Those of you who have read my book The Chronicles of Blarnia: The Lying Bitch in the Wardrobe--and that's everybody, right? RIGHT?--know that I have offered a bounty of GBP100 to any reader who could find ten similarities between my powerful, touching, truly original book and a sleazy rip-off written decades before I was even born. (I think the author's name was Lewis something; I don't think many people know about him today, much less read his books.)

To my utter amazement, several readers--obviously possessed of keener faculties than mine--DID discover ten similarities! I've read all the lists they submitted, and though I think they're pretty nit-picky, I am prepared to pony up. As per the rules, a random winner was picked from all the winning entries.

So, the winner is:
Algrene Pullings of London!

Here's Algrene's list:
"1. Both the books 'The Chronicles of Blarnia' and 'The Chronicles of Narnia,
the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' begin with four siblings, (two guys
and two girls) being sent away from home into the British countryside.
2. In both books the youngest child, whose name begins with 'L', is a girl,
and who is often referred to as 'Lu' or 'Loo', depending on how one wants to
spell it, enters another world with the help of a wardrobe and meets a faun.
3. In both books Lu/Loo's story about another world is not believed by her
siblings.
4. In both books the second youngest child who is a boy and often referred
to as 'Ed', and who is also a deccided pessimist, manages to get through to
Lu/Loo's 'magical world'.
5. In both books Ed meets a Witch who is ruling the country he has got to
with a despotic tyranny and in both books he warms up to her.
6. In both books the Witch has caused a permanent winter.
7. In both books the four children eventually find themselves in the magical
world earlier described by their youngest sibling.
8. In both books they then meet a beaver who lures them home and they, being
wonderful and innocent adolescents, follow.
9. In both books a sort of rebellion against the Witch is brewing, led
(maybe reluctantly, but still led) by some sort of feline creature.
10. In both books the four siblings are coronated, grow up, and then get
back to the conventient hole between the magical world and the UK.

I could go on, and on and on. If I have to say the world 'in both books' one
more time, I will throttle someone."

Cry me a river, Algrene. At least you don't have to fork over a hundred pounds. That's real money. Maybe if I sue Lewis What's-His-Name, I can make some back. Somebody told me that his book is a Christian allegory, and I TOTALLY INVENTED THAT. The nerve of some people!

Anyway, I gotta go eat Christmas dinner with my in-laws. Thanks to everyone who entered, and apologies to those of you who didn't win, especially the person who was going to buy a Louis Vuitton bag. That is a noble goal, and I wish you the best.

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...where wives like mine can surf to sites like fuckchristmas.org. If your tank of fulminating rage towards FOX and fundies is a little low, stop by and top it off.

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...and a dash of MADNESS.

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...to Richard Pryor, who died today in Los Angeles. (I was at home asleep when it happened, honest.)

For my money, Richard Pryor was the best stand-up there ever was. Other comics were as charismatic (Lenny Bruce?); as honest (Mort Sahl?); as perceptive (Bill Hicks?); or as good at characterization (Lily Tomlin? Jonathan Winters?); but Pryor combined it all. People often talk about Richard Klein as being the standup's standup, but for my money NOBODY ever touched Richard Pryor. He'd make you laugh hard, then think, then sympathize with behavior and attitudes very different from your own. Then he'd make you laugh some more. In that his humor made you feel more human and more connected, instead of better than others and distanced from them, he was undoubtedly a genius. If there's a heaven, he belongs there.

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Dudes, dudes, dudes--it's just an opinion. And PLEASE: sign your comments. Don't make me argue with the aether. (Thank you, Devin. I am chuffed that you, as a true Beatle expert, thought I made some sense.)

I know about and have considered the "phony" aspect of it all--the Esquire article of October 1980 which painted Lennon as a hippie mogul, etc (I would argue that it was Yoko who was interested in accumulating money through slick operating, not Lennon). MDC said at the time he thought Lennon was a "phony," although perhaps a hypocrite is what he was really getting at. And there IS a definite dissonance between the man who sang "Imagine no possessions" and the reality. Lennon was not Gandhi, no matter how hard Lennon, Inc. now attempts to make him so. The approved vision of Lennon is one of right action through consumption, and I don't agree with that.

Not to be provocative, but here's what I'd say in response to Anonymous: my theory was "personal" to whom? John Lennon? Lennon's dead, so he doesn't care. I claim no special insight besides reading and thinking about him. You, I assume, didn't know him, either. And even if you did, so what? The interesting question is: why the hell do either of US care? Because, I would argue, that this stranger created a vision in our heads of real intimacy, of a personal connection with him via the mechanism of mass-media. Which was a fantasy, NOT a reality. Mass media cannot deliver real intimacy, which is by definition a one-to-one thing.

Some people really love Lennon's Beatle persona, of the super-sharp, witty working-class kid made good. (He wasn't exactly working-class, not like George or Ringo, but that's the persona.) Some people really love Lennon's Rock 'n' Roll Rebel persona, the one that Brian Epstein supposedly "tamed" and Paul McCartney supposedly gelded with songs like "Maxwell's Silver Hammer." Some people really love the Liberated Soulmate persona, where John and Yoko fused into one person. Some people really love the Political Activist persona. Some people really love the Devoted Father persona. And some people really love the Taken-From-Us-Too-Soon persona; which of course can't be laid at the feet of Lennon, but has the same relationship to the real person as all the other personas do--it ain't it.

Lennon couldn't play these roles without some part of him believing them, at least for a time. But when you add all this up, what do you get? You get a deeply appealing, deeply fractured individual. Someone who--in my opinion--was deeply, desperately attractive to people who did not know him at all, and became much less appealing the closer in you got. Because Lennon was--in my opinion--in a state of psychological crisis for most of his life.

The more you dig at Lennon's character, the more unresolved you find that it is. He was very smart, yes. Also really talented, certainly. But under this, unchanged by success, there is a desperation in his life--first for fame, then for drugs, then for Yoko, then for political relevence, then for perfect parenthood--and always for authenticity. Lennon encouraged MDC to judge him a "phony" because authenticity was the message of his post-Beatles persona. That's why he wasn't Paul McCartney.

Finding out "who you are" is a lifetime project for us all, and the real shame about Lennon's death wasn't that the Beatles didn't get back together (as happy a moment as that might've been) but that John Lennon the person never got a chance to become a true, fully functional adult. He was getting there--you can hear it in his interviews of 1980; there's less boilerplate, and more healthy perspective. But in many ways, he was still struggling with the same stuff he'd been fighting since he picked up a guitar. He was still using drugs. He was still freakishly dependent on Yoko. He was still prone to messianic flights of fancy. Lennon had a long way yet to go, and in my opinion, needed nothing so much as some gut-wrenching, utterly honest, utterly private years with the right kind of therapist. (By the way, I'm more than willing to admit that as usual, what you think of Lennon has more to do with your own beliefs and reality than his. That is what made him iconic--like JFK, for example.)

Lest you think I'm being too hard on the poor fellow, keep in mind that I also believe that Lennon was largely reacting to demands and pressures the scale of which none of us could ever understand. He had messanic tendencies because people treated him like a messiah. He had easy access to sex and drugs and booze and God knows what else from the age of 21 on; any one of those things can warp one's personality, as well as provide an easy escape from psychological problems better faced. Furthermore, I don't think that Lennon avoided the syncophants any more than Elvis did; I suspect he was trapped in the same cycle of using/being used that superfamous people are. AND, until 1966 at least, and maybe a lot longer than that, he was forced to work--and produce creative material--on a killing schedule. So my primary feelings towards Lennon aren't disapproval, but wonder that he held up so well, and respect for the toll all that must've taken on him. And sadness, too, for some of the choices he made.

