"V" Apparently Not Only for "Vendetta"

Defamer linked to a [disputed] story on Rated M announcing that Larry Wachowski has completed his sexual reassignment surgery but will not speak about it or do any publicity for Speed Racer until after it comes out, since it could "hurt the family image the Speed Racer film is going for."

But let's think about this:
(1) Sexual Reassignment Surgery.
(2) Reluctance to speak.

Might there be another explanation?


Friends of Samantha Moss, even if she never writes anymore, see specifically [and please note that these seemed funny at the time]:
Jacques Chirac Arrives to Consult the Oracle.
The Oracle Arrives to Consult the Oracle
Dave Eggers Arrives to Consult the Oracle
This Actually Happened Last Tuesday

Dismal Science

With the meeting of the European Central Bank coming up tomorrow, we thought it might be useful to go over some of the “code words” that ECB President Jean-Claude Trichet (full disclosure: we’re in the same BDSM community) uses to telegraph the bank’s intentions.

• Acting in a “firm and timely manner” - “Rates moving closer to estimated neutral rate.”
• “Accommodative” policy - “Rates likely to rise in coming months.”
• “Monitoring risks closely” - “Rate hike in three months’ time.”
• “Monitoring risks very closely” - “Rate hike in two months’ time.”
• “Vigilance” - “Rate move soon, possibly at next meeting.”
• “Strong vigilance” - “Rate hike extremely probable — likely at the next meeting.”
• “Aardvark” - “OK, that’s starting to hurt. Let’s stop a minute.”
• “Vigilent aardvark, aardvark, strong aardvark” - “Please? I mean it, seriously. Please stop. Oh God. I'm being serious. Stop. Oh God, oh God, please stop. I can’t breathe.”
• “Aardvarkaardvarkaardvark, seriously, please, aardvark” - “I keep blacking out. You have to stop. Oh God, oh Christ, please, please. I need this to stop now. Oh Christ please help me, please stop, please.”
• “Aardvargh, aardvargh” (followed by vomiting, then soft weeping, usually in fetal position, though not always) - “Rates likely to fall by next meeting.”

That’s everything I know! Good luck making money!
XOXOXOXOXO,
Samantha

Samantha Moss Let Down by the Second Half of a Book, Part CMLXXXII

Oh! I didn't realize this was a LitBlog now! Awesome idea to turn this into that. Totally great, seriously, because now I can talk about this: I know everyone on Earth has read this book but urrrhrghrghrhghrghr, Wind Up Bird Chronicles, UgGUGHHIhrhrhhrrrggffg

And now that this is a LitBlog, I can review it!
Here we go:

• 
  
  The first half was charmingly Lynchian. :) *
• 
  
  But I found the second half to be annoyingly Lynchian. :( **

*e.g., interesting mysterious women; strange occurrences leading a mostly reactive protagonist into a seedy underworld

**i.e., the second half kept me interested and entertained well enough, I guess, and periodically brought up some thematic connections to the first half, but I felt like it had kind of strayed so far from the original plot/characters from the first part that it made me wonder why I had invested time/empathy into them if they were only going to be discarded. And there were a lot of little details whose reasons to exist were suspect. Liiiike they were jarringly non-sequitury or just throw-away surrealities or improbable coincidences and while sometimes that works, some other times, in 600 page books, for instance, it's really annoying. Like the bat and the lemon drops and the two sisters, one of whom had a conspicuous red hat that conspicuously failed to fire in the third act, and the cat and the assistant of the brother and pages 23-72. and why can't cinnamon talk? and wasn't it weird how he used western brand names so often? Oh wait, I've just been handed a note that says this is not a LitBlog.
OK, um, not a LitBlog, not a LitBlog, OK, quick, here is something not related to literature that I thought about today:

Problems at the 42nd street transfer probably never get resolved because on the work forms where it says: "Subway lines affected" the workers put "N/A".

THIS SEEMS TOTALLY PLAUSIBLE, ACTUALLY.
IF THIS IS TRUE, PLEASE FIX THIS, NEW YORK.
Now go out there and be so swell that you'll make me hate you!
XOXOXOXO

A "Hand-out" is not a "Foot... In"

I love Dirk Bennedict's essays on his website.
Here he is on the reimagining of Starbuck...

