Simon and Schuster, or even go to Amazon and say, "Despite Mrs. X's reaction, in the year since it has appeared, most HP fans seem to like Barry Trotter." Or that the story ultimately showed a GOOD thing happening--a parent exercising control over what her child reads. Nope, none of these; it was so much easier to go for the scare: "Parents, beware--there's a nasty Harry Potter book out there."



...Next on CNN: a child doesn't swallow a nail. Even though, if you don't look closely, nails sorta look like cloves. Call me conservative--call me a hidebound traditionalist--but I think every parent should read the cover of a book before giving it to their kid.

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If you're balancing things on your cat's head as frequently as I am, why not get serious?

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Mere moments after I found out that Barry had broken into the Amazon.co.uk Top 100 for the first time (at 78--and this Sunday, it will be listed at #8 on the London Times list) Jon Schwarz wrote me about an article that has all England in a tizzy. He writes, in very Weekend Update style,



"In an interview published in the Daily Mirror, Princess Di's former butler Paul Burrell said that shortly after Diana was killed in 1997, he had a three-hour meeting with the Queen in which she reportedly told him: 'There are powers at work in this country about which we have no knowledge.' Later, she added 'I know who controls the international drug trade, and it's Lyndon LaRouche!'"

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We've reached the vanishing point, I think. Time to become an historian--with stuff like this, what's the difference?

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This German site features galleries of photos of passed out people (probably German too, but perhaps of many races and cultures) who have been drawn on by their friends.

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K. Murphy sends in this page devoted to the magic and mystery that is the cowbell. Is there any song it can't improve? Mozart's "Requiem" needs a cowbell, I think.

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...especially when I quote old Richard Pryor routines to show I understand. But they love these two so much more.

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David Letterman's gonna be simulcasting on radio.



And from Japan, "What about things like S&M, fatties, old women or irregular types of love games? Can you do them?" Prostitutes now giving out grades, certificates. Can Kaplan be far behind?

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While poking around the site Moby Lives, I found this 1947 quote from Simone de Beauvoir posted by a reader in the Letters section: "Publishers and editors size up your mind in a critical and distasteful way, like an impresario asking a dancer to show her legs. They have contempt for the start for the product they're going to buy, as well as for the public on whom they'll foist the goods. Their role is to create between these two ridiculous forms of humanity -- the author and the reader -- a relationshp that is equally preposterous, but which their skill wll nonetheless convert into respectable dollars for the publisher. The very precision of their methods turns writing into a grocery store item. They say, 'I want 2,500 words. We pay so many dollars for 1,500 words.' A French editor must also count columns and lines of type, but with more flexibility. As for the contents of the articles, in France it is still accepted that certain values have meaning and that the public is capable of recognizing them. Here, it's a question of concealing from stupid readers the fundamental foolishness of the pages they're offered. This stupidity, amplified by the arrogant contempt of the businessmen who exploit it, rules the day. You are not allowed to trust the public, in the hope that they will trust you. You must give them what they want. The problem is that you must surprise them at the same time, surprise being one of the recommended forms of bait. Hence, a serious dilemma -- propose a subject for an unpublished article, and they tell you that Americans aren't interested in that; choose a question that concerns them, and they object that it's already hackneyed. The trick is to invent a provocative little novelty amid the commonplace."

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Retro-Crush has a funny feature on the short-lived art of making clothes out of pop-tops.



And continuing our list motif, this one comes from pal Matt Fogel: "I give you something very on the hush-hush: the five movies least likely to be greenlighted this year:



1. The Kabul Follies

2. The Gay Conquistador

3. The Stench

4. Bob Hope is Butterfield 8*

5. [Insert "Howard the Duck" reference here]



*remake"



Wasn't "The Stench" that John Carpenter movie with all the pirates?

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Wanna buy a used book store? Start writing.

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For Jerry Seinfeld's "Comedian."

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Yale Record pal Ian writes: "If puppies could speak, I think they would probably talk too fast for us to be able to understand them."



Also, he passed along his list of the Five Worst New Sodas:

1) RC Foam

2) Mostly It's Apple Juice

3) Pepsi Off-White

4) New York City Tap Water-Brand Unflavored Sport Drink

5) Spicy Coke



Ian's a funny man. Why not tell him so yourself?

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...what an irrepressible lot! Fans of Harry Potter and Leopard Walk Up to Dragon (and who among us isn't one?) will be interested in this article from the Washington Post.



Harry Potter isn't the only one being scammed, apparently; "Who Moved My Cheese?" spawned "Whose Cheese Can I Move?," "I Don't Want to Move Your Cheese!," "Learn to Make Your Own Cheese," "The Philosophy of the Survival of Cheese" and "52 Sincere Tips on the Management of Cheese."



Can Barry be far behind?

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Something Awful has a nice Photoshop contest this Phriday--always a fan of the "parody breakfast cereals" trope.

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Today's Photoshop contest at Fark.com is unlikely New Yorker covers. Worth a look.

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I watched Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining" last night (switching channels when it got too scary--yes, I am a wuss). It's stayed with me this morning, and as I was poking around on the Internet, I found this essay on the hidden meanings of the movie which I found, frankly, pretty fascinating. And sobering.

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Here's an article from the San Francisco Chronicle. Yay, David Remnick! Yay New Yorker! I noticed that the article still linked the magazine's 17 years of unprofitability to the old "fusty" Shawn era. I'm not arguing that Shawn's magazine didn't exist in the dreary realms between "homework" and "unreadable," but the real money was lost after the magazine was sold to a massive magazine combine. It's amazing how nobody will admit that maybe there's more than one way to publish a magazine. Still, I'm a hard man, but fair: YAY! A strong New Yorker can only encourage friends of good magazines--and written humor!

