Thursday, September 28, 2006
A quote from radio talk show host Laura Ingraham.
“The average American out there loves the show 24. Okay? They love Jack Bauer. They love 24. In my mind, that’s as close to a national referendum that it’s okay to use tough tactics against high-level al qaeda operatives as we’re going to get. Okay?”
...hope someone attaches electrodes to her testicles.
“The average American out there loves the show 24. Okay? They love Jack Bauer. They love 24. In my mind, that’s as close to a national referendum that it’s okay to use tough tactics against high-level al qaeda operatives as we’re going to get. Okay?”
...hope someone attaches electrodes to her testicles.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
It's Alive
Well Irregardless is available. The Amazon.com link is live. Go ahead, click, this blog will still be here.
There was a point when my book, Irregardless, was about to be published that I found out the brother of a friend of mine was also going to get a book published. It was a manuscript he had shopped for a while. I was happy for him when I heard the news.
Then his deal fell apart. Turned out the offer came from some pay-to-publish jerk-off outfit. I was genuinely sorry to hear that, but there was another part of me – a big, fat, huge part, really – that thought maybe that’s not so bad for him.
From everything I was going through at the time I could have told him (and did in fact ask that my friend pass it along) that getting a book published is a huge pain in the ass.
Now, I know there is nothing worse that listening to someone whine about achieving a dream. I think my main problem is that I am just plain sick of this book. I have lived with this thing for six years now. Six fricking years. And It’s taken me through every emotion possible. I’ve loved and felt proud of it. I’ve hated and been sickened by it’s very existence. I’ve mourned and bemoaned the fact that no one will ever see it. I’ve cried with joy when it was accepted by a publisher.
But there was one constant through all those times: I read the book. And then I read the book. I edited, revised, reworked, and rewrote. And reread.
I can only approximate, but I feel that I can say, without hyperbole, that I have read this book sixty-kajillion times. I don’t care how good a book is (and I do think it’s pretty good - but I’ll admit to some bias) you cannot read anything that many times and have it mean anything to you anymore. I’m done with it. Thank God it’s finally published.
I truly hope you enjoy it. But if you don’t, there’s nothing I can do about it anymore. And I’m okay with that.
It’s yours now.
There was a point when my book, Irregardless, was about to be published that I found out the brother of a friend of mine was also going to get a book published. It was a manuscript he had shopped for a while. I was happy for him when I heard the news.Then his deal fell apart. Turned out the offer came from some pay-to-publish jerk-off outfit. I was genuinely sorry to hear that, but there was another part of me – a big, fat, huge part, really – that thought maybe that’s not so bad for him.
From everything I was going through at the time I could have told him (and did in fact ask that my friend pass it along) that getting a book published is a huge pain in the ass.
Now, I know there is nothing worse that listening to someone whine about achieving a dream. I think my main problem is that I am just plain sick of this book. I have lived with this thing for six years now. Six fricking years. And It’s taken me through every emotion possible. I’ve loved and felt proud of it. I’ve hated and been sickened by it’s very existence. I’ve mourned and bemoaned the fact that no one will ever see it. I’ve cried with joy when it was accepted by a publisher.
But there was one constant through all those times: I read the book. And then I read the book. I edited, revised, reworked, and rewrote. And reread.
I can only approximate, but I feel that I can say, without hyperbole, that I have read this book sixty-kajillion times. I don’t care how good a book is (and I do think it’s pretty good - but I’ll admit to some bias) you cannot read anything that many times and have it mean anything to you anymore. I’m done with it. Thank God it’s finally published.
I truly hope you enjoy it. But if you don’t, there’s nothing I can do about it anymore. And I’m okay with that.
It’s yours now.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Someone please tell Payton Manning that it’s okay to turn down a TV ad every now and again.
That’s it… just tired of seeing the guy in every other commercial.
That’s it… just tired of seeing the guy in every other commercial.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
My Sept. 11th suggestions for world peace prompted one reader to propose the world engage in love making on such a massive scale that eventually all races and creeds would become the lovely, sensuous color of a Rolo.
