Things that Make Me Smile

As I know some of you are reality-show afficianados, I thought I would relate this, so you can root for this fine young fellow.


Pete was one of my best friends growing up. I used to say (quite often), that if I wasn't me, or Prince, I would have wanted to be Pete -- he was the most talented actor I ever knew (he went to NYU's Tisch School, but quit because "he wasn't learning anything actually useful to the world," his elbow appears in Dazed and Confused); the drummer of our high school band (The Flaming Faggots -- a punk band named after a Shakespearean reference to piss off the meatheads and scandalize The Man -- we thought we were pretty clever); a guy who basically introduced himself to my future wife by asking her, in all earnest seriousness, about a woman's feelings on giving blowjobs; a guy who every time I saw him while I was in law school seemed to be wearing some clothes he'd borrowed from me in high school; a guy who looked up into the clouds (apparently believing God was talking to him) when Kerry tried to stop him on the street; the guy who got to hang out with the Replacements and got quoted in the Houston Chronicle for the beer bottle I took to the head (thrown by Paul Westerberg); a guy who torched his final history paper and never graduated college because he felt he hadn't really learned enough to deserve it, then showed up at my apartment with a bottle of bourbon and a James Taylor record on vinyl; etc., etc. I'm actually looking at a picture I have of him in my office, staring down from a tree at me, on a camping trip we took out to Pedernales State Park. I realize you can never really do someone you've loved justice in trying to quickly describe why you loved him or her, because it just starts sounding canned no matter what you do. Especially with those who died young (as Pete did, killed by a drunk driver while planting trees in Washington State).


So, when Pete died, my friends and I set up a scholarship fund at our old high school (putting my recently acquired law degree to good use). I got an email the other day from an old friend, sending me a link to the first scholarship winner from years ago, Nick, photo above, description below, who is now on "Step It Up and Dance on Bravo."


"At the age of four, Nick was so inspired by Kevin Bacon's performance in Footloose, he knew right then that he wanted to be a dancer. His mother, an author/librarian, and father, a painter/graphic artist, both supported his love for dance and instilled a strong work ethic and sense of determination. A Houston, Texas native and graduate of Oklahoma City University, Nick now resides in Los Angeles as a technically trained professional dancer and actor. He has appeared in several music videos including: Jessica Simpson's "Boots," My Chemical Romance's "Helena," Finger Eleven's "Paralyzer," and Duran Duran's "Falling Down." Nick can also be seen in a variety of roles on television, film and stage, most recently appearing as Theodore's dance double in the Alvin & The Chipmunks movie. Described by his friends as energetic, funny, charismatic, and always looking for trouble – this single (and straight) dancer may just spice things up with the girls in the house."

So, root for the boy. Pete would have loved this -- especially the chipmunk dance double and "straight" part.

Like LiveAid, but way better

Periodically, I think I should do something to help my fellow man. I've been blessed in many ways (devastatingly handsome, 16-inch pythons, a fine pelt of body hair that keeps me as warm as Chewbacca in Han's loving arms on a long Kessel run, ability to play many Van Halen songs on the banjo), and sometimes I think I should help the less fortunate. But what to do? What will play to my strengths? What could I do better than others? What has God put me on earth to do?

And then I see this, and my questions are answered:

http://www.pornfortheblind.org/

I didn't make this up, but it is genius

Fixing Mommy: A Book Explains Plastic Surgery to Children

Stephanie Kaster said her body is a temple -- one that needs to be redecorated every so often: In recent years, the 39-year-old mother of three has undergone liposuction and a breast reduction. "I tell my kids, 'Bob the Builder fixes buildings, and there is a doctor that fixes parts of mommy,'" Ms. Kaster said, referring in a single breath to an animated character of children's television and to her Upper East Side plastic surgeon.

But the next time she fields a question from her 6-year-old daughter about surgical scars or the like, Ms. Kaster, who lives in Midtown, need only open a book: A Bal Harbour, Fla., plastic surgeon has written "My Beautiful Mommy" (Big Tent Books, $19.95), which explains cosmetic surgery to school-age children. The story focuses on a teddy bear-clutching little girl whose mother is about to go in for a nose job and a tummy tuck. In the book, the mother tells her child: "You see, as I got older, my body stretched and I couldn't fit into my clothes anymore. Dr. Michael is going to fix that and make me feel better."

Dr. Michael is the book's author, Michael Salzhauer, a plastic surgeon who said the majority of his patients are young mothers coming in for a series of procedures -- a tummy tuck and a breast lift, among them -- that he calls "the mommy makeover." He said the book isn't meant to glamorize plastic surgery, but to allay children's fears about their parent's hospitalization and postoperative recovery. "Kids tend to associate a doctor's visit with being sick," Dr. Salzhauer, a father of four, said. "They come in with this puzzled look on their face and ask questions like, 'Is mommy dying?'"

A Park Avenue plastic surgeon, Paul Lorenc, said his patients today are much younger than they were when he started his practice 19 years ago. Early on, most of them were in their mid-to-late 60s; these days, they tend to be in their 30s and 40s, he said.
Of the 11.7 million people (mostly women) who went in for a cosmetic procedures last year, about 70% percent were under 50, according to the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery. As a result of the demographics, Dr. Lorenc said he sees a lot of mothers who want to know how to discuss plastic surgery with their children. Dr. Lorenc encourages parents to talk about how the operations will impact their appearance immediately after the operation and long-term -- giving more specifics to older children and fewer details to younger ones. "If the child is 14, 15, or 16, you can give a very rational answer," he said. "If they're 3, 4, or 5, it's unhealthy to say, 'Mommy has excess skin because I delivered you and your brother and sister, and now I need a tummy tuck.'"

Barnes & Noble Buys Prairie Lights

Kidding, kidding. But there are some ownership changes in the works.

Also, for non-IC residents who haven't heard the news: the Iowa legislature passed an indoor smoking ban which becomes effective July 1st. I'm trying hard to envision the Foxhead with fresh air. It's difficult.

New Campaign Song

Formerly local boys and girls make good

The first novel by '05er Sugi (or, as I like to call her, VV Ganeshananthan) is out! It's called Love Marriage. Buy it! And check out her book tour dates.

'04er Katherine is now a senior editor at HarvardBusiness.org.

And '04er Sam has a segment on this week's This American Life. It'll air Friday, 4/18; Saturday, 4/19; and/or Sunday, 4/20, depending on your local NPR affiliate's schedule. For a full station guide, go here.

Read, listen, and learn!

The Karate Chimp

I think the li'l feller is holding back. I have heard a chimp could tear your arm off if he wanted to. More of Charlie's antics here.

The Free Market of Ideas: Now With Subsidies!

It's important that the ruling class know why they're so much better than poor people, after all.

I'm kind of amazed that the schools took these deals. Should I be?

Do it for the Poets!

I think I better keep the author of this email anonymous...

Dear Friends,

Many of you have probably heard that Dean is leaving Iowa for Austin. As I understand it, this is coming about not because he's hustling for more money, but simply because Iowa is refusing to up him to full-time after he's put in years with the Workshop, and he's tired (after 8 books and a Pulitzer nomination) of cobbling together a career from part-time gigs.

I don't know what your experience was with Dean. For me, he came along when I was hugely confused about my work and my life, and he helped me open up, and calm down, and get energized about poetry again.

Even if you didn't have a transformative experience with him as a teacher, it seems plain that the Workshop could get to be a pretty somber place in his absence. That's not to mention the fact that he's done a fuck of a lot for the Workshop as an institution and the people who make it up. (Remember those handwritten, publication-worthy lectures every seminar?) And that's not to mention the fact that he's one of the best-known contemporary American poets, and a big draw for prospective students.