What I am sure of is this… Women are from Venus. Men are from Mars. Hamlet does not scan as Hamletta. Nor does Han Solo as Han Sally. Faceman is not the same as Facewoman. Nor does a Stardoe a Starbuck make. Men hand out cigars. Women 'hand out' babies. And thus the world, for thousands of years, has gone round.

His writing always seems to end in a big mashup of puns on clichés like that (it's always good to be reminded of what not to do(*)), and it's totally great to be reading something and thinking, Oh, OK, here's the bottom of the Crazy Well, and then have the author go Nuh-uh, motherfucker, here's a trap door! Shizahh!

I first realized I was in the presence of greatness when I read this excerpt from one of his books:

The funny thing about flesh is, once you get it off the hoof, or paw, and put it on the shelf in a cellophane wrapper, or into a stew in the center of the table, it all looks pretty much the same. You forget that it was once a cow or sheep or horse or monkey or calf. Or puppy. Ashes to ashes. Flesh to flesh. Blood becomes blood. Only the hypocrites in line at McDonald's or Carl Jr's, or the meat counter at Safeway, point their fingers. Let he who has not gnawed, cast the first bone. And it's a short throw from the tar paper shack of dog to the burger stand of cow. And so I discovered that one man's feast is another's famine. One man's joy is another's pain. One man's pet is another's pot roast. I learned that taste, like all sensorial experience, is relative. Or, as the Trapeze Artist said to the actor..."If there's more than one way to skin a cat, there's certainly more than one way to cook a dog."

Dirk Bennedict buys his meat by the pound.
If you know what I mean.

AND GUESS WHAT? YOU CAN TAKE A CRUISE WITH HIM:
http://www.cruiseevents.net/Past_Cruises/benedict/requestbrochure.htm

I'm going to buy a ticket for that Pets or Meat woman from Roger & Me.


On the acknowledgement page of that book, it just says "peyote".

JK! I love you Dirk Bennedict!

I can't believe she killed off Hermione!

Just kidding, I haven't read it yet.


Jesus Christ, don't look at me like that.

I'm reading The March

It is totally sad!

Because you know even if they survive the Civil War, the starvation, the March itself, Reconstruction, &c., &c., a lot of them still have to live in Atlanta.

No disrespect. Your airport is top notch.

I'm reading What is the What

It is totally sad!

Because you know even if he survives the civil war, the starvation, the lion/crocodile/helicopter attacks, the murahaleen, &c., &c., he still has to live in Atlanta.

No disrespect. Your airport is top notch.




(see also: previous eggersalitiness)
(from 2004, holy cow, that was a long time ago)

Tsunami Quelled

Joey Chestnut ate 59 1/2 hotdogs at the Southwest Regional Hot Dog Eating Championship at the Arizona Mills Mall, beating Takeru "The Tsunami" Kobayashi's old record of 53 3/4.

All eyes will be on Kobayashi at Coney Island this 4th of July:
WILL HE BE ABLE TO PASS MUSTARD?


That's all. I just wanted to make that joke.


v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^
Update, 6/26/07: Kobayashi may be down for the count. I'm sorry I was joking about this. Kobayashi, if you're reading this, please call me.
All is forgiven.

Starbucks closing

All of the guys I work with are bummed out by the announcement that the next season of Battlestar Galactica is the last one.

But good news, Guys I Work With:
I hear Katee Sackhoff will play "Face" in Spike TV's reimagining of The A-Team.


And Edward James Olmos is all set to die of pneumonia in Santa Monica, only weeks after agreeing to be in a Bonanza remake.

THIS IS WHAT I HEARD.

Jesus is Mopey, or: “Sorkin, Sorkin, Lama Sabachthani”

OK, Aaron Sorkin, so. You didn't use my last sketch idea. Cool, whatever. But the facts remain: even though I am still terrible at writing sketches, I am still not as terrible as you. So here is another one. This one has to do with the “vague mocking of religious things” and requires “cursory research to understand”. Therefore: it is totally “up your alley”.