We now move from that idea to its exact opposite: segregation. Or as its known today, Survivor: Cook Islands.
Actually, despite all the uproar and mass sponsorship withdrawals, this Survivor has been nothing other than… well, Survivor. After all, this is a show that, in past seasons, has divided contestants by age and gender. Dividing them by race was never that far off nor is it all that shocking.
Or all that interesting. I don’t know what I expected, but it turns out that when you divide a bunch of Survivor contestants by race you get a bunch of Survivor contestants: the young punk who wants to take charge, the slacker girl who just sunbathes all day, the heavy metal guy who kinda goes crazy and falls in love at the slightest sign of affection. Okay, that last one is unique to Cook Islands and did make for interesting TV.
The most remarkable thing I’ve seen has not been divisions between the races, but between the ages. On the Puka tribe (the Asian tribe) there’s this cat (pictured right) named Cao Boi (pronounced Cowboy, how great is that?) who keeps making racist Asian jokes (like “What do you call a Vietnamese person with three dogs?” no punch line given) and his twenty and thirty-something tribe mates react with unmitigated horror every time this guy opens his mouth.
See, these kids all grew up and, like me, went to college in the PC age. Whereas Cao Boi emigrated from Vietnam when he was 11 and probably had to deal with these same racist jokes all his life. So instead of letting the hurt in (sigh) he’s made the jokes a part of who he is. They can’t hurt him if he’s the one spitting jokes out like an over-caffeinated Don Rickles.
I was kind of hoping for something unique from this season of Survivor. The racial division did seem like an interesting sociological twist. Perhaps, by dividing Survivor contestants along racial lines, I wanted to see questions of why we are still basically divided racially in our everyday lives, if not answered at least, raised. Instead the only question being addressed on Survivor so far is what do you call a Vietnamese person with three dogs?
We now move from that idea to its exact opposite: segregation. Or as its known today, Survivor: Cook Islands.
Actually, despite all the uproar and mass sponsorship withdrawals, this Survivor has been nothing other than… well, Survivor. After all, this is a show that, in past seasons, has divided contestants by age and gender. Dividing them by race was never that far off nor is it all that shocking.
Or all that interesting. I don’t know what I expected, but it turns out that when you divide a bunch of Survivor contestants by race you get a bunch of Survivor contestants: the young punk who wants to take charge, the slacker girl who just sunbathes all day, the heavy metal guy who kinda goes crazy and falls in love at the slightest sign of affection. Okay, that last one is unique to Cook Islands and did make for interesting TV.
The most remarkable thing I’ve seen has not been divisions between the races, but between the ages. On the Puka tribe (the Asian tribe) there’s this cat (pictured right) named Cao Boi (pronounced Cowboy, how great is that?) who keeps making racist Asian jokes (like “What do you call a Vietnamese person with three dogs?” no punch line given) and his twenty and thirty-something tribe mates react with unmitigated horror every time this guy opens his mouth.
See, these kids all grew up and, like me, went to college in the PC age. Whereas Cao Boi emigrated from Vietnam when he was 11 and probably had to deal with these same racist jokes all his life. So instead of letting the hurt in (sigh) he’s made the jokes a part of who he is. They can’t hurt him if he’s the one spitting jokes out like an over-caffeinated Don Rickles.
I was kind of hoping for something unique from this season of Survivor. The racial division did seem like an interesting sociological twist. Perhaps, by dividing Survivor contestants along racial lines, I wanted to see questions of why we are still basically divided racially in our everyday lives, if not answered at least, raised. Instead the only question being addressed on Survivor so far is what do you call a Vietnamese person with three dogs?
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Irregardless... seems a fit title
I recently had my first book published. By a real publisher. A small publisher, but a real one. One that pays the publishing costs and profits only if the book does well. This is a picture of my actually published book, Irregardless.
Did you see that? That was the world shrugging its shoulders in indifference.
Come on, Voice In My Head! My book has everything. It’s got comedy, drama, action, pathos, monsters, heroes…
Meh?
...and sexy naked sex people.
