July 04, 2008

Reader’s Almanac: 7/4

Born: United States of America, nation, Philadelphia, 1776; Horatio Hornblower, Royal Navy captain, 1776; Nathaniel Hawthorne, novelist, short-story writer, poet, Salem, Mass., 1804; Rube Goldberg, cartoonist, San Francisco, 1883; Lionel Trilling, critic, New York City, 1905; Neil Simon, playwright, New York City, 1927.

Died: Samuel Richardson, novelist, London, 1761; Thomas Jefferson, statesman, author, Charlottesville, Va., 1826; Francois-Rene de Chateaubriand, poet, novelist, historian, explorer, statesman, Paris, 1848; Chaim Bialik, poet, Tel Aviv, Palestine, 1934; Maurice Bowra, editor, critic, memoirist, Oxford, England, 1971; August Derleth, novelist, short-story writer, poet, publisher, Sauk City, Wis., 1971; Georgette Heyer, novelist, 1974; John Crowe Ransom, poet, critic, Gambier, Ohio, 1974; Antoni Slonimski, poet, translator, journalist, Warsaw, Poland, 1976; Charles Kuralt, journalist, New York City, 1997.

Quote for the Day: "New York is not Mecca. It just smells like it." — Neil Simon, who was born today in 1927

Today in the Reader's Almanac

Dashiell Hammett's Dirty Weekend

1931: Dashiell Hammett runs off with Laura Perleman, the wife of writer and humorist S.J. Perleman, after engineering the breakup of their relationship. Although Dash was in an intense seven-month relationship with Lillian Hellman, they fought regularly and were not wholly loyal to each other. She was having an affair with Ralph Ingersoll, and he regularly boinked prostitutes. This latest go-round was sparked by a party Hammett threw at his house in Bel Air. In addition to the usual guests were some Chinese prostitutes from Madame Lee Francis' house, Hammett's favorite.

While the drinks were flowing freely, Hammett instructed one of the prostitutes to head for the upstairs bathroom and get undressed. Then, he sent Sid upstairs. Nature took its course, and when Perelman had been gone for awhile, Hammett suggested to Laura where to find him. End of party.

Not surprisingly, when Dash suggested to Laura that they head up to San Francisco for the weekend, she agreed. She had always had a fondness for the mystery writer. But the weekend didn't turn out like they expected. Dash fell ill, and while he was fit enough for their bedroom activities, Laura realized that Dash was going to stay with Lillian, and she could either like it or lump it.

Meanwhile, Lillian was beside herself with rage. Taking up with prostitues was one thing, but running off with a friend was another. When he returned, she raged at him, but his attitude with Lillian was like that with Laura. Hammett's going to do what he feels like doing. Period.

Hammett and Hellman would stay together for the rest of his life, but Lillian could neither forgive nor forget his betrayal. "I could kill him for that ... even now," she said 40 years later. "After all this time ... I could still kill him ... I wish he were alive so I could kill him."

1845: Henry David Thoreau opens the door to his cabin by Walden Pond, beginning an experiment in living close to nature. "I went to the woods because I wished to ... see if I could not learn what it [life] had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." But he doesn't live too close to nature. He walks home regularly to get his clothes washed and to eat meals with his family, but it's the thought that counts, isn't it.

1855: Walt Whitman publishes the first edition of "Leaves of Grass."

1862: During a picnic, Charles Lutwidge Dodgson entertains some girls by spinning the story about a girl named Alice, and her adventures down the rabbit hole. One of his guests, Alice Liddell, insists that he write it down, inspiring the eventual publication of "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland."

1931: On his father's birthday, James Joyce marries Nora Barnacle at the Kensington Registry Office in London, after living together for 26 years.

1981: Dumas Malone, 89 and nearly blind, publishes the sixth and final volume of his magisterial biography of Thomas Jefferson, "The Sage of Monticello."