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The History News Network has a page of resources regarding Iraq; I haven't read it all, clearly, but it looked worthy of passing along.

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Generally, I'm allergic to the whole McSweeney's scene, because I think there's such a high ratio of noise to signal, publicity to substance. But the pleasantly cranky literary website Moby Lives is running an enlightening exchange in its Letters section which I thought was worth pointing to. The writers, pro and con, discuss just how "indie" the whole venture is, what proportion it is a personality cult (selling books just like the biggies, on the celebrity of an author), etc, etc. My opinion, since you're reading my blog, is that whatever McSweeney's does can't hurt, and some of it is quite witty. But I'm very skeptical that it will have any impact in the long or even medium term on capital-P Publishing in the US. Its business model works because Dave Eggers has been anointed by the mainstream media, and if you've got that, you can do anything you like--success on those terms augurs little for Literature. And judging by the contributors, at this point it's old wine in new bottles--They Might Be Giants and David Byrne--as interesting and talented as these are, they aren't outsiders. Publishing books by established authors may be risky, or even laudable, depending on the book--but it's not widening who or what gets published, not in any meaningful way. But all that being said, God bless 'em, they do good, careful work.

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Crime novelist Patricia Cornwell's new book attempts to solve the mystery of Jack the Ripper. Here's a short AP story to tease you. If your interest is piqued in the case, there's an excellent website on it here.



Regarding last week's screed about "Stardust Memories," Matt Fogel wrote: "Along with your blogging on great 8 1/2-esque movies, you'd be a monkey to leave out "Sullivan's Travels." Preston Sturges is so frustratingly forgotten these days that the man who introduced both the auteur and irony to American film is just coupled by a few overstuffed critics with snappy dialogue and that is it. You cannot believe the film was made in 1940--its satirical bent, its ironic nature that comments on itself at every turn, and of course, the greatest self-justification for comedy by any funny person ever."



When I asked Matt to clarify what he meant by "self-justification for comedy," here's what he said: "The film is about a comedy director (his biggest hit: "Ants in Your Plants of 1939") who wants to make a 'serious' movie: a look at pain and suffering among the downtrodden. He winds up on a chain gang, and one night, the prisoners go to the movies. They see a Walt Disney cartoon--Pluto and the flypaper--and Sully can't help but laugh. He realizes that "There's a lot to be said for making people laugh. Did you know that's all some people have? It isn't much ... but it's better than nothing in this cockeyed caravan." At that moment, he also has Veronica Lake on his lap. Not too shabby."



Of course, in the version made on Earth 2, Sullivan concluded, "That Disney sure is great. I am in favor of extending the term of copyright to 5,000 years," and continued being serious. Anyway, Matt adds that "the new Criterion DVD is super-great: a wonderful documentary about Sturges' rise and fall, and wonderful and insightful commedy from Christopher Guest and Michael McKean, the former who took Sturges' style of sharp, ensemble comedy and made it his own."



My goal is to have this blog written entirely by others. On another topic, Barry Trotter continues to sell like slightly profane hotcakes--the UK publisher, Orion, just ordered another reprint...

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...but I'm glad somebody did. It's a campaign to buy President Bush a PS2, as a peaceful outlet. The site's reached its goal, but the text is still worth a skim.



In other news, aging Welsh sausage merchant Tom Jones says he's offended when female fans throw fresh, store-bought panties on stage during his act. He prefers worn ones, presumably showing signs of "enthusiasm."



And finally, Something Awful's got a nice series of Photoshops up with the theme, "Inappropriate Places for the Verizon Man." Some of 'em are pretty obvious, but it's worth a look.

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So my wife could send me things like this. And this.



"Dinsdale? Dinsdale?"

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The New York Observer has some interesting things to say about the young breed of star novelists this week.



Coming in 2005, "sheet computers." Bet they won't be compatible...

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This site is rather good.

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After a week in the icy exile of #11, Barry Trotter and the Shameless Parody has stormed back onto the London Sunday Times bestseller list! Okay, so maybe #10 isn't "stormed," but certainly some locomotory verb with an overtone of butt-kicking is required. The cats have heard the news and are demanding a brand of food with a lower percentage of fly ash. Fat chance, you rug-poopers!

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Wanted to pass along two movies worth renting, both of which I saw for the first time this week. The first is Stardust Memories, Woody Allen's 1980 followup to Manhattan. Now, following a movie as accomplished as Manhattan, which itself followed the sublimely hysterical Annie Hall would be a task for anyone, but Woody ups the ante even farther by making Stardust an homage to Fellini's 8 1/2. So the progression goes like this: really funny and somewhat personal; really funny and really personal; and then an attempt at really funny and really personal and really complex, too. I think he fails, but Stardust Memories still a hell of a movie. It would be any other comedian's masterpiece, a title I'd give to Annie Hall; as much as Woody is determined to show us his life, I don't think it's really that pleasant or meaningful--there's simply not enough growth or honesty there--so like the aliens say in Stardust, I prefer "the early, funny ones."



Stardust Memories follows the life of Sandy Bates, world-famous comedian, as he struggles to finish a picture, juggle his messy life, and address the big questions, all while being harrassed by adoring fans. Is Stardust Memories funny? Yeah. There's plenty of good Woody one-liners, even though they seem somewhat grudgingly offered.