Gotta tell you, I wasn’t with you until the naked sex people. Now I’m interested.
Oh, are you? Would you care to purchase my book?
What’s it called again? Sex People?
It’s called Irregardless.
That’s a weird name, but sure, why not?
TOO BAD! You can’t.
But now I want to…
According to Amazon.com and the distributor, Baker and Taylor, it’s out of print. Click the link to see for yourself.
I thought you said it was just published. How can it be out of print?
I DON’T KNOW! I do know that the first print run was really small and I guess it’s all gone. According to my publisher a new printing won’t happen for another three weeks.
But I want to buy it now. In three weeks I will have completely forgotten about this Sex People book.
IT’S CALLED IRREGARDLESS! And there's not really any sex people. Look, we all will have to be patient and hope that in three weeks it will actually be available.
Could I just buy it directly from the publisher?
Well, according to my publishers website, crossquarter.com, it’s just almost spring of 2006. So, their web site is not very helpful.
Wow, that would really frustrate me. You've probably told a lot of people about the book. And now that they're interested they can't get their hands on it. I mean, this whole thing would drive me crazy. I would have a hard time sleeping. It would eat away at…
SHUT UP! Just, please, shut up…
Well, that is just no way to talk to your audience. I’m going to tell everyone I know not to buy Sex People.
It’s called… nevermind.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Peace Out
Remember that feeling you had on September 11, 2001. Well, there were a lot of feelings, but by the end of the day you had that feeling. The feeling that nothing would ever be the same again.
It’s now five years later and everything is the same again. Sure, gas costs a little more and we’re in a couple of wars. But as far as people, how we act towards each other, that’s still the same.
But I can fix it. So, without further ado, I present three simple steps for peace on Earth (with ideas liberally cribbed from John Lennon and Emmerich & Devlin).
1. Remove all borders. What do the following have in common? The Hatfield’s and McCoy’s. The recent Gaza Strip conflicts. Any war ever. The answer is they all started over land disputes. I realize there are political and ideological reasons that fuel any conflict, but politics is inexorably tied to lines on a map. People love to draw imaginary borders and then kill the people on the other side. So no more borders, and as for the ideology…
2. Get rid of all religion. Nothing aggravates a seriously religious person more than hearing about someone else’s religion. In fact, nothing is more aggravating than a fanatic. Sometimes you can’t get them off your doorstep, sometimes they convince you to become the weapons hording sister-wife of Jim Jones, and sometimes they fly planes into buildings. And there can be no attempts at creating a neutral religion like worshiping a rock or something, because people will fight over sandstone vs. granite. So, sorry, religion’s got to go. Finally…
3. Welcome an alien invasion. I mean real freaky ones, no cute E.T. types. In fact they can’t have any characteristics typically associated with humans. Can’t be bipedal, with one head, two eyes, ears, etc. I want aliens that walk using their adapted backs muscles and defecate through their multiple eyestalks. Once we get something really whacked-out we can all channel our hate reserves towards it will just seem silly to dislike someone because their skin is a different color or they like to kiss boys instead of girls. When we can agree to hate the asexually reproducing insectivods from the minor planet Pluto, then we can all get along.
See? Simple.
It’s now five years later and everything is the same again. Sure, gas costs a little more and we’re in a couple of wars. But as far as people, how we act towards each other, that’s still the same.
But I can fix it. So, without further ado, I present three simple steps for peace on Earth (with ideas liberally cribbed from John Lennon and Emmerich & Devlin).