ECOLOGY, HOLLYWOOD STYLE: The film industry was noted for recycling long before it became fashionable. There's Somerset Maugham's "Rain," which was made into "Sadie Thompson" (1928), "Rain" (1932) and "Miss Sadie Thompson" (1954). Or the rising-starlet, falling-star story, which became "What Price Hollywood" (1932), "A Star is Born" (1937, 1954 and 1977). Or "Cleopatra" (1917), "Cleopatra" (1934) and "Cleopatra" (1963). But Michael Mann takes the Oscar for Best Reproduction, by taking a flop pilot called "LA Takedown" and turning it into the Pacino/DeNiro movie "Heat" using the same script. Lee Goldberg compares a scene from each.

LOOKING BACK AT JANE'S ADDICTION: Lee Goldberg's brother, Tod, has posted photos from a Jane's Addiction concert from 1990 at Mount Baldy.

IF YOU LOVE NEIL GAIMAN OR TANITH LEE: They're auctioning off personalized buttons to benefit Matchit for Pratchett, a charity raising money for Alzheimer's research.

EDDIE MURPHY'S BIG GIANT HEAD: From kottke.org, Your does of surreality.

LIFE IMITATES FICTION: A federal agent comes to a small town and helps them clean it up of meth labs and dealers. except that the agent is an imposter. It's the sequel to "Catch Me If You Can." (Thanks, Sarah Weinman)

July 03, 2008

Reader’s Almanac: 7/3

Born: William Henry Davies, poet, Newport, Monmouthshire, Wales, 1871; Franz Kafka, author, Prague, Austria-Hungary, 1883; M.F.K. Fisher, food author, Albion, Mich., 1908; Elizabeth Taylor, short-story writer, novelist, Reading, Berkshire, 1912; Tom Stoppard, playwright, Zlin, Czechoslovakia, 1937; Dave Barry, humorist, novelist, Armonk, N.Y., 1947.

Died: Theodor Herzl, journalist, Edlach, Austria, 1904; Joel Chandler Harris, short-story writer, Atlanta, Ga., 1908; Mordecai Richler, novelist, children's author, 2001.

Quote for the Day: "It's better to be quotable than to be honest." — Tom Stoppard, who was born today in 1937

THIS DAY IN THE READER'S ALMANAC

1947: Humorist, novelist and part-time member of the Rock Bottom Remainders, Dave Barry, is born in Armonk, N.Y. Barry was chosen to be profiled on this day in the Reader's Almanac for his long-running syndicated newspaper column (1983 to 2005), his Pulitzer Prize for Commentary, his popularization of the phrases "and I am not making this up" and "band name!", and because it was either write about him or about the only other noteworthy event on this day — and I am not making this up — "on this day in 1851, William Makepeace Thackeray delivered his last lecture on the English humorists to a London audience."

Also, Barry's birthday gives me the opportunity to quote liberally from his column, thereby raising the quality of this Web site by allowing him to write this piece for free. So without further ado, here's Dave's greatest bits:

On ordering wine in restaurants: "For the benefit of those of you with plastic slipcovers, I should explain that a ‘sommelier' is a wine steward, the deignified person who comes up to you at expensive restaurants, hands you the wine list and says ‘excellent choice, sir' when you point to French writing that, translated, says, ‘Sales Tax Included.'"

On "Tipper" Gore's campaign against obscene rock lyrics: "Testifying on behalf of Evil Incarnate was a person named Dee Snider, who writes songs for a rock band called Twisted Sister, and who claimed there is nothing wrong with his lyrics. Unfortunately, although Dee had taken the trouble to put on his best sleeveless black T-shirt, his overall personal appearance was nevertheless such that if you handed him before any 12 responsible jurors, they would sentence him to death without asking what the charge was."

On performing before Tupperware distributors: "They especially loved Lou and Tom, lunging around waving their Tupperware products in what they presumably thought was unison, looking like the Temptations might look if they were suddenly struck, onstage, with severe disorders of the central nervous system."