If Dean ever helped you in any way, or if you have some connection to the Workshop and feel that it would be a stronger program with him than without him, please take ten minutes to write the following people a paragraph or two asking that they please reconsider their position and offer him a full-time job. (Dean, by the way, had nothing to do with this email, and doesn't know I'm writing it. Let's keep it that way.)

Connie Brothers, Program Associate

Lan Samantha Chang, Director of the Workshop

Linda Maxson, Dean of the College of Liberal Arts & Sciences

Lola Lopes, Provost

Forward this to anyone I missed.

Yo Quiero

I think I've said it before- it's not really baseball season until they play at Fenway. So once again: happy baseball, folks.

On the taco: I missed it when this happened in October, but I think the point stands: cross-promotion is the new stand-in for cultural ceremony. He stoleth the base and so we scarfeth the tacos.

The upside? Free tacos. The downside: a schizophrenic and petty discourse. It's not just the tacos, of course. It's the practice of journalism as it is so depressingly evoked by this image.

Because the only way you're going to get that many mics shoved in John Yoo's face is with photo shop.

(Note to photoshoppers-please leave in the reporter under the table. She's my favorite part.)

Fishy, no?

Soldiers’ Remains Secretly Exhumed in New Mexico

By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

Published: April 9, 2008

Working in secret, federal archaeologists have dug up the remains of dozens of soldiers and children near a Civil War-era fort in south-central New Mexico after an informant tipped them off about widespread grave looting. The exhumations, conducted from August to October, removed 67 skeletons from the desert soil around Fort Craig — 39 men, 2 women and 26 children, according to two federal archaeologists who helped with the dig. They also found scores of empty graves and determined that 20 had been looted. The government kept its exhumation of the unmarked cemetery near the historic fort out of the public’s eye for months to prevent more thefts. The investigation began with a tip about an amateur historian who had displayed the mummified remains of a black soldier, draped in a Civil War-era uniform, in his house. Investigators say the historian, Dee Brecheisen, may have been a prolific looter who spotted historical sites from his plane. Mr. Brecheisen died in 2004, and although it was not clear whether the looting continued after his death, the authorities exhumed the unprotected site to prevent future thefts. The remains are being studied by Bureau of Reclamation scientists, who are piecing together information on their identities. They will be reburied at other national cemeteries.

Today's youth want to be like HGF, Derrcules, and me

Philosophy (as a college major) skyrockets in popularity.

Poking the toxic beehive in gnome shorts

I went to a Bikram yoga class in Amsterdam yesterday at the invitation of a new acquaintance. This is the "hot yoga" -- 105F, 40% humidity -- literally wrings out toxins while you're in ludicrous, excruciating postures. With plenty of toxins to spare, I thought I'd put the technique to the test.

I arrived, signed up, went to the dressing room ... and found I had forgotten my shorts. (If this were a live story, here is where T would mention how I once went solo camping, brought my three-foot pet cactus, forgot the tent.) Men are to wear shorts -- women, leotards. I brought a towel, a shirt, change of underwear, shampoo, water, my iPod, a book -- everything but the thing I actually needed. Armchair psychiatrists, read into that what you will.

Back at the counter, with a cheerful shrug, I explained the fact that I am an idiot. "So, I guess maybe next time--"

"Oh, I think we might have a pair." The instructor, a sturdy blonde Dutchwoman with staring blue eyes, dragged boxes out of lost and found. I went through them. No shorts.

"I'll just go naked."

"Okay! Why not?" She seemed serious.

"Well, actually I can think of a few reasons."

"Wait," she said. She disappeared and came back with what looked like a black handkerchief. On closer inspection, it turned out to be shorts that might fit a gnome. I held them up, wincing toward her.

"They stretch," she affirmed.

Indeed they did. But at what cost? I regarded my reflection with hair-raising dismay. Was I smuggling hacky sacks? And given my build, which conceals all evidence of my skeleton, the gnome shorts appeared as a sort of mid-body tourniquet.

But it seemed I had committed, and my new pal had arrived, the Bikramites were gathering, and it was time to start. The studio was a large room containing 20-25 people. Blowers in the wall blasted hot air, and I was dripping sweat before I had even arranged my mat and laid the towel over it. Immediately the instructor began the breathing exercises, which involve interlacing the fingers and stretching them as high and as far backwards over your head as possible and trying to look at the wall behind you, while standing on tiptoe. Of course the notion of breathing in such a position is preposterous. And I had not exercised, besides riding my bike, for three months. By the end of the breathing exercises, I was speculating on the chances of a heart attack.

But I kept on, trudging dutifully through approximations of the 26 postures (skipping the ones that could worsen my damaged knee), some of which tangled my limbs into impossible pretzels, and all the while the drip drip drip of sweat, the pounding of my heart, the hot pumping of my blood into outpost regions that had not seen it since the Clinton Administration. My vision went dark, and dark also was the feeling of the toxins being roused in their lairs. I turned off my mind. I became a dying lizard writhing in scorched desert sand. "Ninety minutes is the length of a movie" is the one thought I had to keep beating back down into the murky depths of what was left of my sputtering consciousness.

But it did end. And a line formed for two dozen glowing red people to use three showers. I returned the soaked gnome shorts to the instructor, who told me I did a good job. "Many beginners flee the room before the halfway point." Staggering outside, I blinked at the pitiless sun, and scanned right and left. Okay, a street. I remember those. They are long and you can go two directions on them. Concentrate. Pick one direction and go. I waddled off like a hypnotized penguin.

At home, the headache began before I'd even climbed the stairs. Wretchedly recalling that we were out of ibuprofen, I collapsed and slept like a corpse for two hours. I woke disoriented and cranky, my sleep-wrinkled face scowling at T when she asked how it had gone. I felt like I had been hit by a semi. The headache persisted.

I don't think it rid me of toxins. I think it merely stirred them up, hassled them out of their hiding places to rampage through my body every bit as grumpily as I shambled into the Irish pub later that night. I needed to placate them, to soothe their anger by replenishing their ranks -- before they could do real damage. Thanks to Arthur Guinness and the product of his extraordinary vision, it seems I succeeded at least in that. I woke up today at the crack of ten-thirty feeling, more or less, normal. I don't know if I'm going back. I need to finish the job, but am I up to it? If you strike at the king, you had better kill him. Merely dredging up the toxins to go wilding through my kundalini was like catching a wolf by the ears: You don't dare let go.

FOX News -- My lover, my lady

Woman Asks to Have Wrinkles Removed, Wakes Up With Bigger Breasts

Black holes and strangelets and monopoles, oh my

Will the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) destroy the earth when it comes online this summer? The odds that the new super duper fancy really crazy powerful particle collider, built beneath the border of France and Switzerland, will create mini-black holes that could combine, burrow to the center of the earth, gain mass, and be all over the planet like Elvis on a chili burger are not zero. Chances that the LHC will generate an artificial supernova, or create weird new forms of matter that could turn us all into those forms of matter are not zero. There is some small chance those things will happen. How small? Depends on whom you ask.

A lawsuit in US District Court now seeks to forestall scientists from starting up the thing until the potential cosmically catastrophic dangers are "reassessed," and a Web site is now devoted to expressing concerns which, while remote, would be the end of you and me and everything we ever knew if they turn out to have been justified.