The Critic Inside Me Who Never Rests had two comments. As much as I love 8 1/2--it's one of my all-time favorites--the Fellini-esque aspects of Stardust (and there are a hell of a lot of them) don't really work. It feels like a Woody Allen movie taking place in front of a Fellini background. First, the organizing principle of 8 1/2--the failing film--is pretty perfunctory in Stardust, so the entire weight of the movie falls on the internal struggle of the director; Stardust is even more self-absorbed than 8 1/2, and weaker as a result. And yet, for all the time we spend with Sandy Bates, we get very little sense of what in his background makes him who he is; unlike 8 1/2, which feels honest in a way that Stardust doesn't. Why does Bates pick barely functional women? We don't know. Why does Bates continue to appear in the public eye if the attention he receives is so off-putting? We don't know. That's because Allen doesn't know, or doesn't want to look. Instead he gives us jokes to distract us, like the magician that he wanted to be as a kid. If he used his background like Fellini does, as an insight to the man he's become, Stardust would've been a more satisfying experience. Instead, other people are the set-up for Woody's jokes.



Allen's profound alienation from other people and lack of faith in general doesn't gel with Fellini's techniques--when you see a strikingly odd face in a Fellini movie, you sense it is being celebrated, or at least presented for examination on its own terms; but in Stardust Memories, you feel it's being shown as "proof" that people are fundamentally ugly and misshapen. Which brings me to my second point: the fans in Stardust Memories are portrayed as nothing but a negative force--whether pompous or stupid, adoring or aggressive, they make Sandy Bates' life unpleasant. Shooting from the hip, I'd say that's because, if you hate yourself, anybody who thinks you're wonderful is clearly an idiot. Fan harrassment was not an issue in 8 1/2, even though Fellini was never more famous or powerful than he was then--in part because he didn't have American celebrity culture to deal with, but also because Fellini didn't trade his privacy for money. It's hard to have sympathy for somebody who had courted celebrity as aggressively as Woody did for 20 years. If Woody had gone from writing for Sid Caesar, to writing movies, then directing them, he would've had more privacy. If he'd even chosen the Harpo Marx route, and performed a physically distinct character...Whatever problems he had, were the very predictable result of his choices. Adulation requires attention, and if you need the one, you must put up with the other. It would've been nice to hear somebody say that to Sandy Bates. Stardust Memories is a very funny movie filled with unasked questions.



The second movie was Wes Anderson's Bottle Rocket. Don't have nearly as much to say about that--the Internal Critic W.N.S. was relatively silent. It was a pleasantly twisty plot, the Wilson brothers were great (whatever went wrong with Owen Wilson's nose should happen to more actors), and several scenes made me laugh quite hard. And there were people doing dangerous things with fireworks, which I always appreciate.

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Michael Cader's Publishers Lunch reports that National Lampoon is planning to release an updated version of its landmark 1964 High School Yearbook next October. (They must've read the comment in my humor list!) Their publishing partner is an outfit called Rugged Land. The Yearbook originally sold over 2 million copies after its release in 1974, most of which had beer spilled all over them, so it's time for a new edition. They plan on adding a special 39th Class Reunion section, which makes me very very very worried...Doug's dead, and there's no mention of P.J., which leaves Matty Simmons...well, I won't take sides in that whole pissing match.

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Apparently National Lampoon lives. Well, sort of--they've appointed a new executive. "Thirty years ago, National Lampoon was the first name in American comedy. We will keep reminding you of this, until all our former readers are dead." an official didn't say. No word as to whether Gus Van Zant has agreed to film a shot-by-shot remake of "Animal House" yet, but they're hopeful.

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Matt Fogel pointed me to this interesting discussion about the new oral history of SNL, Live From New York.



As you might imagine (and dread), I have a lot to say about SNL. My wife, ever the journalist, says I should start by revealing that my partner Jon and I wrote a bunch of stuff for the show back in '98 and '99, much of which was used on the air. Though Jon and I were interviewed, we were never hired. So I have some experience being simultaneously inside and outside the SNL bubble, as well as, yes, some personal irritation with what they do and how they do it over there at 30 Rock.



I haven't read the new book yet. Maybe it's great. It's certainly got a lot to live up to; Saturday Night: A Backstage History (which is listed in my list of Required Reading) is gripping, funny, and thought-provoking. I haven't felt obligated to read this new book for two reasons. First, Tom Shales has been such an SNL brownnoser--since the very first show--that I suspect his objectivity. Not about whether Charles Rocket sucked, but about the important stuff. Nobody would be allowed to write this book if he/she weren't a Friend of Lorne, and an F.O.L would be loathe to piss Lorne off by deviating from "SNL changed comedy and Lorne is a genius and too bad about Belushi and by the way isn't the current cast great?" What would they get from telling the truth except a fleeting sense of integrity, and people who value that overmuch don't make it in showbiz or politics.



Second, the power that SNL, and by extension, Lorne, currently have would really discourage anybody not already orbiting Planet SNL from saying what they really thought. Certainly there is gossip in the book--"So-and-so slept with so-and-so," or that old chestnut "Chevy was an asshole," but that's meaningless bullshit, and you can already get that from Hill and Weingrad's book. I heard somewhere that Lorne and his minions apparently hated it, which suggests that whatever Hill and Weingrad's flaws, fawning wasn't one of them.



I'm still waiting for the book--or even the magazine article--that says in big 72-point type, "SNL Sucks." Not in a "this cast is bad" or "X new comedy phenomenon is better" way, but pointing out that, by the measure that SNL constantly claims for itself, it's a dismal failure. It's not important, it's not influential, it changes nothing. Who comes away from SNL saying, "Gee--I never thought of it that way"? SNL's not even very "smart", except in the debased way that adjective gets tossed around in the entertainment business. It's about pop culture and repeating characters, and aimed at teenagers. Nothing wrong with that, Rob Schneider has to eat, too. But SNL claims to be IMPORTANT; it claims to have changed things, when all it really changed was TV and only incrementally at that. (Censors are more lax, now.) SNL may be the only place for topical sketch comedy on American TV, but being the prettiest girl in your homeroom doesn't make you Miss America.