Some of my sadness is the selfish brand of the fan; I think had he ever gotten enough of the right kind of help, he would've produced even more fantastic music. Whenever he took a step towards mental health--whether through TM or through Janov and primal scream--his work flourished. But most of my sadness is that this person, who I feel no little gratitude towards, thanks to the pleasure the Beatles have given me, died without truly relieving himself of the psychological burdens he obviously labored under. He deserved better than what he gave himself, not because he was special, but because nobody deserves to suffer needlessly. We all make ourselves suffer, and if people studied the life and works of Joe Blow as closely as they do that of John Lennon, they'd see similar--but different--pressures and compromises and pain. So when I think of John Lennon now, the message I get isn't "be a Beatle and make people love you" (the message I got when I was a kid) or the Yoko-approved Prince of Peace piffle that I think Lennon would've snickered at (all the way to the bank and reliquary), but a reinforcement of how important it is to examine yourself courageously, to be humble in the face of your own shortcomings, and for the good of yourself and those you love, work on those shortcomings in an effective way. To live in reality, to accept reality, and (I hope) eventually come to love reality.

Not a bad lesson, I suppose... And as always, it's just my opinion.

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Those of you who know me know that I am really the biggest Beatles fan possible. Thank god listening to Beatles doesn't make you fat, or rot your teeth, or give you cancer, because if it did, I'd be one huge, toothless, cancer-ridden SOB.

So it goes without saying that I've read nearly every Beatle book worth reading (no, not Spitz yet--I'm saving that for Xmas; and yes, Albert Goldman, which I didn't find so unbelieveable or scandalous). It also goes without saying that John Lennon has always been the Beatle that most interests me--with George, ever the dark horse, making a late charge. Naturally I've been thinking about John Lennon today, 25 years after he was murdered, so here are some thoughts for anybody who cares to indulge:

1) Lennon's death was a senseless act, but in retrospect it wasn't all that surprising. You live like an archetype, you die like one too; I think Lennon grasped this and didn't expect to die in his bed. In fact, I think it's rather more surprising that none of the Beatles were shot when they were Beatles--I can think of no bigger testament to the uncanny good fortune those four enjoyed. There were, we know now, many death threats, but obviously in the Sixties and Seventies entertainers did not hold enough weight in people's psyches to merit murder; only politicians were so psychoactive. This is not to say that the Beatles didn't arouse sufficient love and hate, but there was clearly something in our human culture back then that prevented us from making the connection. That changed with Lennon, or maybe Bob Marley (who was wounded in the late 70s for coming out in favor of a politician). The risk of murder seems to be related to grasping for, then achieving, a certain kind of relevance and importance; just the kind that the post-Beatles Lennon founded his career upon.

2) Lennon's death was intimately related to his greatest talent; he was expert at making you feel you knew him. Sure, a lot of his success--especially with the Beatles--was about the music, but from about 1966 on, he wasn't as much a musician as he was John Lennon, the approachable icon. Think of the songs he's remembered for: Help!, In My Life, Strawberry Fields, Imagine, the whole of Double Fantasy...These are all the work of a consummate performer PRETENDING to give you, the special fan, a glimpse of secret pain or dearest wish. Lennon invented and perfected pop song as heart-to-heart, and he didn't hide it in poetry like Bob Dylan, either. Murder is an intimate act, and I believe that if Mark David Chapman had not felt he knew John Lennon well through his music and his public statements, he wouldn't have murdered him. The irony of it is that the public Lennon was just an act--as are all public personas--but in Lennon's case, I think he'd been doing the act since he was so young, and had gotten so much from doing it, that he was constantly losing track of the real him. For a decade at least, Lennon's persona had insisted on being taken seriously. Whatever else it is, murdering you is taking you seriously. I expect that would've become less and less important to him as he aged, and maybe he would've been less and less liable to provoke violence, too. Nobody's shot Pete Townshend or Eric Clapton or Mick Jagger. Lennon's murder, like the Beatles success, was a confluence of factors a long time in coming, in retrospect almost inevitable.

By the way, Lennon fans are encouraged to check out "Free As a Bird: The Dakota Beatle Demos." A little solo Lennon goes a long way for me, but that bootleg of home demos from 1975-80 is the best.

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Roller coasters: yes.
The "scrambler": yes.
The buccaneer: sure.
The plunge: 'salright.
The ferris wheel: NO.

I am working on so many web goodies you wouldn't believe it. Sorry it's taking so $@#&ing long.

If you're in the UK, why not buy "The Chronicles of Blarnia"? You're probably going to hell anyway.

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...this clip from Python Graham Chapman's memorial service in October 1989. It has a bit of swearing in it, which I think should become a permanent feature of memorial services worldwide.

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...are some excellent ideas here.

But really this is just an excuse to relay a story I heard this fall from the director Tobe Hooper. Mr. Hooper said that he got the idea for leatherface not from Wisconsin serial killer Ed Gein, but from his family physician growing up. Apparently during his med school days, this freakizoid thought it would be a hoot to excise the face from a cadaver and wear it as a mask on Halloween.

JESUS!

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...the eggs off my door and the toilet paper out of the trees to post about two things:

1) a funny Homestar Runner.

2) The movie "New York Doll." Go see it when it comes to your town--it's very interesting, and quite touching, too. I couldn't find a super link for it, but you can Google it and find plenty more information.

Oh, great--there's a bag of dog poop on my steps...Wow, it's still flaming!

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...history as much as I am (admittedly a vanishingly small number, but wot the hell) have to check this page out. It's apparently clips from a film put together by the Class of 1970.

That was a hugely interesting time at Yale--the Yale of Doonesbury and the 28-28 tie, Bobby Seale and co-education. I found the clip of William Sloane Coffin particularly interesting.

Oh, and for my daily dose of Quixoticism: bring back Bladderball!

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...at a Pink Floyd laser light show.

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This morning, the NY Times blew the lid off of beer pong and flippy cup. The Gray Lady's verdict: popular. I myself take a shot every time I see the NYT introduce yet another conservative writer to its editorial page. God knows we need more conservative voices in the mass media.

Did any of you play drinking games? Any interesting ones? I just drank, quickly and without malice. I had no time for games.

By the way, I'm watching the baseball playoffs and pulling hard for my Redbirds. They may need all the pulling I can muster. Also, I'm reading Warren Ellis' "Transmetropolitan," as well as a great book called "Old Money" by Nelson Aldrich. And working on the website for my college novel. Think you're gonna like it, folks. The humor website is still being designed--think that's gonna be pretty good, too.

See Capote. And the Murrow movie. And "Lord of War." Also, play the video game Wizard of War. "I am the wizard of warrrrr--insert your quarterrrr...."

That is all.

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Via the comedy blog Dead Frog, I just took a very interesting online test which analyzes your sense of humor. Here's what it said about me:

...Okay, for some reason, the text I cut-and-copied won't paste. But I remember that I was in the sector called "The Provocateur." It said I was transgressive, often vulgar, but also complex. Pretty accurate, I think. That means when I don't confuse people, I offend them. (Reviews of my books on Amazon bear this out.)

Check it out yourself. Post the results in the comments section, if you want.

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Beatlefans like myself will be happy to know that the Fabs' manager, Brian Epstein, now has a website dedicated to him. If you stop by, you might consider signing the petition to get 'Eppy' elected to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame...

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...have begun, and I'm hoping my Cards go all the way.

I continue to be pummelled by the harsh Santa Monica sun.

By the by, Blarnia's out in the UK--has anybody found the one with drugs in it yet? We always like to pull one book out of the cartons and stick a bunch of crack and stuff in there. My editor Simon has weird ideas about marketing, but hey, he's the professional.