Whether or not science is about to accidentally grab hold of some dangerous live wiring inside reality that could fry us all to a crisp, what's amazing to me is the fact that at some point, someone will make the assessment that the risk is worth it. There will be a meeting. And heads will nod, and then they will adjourn the meeting and bring their coffees back to their desks. Similar concerns about unlikely but dire consequences were raised about the Relativistic Heavy Ion Collider in New York back in the late 90s. They weighed the potential conclusion of life on earth, and then in the end, they went for it anyway. And they will go for it this time, too. Isn't that just so, quintessentially, like, us? And each time will make the next time easier!

It's now proven to be within human nature to voluntarily risk our very existence in order to, among other things, find something called the Higgs Boson particle. Therefore, extending the non-zero chance to infinity, isn't that just another way of saying that it's now a matter of time before some experiment does, in fact, unleash bad, bad things we don't understand, can't control, and didn't predict well enough? And that will be all she wrote.

They are now saying June will be the grand opening. Actual full-power collisions are scheduled to begin in August.

Oh well! Hey listen, you guys have a great day!!!

Man Faces Charges for Having Sex With Picnic Table

FOX News!!!!!!!!!

"Ohio police have arrested a man who was caught on tape allegedly having sex with a picnic table.

Art Price Jr., 40, of Bellevue, Ohio, was arrested after a neighbor videotaped him engaged sexually with the metal table, according to a report on FOX19.com.

Price was seen on four separate occasions, always between 10:30 a.m. and noon, having sex with the picnic table, Bellevue Police Capt. Matt Johnson told the TV station.

"The first video we had, he was completely nude," Johnson said, noting the table in question had a hole in the middle intended to hold an umbrella.

Price, a married father of three school-age kids, faces felony counts of public indecency because his house is near an elementary school, according to the report."

The Commish

Anybody else catch Bush in the box last night during the Nationals/Braves opener? The poignant truth hit me hard in the gut: he should have just been MLB commissioner. He seemed to feel it too; staying longer than he needed to and speaking wistfully, casually. Really, he was more likable than he's been ever since, you know, he got into the business of demeaning our democracy.

I read too much into it, I know. But seeing him from this angle-- not a new one, an old one--I felt empathy for the guy. He talked about his first game at the Polo Grounds, about eating hot dogs at Arlington with the family. Morgan asked him if he might consider buying a team again. "I think I'll just be a fan," the president replied.



His first pitch was about 7 feet above the plate. Wide to boot. Throughout his appearance, the president was playful but insistent: he had thrown a strike.

Oddest Book Title Award

LONDON — Good advice? Maybe. Oddest book title of 2007 — that's official.

"If You Want Closure in Your Relationship, Start With Your Legs" has won the Diagram Prize for the oddest title of the year, The Bookseller magazine announced Friday. Big Boom, the apparently pseudonymous author, calls it a "self-help book, written by a man for the benefit of women."

It's a book, he writes, that is "raw, honest and about you," distilling "the sweat off my back, the wrinkles in my forehead from anger and thinking all the time."

The title triumphed in a public vote over runner-up "I Was Tortured by the Pygmy Love Queen" and the third-place finisher, "Cheese Problems Solved."

"The winner, 'If You Want Closure,' makes redundant an entire genre of self-help tomes," said Joel Rickett, deputy editor of The Bookseller. "So effective is the title that you don't even need to read the book itself."

The title joins a pantheon of past winners, including "Weeds in a Changing World" (1999), "The Big Book of Lesbian Horse Stories" (2003); "Bombproof Your Horse" (2004); and "The Stray Shopping Carts of Eastern North America: A Guide to Field Identification" (2006).

Ha Ha!

A 1995 study found that 'poets died younger than fiction writers, non-fiction writers, and people in the theatre.' A 1997 study "found that Japanese writers were more likely to die young than other eminent Japanese." Kaufman used a statistical tool called Tukey's Honestly Significant Difference test "to determine which differences were significant in each culture, by gender, and overall." The numbers tell the story. A poet's life, on average, is about a year shorter than that of a playwright, four years shorter than a novelist's life, and five-and-six-tenths years less than that of a non-fiction specialist. Kaufman's study ends, as do the lives of many poets, on a sad note.

He writes: "The fact that a Sylvia Plath or Anne Sexton may die young does not necessarily mean an introduction to poetry class should carry a warning that poems may be hazardous to one's health. Yet this study may reinforce the idea of poets being surrounded by an aura of doom, even compared with others who may pick up a pen and paper for other purposes. It is hoped that the data presented here will help poets and mental-health professionals find ways to lessen what appears to be a sometimes negative impact of writing poetry on mortality and mental health."

Take that, Hoks!

McCain's daughter has a blog

Here is the blog. And here's where I found it.

FOX News Does it Again!

Real Headline:

"Man Claims to Speak 'Australian' After Allegedly Being Raped by Wombat"

from The War Journals of Hillary Clinton, Vol. 1

Oh boy, is this ever rich. The purest kind of forehead smacking, why-didn't-I-think-of-that stuff I've read in a while. Well played, tBone at Balloon Juice, whoe'er ye may be (is it our t-bone?!)...

There was a grunt and a clatter of equipment as Sinbad threw himself down at my side. Sweat glistened on his bare arms, and I could see tendons contracting and relaxing as he squeezed off bursts from his M14. The motion was hypnotic, like a snake about to strike. Perhaps, when all this was over-

No. Concentrate. Focus on the mission. Survive.

A shout from my left drew my head around. Sheryl Crow, guitar still strapped to her back, had taken cover behind a haphazard pile of decaying corpses. Her hair, once lustrous, now lank and greasy, was held back from her eyes by a dirty red headband. Her slim nostrils flared in the dirt-smeared oval of her face, seeking air free of the funeral taint shrouding the airfield. Still, I saw a fierce exultation in her expression that I knew mirrored my own.

Her lithe, nimble fingers stroked the top of an M67 frag grenade, strumming a chord of impending doom. With one quick, economical movement, she plucked the pin free and sent the deadly payload sailing toward the ridge concealing our enemies. My eyes traced the arc, willing it to fly true, to rain death on-

"There!" Sinbad shouted. "The convoy!"

Read the rest...

Update: It seems someone reposted this piece last night at DailyKOS and it was promoted to front page. Unclear if it was the original author. If it wasn't, you know you're good when people flat out steal your stuff!

Does anyone protest at WBC funerals?

Everyone's favorite jackasses, the Westboro Baptist Church (aka GodHatesFags.com), have announced their intention to protest the Sueppels' funeral.

NEWS RELEASE

Thank God for six people dead in suspicious circumstances (5 by "an active shooter") in Iowa City, Iowa!God sent the shooter.In punishment for Iowa's sins, and in retaliatory vengeance for Iowa having persecuted WBC. Dt.31:19.WBC to picket their funerals.Yes. WBC will picket their funerals in religious protest and warning; to wit: "Be not deceived; God is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." Gal. 6:7. God Hates Fags! & Fag-Enablers. Ergo, God hates Iowa; and these 6 people died for Iowa's sins.Furthermore, the evil State of Iowa has persecuted WBC for preaching the truth to Iowa, and has thereby "sown the wind, and is reaping the whirlwind." Hos. 8:7. This message is to be preached in respectful, lawful proximity to their funerals - in full compliance with all laws.Beware of Iowa - Land of the Sodomite damned.