Whatever satirical nuts SNL once had, it lost after the first cast left in 1980. Lorne's romantic method of doing the show--live, in a mad rush--encourages poorly written sketches, sloppy performances, and the kind of unrelenting pressure that encourages sick behavior and, in some cases, kills people. So it's not satirical (nobody there wants to change anything--and why would they? They're young, famous, and rapidly getting rich) not even very good comedy--I guarantee you'll laugh more duirng an hour and a half of Second City or Improv Olympic or UCB, than while watching SNL--and surely the cast knows this. They're a talented, funny lot. But working for SNL has the same effect as playing for the Cubs. There are a thousand reasons why this might be so, but that's the real story here, not "Jane Curtain and John Belushi really hated each other."



Unevenness aside, SNL would still be worthy of attention if it were truly taking risks. But SNL is risk-free; the method is risky, but the material is utterly tame.(On purpose--I've seen what they cut in dress rehearsal--not that any of it is particularly biting.) Don't underestimate the power of the herd instinct in comedy, which works simultaneously down from the top and up from the bottom--networks are risk-averse, and audiences prefer the familiar. What happened in the early days of SNL, as liberating as it might have felt then, apparently didn't change anything. Is Operaman any smarter/more influential/more important than Arte Johnson's pidgin German on Laugh In? Of course not, and it's no crime simply to be funny. The equine corpse I'm walloping is that the reality of SNL simply doesn't justify what people always say about it, and if you don't know the history of American comedy, you might be inclined to believe the hype. SNL's an uneven, occasionally funny, topical sketch comedy program. That's fine, as far as it goes. Which is not far enough for hagiography.



This critique isn't new--ask anybody in comedy, before they get the gig working there. SNL is just as shallow, formulaic and stifling as whatever it once considered itself to be replacing, and probably worse because it refuses to go away. Carol Burnett (fine show, for what it was) aired for what? ten years? SNL is 27 and counting. SNL is Carol Burnett that thinks it's something more, and whatever flaws old show biz might've had, at least it wasn't so insufferably smug. Carol Burnett wasn't changing the world, making you think, or speaking truth to power. And neither is SNL. SNL's not the heir to Bruce, Pryor and Carlin--maybe it never was, maybe it couldn't've been. But its apologists always say it is, and here's why that's bad: as long as SNL can further the lie that it's a pirate ship, when it's really His Majesty's Pleasure Barge, we'll never have anything truly sharp, truly satirical, truly energetic in its place. I recognize that the first iteration of SNL did inspire and delight people, and that's what makes the show since, so frustrating. As long as the lie is believed, the best comedic talent will continue to be lured by the swindle that you can have it all--money, fame, mainstream success, AND still be a rebel. You can't be a rebel without paying the price--that's what makes somebody a rebel. You know where to find rebels in a business as merciless as show biz? The unemployment line--or maybe, if they're as lucky and skilled as the first cast was, on some weird-ass late-night slot where a desperate network has nothing to lose--but certainly not on SNL circa 2002.



Sorry, folks--got a little carried away there. I'll report in when I've read the book.

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I've added the Postwar section to my list of the best humor. Take a look! Tell your friends!

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This is extremely funny. After it loads, click on one of the phrases to the left, and let the action begin. Flash, I salute you. Stong Bad, I salute you also.

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Lots of stuff to put up today. First: if you've read one Dave Barry column, you've read them all, but this one talking about kids and newspapers was quite funny. Note to Dave: if you don't want your material to be used in classrooms, talk about 'golden showers." It's worked for me.



Carol Channing has revealed she is part black. Jesse Jackson is demanding an apology.



In the spirit of my list of the best humor books, Ed Park writes in with a few more funny books for your consideration:

"Diary of a Nobody," by George and Weedon Grossmith

"Afternoon Men," by Anthony Powell

"Dog of the South," by Charles Portis

"Amazons," by Cleo Birdwell (Don DeLillo).





And finally, in honor of Congress rolling over for Bush on Iraq, here's an excerpt from a 1933 speech given by Major General Smedley Butler, the MacArthur of the US Marines, whose honesty and devotion to his country--and not "super-nationalistic capitalism"--foiled a coup attempt in 1933.



"War is just a racket. A racket is best described, I believe, as something that is not what it seems to the majority of people. Only a small inside group knows what it is about. It is conducted for the benefit of the very few at the expense of the masses.



I believe in adequate defense at the coastline and nothing else. If a nation comes over here to fight, then we'll fight. The trouble with America is that when the dollar only earns 6 percent over here, then it gets restless and goes overseas to get 100 percent. Then the flag follows the dollar and the soldiers follow the flag.



I wouldn't go to war again as I have done to protect some lousy investment of the bankers. There are only two things we should fight for. One is the defense of our homes and the other is the Bill of Rights. War for any other reason is simply a racket.



There isn't a trick in the racketeering bag that the military gang is blind to. It has its "finger men" to point out enemies, its "muscle men" to destroy enemies, its "brain men" to plan war preparations, and a "Big Boss" Super-Nationalistic-Capitalism.



It may seem odd for me, a military man to adopt such a comparison. Truthfulness compels me to. I spent thirty- three years and four months in active military service as a member of this country's most agile military force, the Marine Corps. I served in all commissioned ranks from Second Lieutenant to Major-General. And during that period, I spent most of my time being a high class muscle- man for Big Business, for Wall Street and for the Bankers. In short, I was a racketeer, a gangster for capitalism.



I suspected I was just part of a racket at the time. Now I am sure of it. Like all the members of the military profession, I never had a thought of my own until I left the service. My mental faculties remained in suspended animation while I obeyed the orders of higher-ups. This is typical with everyone in the military service.