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...something not covered by the internet:
"Lily Tomlin porn."

I was wrong. But I wasn't beat, not yet. Thinking a little, I Googled "Queen Mum porn." Surely that phrase was alien to the internet.

Wrong again.

So I took a final crack at it: "cleanroom porn." People couldn't be that weird, could they?

I know when I'm licked.

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Longtime readers may be noticing that the frequency of posts to this blog is slowing. Well, that's because I'm working on a new site, and writing/reading up a storm. So all is well. And trust me, my quotidian adventures are only getting less interesting as I get older.

I was moved to post, however, by Jon's pointing me to this recent interview with author Kurt Vonnegut, one of my absolute favorites. In it, he's quoted as saying "There's nothing funny about...the assassinations of Martin Luther King and John Kennedy..." I see his point, but I think I disagree. Any human folly can be turned into comedy; the scale of the tradegy only darkens the humor.

Here's a piece that I wrote a while back, for a proposed (but never published) history of America. In it, a football coach is trying to rally his players, the country, on the afternoon of November 22, 1963.

[SCENE: A dingy locker room reeking of sweat, mildew, and disinfectant. A dejected group of football players, smeared with grass, mud and blood sit in various postures of utter defeat. The COACH, a florid, beefy guy in a star-spangled windbreaker, strides to the middle of the room; after blowing his whistle to get everybody’s attention, he speaks.]

COACH: All right, everybody! Listen up! Okay. Well, we had a rough day out there. We did some things wrong, and got some bad breaks. It’s always tough when the quarterback gets shot in the head.

But teams have lost quarterbacks before. They got through it, and we’re gonna get through it, too. Hell, some of ‘em even made it to the Super Bowl, and if Lyndon plays like we all expect him to, we just might do that! But that’s not what I’m worried about. What I’m worried about is us staying together as a team.

‘Cause I’m telling you, it’s already happening. People—reporters, the knuckleheads on sports radio—they’re already starting with the questions, like, “Who the frig shot the quarterback?” And, “Why the frig did they shoot the quarterback?” And, “How the frig can we keep the quarterback from getting shot again?”

But you know what, gentlemen? That doesn’t matter. It doesn’t—friggin’—matter. What matters is next week’s game, not what happened this week. So I suggest you all just put it out of your mind, and move on. ‘Cause in this game, teams that live in the past, lose. Look at France.

Take a look around this room. These people are the only ones whose opinion matters a good goddamn. If you don’t stick together, we won’t have a chance, not next Sunday, or the one after that, or ever. We succeed together, or we don’t succeed at all. So everybody in this room—listen up, Malcolm—you gotta decide: which friggin’ side am I on? Am I on the team’s side, or am I on the side of the nobodies sitting in the cheap seats? Martin, Bobby—shut the frig up and listen.

If you guys stick together, I’m gonna make you a promise: nobody’s gonna get cut from the team. Everybody did their goddamn level best out there—J. Edgar, you Dulles boys, I saw you busting your asses—and I’m not planning on making any changes. Sometimes things just happen, and if you start turning a team upside-down just because the quarterback gets shot in the head, you’re screwed.

‘Cause we’re not in charge of Results, gentlemen. That’s not our Department. Our Department is Effort, that’s our Department. Somebody getting shot in the head, that’s a Result. Only one guy is in the Results Department, and that’s God. Giancana, you know what I'm talking about, I know you go to Church, paesan.

Here’s the hard truth: Next week somebody else may get shot. Maybe Malcolm’ll get shot. And then a game or so after that, maybe Martin will get shot in the face or something. I don’t know, it might happen. It’s possible. And then maybe Bobby’ll get shot in the same friggin’ game!

My point is, you don’t know. That’s just the way this game is. People are going to get shot. And as much as the reporters and fans and all the people who’ve never played a goddamn minute of football in their lives bitch and moan, there's no point in asking “Why?” or “Who let the quarterback ride in an open motorcade?” or “Can't you see that if you don't get to the bottom of this, sooner or later the fans will lose faith in the team and get pissed off, and maybe not even show up?” Now, that’s one thing I’m not worried about—the fans’ll come. They gotta come. What other choice do they have, not voting? What do you think would happen if we did whatever the fans told us to? It’d be anarchy, that’s what would happen. Plus, we’d all be out of jobs!
So, starting at practice tomorrow, we’re gonna all pretend like this didn’t happen. We’re not gonna study film—we all saw it, we don’t need friggin’ Zapruder to remind us. We’re just gonna start preparing for next week. Moving on.

That’s what Jack would want. Do you think he cares who shot him? Not where he is now. And we shouldn’t either…Now, shower up and we’ll get ‘em next week.

Is it funny? All I know is it made me laugh. You know, the kind where it never leaves your chest, and sits there and hurts.

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Molly Ivins talks some sense about the hurricane here.

Somebody said recently, "The hurricane has exposed America as a third-world country." Looking at the video, it's difficult to disagree.

More, and happier, later.

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Like many people, I was appalled this morning to read Pat Robertson's comments regarding Venezualan leader Hugo Chavez. I am not a member of any Christian denomination, but to me assassinating someone (even a foreign leader you don't like) seems to be the exact opposite of Christ's message. For which, it must be remembered, he was assassinated.

I was all set to write a squib pointing this out (in a humorous way of course). Then I thought, "Wait a sec. Pat Robertson, as much as I despise him, has probably read the Bible a lot more closely than I have. I'd better check my sources before going off half-cocked." As we all know, most people who read this blog are highly devout fundamentalist Christians, as well as real sticklers for accuracy.

So I skimmed through the New Testament, and you know what? Robertson's right! Christ is constantly offing people, usually for political gain. The dude's a one-man killing machine. "For He so loved the world, that he gave His only begotten sniper." "Blessed are the hitmen." "Do unto others, but cover your tracks, to minimize blowback." The whole thing reads like a study packet from The School of the Americas.

The apostle John has some particularly interesting things to say about remote-controlled carbombs. And the whole reason Jesus had to raise Lazarus is because he had flown into a fit of rage and...you'll have to read it yourself. It's so bloodthirsty that I really don't feel comfortable posting excerpts here. Suffice to say that I was shocked; who would've imagined that the Sermon on the Mount was delivered from the Grassy Knoll?

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...founder of National Lampoon and 70s comedy icon, will enjoy this article. It's specifically about Caddyshack, but gives a nice summation of the man and his career, which is ultimately a very sad story.

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...so I can't type for long, but two things:
1) Santa Monica is GREAT.
2) There's a great exchange of comments here at Jon Schwarz's blog, Tiny Revolution (read down the thread). I didn't want to besmirch the thread's excellence by adding this factoid (you'll see why), but I seem to recall from my reading that the dictator Sulla was consumed by worms.

Also, striking while the ire is hot: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was very disappointing. Johnny Depp is a great actor, but his performance here is extremely offputting, as was Burton's attempt to locate the movie in something like our own reality.

Our artistic era suffers from a surfeit of timeliness; we have an historical self-regard bordering on prejudice. The only reason for the remake I could ascertain was that the old one didn't look current. And where the original movie (and book before it) delivered Dahlian black humor and whimsy, the remake gives us context-free pop culture references (Busby Berkeley, 2001). And don't get me started on the lame backstory for Wonka; explaining him is like explaining how a peach can grow to titanic size. "So, Aunt Spiker, are you ready to investigate this hostility of yours? Was James's mother your parents' favorite child?" Roald Dahl would've puked.

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Or Spanish? I have some author's copies that I'm trying to offload before packing them up. If anybody wants one, let me know.