Tragedy in the IC

This morning, at about 6:45, I heard lots of sirens. I didn't think much of it, since Iowa City has a high sirens-to-actual-emergencies ratio, but it turned out to be something bad. A guy who was recently indicted for embezzling hundreds of thousands of dollars from Hills Bank to support his cocaine habit shot and killed his wife and four kids. He was then on the loose for a spell, giving the University of Iowa a chance to test out its HawkAlert system for something other than weather, before he rammed his minivan into a signpost on 80 and died in the flames.

Everyone at Core Fitness and the East Side Java House this morning was very upset - apparently, the wife was a regular at both spots.

Thank you, FOX News, for making my morning a little brighter

"Woman Goes for Leg Operation, Gets New Anus Instead."

All praise FOX!

Robot so lifelike it's creepy

Statement from Provost on MFA Theses

Here's a statement from the interim provost, Lola Lopes, on the MFA situation.

Statement from the Provost Concerning MFA Theses

In recent days a number of people have been upset about what they believed was a plan by our library to publish the creative thesis work of students in our writing programs on the internet without their permission. Let me say as simply and clearly as I can, there is no such plan nor will there be. I regret sincerely that we did not convey this message when students and faculty first voiced their concerns.

For some time now our library, like most major academic research libraries, has been exploring ways to make its collections more accessible by digitizing some materials. As part of that process, there has been discussion about the possibility of making graduate student dissertations and theses available in electronic format. But any such process must be preceded by developing policies and procedures that allow authors to decide whether and when to allow distribution.

On Monday, March 17, I will begin pulling together a working group with representatives from the Graduate College, University Libraries, our several writing programs, and all other constituencies who wish to be part of the process. Under the leadership of Carl Seashore in 1922, Iowa became the first university in the United States to award MFA degrees based on creative projects. Although this has been a rocky start, I like to think that Iowa will again lead the way by developing policies and procedures that safeguard intellectual property rights while preserving materials for the use of scholars in generations to come.

Mmmm ... toadstool ice cream pops

Yum! Nothin' says "tasty treat" like an Amanita muscaria ice cream bar! T brought these home the other day.

The text translates as



Autumn Bars

Fall treat with delicious vanilla
ice cream, crackling candies, and crispy
cacao fantasy on top

They weren't bad. The list of ingredients, thank God, did not include ibotenic acid or muscimol. I did read carefully before eating. I wouldn't put anything past the Dutch -- especially since I found one of these growing here last October.

Thesis uproar makes it into the Daily Iowan

Thesis Policy Sparks Uproar

One interesting thing to note again is the apparent disconnect between the Graduate College and the librarians about scanning theses.

Short version --
GC: yes.
Librarians: no.
GC: the librarians must have misunderstood our edict.

Update: It's also in today's Press-Citizen. The dispute between the GC and the librarians is raised here as well.

So, I'm guessing no Farsi ...

This is a line from one of the "model's" pages at The Emperor's Club:

She also "speaks six of the world's leading languages fluently."

Theses and Google Print

Many of you likely received this email from Kembrew McLeod via Thisbe, but if not, here you go. If you would like to oppose this project (which does sound rather dodgy) email him ASAP at kembrew at kembrew dot com.

Short version: graduating MFA students must sign a release form in order to graduate - this form says that their theses will be posted in full online.

(Apologies for the formatting - I deleted a couple of other people's names in case they didn't want them out on the global interwebs)

---

Thisbe,

Apparently, the U of Iowa has entered into a deal whereby MFA writing theses will be placed online, in full, as content fodder for Google's ad-driven Print project. You know my positions on copyright and open flows of information, but this policy -- which requires students to sign off on this if they want to graduate -- seems really misguided.

There is a meeting about the policy this Friday, March 14, and I'm trying to gather opinions about this plan from other writers, so I thought I would check to see how you would feel about this, if you were a student. Also, feel free to pass along this email to any other concerned>> writers; tell them they can email me their opinions -- kembrew at kembrew dot com -- by Thursday, March 13.

I'll include an email I have written to the person who is representing the MFA students in the meeting on Friday, in case you want more background:

[Name of person representing MFA students],

After doing research on this issue over the weekend and informally polling several writers, editors, agents, UI writing program alums, and copyright experts I know, I can unequivocally say that this has to be one of the most poorly thought out, misguided, and perhaps truly stupid and irresponsible policies this university has attempted to ram down down our throats. (Where's the transparency? The clause just magically appeared on the deposit forms? Amazing!) I urge you to convey these sentiments to [the dean] in your meeting on Friday, because this policy cannot stand, particularly for MFA theses. Here is why: I think students who write creative theses (or translation works, and probably other kinds of writing that need to be considered) should have the option to withhold their work from an open access, online form of distribution -- though they should of course continue to be published as hard copies with the libraries.

On one hand, having a scholarly thesis or dissertation available more widely is a win-win for everyone -- the scholar who gets quoted, those who stumble across a dissertation on a topic they are researching, etc. On the other hand, I think creative work is qualitatively different. I can understand why some wouldn't want that work circulating widely and easily, for either artistic or economic reasons. That is because we are talking about different worlds -- the economies and professional norms of fiction, nonfiction, poetry, journalism, essay writing, academic writing, and other genres are all quite different -- so I can see why students (and faculty) are uncomfortable (or angry) about this. They can't all be lumped together with a uniform university publishing policy. You know my positions on copyright and the importance of free flows of information, but I also understand why some writers would want to keep control of their texts, because in many instances, theses aren't really considered completed works in certain fields. It's more of a process. God knows, I wouldn't want some of my grad school essays and papers being published, or my senior undergrad honors thesis published widely. When I was a student I saw this sort of writing as more of a fulfillment of the degree, and a learning process, rather than a publishing contract. Inversely, there are instances when a MF (or translation) thesis may in fact be the final product, more or less, and I can also understand why they do not want that work published in this way.

Speaking to this concern, I talked to my literary agent about this yesterday, one who represents both marginal academics and well-known authors, and who has been in publishing since 1972. Her first reaction was that this mode of distribution would be a cause for concern for some book editors, and might cause them to pass on a manuscript. It's not like she's wing-nut RIAA copyright lawyer; she supported me in getting Random House to distribute a free pdf copy of my entire book, Freedom of Expression. However, that was a decision I made on my own, because it worked for me. I'd hate to see a blanket policy imposed on other writers.

Anyway, it's not as if any student attending the University of Iowa has entered into a publishing contract with the school, so why does the university have the right to publish their work and use it as content fodder for Google's ad-driven Print project? Especially when students are paying UI tuition! As a labor issue, this is totally unfair and exploitative.

I'll be forwarding you some outraged emails from UI alums and nationally known writers, as well as one from a copyright expert, who is also known for his championing of libraries and open flows of information. [He] feels this policy is "alarming," as he put it, while responses from other writers contain four-letter words that probably shouldn't be included in an official university email or memo. I'm also passing along [another person's] endorsement of the NWP students' opposition to this plan.

Best, Kembrew

Cognitive dissonance

I saw this headline when I came into work this afternoon: Spitzer Is Linked to Prostitution Ring. Hello, cognitive dissonance! I can't get over it. What a fucking idiot. I mean, COME ON. I hope he resigns immediately so that elected Democrats don't look as hypocritical as elected Republicans do. (Also, Eliot Spitzer's wife is hot and smart. What the fuck?)

I don't know if you guys are like this, but every so often, I imagine running for something. Like water commissioner. And then I think back upon my really rather benign past and decide that if I were to run for office, the press would dig up a damning photo of me, like the time I went as a uterus to a Halloween party in college. Or any number of drunken photos. Or snippy emails I sent before I realized that email lacks the nuance required for difficult interpersonal situations.