On Halloween: "Poorly aligned eyeholes are an ancient Halloween tradition, dating back at least as far as my childhood in Armonk, N.Y. My early Halloween memories consist of staggering around disguised as a ghost, unable to see anything except bed sheet, and consequently bonking into trees, falling into brooks, etc. The highlight of my ghost career came in the 1954 Halloween parade when I marched directly into the butt of a horse."

On women's swimwear: Making women's hips appear to be the size of Appalachian foothills has long been a major objective of the talented designers at the International Fashion Institute For Developing Women's Swimwear That Women Should Not Wear. The way they achieved it was, they eliminated most of the fabric on the sides of the swimsuit, so that the woman's hips appear to continue right on up to her armpits. This is a ‘look' originally popularlized by tyrannosaurus rex, a fashion-conscious dinosaur that decided to become extinct after it caught a glimpse of itself in the mirror."

So, on this day, let's raise a glass and toast Dave Barry's birthday. Next year, we'll toast a new literary event when we mark the day his lawyers sue us for copyright infringement.

TODAY'S SPEEDLINKS

ALL THIS AND WORLD WAR II: Psychedelic drug use dominated the 1970s, which must be the reason for one of the weirdest movies ever made. "All This And World War II," inspired by a dream by record producer Russ Regan, mixed actual war footage and scenes from Hollywood war movies with the music of The Beatles, as reinterpreted by rockers great (Rod Stewart, Elton John, Tina Turner, Peter Gabriel), middling (Leo Sayer, Henry Gross) and dreadful (Keith Moon, whose rendition of "When I'm 64" should be banned under the Geneva Convention). The soundtrack, a boxed double-album set, filled the discount bin for years, and people believed that while you can buy the poster, you'd never get the soundtrack on CD. But a new version was released last month. However, if you want a copy of the movie, you'll have to find it bootlegged.

JESSA, YOU SLUT: Ms. Crispin has some harsh words for the sex memoir, particularly "Loose Girl" by Kerry Cohen. Actually, having read the book, I tend to agree with her. The headline was too irresistible to resist. Yes, I'm a slut for a bad joke.

CHECKING THE POLITICAL PULSE: If you care about what the bloggers and commentators are saying about the presidential race, check out Blogometer. It's not left; it's not right. What it does is pick the links that discuss the issues of the day, so you can see at a glance what everyone is saying about everything.

BOND IN BOOK AND FILM: Jaime J. Weinman looks at "Goldfinger," the book and the movie and how it made the transition to the screen: what they put in and what they left out.

SO LONG AS WE'RE TALKING MOVIES: Roger Ebert devotes a column to the theme of redemption in movies. To those who think that the Internet is making us stupider, let me point out that, under no circumstances, would I have encountered two thoughtful pieces from Weinman and Ebert in any other format.

July 02, 2008

Reader’s Almanac: 7/2

Born: Thomas Cranmer, theologian, essayist, Aslacton, Nottinghamshire, 1489; Herman Hesse, novelist, poet, Calw, Germany, 1877; Wislawa Szymborska, poet, Bnin, Poland, 1923.

Died: Jean-Jacques Rousseau, philosopher, Emmonville, France, 1778; Gene Fowler, journalist, author, biographer, Los Angeles, 1960; Ernest Hemingway, novelist, short-story writer, Ketchum, Idaho, 1961; Vladimir Nabokov, novelist, memoirist, translator, Lausanne, Switzerland, 1977; George Seldes, journalist, Four Corners, Vt., 1995; Mario Puzo, novelist, screenwriter, Long Island, N.Y., 1999.

Quote for the Day: "Never has a human language, (I mean a grammatical one) achieved half the animation, wit, elegance, and spirit that a cat reveals in the waving of her tail or a bird of paradise in the silvery plumage of its wedding attire." — Herman Hesse, who was born today in 1877

This Day in the Reader's Almanac

1961: Sometime between seven-thirty and eight in the morning, Ernest Hemingway padded down the stairs of his home in Ketchum, Idaho, took the key to his gun cabinet, walked down to the basement, brought out his double-barrel shotgun and loaded it, walked back up the stairs to the foyer, and sprayed blood, bone and brain matter up the stairs.