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Multi-talented compadre Jeremy Hornik penned this for the Guardian contest, but missed the deadline by an hour (damn time zones!). It's a Portnoy's Complaint-era Philip Roth's version of the death of Dumbledore; he has graciously allowed me to post it below.

"Philip Roth and the death of Dumbledore

Everyone in Weequahic knew. When a Jew like Dumbledore makes it big (and growing up, he-who-must-not-be-named-dumb-Bill-Horowitz was a capital J Jew, nickels for Israel in the sleeve of his wizard robe) it doesn't stay secret even when he changes his name and starts talking like David Niven. The neighborhood was torn, some so angry that this schmuck had betrayed the neighborhood that they put up flags saying, "Muggle and proud." "Schmucks," my father would mutter, dropping his wand into his briefcase and stomping off to his train. Sandy and I didn't have to ask who.

But he was talking about me! I was muggle to the core! I strained and strained at my little wand but I couldn't get it to rise up, never mind shoot out a shower of sparks. "Try harder," my mother would yell through the locked door. "Rub it with both hands!"

"Go away," I begged.

"Sandy shot a whole stream of owls out of his wand, and he's only six," she yelled.

Dumbledore-Horowitz laughs. "Smashing anecdote," he says, in that Niven that impresses the immigrant parents of wizard children. (Who else would spend that kind of tuition money but strivers, layers of guilt trips, failures by birth who put everything on their children? Oh, Sandy went to Hogwarts.) "Weequahic, you say?"

"You self-hating phony," I mutter, pull the hidden thing out of my bag and let him have it. It's a picture of him, with earlocks and a pointy yarmulke, smiling with his silver kaddish wand. I shriek, "What do you think of that, Horowitz?" Whatever spell he'd cast on himself to obliterate his Jewishness lifted, and for one moment there was a spark of recognition. Or maybe that's how a person looks when they have a massive stroke. I?m no doctor, either."

Well done, Jeremy. All I'd add is a bit about "blonde-as-Doris-Day witches with the tiniest of warts on their pert shiska punims." And perhaps something about a spurt of ectoplasm sizzling on the bathroom lightbulb.

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The release of the sixth Harry Potter book has people talking about Barry (according to Google Alert). Here's something from the Suburban Chicago News; and the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette also says something, but you have to register. "Michael Gerber, noted pet-killer and crypto-Fascist..."

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The cover of my comic novel is being prepared, and I need some help. The concept is a dormroom door. Here's my question: what is the funniest stuff that you have seen on a dorm door? Vandalized pictures, flyers, stuff written on white boards--what? My editor said she once saw a piece of pizza stuck on one.

Current students/recent grads, now's your time to show how thoroughly degenerate your university is. Thoughts? Katie, Jack, Mollie, Larry: you must reply or face immediate disinheritance. (My football cards are probably worth something.)

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The Guardian newspaper is running a fun contest related to the new Harry Potter book. THEY say that Albus Dumbledore buys the farm in HP6, and are asking readers to write ol' Albus' death scene. The winners will receive a bunch of loot from Waterstone's...

By the way, I'm writing this from the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. It's very weird here, both in the hotel and in the town outside. I clambered around the lip of the Grand Canyon today. More later; you can read the details of Kate's and my trip so far here. We'll be updating it soon--2200 miles in five days cuts into blogging-time.

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So Kate and I are about to set off on, if not the Mother of all road trips, at least the Aunt. Friends and other interested parties can chart our progress from Chicago to LA by checking out this super-special blog!

Comments--tips on how to talk your way out of a speeding ticket, memories of the Donner Party--are welcome.

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I'm packing. It's insane. Kate and I go to sleep every evening with delightful visions of bonfires dancing in our brains.

Meanwhile, friend Jules Lipoff forwarded me this article on the long-dead-yet-somehow-still-living National Lampoon. For people who admire the old magazine, it's depressing as hell. On the other hand, for people who admire the concept of commerce as "selling crap to the suckers," it's inspiring.

To save you the effort: it's the same article that gets written every time the name changes hands. The people in charge get a brief burst of notoriety, based on the old magazine's quality and reputation. They take this moment in the limelight to vomit out some nonsense about licensing and leveraging and maximizing brand identity, etc etc, which proves beyond any doubt that they have NO IDEA what made the Lampoon financially successful in the first place: collecting a group of really funny people, letting them do whatever the hell they wanted, and distributing whatever they produced.

Comedic institutions are worthwhile to the extent that they facilitate collaboration and creativity (see Second City, ImprovOlympic). When they stop doing that, and the people at the top start thinking like marketers (see SNL, MAD Magazine) comedy fans should assemble with torches and pitchforks, and tear 'em down.

I have spoken!

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Kate and I saw a wonderful play last weekend at the Trap Door theater here in Chicago, "Amerikafka," directed by our friend Kate Hendrickson. Here's the excellent, right-on-the-money review from the Sun Times:

"Kafka's worlds

June 30, 2005

BY HEDY WEISS Theater Critic

In 1912, Franz Kafka -- an insurance claims adjuster by day, a visionary modernist writer by night -- had a life-altering experience. He attended a performance by a traveling Yiddish theater troupe that had stopped in Prague, and he became friends with its young Polish-Jewish leader, the effusive and spirited actor-director Itzhak Lowy.

In that same year, Kafka, 29, would begin work on what he called his "American novel" -- a never fully completed book published posthumously as Amerika. A Dickensian tale, it follows the adventures of a 16-year-old boy who is packed off by his parents to the New World to avoid a paternity suit. The boy arrives in New York harbor to find the Statue of Liberty holding a sword rather than a torch, and he eventually ends up joining a traveling circus called the Nature Theatre of Oklahoma.

Kafka, it should be noted, never visited America.

It is out of all this -- and much, much more -- that playwright Ken Prestininzi has woven his alternately fierce and flamboyant fantasia "AmeriKafka," now in its Midwest premiere by Trap Door Theatre. A blend of the dreamy and nightmarish, the spiritual and profane, the heartbreaking and the soul-searching, the transcendent and the vulgar -- with some hilarious X-rated puppetry, too -- it is a theatrical piece that captures both the mystery and tragicomedy of Kafka's real and imaginary worlds.


When we first see the writer (played movingly by Tom Bateman, whose wide-eyed face and skeletal body create a haunting presence) he is literally naked -- a tortured soul, wracked by a bloody cough, by self-doubt and by problems with his father. He also is torn by the three powerful forces on Jewish life in the 20th century -- Zionism, assimilation and genocide. Of course he could not possibly have known about the Holocaust -- he died of tuberculosis in 1924, at the age of 40 -- though later readers would have the eerie sense he knew exactly what was to come. In fact, Kafka's three younger sisters (portrayed here by Betsy Zajko, Emily Litspeich and Tien Doman), as well as Lowy (Jason Powers, who captures the zany spirit of his character to perfection), would perish in the camps.

Watching Kafka's encounter with the wild, emotive Yiddish actors -- so different in spirit from his own repressed, uneasily assimilated self -- you begin to understand how liberating they were for him. And their energy remains as Kafka plunges into his imaginary voyage to America, writing up a storm as he weaves the picaresque story of his buoyant alter ego, Frankie K (played by the goofily elastic and altogether wonderful K.K. Dodds, a stringbean of a girl with a slender, boyish frame and a vaudevillian style irresistible in its plucky naivete).

Along the way we meet the women who both excite and frighten Kafka and Frankie K (they are played by Marzena Bukowska, Holly Thomas, Mary Jo Bolduc and the earthy yet angelic Nicole Cardano). We also get a glimpse of Kafka's friend, the life-loving Max Brod (John Gray), who will ultimately rescue (and publish) his work.