My point is that don't you think that if you're in public office you might want to, I don't know, eliminate your illegal activities? Especially when you MUST be in the sights of all the huge financial-services firms you (rightly) forced into changing their underhanded ways?

Turdblossom dissed in the IC yesterday

From the Daily Iowan:

Boos exuberantly punctuated the UI Lecture Committee's introduction and dozens in the audience stood, turning their backs when President Bush's former deputy chief of staff and top aide took the stage. A woman charged up an aisle, her hands shaking, as she called for Rove to be arrested. And in a row near the front, a veteran told a different 84-year-old veteran to "F--- off" when he asked him to stop shouting.

Did any of you go to this? Very unusual rudeness shown by IC citizens. But then Mr. Rove was an unusual deputy chief of staff.

Bad line of the week

"'And what, exactly, is this supposed to be?' I say, poking the lump of red Jello-O. It jiggles outrageously, like a breast I once knew." -- from Water For Elephants

Anything you've read lately struck you as really, really bad?

Clearly, I was born 40 years too late

I'm going to go smack around the girl at Dunkin' Donuts now.

Stuff White People Like

You all may already have seen this site, but if not, I present to you one of the items on the list of Stuff White People Like:

It’s no secret. White people want to be writers. Why wouldn’t they? Work 10 hours a week from a country house in Maine or England. Get called a genius by other white people, and maybe get your book made into a film.

Every single white person harbors this dream. No matter what they tell you, all of them have at least one chapter of a novel stashed away somewhere.

Being a marginally crafty race, white people will often seek out every possible route to achieving this goal, and one of the most popular methods has been writers workshops.

These are expensive mini go-to-school type vacations. Where you talk with a published writer (often someone you haven’t heard of, but they have a book on Amazon) who will tell you how they became writers. If there is time, they will listen to you read your stuff and tell that you it’s good but it needs work on a) structure, b) characters, c) dialogue. Then they will collect their check and go back to their country house or studio apartment in New York.

Interesting

So I'm an Obama delegate to the Johnson County Democratic Convention, which is on 3/15. I just received the rulebook, and in looking through it, I found a couple of interesting things:

1. When you show up at the convention, you go into a preference group, like at the caucuses. But you do NOT have to go into the preference group of the candidate whose supporters elected you at the caucuses.

2. There are viability rounds like at the caucuses. So if a candidate's supporters don't surpass 15% of the seated delegates at the county convention, they either have to realign or just remain nonviable and not be able to seat any delegates at the district or state conventions. This could be interesting - what will the Edwards delegates do? He got 30% of the delegates at the caucuses, after all. And I think Richardson got a few, too.

County delegates translate into a smaller number of district and state convention delegates, which in turn get translated into a smaller number of Iowa delegates to the national convention. Seems as if whatever projections are out there for Iowa delegates to both Clinton and Obama could change.

For more info, see here.

Profile of Elizabeth McCracken

in the River Cities' Reader. She'll be doing a reading at Augustana College March 13.

The Importance of Print

As I tie-in to the lying gangbanger ("O.G. Homie"? Someone really bought that?), I bring you a photo of the press corps' current office for the Clinton campaign. Looking at it, I'm kind of astonished anyone would try so hard as to lie or whatever to be a writer of any sort. I guess it's a way to obtain love, fame, and respect without having to learn how to play guitar, throw a touchdown, or sing. That's pretty much the only explanation I can come up with.

This explains a lot

From a Cracked article on weird things that happen to be true:

"In 1933, group of wealthy businessmen that allegedly included the heads of Chase Bank, GM, Goodyear, Standard Oil, the DuPont family and Senator Prescott Bush tried to recruit Marine Corps Major General Smedley Butler to lead a military coup against President FDR and install a fascist dictatorship in the United States. And yes, we're talking about the same Prescott Bush who fathered one US President and grandfathered another one."

Publishing, a Complete Tool Shed

This kind of stuff makes me want to suit-up in my Fireman uniform and get book burning.

From Gawker:

"Before her publisher Penguin Group realized she was a liar and recalled her memoir, Margaret Seltzer gave an interview on Penguin's website and, probably, in press kits distributed to book reviewers. The interview is chock-full of quotes from Seltzer about her life as an impoverished gang banger raised in a Los Angeles ghetto by a foster parent called "Big Mom." The statements of course look absurd and hilarious, since everyone now knows Seltzer was raised by her biological parents in a nice suburb, where she attended private school and was not a member of a gang at all. Go read Seltzer's lies, issued under her pen name "Margaret Jordan," while they are still up on Penguin's website, or just take in highlights, after the jump.

One of Seltzer's cheaper tricks is a frequent use of urban black slang, which she probably inserted into her speech to bolster her claim of having grown up in South Central LA instead of, like, the San Fernando Valley:

Q: How did this book originate?

A: During my senior year of college one of my professors told me a friend of hers was working on a book and wanted to interview me. I declined. I wasn’t interested in the whole “South-Central-as-petting-zoo” thing. Then my home girl said the teacher might mess around and fail me for rejecting her friend, so I ended up calling the author and doing the interview. She was real nice and asked me if I had ever written anything. I ended up giving her one of a number of short stories I had written for my brothers’ kids and for the kids of my homies serving life sentences. ...

Q: What makes the difference between someone who is able to move up and on and out of the inner city and someone else who follows the trajectory into crime, juvenile detention, prison, and so on?

A: I wish I knew. I’ve got my homeboy who’s doing life who wrote me, “You and OG homie are the only ones who made it out.” Well, OG homie is now locked up. And I can’t even judge.

Requisite irony:

Q: What was it like for you going back and digging up all those painful memories of your childhood and teen years?

A: It was heart wrenching. And the amazing thing is that no matter how many rounds of edits I sat down with, it was heart wrenching each time. Sarah McGrath, my editor at Riverhead Books, said, “Every time I hit a certain page I cry.” I told her, “If you only knew! I hit that same page and cry every time too.”

The more blatant fabrications are also fun:

Q: What was the scene that affected both of you so much? A: It was the scene in which my little sisters and I were walking home from the Korean grocery store and Nishia dropped a carton of milk. It burst open and the milk streamed into the gutter. She burst into tears, begging me not to be mad as she stooped down trying to scrape it all back into the broken carton. I told her I wasn’t mad. But I was. That was a half-gallon of milk wasted and two dollars gone. Even now, as an adult, just thinking about that—thinking about the choices you were given as a child that weren’t kid choices—makes me want to cry. ...

Q: You were 16 when you cooked your first batch of rock cocaine. What led you to do that?

A: Our water had been shut off because Big Mom couldn’t pay the bill. If your water is cut off social services is going to come and say it’s bad living conditions and take the kids out of there. Where I was was cool. I was with people who loved me. I didn’t want us to be split up so I was trying to be part of the solution. That meant bringing in money and getting the water turned back on. Once again that’s not a choice kids should have to make. I knew it was not right—cooking up rock. I knew I was contributing negatively to the community. But the water got put back on the same day. The reward was there. To go from wearing third generation hand-me-downs to wearing name brand everything—when you’re a kid that stuff matters.

Then there are the odd things Seltzer just can't remember. Like the sexual abuse she said she suffered as a child, which in the Q&A she implied was something she "barely remembered." Or the question below, where her repeated shrugs get more than a little suspicious:

Q: Do you think it was a good thing you were removed from your parents’ home and put into the foster care system?