The deal stands: steal this, and give it to Mark McKinney to make better, and as always, I am willing to add a scene at the end where you and Kristin Chenoweth snort coke off each other's genitals. Intrigued? Good. Because I'm only giving you six more chances to make this show live up to its promise. SIX MORE CHANCES! GET IT RIGHT, SORKIN!!!

Yours,
SMNTH


Jesus is Mopey

Split screen between the two characters. Andrew and James are wearing tunics and mantles or whatever. Andrew is calling James on the phone.

James: Hello?
Andrew: Hey, James the Elder, son of Zebedee, Fisher of Men.
James: Oh, hey, Andrew, Brother of Simon Peter. What’s the word?
Andrew: God.
James: Uh...
Andrew: Or, at least, the Word is with God..? It’s sort of confusing.
James: Um, what?
Andrew: You know what? I don’t even know. Hey, I just got off the phone with Jesus.
James: Yeah? How’s He doing?
Andrew: Two words: Mo. Pey.
James: Yo, you’re right. What's up with Him lately? At first I thought, oh, He's just depressed because of whatshername, He'll get over it, but now I think we should talk to Him maybe. Take Him out for falafel or something -- anything to get Him away from that damn PlayStation.
Andrew: Totally. On the phone I was all, “Is this not the carpenter's son?” and He's all, “Leave me alone, I'm playing Katamari Damacy.”
James: Have you been over to His place? I don't think He's left it in 40 days! I say that as a symbolic approximation.
Andrew: Sure.
James: Bread and fish filling up the trash can like He's playing Jenga, and He's stopped shaving again. “I'm trying to grow it out.” He looks like Kenny Loggins.
Andrew: (distractedly) “Danger Zone”-era, or “I'm Alright”-era?
James: ...I don't know.
Andrew: (quickly) Just kidding, I don't know what those things mean either...
James: Yeah.
Andrew: What does that even mean?
James: Yeah. Listen, I think the twelve of us should get together and take him out to dinner.
Andrew: Yeah, OK.
James: How's shortly before next Easter for you?
Andrew: Yeah, but listen, no Judas this time.
James: Why? I mean, sure, he can be a little Touchie-Feelie, but we'll just tell him not to kiss anybody. Also, he's the only one with an Explorer, and while the “All in One Accord” joke was funny the first time, I'm not sitting on Peter's lap again. “Petra” means “rock.”
Andrew: Touchie-Feelie is right. And how he always says “How’s it hanging?” And then he just LOOKS at you? And his thing about “the cock crew thrice?” It’s kind of perv.
James: Judas said that? Oh, man, all this time Matthias’ been saying you said that. Later, Matthias was stoned and then beheaded. Anyway, we wouldn't be the Twelve Musketeers without Judas!
Andrew: I thought we decided to call ourselves the Twelve Disciples.
James: I don’t even know anymore. At the last meeting, I think first it was Twelve Apostles. Then it was the Twelve Angry Men, then the Twelve Steps.
Andrew: And then someone was like let’s invite Thaddeus! And then someone else wanted to invite Nathanael. And then someone wanted to invite Levi. We have fifteen people for twelve positions.
James: I think Levi’s the same as Matthew.
Andrew: He is?
James: I don’t know. Scholars disagree.
Andrew: Whatevs, what’s one more tax collector, more or less?
James: Yeah, so, uh, listen, I gotta go, but give me a call later.
Andrew: Will do.
James: And, uh, “If you don’t like fish…”
Both: “…stay out of Galilee!”
(both laugh)
Andrew: OK, talk to you.
James: Later.

EXEUNT UNTIL THE FARNSWORTH INVENTION GETS OUT OF TURNAROUND

Three Wishes, or: “Aaron Sorkin: Ue! Ue! Ue!”