I helped make Mexico, especially Tampico, safe for American oil interests in 1914. I helped make Haiti and Cuba a decent place for the National City Bank boys to collect revenues in. I helped in the raping of half a dozen Central American republics for the benefits of Wall Street. The record of racketeering is long. I helped purify Nicaragua for the international banking house of Brown Brothers in 1909-1912. I brought light to the Dominican Republic for American sugar interests in 1916. In China I helped to see to it that Standard Oil went its way unmolested.



During those years, I had, as the boys in the back room would say, a swell racket. Looking back on it, I feel that I could have given Al Capone a few hints. The best he could do was to operate his racket in three districts. I operated on three continents."



Smedley, where are you when we need you?

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For years, I've wanted to create a site where people looking for something funny to read could go to browse. Here's my first batch, covering 1900-1945. Let me know what you think!

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More proof that anything can become an entertaining website. A British man is collecting and posting statements from people about what they believed as children. Whether you believed "there was a witch in the loo that used to look at my bum" or not, it's great fun.

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...about the Maryland sniper, and he said, "We're so convinced that we've got everything figured out, we're getting ready to go bomb Iraq so it becomes more like our society, when we've got snipers running around." To which I thought, "Yeah, Jon, but our snipers are the best in the world."



Recovering Lego-addicts like myself will marvel at this Lego harpsichord. The best I ever did was a spaceship using those rare, clear slanty blocks. Cool-looking, if I do say so myself.



Fark.com has a funny Photoshop contest going. The theme is, "Things that never happened in classic video games." Here are a few I especially liked:





And:

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Just checked out A.O. Scott's review of "Comedian," the new documentary starring Jerry Seinfeld. While I was, and remain, somewhat impatient with Seinfeld--infatuation with trifles is no way to live your life, no matter how sharply written it is--this documentary sounds fascinating. I was a fly on the wall in a room full of comics chatting backstage, when I worked with Alan King on a PBS special, and it was incredible to get a glimpse inside that bizarre, always insecure, equally invigorating and grueling lifestyle.



If anybody sees it, write me what you thought, and I'll post it.

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Australian scientists, obviously, have discovered that lemon juice is an effective contraceptive. It also kills HIV. And makes your sheets smell citrus-y and refreshing.



Meanwhile, my wife has this to say about the Zehme article I posted earlier:

"Last graf of the Zehme profile: Deano? DEANO? WHAT? Am I nuts? When referring to Mr. Martin by his rat pack nickname, doesn't one usually spell it Dino?



Huh? Huh?"



Kate will put up with a lot (viz: me) but disrespect to Mr. Martin is one thing she won't countenance.

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This Friday's Photoshop contest from the humor site Something Awful takes on classic produce labels. I love old produce labels, and wish advertising still looked like that. I am a freak, but I hope a loveable one. There's some slightly dirty stuff here, but it's great for taking one's mind off the so far lackluster performance of the Team of the Red Death, my St. Louis Cardinals.

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Here's an interesting profile of Bill Zehme, comedian biographer extraordinaire (and fellow denizen of Roscoe Village). The first couple of paragraphs are overly mannered writing, but keep reading and it calms down.

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Tom Michael sends in this post-9/11 status report on American comedy by Will Durst. We've all been reading pieces like this since about February--"For a while it seemed comedy was dead, but it really wasn't, and now it's back and more irreverent than ever!" says the guy who makes a living doing standup/writing sitcoms/doing monologue for Letterman--and while it's not fresh, all you comedy folk might enjoy it.



Durst talks about how Chaplin cut Hitler "down to size" in The Great Dictator as an example of the usefulness of humor. Which brought to mind Peter Cook's comment about the splendid job the satirical nightclubs of Berlin did in preventing the rise of Hitler. We should be careful when we assign power to comedy--it may simply be entertainment, and in some cases, anesthetize us to something that needs more direct action than satire.

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Yep, college newspapers are definitely sexier than they used to be. Here's NYU's paper on the Brazilian wax...Maryland has nothing on Illinois, when it comes to gun freaks--were the recent sniper murders an anti-gun provocation?...Slate has an interesting history of TiVo (sadly marred by the phrase "Joe Six-Pack", which should merit an immediate burn-to-the-ground rewrite. As always, I prefer to blame the editor)...

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The New York Observer has a lovely post-mortem of the Friars' Club recent roast of Chevy Chase. In it, they talk about the fact that today's comedians, by and large, suck. Like, I would wager, most of today's comedy writers. Just our luck, right? More comedy than ever before, sucking worse than it's ever sucked before. I think I'll go have a Green River.



BTW, the Cards lost. Which anybody who cares probably knows already.

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My friend Wall just sent me a link to a really funny site: www.oddtodd.com. We've all been there, for fucking sure. If you click on the cartoon, be warned, it's loud.

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I know, I know, I should be working, but I stumbled across this website and had to pass it along. Along with being a useful who's who, it's a monument to the misery that is publishing. Note how the process seems to be set up to generate guilt on the one side and rage on the other...There's gotta be a better way...

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...Bowling for Columbine, is reviewed in this week's Village Voice. From the review, I gather the documentary suffers from the same faults as its star--interesting, entertaining, necessary...and in love with itself and its point of view. We won't shoot him into the Sun. For now.



Blog-Plug: College pal Pete Delevett is now a columnist for the San Jose Mercury News. Check out his archive at www.peterdelevett.com. (Damn it, I bought up peterdelevett.org, .net, .gov, .mil., .us, and .tv--how was I to know he would pick .-fucking-com?) Anyway, you may have outwitted me this time, Pete, but I still enjoyed your piece about the stand-up comic with the disfigured face. Have I ever showed you my chicken pox scars?