Director Kate Hendrickson has staged Prestininzi's challenging script with ingenuity and style -- with a marvelously simple yet ever-morphing set by Ewelina Dobiesz (expertly lit by Richard Norwood), character-defining costumes by Jana Anderson, a klezmer-infused score by Kevin O'Donnell and an array of stunning puppets by Sarah Bendix.

As is often the case at Trap Door, there is too much screaming and overacting at times. In fact, the show's weakest scene is the one that should be most magical and alluring -- when the Yiddish actors take to the stage. Yes, Yiddish theater could be broad, but it was not shrill; there was great art in it. Yet all is forgiven later, thanks to a scene in which Frankie K is taught an unforgettable lesson about the danger of throwing your past away."

The Chicago Tribune was equally enthusiastic.

If you're in Chicago, go see it!

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From now until forever, Kate and I are in moving hell. Any scraps of time are going to produce a version of Barry 3 for the US (coming in August) and Blarnia/US (coming in September)...I'm also thinking about doing a skeleton key/annotation to Barry 1--I get a lot of questions like, "Why is there a Crowley Avenue in Hogsbleede?" Would an annotation site be a good idea? Opinions?

In the meantime, here's a blog you might like: http://www.chasecuts.blogspot.com/

Enjoy!

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Thirty-six. That's kind of a blow, I don't mind telling you. On the other hand, I got tons of lovely books: a Peter de Vries novel, a biography of Del Close, a "gear"-looking book about Swinging London, and The Complete Beatles Recording Sessions. This last is an out-of-print, incredibly exhaustive chronicle of the Fabs in the studio (which will be essential if I ever do these Beatles podcasts I want to do--anybody know how I can do it without paying an arm and a leg?). And Kate outdid herself by gifting me with the coolest little camcorder, just in time for us to drive across the country! Get ready for a video journal, people. It'll be PG, at least.

(BTW--the site update is still in process. It's coming!)

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So I'm burning all my cds, so I can sell the originals (yes, I'm crazy, but you already knew that). This is taking only slightly longer than World War II. During this process, several thoughts have flitted through my brain.

1) John Lee Hooker only recorded one song--over and over, with different titles--but it was a good song. You can't blame somebody for finding something that they like and sticking with it, especially if people keep paying you to do it.

2) The Beatles had no idea what made them so good. Or else they tried to fuck things up after 1970. John, Paul, George, and Ringo's solo stuff is so often profoundly irritating that there's no way they realized what they were doing when they broke up. Of course there are exceptions to this--All Things Must Pass, for example--but "Woman is the Nigger of the World"? CHRIST!
You know it ain't easy/You know how hard it can be
The way things are goin'/ I really hate this CD.

3) The highest form of using iTunes is removing all Yoko's songs from in-between John's. Apologies to any Yoko fans out there. I'm hard, but fair, and "Kiss Kiss Kiss" can induce hemorrhaging in rats.

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Cat owners like myself will tell you that putting stuff on your cat while he/she is asleep is a neverending source of cheap fun.

A soda can fits perfect on Willa's head.

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Barry Trotter: you'll laugh, you'll cry, it will become a part of you.

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As some of you know, my wife's about to go to grad school at USC for Film/TV. Last night she received a list of the movies they expect incoming students to have seen. I have a mania for such stuff--my dream is to create a library containing only the BEST books/comic books/movies. In case you shared this love/sickness, I thought I'd post their list. Anybody out there who's seen them all?

MOVIES:
A Hard Day's Night
African Queen
Alice in the Cities
Alien
All About Eve
Amadeus
American Friend, The
American Grafitti
Annie Hall
Apartment, The
Apocalype Now
Apu Trilogy, The
Band of Outsiders
Band Wagon, The
Barton Fink
Battle of Algiers
Being John Malkovich
Bicycle Thief, The
Big Lebowski, The
Black Orpheus
Blade Runner
Blow-Up
Blue
Blue Velvet
Bob le Flambeur
Bonnie and Clyde
Boyz 'n the Hood
Breathless
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
Carrie
Casablanca
Children of Paradise (Les Enfants du Paradis)
Chinatown
Cinema Paradiso
Citizen Kane
Clueless
Coal Miner's Daughter
Contempt
Conversation, The
Cool Hand Luke
Crimes And Misdemeanors
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
Deep End, The
Dekalog
Dersu Uzala
Diner
Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, The
D.O.A. (1950)
Do The Right Thing
Dog Day Afternoon
Donnie Darko
Double Indemnity
Dr. Strangelove
Eat, Drink, Man, Woman
8 1/2
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Exorcist, The
Fallen Idol, The
Fight Club
Fish Called Wanda, A
Five Easy Pieces
Force of Evil
Godfather, The (I & II)
Gone With the Wind
Graduate, The
Grand Illusion
High and Low
High Noon
House of Sand and Fog
It Happened One Night
Jaws
Jules and Jim
King of Marvin Gardens, The
Kramer Vs. Kramer
La Jetée
La Strada
Lady Eve, The
Last Tango in Paris
L'Avventura
Lawrence of Arabia
Le Boucher
Le Samouraï
Letter from an Unknown Woman
Like Water for Chocolate
Man for All Seasons, A
Matrix, The
M*A*S*H
Memento
Midnight Cowboy
Miller's Crossing
Mother and the Whore, The
Morocco
Mulholland Drive
Nashville
Network
Night Moves
Ninotchka
Notorious
On the Waterfront
Once Upon a Time in the West
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Out of the Past
Paths of Glory
Patton
Point Blank
Producers, The
Pulp Fiction
Raging Bull
Ran
Rashomon
Rear Window
Red
Red Balloon, The
Repo Man
Rules of the Game
Safe
Searchers, The
Seven Samurai
Seventh Seal, The
Shanghai Express
Shock Corridor
Shoot the Piano Player
Silence of the Lambs
Stagecoach
Star is Born, A (1937)
Star Wars
Stranger Than Paradise
Sullivan's Travels
Sunset Boulevard
Talk to Her
Thelma and Louise
Third Man, The
Tin Drum, The
Touch of Evil
Traffic
Trouble in Paradise
2001 - A Space Odyssey
Umbrellas of Cherbourg, The
Unbearable Lightness of Being, The
Underworld U.S.A.
Unforgiven
Verdict, The
Vertigo
White
Wild Strawberries
Wizard of Oz, The
Written on the Wind
Woman in the Dunes
You Can Count on Me

DOCUMENTARIES:
Sorrow and the Pity, The
Harlan Country, USA
Dogtown and Z Boys
My Architect
Triumph of the Will
Hoop Dreams
Roger and Me
Super Size Me
Grey Gardens
Gimme Shelter
Crumb
Spellbound
Capturing the Friedmans
Riding Giants
The War Room
Don't Look Back
Brother's Keeper
What the Bleep do we know?
The Thin Blue Line
Fast, Cheap and Out of Control
The Kid Stays in the Picture
Thelonious Monk: Straight No Chaser
Control Room
The Celluloid Closet
Sans Soleil
Poto and Cabengo

TV [available to Rent]:
Six Feet Under
The Sopranos
Sex and the City
Freaks and Geeks
All in the Family
MASH
Seinfeld
24
Arrested Development
Gilmore Girls
Good Times
The Wonder Years
The Shield
The Wire
The Office

Fascinating, huh? I'm no slouch when it comes to the foreign film or difficult documentary, yet I was amazed at how many of the movies I had never heard of. Guess I know what Kate and I will be doing while we pack...

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A screenwriter friend of mine writes:

"I saw 'Revenge of the Sith' and it broke my brain. Actually, I saw it twice and the second time, I took notes (after having bought a lights-in-the-dark pen for this very purpose).