I have never written a sketch before in my life and therefore I am likely a terrible sketch writer and yet I am still a better sketch writer than you, Aaron Sorkin; therefore: Aaron Sorkin, steal this sketch, and give it to Mark McKinney (whom you’re not giving enough to do right now anyway), and he will make it better, and then if you can get past this rise in amateurism (with fists!) you can put it on the show and plus, OK, get this: cast the Nate Corddry/Tom Jeter character as “MAN” and then behold the synergy: the Samantha Li and Lucy Kenwright characters get to see Tom Jeter’s nipples; I get to see Nate Corddry’s nipples; Tina Fey will have to take back that thing she said (OK, that’s not true, what she said is awesome and so accurate that it probably turned into cesium when it came out of her mouth); and we can drop this whole relationshippy direction this thing is taking, because I still believe that the potential of this show, as measured by:




...where Y (i.e., the modulus of elasticity λ), cross sectional area, A0, initial length, l0, which is stretched by a length, Δl and ok, I lost track there, but my point is the Ue — the potential — is so amazing, and this joyless fucking roadtrip through your fucking psyche is fucking wearing me fucking out. (Oh, speaking of which, please note that I will clean up the swears and also I am willing to add a few lines at the end where Kristin Chenoweth comes on stage to pleasure you with pity- and/or make-up-sex, if that will make everything OK, but otherwise, I am serious: I am only giving you seven more chances this season to get this right.)


Three Wishes

A man is wandering on the beach and comes across a lamp. Looking at it skeptically at first, and then making sure no one else is watching, he rubs the lamp. Sure enough, a Genie pops out.

GENIE: Jesus.
MAN: Whoa, hey.
GENIE: Oh man, how long was I in there?
MAN: I don’t know. What’s the last thing you remember?
GENIE: Steve Martin was doing interesting work.
MAN: A looooong time.
GENIE: I suppose you want your three wishes.
MAN: Oh man, yes. Yes I do.
GENIE: OK. Shoot.
MAN: I’ve actually been thinking about this for a while. Wish number one: I wish for more wishes!
GENIE: (laughs) OK, whatever. (waves his arms like it’s no big deal) Wish granted!
MAN: Why’d you say it like that?
GENIE: Yeah. Um, I can’t really tell you.
MAN: Did I do it wrong? Did I fuck up? I thought that was a good one.
GENIE: I’m really not at liberty to tell you. It’s the Genie Code.
MAN: Crap! How do I know if I screwed up or not?
GENIE: I don’t know, I guess you could make a bunch of test wishes and see if they come true.
MAN: Yeah.
GENIE: But then, you wouldn’t know for sure if they were the unlimited wishes that you wished for in the first wish, or if you were squandering your remaining two wishes.
MAN: Yeah. Crap. Shit! Crap.
GENIE: It’s a tough call.
MAN: OK. Alright. For my second wish, I wish to know if I screwed up the first wish, and, if so, how?
GENIE: That’s sort of two, but I’ll give it to you. You said you wanted to wish for more wishes, which is cool; I gave you that. But: you didn’t say you wanted the wishes to come true.
MAN: That was understood.
GENIE: Not really.
MAN: Damn it!
GENIE: You have one more. Make it count.
MAN: Damn it! This sucks! Of COURSE I meant they would come true.
GENIE: “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”
MAN: Shut up.
GENIE: “If fishes were wishes the ocean would be all of our desire.”
MAN: Shut up.
GENIE: Gertrude Stein.
MAN: Shut up. OK. (trying to word everything very carefully) I wish that whatever I wish for would come true, wait, cancel cancel cancel.
GENIE: Canceling.
MAN: Because then it could be like maybe, say like I dream that I’m fellating the Vice President then you’ll make it come true.
GENIE: You dreamt that you fellated Mondale?
MAN: (pause) No.
GENIE: Or, you know, not Mondale, but whoever’s Vice President now?
MAN: IT WAS A DREAM.
GENIE: Jesus.
MAN: IT WAS A DREAM. OK, stop distracting me. I wish… OK? Listening? I WISH that… my wishes will come true but this is not counting any dreams I have that I’m not in control of and not like just random thoughts I have throughout the day; aaand it has to be an out-loud wish and, wait, cancel cancel cancel.
GENIE: Canceling.
MAN: Shit.
GENIE: It’s hard, I know.
MAN: OK. I just sort of panicked, but I think I got it now. I WISH that… whatever I wish for will come true… whenever… I touch my middle finger and my thumb together like this… and start a declarative sentence with the phrase ‘I wish…’ then that’s the beginning of the wish and then whatever I say after that is what comes true… and then when I release my fingers, then that’s the end of the sentence, so whatever I say after that doesn’t count as the wish, unless I touch my fingers again, and I don’t have to say ‘I wish’ in the exact same tone of voice and inflection I just said it in… I can, like, modulate the way I say it, and my fingers don’t have to be in that exact position, just sort of like this in general, and if for some reason I lose my fingers in an accident, or I have laryngitis, then I get to revisit the criteria for wishing for things… and I can reverse the effects of any wishes that get screwed up and if, OK, wait, cancel cancel cancel.
GENIE: Maybe you want to aim lower.
MAN: I don’t know. I think, if I can get this, I think I’ll use my power wisely. I could maybe stop some wars or feed the hungry, or cure cancer or something. I mean, sure, some of them were going to be like, ‘I wish that every basket I tried to shoot would go in’ or ‘ I wish that I could stop time and undress people,’ but the larger world problems, I was going to take care of those things. You know? Those two didn’t count, OK? The basket and the stop time one.
GENIE: Got it.
MAN: I just feel like this is my chance to make a difference.
GENIE: So, what’s your final wish?
MAN: (thinks for a long time) I wish… OK, wait. I wish…
GENIE: Whenever you’re ready.
MAN: (thinks for a long time) I wish… I wish… that… my nipples weren’t the size of hubcaps. Anymore.
GENIE: Done. Congratulations. I’ll see you around. (he leaves)
MAN: Yeah. (He slowly pulls his shirt up. His nipples are, in fact, normal-sized nipples. He shrugs.) Yeah. OK.