A: Who knows? Who can say? What would have happened if I hadn’t been put into the system? To answer that you have to enter the realm of speculation and I try not to get caught up in “would have,” “should have,” and “could have.” What I can say is that I’m a strong person and that I’m very proud of the person I am today. I don’t have a lot of room for regrets, especially over choices I didn’t have.

Seltzer was also tired of her 'hood being stereotyped:

Q: What’s the biggest misconception people have about South Central, about gangs, about the ghetto? A: Where to start? You meet someone and they ask where you’re from. If you say South Central they immediately ask if you were in a gang. Of course not everyone was, but then you’re embarrassed when you have to say, “Yeah I was.” And then they ask if you ever killed anybody. What? Who would ask that of anybody? There’s this whole misconception that we’re all cold-hearted killers, drinking forties out of paper bags, driving around in low riders—Bloods looking for CRIPs; CRIPs looking for Bloods—trying to shoot each other all night long. At one point I was showing my agent around my old neighborhood. We were shooting a video for the book. She said it was so much nicer than she thought it was going to be and that people were so friendly. We went to a local park and this couple walked up to us. I could see the camera crew suddenly got nervous. In my head I’m thinking, what do you think is going to happen? But then the couple was nice and all I could do was smile.

Sometimes you wonder why anyone believed Seltzer, particularly while listening to her weaker, more simpleminded lies and tricks:

Q: Throughout the book, when presenting dialogue, you write in slang. You also replace the c’s in many words with k’s. Why?

A: You have to find a balance. You want to make the book understandable to the average reader in the suburbs but you also want it to be realistic. I’m not going to walk into a store and say, “Hi. How are you doing? Nice to meet you!” I felt if I did that in the book something would be lost. And I want people to understand how deep-seated the hatred really is between CRIPs and Bloods. CRIPs celebrate C-days rather than B-days (birthdays) and Bloods smoke bigarettes not cigarettes. The hate is so deep that, as a Blood, you automatically change the spelling in words with a c in them.

Then there are the downright weird lies, where it seems like Seltzer is making it up as she goes along and lets herself go off on a tangent. Like in her story about the cop who buys pit bulls from gangster dog breeders:

Q: My understanding is that you’re an “inactive” gang member—that you’ve been given permission by the gang to step down from activity but are still considered friendly, and thus protected. Is that the case?

A: Am I “inactive?”

I don’t know. There’s really no such thing. I breed pit bulls and just took some down to Los Angeles for this guy. He said, “I saw your photo on My Space. You’re a Blood, right?” I told him I was a Blood once upon a time. He said he’d never heard of such a thing as an ex-gang member. I asked where he was from and he told me he was a police officer. "

If any agents are reading this, I am currenty shopping Mens Rea, Bitches! Devora Feces et Morimini: Tha Fo Shizzle Truth-o-dillo o the Krazy Gangsta Gs, Boy!!!: The True Story of A Law School Faculty Member.

The not-so-little differences

Over the past year we've accumulated first-hand examples of startling cultural differences between people we're meeting in Holland and Americans. From casual scatology to graphic sexual innuendo to pointed insinuations about one's significant other, folks here are much more willing to venture willy-nilly into bluntness, regardless of present company or circumstances or how well they know you. A counter-intuitive discovery, given the stereotypes. But consider the following:

I was asking our tax guy's assistant to explain a surprisingly large bill we got from the city. "This number is the property tax," she said. "And this is, how do you call it -- foulness?" "Garbage." "Yes, garbage. And this is for the foul water -- you know, when you flush and the turd goes down?"

T was talking to a colleague about a writer whose work she is editing. She said he wasn't very clear, wasn't good, even though he appears to be the top of his field. Guy says, "Well, when you are in the toilet and have to pee you must pull down your panties, and so must he." We're guessing this is some Dutch version of everyone having to put their pants on one leg at a time.

First class back from the holiday break, one girl in T's Dutch lesson took one look at another and exclaimed, "______! You got fat!"

An acquaintance offered his opinion that when T first arrived, she didn't look so good, but now she's better looking. This was while talking to both of us. He felt free to cheerfully speculate, "Now, if I slept with her, how long would it take you to forgive me?"

Another acquaintance cautioned me that if T did not do well on her impending Dutch test, I should "give her a good spanking." He proceeded to illustrate by holding my imaginary wife over his knee and playfully swatting her with his palm. He felt it necessary to add a little dance to it, shuffling sideways and swaying his own backside to some sort of interior soundtrack as the performance went on for, I thought, a tad too long.

Then we have a fellow -- a cross between Cap'n Crunch and Captain Kangaroo, but more "pirate-y" -- who never fails to seek us out and make some suggestive remarks. "My moustache is curly from oral sex," is a typical one. He claims to be a shaman and, recently, has identified our spirit animals. "Yours," he says to T, "is a big bird, an eagle. Always flying, high up in the air!" His eyes are wide, his arms open. "You want to go, go, go, and try new experiences.

"Yours," he says, turning to me and frowning, "is a little black bird -- a crow. He flies lower. He is dark. He is closed. He looks up and says, 'Oh, there's that big bird again.' He thinks the big bird is eating him. You want to try new experiences, but you say to yourself, no, I don't want to. I think you should try! She is flying very high and very fast, and you are low to the ground, flapping and flapping." He brings his hands up to his shoulders and flaps them pitifully. "And this is what I see between the two of you." Big friendly hands on our shoulders, he suggests getting together for a 'session.'


"I will give you my Web site." He writes down the URL on a coaster -- which I will not be linking to. "Don't scare!" he says, "but it is BDSM. That is my thing."

I cover my face with my hands, peek with desperation at my empty glass, and cry out down the bar, "Can I, for Christ's sake, get a beer down here?" Our interlocutor's twinkling gaze moves, like a minute hand, from me to T.

"Bondage, Discipline, Sadism, and Masochism," he clarifies. "I am a master. Everyone knows me. But it's only ... if you want it." He then mentions -- so, so casually! -- that another acquaintance of ours is his 'submissive.'

To T: "When you are under me..." -- this is helpfully illustrated by some gentle arrangement of his hands -- "I never do anything you don't want. I have a rope. Many people," glancing at me, "are afraid of such new experiences. But I say, try it, and if you don't like it, don't do it!"

My beer comes, and I down about a third of it. "I'm not afraid," I say.

"No, not afraid. Just closed, like the black bird."

"Well, I'm not sure you're on the right track here."

I'm not even sure what that means. I don't want to take offense, since I believe none was meant, but I'm not sure how to ease him off this topic. T, meanwhile, is ready to bust a gut.

He raises his palms. "It's just -- what I feel."

"Mm-hm."

Eventually he drifts away, leaving in his wake bafflement, titillation, squirming, hushed comparison of notes, and unbidden mental images of the Quaker Oats guy in studded black leather wielding a riding crop. In my best moments I like to see myself as a worldly and sophisticated ambassador of good will -- a friend of ours here calls us the "unamericans," meaning atypical -- but by gosh if I'm not often reminded that deep down I'm just a small-town Midwesterner, picking my way through a slightly alien land.

Possibly final primary predictions

What do you think will happen tomorrow? I'll go out on a limb and say Obama wins Texas, Ohio, and Vermont, and loses Rhode Island by 4%. In this way he puts the thing to bed. Clinton concession by Friday. And ... um ... free beer everywhere.