In an attempt to release some of the pent-up pressure inside my skull, I have created a blog: http://surlywriter.blogspot.com."

Go take a look. Entertaining, it will be.

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Triplette is a three-person comedy troupe from Chicago--one of the best I've seen. They're performing at The Upright Citizens' Brigade Theater, 307 W. 26th Street (b/w 8th & 9th Aves.), June 10th, 2005. You should go see them; in the meantime, here's their site.

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...thanks to a chance encounter in a used book store, I've been thinking about Jack the Ripper, specifically the Maybrick Diary, which (depending on which side you're on) definitively solves the case or is a shabby hoax. Check it out at this excellent website.

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A friend of mine was so irritated by the latest entry in the Star Wars franchise that she created a blog to vent. Her right-on-the-money comments are here.

She's threatening to post an entire alternate plot for the first three episodes. I've seen scraps of this and it's great.

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Jon has a funny post over on Tiny Revolution.

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...Mark and Steve O'Donnell in the online edition of The Believer. I know Mark well, and he's one of my favorite comedy people (and teaches a perennially oversubscribed comedy writing seminar at dear ol' Yale). I don't know Steve, but seeing as he and Mark are identical twins, I figure he's probably a lot like Mark. Check it out here.

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...might enjoy this LiveJournal from the Yankees' Alex Rodriguez.

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Friend Anny Gaul pointed me to this primer on barbeque, North Carolina style. As a big fan of the smoky arts, I found it quite interesting.

What's the best barbeque in Chicago, you ask? Kate and I think it's here.

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...should check out a new blog by Larry Fouch. It's intelligent, opinionated, everything you want in a blog about movies. Larry seems to favor old stuff over current Hollywood product, and I can get behind that.

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...was this last weekend at Dottie's Dumpling Dowry, in Madison, Wisconsin. Spectacular.

Two thoughts while watching the new "Hitchhiker's" movie:
1) Douglas Adams was a comic genius;
2) There's definitely something missing there, for me. Kate suggested that the passivity of the characters, combined with the macro-thinking asides ("The Earth is x" or "The entire history of the Universe can be summed up y." totally saps any investment in the story or the characters. I don't know. All I know is, all the lines were tremendously witty and inventive, and I was nonetheless checking my watch.

I am perfectly prepared for this to be a deficiency in ME, not in Hitchhiker's. Also--and I know this is just the type of thing that makes me so annoying on a day-in, day-out basis, the movie didn't look right. It should've been made in 1980, with that kind of film stock; it should've been the long-lost brother to Holy Grail or Time Bandits. So much of the humor is embedded in 1970s British malaise...Ah, well. Better this good movie than that great nonexistent one.

Also: go see "Kung Fu Hustle"!

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...for me to get my act together re: the new site, I thought I'd post some recent emails from Trotteristas.

This one, from a demented pair in Australia (keep reading):
"Barry Trotter books rule! Though it is rather disturbing to consistantly find them in the children's section... [I agree. They should be kept in a lead-lined vault, with a sign reading, "Warning: Sex Jokes."--MG] You've done a really good job on them, congrats! So, is there going to be a Barry Trotter and the Fourth Book? Hope so! Can't wait to read it!

Inspired by you and our own success with internet parody fanfiction, we made our own Potter parody! It started off as a simple story on fanfiction.net, but it grew into so much more when, most likely on a sugar high, we thought "hey, this would make a great role play game!" Thus, Hogwarts School of the Brave and the Ignorant (4 days without a murder!) was born! We'd be honered if you'd take a look! The URL is here.
Probably our fave bit in your books is the school volcano. I mean, what the (insert interobang here). Gotta love randomness to fix plot holes! :D
Anyways, that's all that comes to mind currently.
~M & N-N"

Thanks, you two. I hope that you are not attacked by any funnel-web spiders. I tried the link, but couldn't figure it out. Can I read it without creating an account?

And just this morning another fan writes, "i love your books however inappropriate. Barry Trotter is my favourite overall. sarcasm is my life. When and IF i grow up i want to be just like you [Oh, God, don't DO that to yourself! Please!--MG] that or a starving musician, its a hard choice...your books are an inspiration to all of us who love being synical and those who cant spell. in short i am writing to you on behalf of the literate world for writing barry trotter and breaking the chain of "potter lovers" . sir my hat is off to you,
thanks for your time and for not running away crying/screaming,

Thanks, T. I DID run away crying/screaming, but I do that all the time. My wife came in and gave me a cold compress and a hypodermic in the neck and I was fine. I suggest you go for musician. You may starve, but the groupies make up for that.

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This recently came through my in-box:

"I demand that you stop writing the Barry Trotter series. Close barrytrotter.com How can you make fun of the Harry Potter series? If I was old enough, I would sue you.

Ben The Barry Trotter HATER"

How could any author not be utterly charmed by this? Such passion--and for BOOKS. Yay, Ben! Go get 'im, fella! If all readers were as devoted as Ben obviously is, all of us writers would be better off.

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The Artful Writer has a wonderful set of terms used by Zucker/Abrams/Zucker (the people behind Airplane! others) in crafting their comedy. Kate passed it on to me, and I thought some of you might find it useful.

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Sweet Jesus, this Mikegerber.com revamping is taking a long time. But it will be worth it, I think.

In the meantime, this post on Dooce.com made my wife cry with laughter. And Bob Harris has some excellent things to say about "America We Stand As One" (via Tiny Revolution).

Oh, I almost forgot: near-Doctor Jules Lipoff has a piece in the Voice. Check it out!

Now, back to writing my book. And playing guitar. And eating figs.

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...over at Tiny Revolution. I want that Venn Diagram on a T-shirt.

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Check out this funny site, where you can listen to the work of rapper "Y2Khai, the Loc'd Out Asian."

Perhaps someday we will all be Loc'd out.

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Ladies and gents, this is how it should be done...I give you The Old Negro Space Program.

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I can't describe it or I'll spoil the joke. But check this out.

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I'm sure many of you are wondering if I am in a persistent vegetative state. This blog to the contrary, I am not. Writing massive amounts on the second college novel (it's funny I think), and getting the new site HTML'ed up as fast as I can...

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Friend Dennis Perrin has put up a Martin-Belushi-Murray-Curtin sketch from 1977 that's particularly apt given the Schiavo brouhaha. Check it out here.

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The new Mikegerber.com is coming soon! Not much longer now...

In the meantime, check out this website of an artist friend of mine. Weird and wonderful!

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In honor of World Book Day (who knew?), Amazon.com has released a list of its 2004 bestsellers, broken out by country. Guess what was #1 in the U.S.?

That's right, America: A Guide to Democracy Inaction.

Publishers, get your excuses ready!

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As if in silent rebuke for forgetting to respond to his last email, friend Jules Lipoff had a list piece up at McSweeney's last Friday; it's called, "Ways In Which She Could've Blinded Me With Science" and it's funny.

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Okay, so, I was away, but now I'm back and I come bearing a linke. (I have just decided that this spelling will henceforth be standard on this blog.) Yale Record refugee--and possibly ex-Fugee--Lee Tyler has a new blog. Humor pieces, musings, fol-de-rol. Check it out!

Sorry I've been a little light on the blogging lately, by the way. I've been writing on books instead. And formulating plans for Mikegerber.com 2.0, which I think you're going to like...

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Anybody can learn to write well. I may be wrong about that, but it's what I think. There's nothing special about being able to write well; what is special is being a UNIQUE writer, and (not coincidentally) loving to tell the truth, whatever that is for you. Writers of genius are utterly unique, and love telling the truth more than anything else in the world, more than success or fame or--often--their own happiness.