A Judge Denied...a Florida man's request to change his name to "God." It appears the Vietnam War is to blame.



And finally...fans of the novelists William Gaddis and W.G. Sebald should read Ed Park's article in the latest Voice Literary Supplement. I'm avoiding that article about the perils of writing your second book, so I can go Attack the Monster with confidence. (And no, "attacking the monster' is not a euphemism.)



P.S. That, by the way, is why this blog isn't very funny. I'm writing about 2,000 words a day on a comic novel. Frankly, if I used all the jokes up on this blog, none of you would enjoy the book. We can hope that people besides my blog-buddies will read it, but I'm not taking any chances...

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First of all, sales for Barry Trotter and the Shameless Parody continue to climb; the book's still at #10 in the London Sunday Times HB fiction list. The redoubtable Simon also tells me that we're going back for a five-figure reprint (#3), so Kate and I are flying high.



I was surprised to see the NY Times do a number on Dave Eggers' latest. In his defense, I can't imagine the pressure that being that kind of egghead heartthrob puts you under. I'd wilt. Luckily there is no danger of this happening.



In yet more meaningless literary asskicking, the WSJ's critic lambasts David Remnick's New Yorker in favor of Tina Brown's frothier predecessor. Where Brown offered "a chocolate bar," Remnick serves up "a compacted stick of low-fat granola."



He's probably right, Brown's magazine was probably more fun to read--but so what? Absent (as usual) are questions like: "If it's not as sinfully delicious, why does Remnick's version have more readers and lose less money?" "Didn't Talk show the limitations of Brown's approach?" "Will The New Yorker ever survive, much less thrive, without Si Newhouse propping it up?" "Why has it lost money consistently after being run by Conde Nast?" The reason nobody asks these questions is, nobody cares enough to rock the boat. The real cultural heat has been in TV and movies since at least 1975. Print people are as big a bunch of sluts for celebrity as the rest of us--so they turn it into a horserace between Tina and Remnick, while the magazine itself withers as an enterprise.



Unless everything I've read is incorrect, The New Yorker prospered for decades under the ultra-conservative financial stewardship of the Fleishmann family (who often turned down ads, either for tone or space constraints) and the equally old-fashioned, celebrity-phobic editing of William Shawn. Its consistent losses since 1987 suggest that maybe not every magazine can thrive (even if we only define that in its strictest, financial sense), using the standard economic model for American magazines. (Quickly, this is: break-even at the newsstands, sell subscriptions at deep discounts and flood your target demographic's mailbox with direct mail, to pump up the "rate-base"--how many people you can guarantee will see a given ad--and then make whatever profit solely on advertising.) The drive for advertiser-friendly content is the primary force at such a magazine, and whether it's Brown's whole-hearted embrace or Remnick's prickly cheek-peck, it's clear to me that The New Yorker doesn't really fit.



American magazines are rapidly becoming one big magazine, because they all are trying to appeal to the same funding source: big money advertisers. Editors are important, yes, but it's obviously the people who sign the checks (the bosses and the advertisers that pay the bills) that set the tone at a place like Conde Nast. Until they're financed differently--on the reader-driven European model, where circulation is king, perhaps--American magazines will be a creative and cultural graveyard. (Ever wonder why Maxim didn't happen here? Or why Tina Brown is British? Audience-driven art forms encourage creativity and risk-taking--advertiser-driven art forms, don't.) Scratch that--they'll simply be ruthlessly conventional, mindlessly pleasant, and completely flavorless, a tabula as rasa as possible, so the advertiser's message comes through loud and clear.



Meaningless literary ass-kicking over.

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Shoot Bill O'Reilly into the Sun? It's a proposal that smells like genius to me.

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Hit by meteorite, English girl says, "Next time I'll stay inside reading scatalogical spoofs of beloved children's characters." Wise beyond her years, I'd say.

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Or, more accurately, on a recent biography of Peter Sellers. Fascinating, troubled man--who I'm glad I won't have the chance to meet, stammer out a compliment to, then be abused by! Palin's right of course that Sellers, Spike Milligan and the other Goons were the progenitors of modern British comedy (along with Peter Cook), and anybody who hasn't listened to The Goon Show or watched "The Ladykillers"--not to mention "Dr. Strangelove" or "The Party"--is in for a treat. Here's a link to the bio's page on Amazon.



One quibble, though--Palin writes, "...nothing in the book fully explains the flip side of Sellers's genius -- the violence and abuse directed toward his four wives and three children, the tantrums, the lashing out at good friends, the manipulative deviousness, the unreliability and the sublime selfishness that grew with his wealth and recognition." Sounds like some sort of addiction problem to me. If it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck...



Speaking of Peter Cook--and when am I not, ask my wife--a new collection of his best material has just been released in Britain. It's called "Tragically I Was an Only Twin." I haven't gotten it, yet, but when I do, I'll let you know what I thought.

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The Cards won, making Kate's life a lot easier, and I found this review of "Basket Case," one of the midnight movies I remember watching when I was 14, and had nothing better to do. Squeezing pimples, eating frozen pizzas, and watching this kind of crap--it got me through the 80s. I would like to formally, abjectly apologize to a certain ex-girlfriend for dragging her to the premiere of the sequel (titled "Basket Case 2," of course) at the Waverly in Greenwich Village back in 1991. There was a fight down front, I remember. We were in the balcony, so we just hooted and threw popcorn until the cops came. Loads better than the film--no, I can't call it that--the movie itself.

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In my eternal quest to be even-handed, here are two more reviews of Red Dragon, neither very positive. One's from the Village Voice, and the other's from The New York Times. Thus armed, you can make your decision.

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Every Friday, the site www.somethingawful.com holds a Photoshop contest that pushes the bounds of bad taste--in other words, it's usually pretty funny. This week they take on Norman Rockwell. The H.R. Giger one is my favorite.