The man dies, but the stories both by and about him live on, sometimes taking on a life of their own. There's the traditional biography that becomes the standard, "official" story of Hemingway's life and work. This was followed by a second biography, even a third that fleshes out, contradicts and sometimes confirm the official story. Then, there's "The True Gen," in which Hem's friends, enemies, lovers, relatives and doctors argue over whether he really ran an intelligence operation in Cuba, or sucker-punched his friends, or was a closeted homosexual.

There's even one about his cats.

What won't keep Hemingway's legacy alive will be the movies made from his books. Most of them were dreadful, rising to merely adequate. Take the poster below, for a movie based on "The Short, Happy Life of Francis Macomber" (irony alert for the unread: it wasn't).



Trust me, women, you don't want "that Hemingway kind of love."

While the stories are there for people to find them, there are other things that keep an author's name alive. Like the ancillary products. Hemingway endorsed products during his life, such as liquor, and his estate has followed through. Now, hunters who have never read "The Big Two-Hearted River" can fish with official Hemingway reels.



Homeowners for whom the closest to Africa they've been is to play Paul Simon's "Graceland" album can sit on Hemingway-branded furniture.



Writers who've dreamed of drinking in Spain, boozing in Cuba and dying in Idaho can write with Hem's Montblanc Limited Edition pen (which he never used, of course).



I'm surprised someone hasn't done a Hemingway action figure. Oh, wait.



I'm not sure why there's a sword in this package.

So for you writers hoping to live on beyond the Biblically mandated three-score and ten, there's the Hemingway to go: be in the right place at the right time in history, meet a lot of people, do interesting things with them and when you're down, keep coming back. When people thought of him as a has-been, he came up with "The Old Man and the Sea," and the Nobel followed.

Oh, and keep up writing.

LINKS OF THE DAY

IF HE WASN'T ALREADY DEAD, SHE'D KILL HIM Book buyer who takes a couple hundred books off a widow's hands finds out hubby had a hobby. (One NSFW photo; you can probably guess the rest). (Thanks, Bibliophile Bullpen)

MARK TWAIN, IN COLOR: Blast it, the one of him in bed I want for my office wall.

BARBARA WALTERS DOES FEEL SOME SHAME AFTER ALL: While recording the audiobook of her latest memoir, she omitted the sex scenes.

LET'S SEND FRANK TO CLASS: He has some great ideas about teaching writing. When I went to J-school in Chapel Hill, they were woefully deficient in editing and writing (although the courses in copy editing and advertising were top-notch). The teachers, apart from Jim Shoemaker, were far more interested in gatekeeping theories, and the dean more interested in fundraising for a new building.

DO E-BOOKS HELP SALES? Victoria Strauss has the links.

FINALLY, this teacher should get a raise. (Thanks, Bibliophile Bullpen)

July 01, 2008

Reader’s Almanac: 7/1

Born: George Sand (ps. Armandine Lucie Aurore Dupin), novelist, Paris, 1804; William Strunk Jr., professor, author, Cincinnati, Ohio, 1869; Susan Glaspell, novelist, playwright, short-story writer, Davenport, Iowa, 1882; James M. Cain, mystery author, Annapolis, Md., 1892; Juan Carlos Onetti, novelist, short-story writer, Montevideo, Uruguay, 1909; Jean Stafford, novelist, short-story writer, Covina, Calif., 1915; Ms. magazine, New York, 1972.

Died: Harriet Beecher Stowe, novelist, Hartford, Conn., 1896; W(ilbur) J(oseph) Cash, author, Mexico City, 1941; C(harles) P(ercy) Snow, novelist, scientist, London, 1980.