EXEUNT UNTIL THE FALL LINE-UP IS ANNOUNCED

Eighty-three Days in the Making

I've been annoyed by the answer to question two in this interview since I first read it in November.

Sooooo, did it take me two minutes to post this next paragraph or two and a half months and two minutes to post this next paragraph? Hmmmmmmmmm, that's a real chin scratcher. Regardless, here it is:

Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat! Prat!

Call My Baby Babelpop, Tell You Why

Samantha: Never mind the earnestness, here's a new Babelpop post!
People Who Read Babelpop: Wow, that month went fast.
Samantha: Um, you said that last month.
People Who Read Babelpop: Actually, we said it in December.
Samantha: (Can't even finish typing this sentence because she sucks so mu

Short Story

Samantha Moss said, “Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me.”

And this one guy she saw on the subway this morning had to kiss her that many times or everyone in the world would get measles.

THE END…?

Yvonne De Carlo Dead at 84

Not as sad as when Carolyn Jones died in 1983, but pretty sad, I guess.
I'll update the phone book.


[AP obit here]

Also: the Motion Picture & Television Country House and Hospital: Sad Place to Die or Awesome Place to Die? I totally can't decide.

Page On Which I Said, "Shit, I Need to Start Over and Pay Better Attention"

1992: Loon Lake (E. L. Doctorow): page 133
2006: The Sea (John Banville): page 4


Yay! I'm getting better at reading!

Good Nabors

Samantha: Um, I put a new post up on Babelpop.
People Who Read Babelpop: Wow, that month went fast.

EXEUNT

The Randy Norseman, Episode 1: At the Home Depot

FADE IN.

Interior. Day.
The Randy Norseman is at a Home Depot talking to a sales clerk.

Randy Norseman: So... Tell me more about this “leif blower”...

FADE OUT.


Epilogue:
The Randy Norseman converted to Christianity and died.

Santa Claus Machine!

If anyone out there has one of these, I’ve lost the wrench from Clue. I have the version from 1960.
Can you make me one? It will take like two seconds.

I just need the wrench.


[I’ve been reading about these forever, but I’ve never seen one in action. In fact, probably best to just skip down to the video, and try to ignore such drolleries as “Maybe in the future we can draw a lot of things like a new wife” and “After the girls play now it tech guy to make some magic”. Out of the way, Ladies! Math class is hard!]

Interesting Trivia About Notable Evolutionists

The name “Jean Baptiste Pierre Antoine de Monet, Chevalier de Lamarck” contains every letter in the alphabet.



That I care about.