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Literary curmudgeons such as myself might enjoy this interview with gadfly B.R. Myers, who thinks insider authors like DeLillo, Proulx, Auster and the like are relentlessly-hyped frauds. Agree or disagree, but anybody who's passed through the attitudinal realms of NY publishing will recognize he's on to something.

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I'm a fan of the book, so I was pleased to read Roger Ebert's positive review of the movie.

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A self-described "Trottermaniac" from Britain, Simon Stevenson, has created an online quiz to determine which Hogwash House the that horrible senile Picking Cap would put you in. Check it out. If you think you've been put in the wrong House ("There's no way I'm Silverfish! I HATE Dorco!") you can plead your case directly to Simon.

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Preparing my mind, body, soul, and whatever else I can muster for today's Cards game. First pitch is around 4pm (EST? CST? Anybody know?). I know you'll be watching with me to see if Thanatos is more powerful than Curt Schilling.



The human race consists of the dangerously insane and those who are not." - Mark Twain



Walter, we knew ye a lil' too well... Jack Shafer's post-mortem beat-down of Wally Annenberg is worth a read.



Talk about your Presidential Palaces: As of 1980, there were more than 75 secret Presidential Emergency Facilities built for use during and after a nuclear war. Well, at least we know Dubya has nothing to worry about.



This week's Savage Love is a classic of common sense, and good for a laugh as always. (Adult themes, as they say in Annenberg's TV Guide.)

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In addition to disparaging the book Barry Trotter knocked off the Sunday Times' list, Rob Schlaff sends the following ketchup entry: "America’s original non-biodegradable food product." Wait, I thought that was Twinkies.

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Tom Michael sends in this site. He writes, "'This site is dedicated to a very talented man who happens to be King.' I hope to be described as such someday." He says you can keep the persecution by Pol Pot part, though.

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Any creditors reading this blog will be happy to know that Barry Trotter and the Shameless Parody is once again slated to be listed number #9 on the Sunday London Times list. The better news is that it sold 40% more books! Apparently T. Clancy, D. Steele, S. King and all those other fly-by-nights clogging the first eight spots decided to pour their substantial personal fortunes into withstanding Barry's onslaught. Well, I'm here to tell them (and you) it won't work! Barry is the parody of the People--just ask The Morning Star--and the will of the People is stronger than the blood-soaked sales-and-publicity machines of the running-dog imperialist lackey combines! Sell resolutely, Barry Trotter!



In other news, my thanatos-powered Redbirds licked the D-backs and their Big Eunich. I don't feel sorry for them, even though they have to deal with rock scorpions.



And also, if you're planning to sell a kidney to fund your college humor magazine (I'm talking to you, Mollie Wilson), don't: a new study says donors stay broke.

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Anybody who's interested can check out the review of Barry Trotter from last week's Morning Star, Britain's leading Marxist daily. Hey, I'll take praise from anybody. Really. Except for people with two different-colored eyes, they're creepy.

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Looking to change careers? Mark my words, by 2004 there will be a Master's program for it.



Continuing the scatalogical tone of today's blog, here's breaking news that proves the old adage, "Dirty diapers save lives." What, your mom didn't say that?

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Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it. Anyway, I've come across this incredible new product. According to the website, it "won't come off with alcohol like other products will."



An essential feature, I would think.

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I don't know if I was old enough to read this--I may never be--but this truly execrable collection of Photoshopped children's book covers from Something Awful made me snicker at its filthiness. What does it say that my wife was the one that sent it to me? Hands off, guys--she's taken.

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I would be the first to admit under oath that whenever a copy of Barry Trotter sells, it's entirely due to a cover packed full of subliminal advertising. (Thanks, Rodger--the Grim Reapers having sex really works. I'm still marvelling at how you put breasts on a skeleton.) But I'm not the only believer--Russian TV is apparently full of it. (Subliminal advertising, that is...)



"Boy, Leonid, it's the strangest thing--I could really go for having sex while drinking a beer and eating some cat food that smells like deodorant..."

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While investigating the sexy coffin site, Jon Schwarz found this and voiced his concern. "She's a subtle, wily woman," he said. "I wouldn't put it past her."

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From the irrepressible Italians (via my friend Colleen W.) comes this. Being dead never seemed so appealing. Anyway, here's a taste of what's to waiting for you in the third list of links, "Cofani funebri e fascino"--it's mostly safe for work. Mostly.

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Barry Trotter and the Shameless Parody is getting reviewed like crazy in Britain and, from what my editor says, reviews are good. He may simply be protecting my oh-so-fragile ego, wise man. I wilt so easily.



From The Morning Star, the UK's only national daily socialist paper: "Gerber has succeeded in creating a marginally grotesque, bouncing beauty of a throwaway tome.  Down with Potter! Trotter is the real thing - and is guaranteed to wind up sycophantic followers of the Potter sect everywhere." Fight the power, buy Barry Trotter.



Another paper--serving London's equivalent of the Upper East Side--says Barry is "A big improvement on the woeful Bored of the Rings." Sorry Henry (and Doug, wherever you are). Still, I hope I do as well thirty years on.



Marxists and capitalists coming together to read silly books, it's beautiful. So we're going to a third printing. Not bad for one week on sale!

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Okay, so maybe that's bitchy, but I actually liked the humor piece in this week's New Yorker. "The Zagat History of My Last Relationship" is nothing earth-shattering, but at least it didn't strike me as 1) a bland rehash of something done better by another writer circa 1930; 2) an under-edited excuse to get a high-visibility byline in the magazine; or 3) the comedic equivalent of that Manhattan-centric Steinberg cover. It was simply a compact, well-written piece with a solid structure and flavorful voice. Kudos, Noah Baumbach--and let's hope they're getting more adventurous over there.