Quote for the Day: "I know this, and the knowledge eats me like an inward animal: there is nothing worse for a woman than to be deprived of her womanliness." — Jean Stafford, who was born today in 1915

THIS DAY IN THE READER'S ALMANAC

1663: Samuel Pepys hears a particularly juicy piece of gossip about Sir Charles Sedley, noted wit, poet, playwright and courtier to King Charles II. Sedley had gotten drunk with two other nobles at Oxford Kates, a popular cook's house on Bow Street, Covent Garden. Before a thousand people on the street, Sedley appeared on the second floor balcony "and showed his nakedness — acting all the postures of lust and buggery that could be imagined, and abusing of scripture and ... preaching a Mountebanke sermon from that pulpitt, saying that there he hath to sell such a pouder as should make all the cunts in town run after him."

Sedley then moved from obscenity to blasphemy by performing a parody of dipping the Host into wine. "He took a glass of wine and washed his prick in it and then drank it off; and then took another and drank the King's health."

As performance art, it was brilliant. Sedley iconoclastically parodied the two major pillars of the state —church and king — then, to round out the performance, another gossip noted, "Putting down their breeches they excrementiz'd in the street."

The response from the London street, however, was mixed. The London Magazine in 1822 noted:

The indignation of the populace being excited by this shameless conduct, they attempted to break into the house, and a desperate riot ensued, in which the drunken orator and his equally drunken companions had nearly paid for their frolic with their lives, being forced by repeated vollies of stones to retreat into their room, the windows of which were dashed to pieces.

Sedley and his companions were arrested for riot. At the trial, their rude behavior continued, and the the judge pointedly asked Sedley if he had read "The Complete Gentleman."

Sedley cooly replied that he has certainly read more books than the judge.

This did not amuse the chief justice, Sir Robert Hyde, who fined Sedley £500, jailed him for a week, and made him post a bond to ensure good behavior for the next three years. It may seem like a stiff penalty, but consider that the usual punishment for treasonous and blaphemous acts in England of the 1660s involved dissassembling the miscreant in as painful a manner as possible.

What saved Sedley's bacon was that he was a favorite of King Charles II, who thought that Sedley's "writing or discourse, would be the standard of the English tongue," which, with Samuel Butler and John Dryden running around, shows you what he knew of literature. Nowadays, if Sedley is remembered at all, it is for this poem, "Phyllis Is My Only Joy," which probably would be covered today by Neil Diamond:

Phyllis is my only joy,
Faithless as the winds or seas;
Sometimes coming, sometimes coy,
Yet she never fails to please;
If with a frown
I am cast down,
Phyllis smiling,
And beguiling,
Makes me happier than before.

Though, alas! too late I find
Nothing can her fancy fix,
Yet the moment she is kind
I forgive her all her tricks;
Which, though I see,
I can't get free;
She deceiving,
I believing;
What need lovers wish for more?

Besides, England had gone through the upheavals of the civil war, the rise of Cromwell and the puritans, and the round of revenge killings that marked the Merry Monarch's restoration two years before, it shouldn't be a surprise that Sedley was cut some slack.

Footnote: Reading Pepy's diary can be habit-forming,either in book form or at this excellent online site.. After chewing over Sedley's frolic, Pepys notes:

Sir J. Mennes and Mr. Batten both say that buggery is now almost grown as common among our gallants as in Italy, and that the very pages of the town begin to complain of their masters for it. But blessed be God, I do not to this day know what is the meaning of this sin, nor which is the agent nor which is the patient.

LINKS OF THE DAY

ALL HAIL LIFEHACKER: There are a few must-read sites that nearly everybody can use, and Lifehacker should be at the top of the list. Here's a few posts I've bookmarked: a free program that monitors the health of your hard drive; how to give thanks to your helpers at your next presentation; clear away DVD clutter by resorting your discs; where to find freelance work; Firefox extensions that can clear up space and personalize it; make your own plastic using milk cartons; how to uglify your bike to deter thieves; blow giant bubbles with two dowels and a long piece of string; and an extreme home office makeover to drool over.