1. Remove all borders. What do the following have in common? The Hatfield’s and McCoy’s. The recent Gaza Strip conflicts. Any war ever. The answer is they all started over land disputes. I realize there are political and ideological reasons that fuel any conflict, but politics is inexorably tied to lines on a map. People love to draw imaginary borders and then kill the people on the other side. So no more borders, and as for the ideology…
2. Get rid of all religion. Nothing aggravates a seriously religious person more than hearing about someone else’s religion. In fact, nothing is more aggravating than a fanatic. Sometimes you can’t get them off your doorstep, sometimes they convince you to become the weapons hording sister-wife of Jim Jones, and sometimes they fly planes into buildings. And there can be no attempts at creating a neutral religion like worshiping a rock or something, because people will fight over sandstone vs. granite. So, sorry, religion’s got to go. Finally…
3. Welcome an alien invasion. I mean real freaky ones, no cute E.T. types. In fact they can’t have any characteristics typically associated with humans. Can’t be bipedal, with one head, two eyes, ears, etc. I want aliens that walk using their adapted backs muscles and defecate through their multiple eyestalks. Once we get something really whacked-out we can all channel our hate reserves towards it will just seem silly to dislike someone because their skin is a different color or they like to kiss boys instead of girls. When we can agree to hate the asexually reproducing insectivods from the minor planet Pluto, then we can all get along.
See? Simple.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Crikey!
"Crocodile Hunter" Steve Irwin, the Australian television personality and conservationist, was killed today by a stingray while filming off the Great Barrier Reef. He was 44.
"It was extraordinarily bad luck. It's not easy to get spined by a stingray and to be killed by one is very rare," said Shaun Collin, a University of Queensland marine neuroscientist.
Yes, it’s rare to be killed by a stingray -- because most people don’t walk up and start fucking around with stingrays.
Look, I like the Crocodile Hunter. It was great to watch him sneak behind a hippopotamus and sodomize it with a rattlesnake, but the only thing shocking about this guy getting killed by a stingray is that he wasn’t killed by a crocodile years ago.
"The guy was incredible. His knowledge was incredible," said wild animal expert Jack Hanna, "Yes, he did things a lot of people wouldn't do. I think he knew what he was doing."
Really, Jack? You think Mr. Killed-By-A-Stingray knew what he was doing? I think he thought he could play practical jokes on wild animals and not have nature turn around and bite him in the butt. And for a while it made him a chunk of money and earned him fame.
Then, while shooting a segment for a series called "Ocean's Deadliest" (I shit you not), he’s knifed in the heart by the deadly ocean itself.
Yes, it’s sad, but it’s not, as the Australian Prime Minister (I shit you not) John Howard said, (he was) “shocked and distressed at Steve Irwin's sudden, untimely and freakish death."
“Distressed” and “untimely,’ sure, no question. But “shocked” and “freakish,” not so much. Here’s a freakish death – “Stingray Kills Aquaphobe Wading in Kiddie Pool.” But for the Crocodile Hunter to be killed by a stingray- it is apropos.
"Apropos He Was Killed By A Stingray," how cool will that look on a headstone?
"It was extraordinarily bad luck. It's not easy to get spined by a stingray and to be killed by one is very rare," said Shaun Collin, a University of Queensland marine neuroscientist.
Yes, it’s rare to be killed by a stingray -- because most people don’t walk up and start fucking around with stingrays.
Look, I like the Crocodile Hunter. It was great to watch him sneak behind a hippopotamus and sodomize it with a rattlesnake, but the only thing shocking about this guy getting killed by a stingray is that he wasn’t killed by a crocodile years ago.
"The guy was incredible. His knowledge was incredible," said wild animal expert Jack Hanna, "Yes, he did things a lot of people wouldn't do. I think he knew what he was doing."
Really, Jack? You think Mr. Killed-By-A-Stingray knew what he was doing? I think he thought he could play practical jokes on wild animals and not have nature turn around and bite him in the butt. And for a while it made him a chunk of money and earned him fame.
Then, while shooting a segment for a series called "Ocean's Deadliest" (I shit you not), he’s knifed in the heart by the deadly ocean itself.
Yes, it’s sad, but it’s not, as the Australian Prime Minister (I shit you not) John Howard said, (he was) “shocked and distressed at Steve Irwin's sudden, untimely and freakish death."
“Distressed” and “untimely,’ sure, no question. But “shocked” and “freakish,” not so much. Here’s a freakish death – “Stingray Kills Aquaphobe Wading in Kiddie Pool.” But for the Crocodile Hunter to be killed by a stingray- it is apropos.
"Apropos He Was Killed By A Stingray," how cool will that look on a headstone?