A Little Trouble with the Facts

Last night in Amsterdam, fellow 'Shopper ('06, I believe) Nina Siegal read from her recently published first novel A Little Trouble with the Facts, which PW calls "chick lit meets Raymond Chandler" and her Dutch publisher calls chick noir (the book is being translated into Dutch). A packed house and many questions after her reading of this glamour/gutter crime novel's Chapter 1, about a former big paper style queen, demoted to obits, who gets sucked into investigating a suicide. Nina came to Holland on a Fullbright to work on her second novel, which features characters from a Rembrandt painting -- and decided to stay.

The Child of a Chaplain Learns About God

Jimmy: Goodnight, little boy who lives on Venus (n.b., I told him every time he looks up at Venus in the sky, there is a little Venusian boy waving back).

Me: O.K. Get in bed.

Jimmy: Daddy, my prayed to God last night.

Me: You did? What did you pray about?

Jimmy: My prayed for my Legos to fall off the shelf (n.b., his Legos were put on the highest shelf in his closet until further notice because he was mean to his sister).

Me: Really?

Jimmy, sighing: Yea -- it didn't work.

Brackets

The 2008 Tournament of Books is set to begin March 7. This year, bet on the winner and support a good cause.

It's just like March Madness--I know nothing about the contenders (new baby means the little reading time left is devoted to finding the secret of making a baby sleep through the night) and yet I'm more than willing to throw down money on some brackets!

And they said no to Allen Ruskin ....

Books that Actually Make You More Stupid

Anagram Maker

http://www.sternestmeanings.com/

Love,

Lax Elk Rules.

Redlefsen Christmas Letter, Draft 3

I hope you are enjoying your holidays!

I'm not!

As many of you know, "Tax" Dodge and Larry Butterbutt ratted Ted out to the Feds, so Ted's firm is fucked -- F-U-K-K-E-D! I'm sure those two bastards will get what's coming to them. In fact, I just bought a gallon of gasoline and I'm heading over to their houses now! Here, I come Margie and Nell! Tee Hee! BAD NEWS -- since our house got taken and I'm now in this dump-crap motor home at Ocean View Estates (the only ocean I ever see is the guy next door who likes to piss out his back door -- Ha Ha!), we're not having a holiday party and Rhonda and Raul can't get drunk and try to hump each other in my linen closet this year. I hope your spouses don't get to this letter first!!! That could be a big surprise for them!!! Hah! Hah! Hah!

Before we became limited to conjugal visits, Ted and I passed our 25th year of living hell together. He rented some red pinto with the roof cut off with a chain saw, and since we didn't have any money, we shoplifted a couple of Mickey's Big Mouths and passed out under the boardwalk. The bastard took that opportunity to tell me that my engagement ring wasn't being "polished" -- and that if the motherfucking horse had come in like it was motherfucking supposed to, everything would be just motherfucking peachy! (Excuse my French!) He gave me a bread loaf twist tie as a replacement (-- "it's the thought that counts" -- right, girls!!! Hah! Hah! M.F.-Hah!).

Since those rat bastards sold us out, Rory's been turning tricks down at the end of the pier where the men dress as ladies -- she's running a handjob special, if any of you old leches that used to stare at her during our pool parties want to trot on down there (Although some of you have been by to see her -- I'm looking at you, Artie! You fuck!)

Roger and I drove past some colleges on the way to dropping Ted off at Sing Sing -- let's face it, Roger is too dumb to pass an obedience test. I asked Rory if she needed an intern, but she'd probably have to draw him a map (Ha! Ha! HA!!)

And, just to add to my fucking terrible life, Ted's rat-bastard father (who never, ever liked me), finally took his own life and that of Ted's flea-bitten dog -- murder-suicide while the Feds were trying to kick in the door (I supposed IT WAS romantic!! I wouldn't put it past him!! HA HAH!!)

Hopefully, I won't see next year!

And for the kids, there's no Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, or God-damned Tooth Fairy, Either!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAH!

Burn in Hell!

Donald Duck dispatched to Walter Reed

No, it's not a George Saunders story. It's the truth. And it's outrageously stupid. I guess the solution to cronyism is picking cronies with better pr. Trademarked cartoon characters are optional.

The oft-cranky Disney cartoon character, wearing his blue sailor jacket and cap, was in a palpable rage. His webbed feet had lifted off the ground, his beak was gaping, and his white-gloved hands were tightly clutching an old-fashioned two-piece telephone.

"We can clearly see he's frustrated," said Kris Lafferty, a trainer for the Disney Institute who was leading workers at the Northwest Washington hospital last week in a four-hour seminar on customer service. "Why do we think he's frustrated?"

My guess is he's frustrated because he got sent to fight in an ill-conceived war where he was grievously injured. Then, when he got home, he was given substandard healthcare by a privatized veteran's hospital that was better at making money than treating his injuries and keeping the facilities sanitary.



But I'm wrong. Turns out he's pissed because his orderly didn't sit through a three hour, presumably govt-subsidized Disney commercial.

Considering the business-side understanding of customer-service- a necessary expense to be kept minimal- this is particularly odious. The problem isn't rude telephone operators.

Article on Jim McPherson in Daily Iowan

I noticed the fellow sitting across from me on the bus this morning was reading this. Check it out.

Winter, you drove me to this.

For those of you no longer in the Midwest, you do not understand the wintry wrath that has been visited upon us. Jesus Christ, it's neverending. It snows, then becomes bitterly cold, then warms up slightly so that the bottom layer of snow melts a little, then it snows again as another arctic blast (as seems to be the term preferred by meteorologists) blows through, leaving bitterly cold air in its wake and a layer of ice on every piece of pavement. The other day, it was 25 in the morning, and I thought to myself, "Oh, it's spring! I should walk to work. Why did I bother wearing these stifling gloves?" and my neighbor was waiting at the bus stop in a skirt. Then it went down to -8 again. I used to think it was cold when the snot in my nose would freeze. Now, I gauge the coldness by how long it takes the snot in my nose to freeze. This morning (-5), that took about four seconds. Not quite as fast (two seconds) as the day it was -13 when I left the house.

Anyway, my point is that winter has made the decision to move a bit easier. My husband accepted a job back in the Bay Area (Oaktown, bitches), so we'll be moving there. He will move in March, and I'll move with our young spud and dog in June or so. And then we'll hemorrhage money and die in an earthquake, but AT LEAST MY SNOT WILL BE FLOWING FREELY.

The choice of a new generation

Fiction with marketing tie-ins (like dead authors who evolve into trademarks) comes from an alternate universe. My fingers always hesitate before typing a brand name. At first, I tell myself it's a cameo appearance by something from the physical world, but inevitably I feel my socks reverse polarity. Brands can be so packed with unwanted resonances (and legal issues), they jump out like an orch hit. . . . then again, maybe I'm knitting in an odd fabric: I think of a DF Wallace story with a fly circling a drop of soda in the groove of a Pepsi can lid. It's a perfect choice--the Pepsi slogan at the time was probably "Gotta Have It."

Democracy as product

I think the obvious flaw in Dickerson's reasoning is that Obama isn't an iPod.

But isn't there a natural limit to our enthusiasm for to this kind of sweeping phenomenon? Isn't the generation that Obama has so successfully courted usually the first to toss overhyped products, even the overhyped products with which they were at first so enthralled?

Of course, backlash happens in politics and it could happen to Obama. But I think journos looking for an angle come deadline are more likely to start the pile-on than fickle youngsters are.

I don't really know why I read Slate. I hate it.

I have now seen everything

This is just awesome. I wonder how the translation went for:

"But with the Rolling truck Stones thing just outside,
Making our music there.
With a few red lights, a few old beds,
We made a place to sweat."

Writers' strike, we hardly knew ye

Any thoughts on the end of our long national nightmare?