OBAMA LINK FOR THE DAY: Bill Clinton says Give me a kiss, Barack.

BOINGBOING FLUSHES BLOGGER DOWN MEMORY HOLE: So Cory Doctorow is a fascist after all. No surprise there. To quote the acerbic Ed Champion: Boing Boing has deleted every reference to Violet Blue in its archives. I'm stunned that anybody would do this. These are the actions of spineless fascists. And, as Rex of Fimoculous observes in the comments, he too was deleted for being remotely critical of Boing Boing. Joanne has more.

ANATOMY OF A LIE: Here's a little history lesson about the lies told during wartime. In this case, it's the al-Dura affair, in which video footage of a 12-year-old Palestinian boy killed during a skirmish in 2000 was used for propaganda purposes against Israel. Turns out it wasn't Israel who killed the boy, it was the Palestinians, and Charles Enderlin, correspondent for France 2 TV, played a major role in spreading the lie. Don't expect an apology or retraction anytime soon.

FRANK WILSON MARKS THE MOMENT: His life changedwhen he gave up drinking. Congratulations are in order.

DETERMINISM VS. FREE WILL: Do we consciously make decisions or is it just how we're wired? Mark Vernon argues that "Determinism is as simplistic as saying free will is transparent" while Frank Wilson has his thoughts on the subject.

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF AN EDITOR: Oh, how I wish I could crack jokes like this.

June 30, 2008

Reader’s Almanac: 6/30

Born today: John Gay, poet, playwright, Barnstaple, Devon, 1685; Alexander Dyce, scholar, editor, Edinburgh, Scotland, 1798; Winston Graham, novelist, Victoria Park, Manchester, England, 1910; Czeslaw Milosz, poet, critic, ateiniai, Lithuania, Russian Empire, 1911; Mongo Beti (ps. Alexandre Biyidi-Awala), novelist, political essayist, Mbalmayo, Cameroon, 1932.

Died: Lynn Riggs, playwright, New York City, 1954; Margery Allingham, mystery author, Colchester, Essex, 1966; Nancy Mitford, novelist, Versailles, France, 1973; Lillian Hellman, playwright, memoirist, screenwriter, Martha's Vineyard, Mass., 1984; Robert McCloskey, children's author, illustrator, Deer Island, Maine, 2003; Christopher Fry, playwright, Chichester, England, 2005.

Quote for the Day: "The comfortable estate of widowhood is the only hope that keeps up a wife's spirits." — John Gay, who was born today in 1685

This day in literature

1857: Charles Dickens, public readings were like prostitution. First, he did them for free, then for his lovers, and finally, on this day, doing it for money, appearing on stage in London for his first paid performance. Dickens had a flair for the dramatic as a child, boasting that "I was a great writer at 8 years old or so — was an actor and a speaker from a baby." He would perform parts of plays and songs before the family. This love for performing surfaces in "David Copperfield":

It is curious to me how I could ever have consoled myself under my small troubles [...] by impersonating my favourite characters in them [his favorite books.] I have been Tom Jones [...] for a week together. I have sustained my own idea of Roderick Random for a month at a stretch.

Dickens' life might have taken a different altogether had he not been so ill that he missed a scheduled auditionat the Covent Garden theater in the early 1830s. Instead, he participated in amateur theatricals, and even installed a small stage in his home.

But not everyone appreciated his readings. Mark Twain criticized his pronounciation and that his "fashion he has of brushing his hair and goatee so resolutely forward gives him a comical Scotch-terrier look about the face." A note in the New York Times in 1884 — 14 years after Dickens' death — reassured its readers that those "who never heard Dickens read that the lost nothing which might help them to understand his creations." Besides, the anonymous Times writer noted, he did it for the money anyway.