This is a roundabout way of saying how sorry I was to read this morning that Hunter S. Thompson committed suicide.

The tributes have just begun. They're all distanced and strangely soggy--like the article in a high school newspaper the editor writes after the class rebel gets hit by a train one Saturday night. "We all liked him, but never understood why he was so angry," the editor writes. "It's too bad HST never applied himself. Maybe he could've gotten into Harvard."

HST was a great writer--a brilliant stylist, utterly unique, and loved telling his truth. He was the Suetonius of the American Empire. We desperately need more writers like that, and now everybody will have to start from scratch...Damn.

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This week, cyclist Lance Armstrong announced that he plans to compete in this year’s Tour de France. The announcement shocked many in the sports world, but Armstrong explained it this way: “The fewer testicles you have, the more annoying Sheryl Crow gets.”

Tuesday, a pair of paintings from the famed series depicting dogs playing poker were auctioned off for nearly $600,000. But this is only one way Google’s IPO is transforming American society.

A government study released this week said that Utah, Oregon and states in the deep South have the lowest rates of binge drinking in the country. “The data is clear,” President Bush said. “If we want our children to have a healthy relationship with alcohol, we must limit their access to uppity black folks.”

A government study released this week said that states in the
Midwest and Great Plains have some of the highest rates of binge drinking. The report said the cause could be summed up in a single word: “February.”

Wednesday, leading intelligence officials identified groups associated with al-Qaeda as the greatest threat to the United States. The officials went on to say that the last time they were in the woods, they did indeed step in bear shit.

Tuesday, Michael Jackson was taken to an emergency room with flu-like symptoms. Though they expect a full recovery, the hospital refused Mr. Jackson’s request to be placed in the children’s wing.

Pope John Paul II's latest book, which includes his account of surviving an assassination attempt in 1981, will go on sale in Italy on Feb. 23, the publisher said Wednesday. The book, titled “How to Make Love Like a Cranky Old Polish Dude” is expected to sell poorly.

Wednesday, singer Kid Rock was arrested by Nashville police on charges that he punched a disc jockey at an adult entertainment club. As he was being led away, the singer shouted, “See? I so CAN get arrested in this town.”

Wednesday, singer Kid Rock was arrested by Nashville police on charges that he punched a disc jockey at an adult entertainment club. The singer’s agent downplayed the incident, saying, “What you and I would call ‘pointless violence’ Kid Rock considers ‘building his fan base.’”

Wednesday, singer Kid Rock was arrested by Nashville police on charges that he punched a disc jockey at an adult entertainment club. Police said that the singer became enraged after the dj told him, “Get over yourself--strippers say that to everybody.”

Tuesday, Michael Jackson was taken to an emergency room with flu-like symptoms, delaying jury selection in the pop star's upcoming trial. “Sorry,” Jackson mumbled as he was admitted. “The whole fourth grade is sick.”

The Kyoto global warming pact went into force Wednesday, imposing limits on so-called “greenhouse gases” scientists blame for increasing world temperatures, melting glaciers and rising oceans. When global temperatures didn't fall on Thursday, the Bush administration issued this short statement: "In your face, science!”

Many energy analysts predict Americans will be paying more to fill their gas tanks this driving season than they did last year, when gas prices hit record highs. In a related story, Iran just got a lot more evil.

Despite weeks of negotiations, Wednesday the National Hockey League announced that…I’m sorry, has anybody ever heard of this? Is “hockey” some type of sport or something? Oh right—it’s when you stand in a circle and kick that little beanbag…

Thursday, a war protester attending a debate between Howard Dean and former Bush official Richard Perle threw a shoe at Perle. Perle didn’t miss a beat, saying, “You missed, Mrs. McCartney.”

A new luxury hotel will open next month on the site of Adolf Hitler's Alpine retreat, Berchtesgaden. An official for the Intercontinental chain of hotels expressed enthusiasm for the venture, but denied there will be anything special about the soap.

Thursday, officials at the Vatican decried what they called a "religion of health" in affluent societies. “In rich countries, the concept of health as well-being figures in creating unrealistic expectations about the possibility of medicine to respond to all needs and desires," said the Rev. Maurizio Faggioni, a theologian and morality expert on the Vatican's Pontifical Academy for Life. “If Lazarus were alive today, Jesus Christ would have to paint his house or something.”

Thursday, officials at the Vatican decried the presence in affluent societies of what they called “a religion of health.” “We think people should be satisfied with the same old unhealthy religion we’ve been offering for 2,000 years.”

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If you haven't seen Withnail and I, be prepared for a treat. It's a wonderfully funny and endlessly quotable tale of dissolute actors at liberty. I got it at Facets Multimedia, which is where film-lovers go when they die. Then, yesterday, I hunkered down at the Music Box (a repertory theater here in Chicago) for a double-feature. I wasn't planning on it, but after the first movie was over, I walked in to the other screening room to listen to the man playing the organ, and decided to stay. (Yes, I paid.) The first movie was a CBC documentary called The Take, about Argentina's growing movement of workers occupying their old abandoned factories, and putting them back to work. It was really inspiring. The second movie--which was probably even better--was Nobody Knows, a story about four Japanese children who are left alone by their mother. Really wrenching, but beautifully filmed and utterly original.

As to books, I'm reading Stephen Kanfer's great biography of Groucho Marx. My book-collecting compulsion has been letting up a bit recently (mostly because we are slowly being crowded out of this little apartment by books), but I'm sure that's only temporary.

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Judging from the Bush-Cheney site, I expected the White House website to be really lame. Boy, was I WRONG. Check it out!

What's up? Blarnia; nearly done now. And also the plotting of my second comic novel. And also digging out all the various things I wrote from 1987-2000. Now I must seriously ponder what to put up on the Web, and what should remain in a well-deserved obscurity.

By the way, guess what I got for Valentine's Day? This wonderful book. Love means never hearing the Call of Cthulu.

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Thursday, police in North Lauderdale, Florida, reported that a newborn wrapped in a plastic bag was tossed from a speeding car. The baby boy was wearing a t-shirt that said, “I survived Spring Break 2005.”

This week, German media reported that former Fuehrer Adolf Hitler is still receiving mail, even 60 years after his death. “Let this be a lesson to all you young people,” a spokesman said. “Twelve CDs for a penny may seem like a great deal, but…”

Just in time for Valentine’s Day, thousands of couples in the Philippines hope to set a new world record for Most People Kissing at One Time. They also hope to set the record for Biggest Transfer of Cooties.

Lawmakers in North Dakota are trying to pass legislation preventing the tradition of “the power hour”-- drinkers downing 21 shots in the first hour after they turn 21. “The human body can’t process that much alcohol safely,” said a spokesman, “so we’re lowering the drinking age to four.”

A Texas woman accused of giving her husband a lethal sherry enema says he was an alcoholic enema addict who did it to himself. “It was disgusting,” she said, “especially when he drank grasshoppers."

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A young friend of mine wrote a spoof of an incredibly treacly anti-drunk driving poem that circulates periodically around the internet. I thought it was very witty. Here it is:



A Ghost's Lament, or Never Drink, You Could Turn Into A TV Set



Well, I went to a party and got stoned right off my head,

I went to bed; next morning I woke up and I was dead

So hark you all and listen to this cautionary tale

And don't go near drugs or drink, not even real ale.



I thought I'd try a spliff or two; my mates were passing round

A toke, some puff, some crack, some weed, some mushrooms they had found

And then out came the vodka; I greeted it with glee,

Despite the fact it tasted like weak, alcoholic pee.