Iowa undergrad Workshop in the works?

The University of Iowa is apparently planning to create an undergrad creative writing major, and Bret Anthony Johnston is among those interviewing to head it up (I have no personal knowledge of the other two candidates -- anyone?). This would be cool in a way. It would further strengthen Iowa City as a great place to go if you want to be a writer. It would bring even more great used books to local bookstores. And it would increase by some small percentage the likelihood of striking up an interesting conversation with one of the hordes of young people that rule the town nine months a year, many of whom are fabulous. However, I'm not convinced creative writing is the smartest plan for a writer's undergraduate education, and for entirely predictable reasons. Given the presumed writing courseload and the goodly assortment of lit courses that should be taken alongside them, does that leave room for much else in this kind of college education? Then again, maybe I'm just jealous I can't go back and do this.

Way Down in the Hole

Who else is watching "The Wire"?

If you haven't been, read no further.

Anyway, I like the fifth season. The media storyline is getting beat up in the press (surprise, surprise) and in a limited way they're right. But in some of the criticism, the show's argument is reinforced- take for example, the fact that Slate has put Stephen Glass's editor and the spouse of one of his co-workers on the beat. And of course they hate it. They're proclaiming the show ruined. We don't ask Martin O'Malley to comment on season 3, or Margaret Spellings to write about season 4. Journalists--particularly journalists with a personal proximity to the sort of impropriety on display here-- are going to have a fairly predictable reaction to season 5. One wonders what Slate's editors were expecting. They do love to lead the charge when they can, after all, especially on backlashes.

To my mind, the single biggest shortcoming in the Mcnulty/Sun thread is that it feels rushed. Much of the nuance we're used to seeing in new locales is being cast aside in this shortened season. In a way, the show is pushing into the entirely uncharted waters of satire. I'll roll with it, but those two factors together do pose problems.

But the rest is pretty much the awesome.

A long shot, but you never know

I'm editing a book on hair loss and replacement, and need a medical specialist to review the manuscript -- someone with some expertise in hair restoration. Anyone know the sort? Please email me if so: earthgoat at gmail dot com.

Ta.

SER's prediction from a month ago

"Clinton manages to win a few big states on Feb. 5, but Obama clearly has the most popular support. Due to the weird rules of delegate allocation, however, Clinton's stash of superdelegates means she might win on a technicality. (Note: I have no idea what I'm talking about. If you want more details on the superdelegate thing, consult the Internets.) A legal tangle reminiscent of Bush/Gore 2000 takes place in the primary season. By November, everyone is so exhausted by it all that they forget to vote."

Um... I'm sorry, but do you have any stock tips?

Redlefsen Christmas Letter, Draft 2

I hope you are enjoying your holidays!

Wow, what a difference a year makes! We moved into our cozy new home last February, and we still haven't managed to completely unpack! I never really realized how much stuff we'd accumulated until I tried to get things together and downsize into our new cozy home (please send money instead of gifts this year-- hah hah!)! We've been busy meeting the new neighbors in Ocean View Estates, and some of them are quite the character. Although I was a little hesitant when Ted told me he wanted to sell our old house, I'm loving the fact that I have so much less to clean (which means more time for Manhattans, chocolate, and "Oprah" -- hah hah!). Because of the move, we let Carlos and Svetlana go, but I wanted to get "my hands dirty" again, as they say. I'm even cooking dinner now (don't laugh, Nancy, there's only been one small fire -- hah hah)!

As many of you know, Ted's firm took something of a hit this year. Terry Dodge and Larry Butterworth took it upon themselves to make a deal with the authorities, so we're still up in the air about what the future of Redlefsen, Redlefsen, Dodge, and Butterworth will look like, but I'm sure it will turn out better than any of us could have hoped for. I'm sure the blame will end up where it belongs, whatever those two may be up to (as you may remember, I never liked those two -- and never invited them to our famous Redlefsen Family Christmas Extravaganzas. I'm glad there actions have proven me right, although Ted and I are trying to be more Christ-like in our dealings with them). Although I had to call off the bash this year, once we get settled here at Ocean View, I expect to see Rhonda and Raul tearing up the dancefloor with their famous tango next December(hah hah! Muy Caliente!).

Ted and I celebrated our 25th Wedding Anniversary at the Shore, driving down in a RED CONVERTIBLE Ted had rented just for the occassion! Ted was so romantic, and we spent the whole weekend acting like kids again. Even with all that has been going on, Ted remembered, and even gave me a NEW ENGAGEMENT RING! It was SOOO sweet!

Rory's new business in the entertainment field has been really taking off -- unlike many women her age, she's setting her own hours, keeping the profits, and running her own ship. I'm told she's quite the entrepeneur! She's been running herself ragged, but onwards and upwards, I always say! Her phone literally never stops ringing (at all hours of the night, too!)

Roger is also doing well -- he and I did the "College Tour" this fall, and we saw Harvard, Yale, Columbia, and Ted's alma mater, Princeton, the usual suspects. He's sent in his applications, and now we are just keeping our fingers and toes crossed until the good news arrives!

Even so, this year has had its challenges. Unfortunately, we lost Ted's father this year, although, as he always said "I had a pretty good run." And he certainly did! As all of you know, he was always the first one to laugh! We also lost our beloved dog, Sparkplug, although I am sure he is happily licking sweet Jesus' face as we speak!

May next year be all good things!

Merry Christmas,

Judy Redlefsen

Yeah, but who does Ann Coulter endorse?

Wow.

Pleasegodopleasegod, give us Obama.

Open Letter

Hi Guys,

I hope those of you in Super Tuesday states will join me today in voting for Barack Obama. We are at a crossroads in this country, and whatever respect I have for Hillary Clinton, I don't think she can bring the transformative change that our nation needs. I'm sick to death of being cynical and depressed about my government. I think of the people I love, and I know that there are ways in which government can simplify or complicate their lives or even, in light of the worst failures of the last seven years, keep them safe or fail to do even that. I think of the children that A and I hope to have someday soon (but not too soon) and I know that we want to bring them into the world that a President Obama would symbolize.

You guys know what a political junkie I am. My intense attention for these things is almost always rewarded with feelings of powerlessness, outrage, and sadness. I'm not inclined to optimism and yet somehow this guy has me teary-eyed with it. I think that's a testament, in and of itself, of the promise Obama brings. Optimism and rhetoric are powerful things in the right moment, and this is the right moment, I think. For me, these qualities don't overshadow the substance of Obama's platform-- which is rich and exciting in its own right-- but I also know that we mustn't underestimate their importance.

I hope you'll join me and A today in casting a vote for Obama. I believe this vote today to be the most important and hopeful vote I've ever had the privilege of casting. I feel tremendously blessed that I can vote for a candidate I find so inspiring, and I wanted to share that feeling with you guys.

Full of good feelings and love,

Pete

Super Tuesday

Anyone care to make any guesses as to what'll happen today and beyond? Will a Democrat lock it up today, or will the superdelegates have the final word at the convention? Will Romney miraculously regain his Mittmentum, or will his malleable self be crushed (or, more accurately, squished) by McCain?

Are you voting today? If so, for whom? And what was your experience at the polling place? I suppose you could also tell us about your experience with absentee ballots, but it may lack dramatic tension.

On another topic, any hot gossip from AWP?

Why it takes so long for your book to come out

Even after you finish, sell, and submit your final manuscript, you're still likely to be waiting for as much as two years for it to appear on shelves. Why is that? NTYBR essay explains.