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The NY Times reports that monks at China's Shaolin Temple have noticed that people are using their name, and they're pissed. "Ungh! Your 'drunken affidavit' technique is formidable, young man! But that is nothing compared to the skills of Bruce Lee, Attorney-At-Law!"



The first entry in my Ketchup contest is: "Soylent Red." Have you sent one in yet?

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While I was shopping today I noticed a contest Heinz ketchup is running. The back of the bottle reads, "Sometimes our label gets tired of saying 'Tomato Ketchup' all the time." [That's between you and the FDA, chum. Leave us out of it.] "So it will make a joke about french fries or have some fun at the expense of mustard. Now it wants your ideas. Just come up with something funny to say on a Heinz Tomato Ketchup squeeze bottle. It can be whatever you want so long as it has something to do with Heinz Tomato Ketchup, isn't too long (8 words or less, please) is in English and is funny. The best ones will go on our prestigious front label."



Well, I'm sure you'll agree that when it comes to prestige, nobody outdoes www.mikegerber.com. So I'm running my own counter-contest. Send in your entries before 10/31/02, and I'll post the funniest ones. The best one will receive a signed copy of the Japanese edition of Barry Trotter, or its cash equivalent.



Here's a few to start you off:

1) Now with real blood.

2) Covering the taste of inedible shit since 1869.

3) Sure, you can put me on hotdogs. Pussy.

4) Cures Colo-Rectal Cancer! (Not FDA-approved.)

5) Insert irritating "Goldmember" tie-in here.

6) Hunt's blows.

7) Ask how much we saved on copywriters.

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Need I add "with a bullet"? Check out the list here. As the British say, "fuckin' a!"

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Apparently the irrepressible Kim Jong Il is constructing a walled city of capitalism. (The story is here.)



Also, more good news from the UK. Barry is allegedly lurking around the Top 10 of the London Sunday Times fiction list. We won't know for a few days, but here's hoping.

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Anybody who has taken the infamous "last train home" from GCT to New Haven will enjoy this story. "Listen, maybe if you cleaned the bathroom once in a while, we wouldn't have to do it out here."

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A reader just wrote to say that he saw a copy of Barry Trotter and the Shameless Parody in an airport in Zurich, surrounded by German-language books. Rapidly-escalating world tensions suddenly make a lot more sense...

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Humorist Tim Carvell has an amusing piece in the NYT today.



Cat owners should check out Meankitty.com, a pleasantly-DIY site celebrating, well, mean cats. Go to the Gallery and sample some of the felines that friendliness forgot. (My favorite was "Mouse.")

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Happy birthday, Sophia Loren! The thinking man's sex symbol turns 68. Here's a quote lifted from www.retrocrush.com: "I can't bear being seen naked. I'm not exactly a tiny woman. When Sophia Loren's naked, this is a lot of nakedness." Funny, I can't see complaining. Anyway, I've always loved this photo of Sophia a mite disdainfully checking out her pneumatic American counterpart, Mamie Van Doren Jayne Mansfield.

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Shit, now Dad and I are going to have to think of something new for Opening Day.



BTW, quick straw poll--is everybody's wife this excited for tonight's inaugural episode of "Firefly"? I think I'll call it "My Fly's on Fire," just to make her mad.

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...is anybody else a mite alarmed by the deal to bring Hitchhiker's Guide to the screen? Don't Terry Jones or Terry Gilliam direct movies anymore, to name two? Chicken Run and Austin Powers each have their merits, but there's an incipient clash of sensibilities here--apparently nobody learned from last Christmas' showdown between Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. Not everything is--or should be--grist for America's multiplexes, Mammon love 'em...And as Peter Jackson showed, if the movie works on its own terms, you can get there just the same.



I've been having a nice conversation with Jeffrey Sweet, the author of Something Wonderful Right Away, an oral history of The Second City. Essential reading for fans of improv--and since it was published in the 70s, it has interviews with some of the high holies of that generation.

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Since I'm reading a great new biography of the Roman statesman Cicero, I thought I'd pass along a quote from him (plucked from a queer little 80-year-old book of toasts I picked up in a used bookstore years ago):



"As I approve of a youth that has something of the old man in him, so I am no less pleased with an old man that has something of the youth."



Well, fair enough.

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Parody news, hot off my brain. Feel free to share it.

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I found an interesting profile of Conan O'Brien in this week's New York Observer.



Also, I have some parody news I'm looking to lay on you cats, but I'm still figuring out how to fix the layout. I'm a perfectionist.

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The UK edition of my book is allegedly #32 on the Sunday London Times Bestseller List--and it's not even legally for sale yet! Get your copy of Barry Trotter and the Shameless Parody now, just in case there's a tree shortage.

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My blog hiccupped (see below) when I tried to post this. Fight the power by clicking on it. Anyway, the rest of the post read, "...this. Required reading for any current or recovering readers of MAD Magazine."

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Our favorite rabble-rouser, Jon Schwarz, found Read this article…

It's getting crowded in here: Eagle-eyed Ed Park sent in this from the BBC.

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Wouldn't it be cool if instead of honking, car horns could play a snippet of audio? Sure, "sosumi" at 18-wheeler volume would be awful, but I look forward to hearing Krusty's maniacal laugh or Al Pacino's "Hoo-hah!" Maybe someday, when somebody lets you into traffic, you can have Elvis tell them, "Thankyavurrymuch."



By the way, some of you might have seen the headline "Porn Site Offers $3m for Napster." All I have to say is, this isn't a porn site, it's a blog, and there's no way a complete set of 1978 Topps Football cards is worth $3 mil.

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