Someone had brought Campari; my friend had LSD

She took half and then she passed the best bits on to me

I didn't really need it; I was getting pretty high

But I politely took it with some whiskey and some rye.



'Round then things got all blurry; I don't remember much

I think we strangled chickens, or maybe they were ducks

In any case, they tasted great- I loved their bitter blood-

And then we sacrificed a cow and mucked around with mud



I remember then, it must have been around "the witching hour"

That Gemma's head transformed itself into a purple flower

Tanya started screaming- something about a chain

Everyone was raving mad and only I was sane



I think it was about then that Chas ate the margarine,

Dave and Ellie ceased to talk and suddenly went green

Somehow Sophia'd turned into a bowler-hatted snail-

Someone had dialled 999- outside, the sirens wailed.



"The ambulance, police and fire services await"

Blared voices on loudspeakers, but by then it was too late

For Tanya had turned perm'nantly into a video game

And Gemma, Chas and Ellie were incurably insane.



Sophia, Brian, Dave and I were frothing at the mouth

And Eddie had been crippled by the onset of his gout.

Poor Natty had transformed himself into a video set

They couldn't turn him back again; he's in that bedroom yet.



The rest of us were rounded up and taken to the gaol,

Wee Billy was arrested; he's in prison, pending bail

I fell asleep upon the way, so they tucked me up in bed,

But I would never wake again, for I was stone cold dead.



So listen all you teenagers, take this advice from me

And if you're offered drink or drugs, refuse it, let it be.

It really isn't clever and it's certainly not cool,

And if you try it, you'll end up, like me, a bloody ghoul



Please help a poor old ghostie, forward this to everyone

And when it's sent ten thousand times, my time on Earth is done,

So go on, forward this, it really is all for the best,

Don't be heartless, help to lay a poor spirit to rest.

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The link might be dead by the time I post this, but friend Ed Park just alerted me to this excellent piece of Beatle-related humor by Tim Carvell in The New York Times. "Take this bucket o' wings and learn to fly," indeed.

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The Yale Daily News rips the lid off of hookah use in this article.

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Dear readers:

You may have noticed that I am posting less frequently lately. This is because I am hard at work finishing my parody of "The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe," coming out this Fall. And also, polishing some comic novels that will come out starting next Spring, if not sooner. And also, preparing to run a fundraising drive for the Yale Record, and playing my guitar, and today, having a head cold.



I think it's time for this site to be more than just a weblog, and so I'm considering a total redesign with an emphasis much more on humor from my archives than not-funny-as-much-as-irritated hot-off-the-brain commentary (though I suspect I'll always do that). Along with some magazine pieces, probably 75 humor columns from 1987-1997 (some of them quite juvenile, I'm sure, because I WAS a juvenile when I wrote them), I've got whole parodies of The Wall Street Journal and The New York Review of Books that never saw the light of day. I don't know how funny they still are, but perhaps people would be interested. Good idea? Bad idea? Any opinions?



By the way, I was gratified to hear the terrorist video spoof I "broke" on this site has been downloaded 75,000+ times. Lo! Feel the power of the 'Net.

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Friend Mollie Wilson pointed me to this Talk of the Town mini-profile of the guys behind the website CollegeHumor.com, or as I like to call it, www.what-I'd-be-doing-if-I'd-been-born-in-ten-years-later.com. Though it's marred by a slightly snarky tone, any article that mentions The Yale Record can't be all bad.



Speaking of funny films on the outer edge of good taste, check out this terrorist video spoof produced by a Chicago comedy troupe. Ballsy and great (but you need Windows Media Player).

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Friend Mollie Wilson pointed me to this Talk of the Town mini-profile of the guys behind the website CollegeHumor.com, or as I like to call it, www.what-I'd-be-doing-if-I'd-been-born-ten-years-later.com. Though it's marred by a slightly snarky tone, any article that mentions The Yale Record can't be all bad.



Speaking of funny films on the outer edge of good taste, check out this terrorist video spoof produced by a Chicago comedy troupe. Ballsy and great (but you need Windows Media Player).

Read this article…

A new book claiming that Sirhan Sirhan was a Manchurian Candidate-style hypnotized patsy is getting some attention. This theory (Sirhan is hypnotized, comes in shooting wildly to distract from the real shooter standing behind RFK) has been around forever. When put with the forensic evidence--too many shots, different calibers, and the fatal shot coming from a place Sirhan wasn't--one thing is clear: whatever happened, it wasn't the official version.



I know some of you get tired of my harping on the assassinations, but they're a very clear example of how governments message reality to their own ends. They're also a clear example of what our government really cares about, which apparently isn't finding out the truth when our democratic process is manipulated by violence. Who killed RFK, and why, isn't vitally important anymore--but the fact that we still don't know, and can't trust the people in charge of finding out to be passionate and objective and go wherever the truth may lead--is. Is it any wonder that our national dreams--"The West Wing," "CSI"--are now ones of high competence and clear integrity?



Last night, I watched the first half of Ken Burns' new documentary on Jack Johnson. Excellent, just excellent.



Parody lovers will be dismayed to hear that Ellis Weiner's Dick and Jane spoof is being sued. I haven't read the book, but I cannot imagine how it could injure the sales of the original. And it's clearly marked, with a prominent disclaimer, so it can't be mistaken for the original, either. Seems like silly lawyer games to me. Here's a snip straight from the Times article: "Earlier this month, when Pearson filed the suit, its lawyer, Stephen W. Feingold, wrote to the plaintiffs offering to discuss a settlement and saying that it had initially 'decided not to sue over a title it thought would not be commercially successful.'" Well, that's a giveaway. It's either fair use or its not--commercial success has no bearing on whether it's protected. Just shooting from the hip.

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Read this speech and tell me that Martin Luther King was not the greatest American of the 20th Century. It's long, but worth it. (And no, it's not "I Have a Dream.")

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David Trumbull of the Robert Benchley Society alerted me to two Benchley shorts that are available for viewing at Turner Classic Movies' website. As someone with a greater committment to eating than to silver-screen history, I preferred "How to Eat" over "David O. Selznick: Your New Producer." But Benchley fans should check out both.

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Getting over a cold so I'm checking in quickly before going back to bed. Recently I found something interesting that I wanted to pass on: this site about legendary nightclub comic Brother Theodore, who performed in Greenwich Village's 13th Street Theatre for decades. Though I--like everybody--saw the posters and stickers all around downtown, I never went to look. Now he's dead, and much happier no doubt. For fans of outre comedy, check it out. "The best thing is not to be born...but who is as lucky as that? Not one in millions and millions of people..."



You can hear some Brother Theodore in this edition of WNYC's "The No Show," archived here.

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The New York Times reports that comics pioneer Will Eisner, creator of "The Spirit," has died at the age of 87. I've always meant to read Eisner's graphic novel "A Contract With God." One of the most difficult things about getting older, dear reader, is the daily dropping away of your (by which I mean of course, my) home culture. Slowly, death by death, the world you came into and came to know shifts to a new one filled with strangers. The new world may be better, but it always FEELS worse, as the people you admire or who created the framework for your thoughts pass away.



But we must always remain flexible!



Speaking of comics, I received "In the Shadow of No Towers" for Xmas. I talked with Art Spiegelman about it a bit when it was being serialized in Der Zeit (I think that was the place). An initial scan suggests that it is a fantastic piece of work--but I must admit that 9/11 still shakes me enough to make me apprehensive about reading it.



Another thing that came into our house as the result of Xmas--given to my wife by her excruciatingly thoughtful husband--are some collections of Mike Mignola's "Hellboy." Really, really enjoyable work. His use of folklore as fodder for stories is a brilliant move, and he does it exceedingly well. The movie just scratches the surface...

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