It was true that the returns were very good. A night's work could bring in £800. His five-month reading tour of America earned him £19,000. But it wasn't just the money that Dickens loved. He had a passion for acting. He was also fortunate that, in the 1850s, public readings were growing popular. While some readers were content simply to read from a book, some hired actors to perform the various parts, or spice up the performance by displaying scenes from the book.

But Dickens was an entire theatrical company in one person. On a bare stage, using a desk to hold his script, a carpet to muffle his steps, gas lights for illumination and screens behind him to focus the audience's attention on him, Dickens threw himself into his performance, shaping his voice and contorting his body to meet the demands of his story. For each of his works, he rewrote scenes, removing some of his criticisms of society as inappropriate for the stage, and tightened them up. His prompt book contained extensive notes to remind him how to move and act.

And he was a success. For the next 15 years, audiences thrilled to his performances. They loved his recitation of "A Christmas Carol" and his other holiday stories, "The Chimes" and "Cricket on the Hearth." He brought out the pathos in "Dombey and Son" and the humor in the trial scene from "The Pickwick Papers." But the piece de resistance was the murder of Nancy Sikes from "Oliver Twist," that Dickens added to his repertoire in 1868. His performance in the piece was so intense that biographers believe it contributed to his premature death in 1870.

LINKS OF THE DAY

GLOBAL WARMING CONFIRMED: And the evidence seems pretty complete: statistics, temperatures checks, glaciers moving back, even. (Link: Instapundit)

I'LL BE WRITING ABOUT THIS: If you're wondering where I get my material for the Reader's Almanac project, sometimes, it's from my fellow bloggers. Jean Shepherd pulled off a wonderful hoax about a book that didn't exist with the delicious title of "I, Libertine." Reader demand grew so great that they eventually came out with the book.

WITH A TITLE LIKE 'GONZO NOIR': I have to look at it (being a Hunter S. Thompson fan). Better, Declan Burke is publishing it in installments. (Read why can be found here.) (Thanks, Bill Crider)

ANOTHER PERSONAL FAVORITE: Is Peter Lovesey, with his Inspector Diamond mysteries that center around a portly detective, his family life, and the town of Bath. Detectives Beyond Borders is focusing on an earlier series featuring Bertie, Prince of Wales, and that's equally worth picking up.

THIS IS WHY I READ COMIC BLOGS: For their great access to softcore erotic photography; in this instance, by silent-film comedian Harold Lloyd. I didn't know Bette Page and Marilyn Monroe posed for him. (Needless to say, this is NSFW). (Thanks, Journalista!)

BIG BROTHER, VIDEO DIRECTOR: The award for the coolest use for Britain's CCTV cameras goes to The Get Out Clause, who used them to film a music video.

June 29, 2008

Reader’s Almanac: 6/29

Born today: James Robinson, historian, Bloomington, Ill., 1863; Antoine de Saint-Exupery, aviator, novelist, essayist, Lyons, France, 1900; John Toland, biographer, LaCrosse, Wis., 1912; Oriana Fallaci, journalist, Florence, Italy, 1929; Brian Herbert, sci-fi author, Seattle, Wash., 1947.

Died: Elizabeth Barrett Browning, poet, Florence, Italy, 1861; Irving Wallace, novelist, Los Angeles, 1990.

Quote for the Day: "The moment you give up your principles, and your values, you are dead, your culture is dead, your civilization is dead. Period." — Oriana Fallaci, who was born today in 1929

June 28, 2008

Reader’s Almanac: 6/28

Born today: Jean-Jacques Rousseau, philosopher, Geneva, Switzerland, 1712; Luigi Pirandello, playwright, novelist, short-story writer, Agrigento, Sicily, 1867; Esther Forbes, novelist, children's author, Westborough, Mass., 1891; Eric Ambler, mystery author, screenwriter, London, 1909; Mel Brooks (ps. Melvin Kaminsky), actor, director, screenwriter, playwright, Brooklyn, N.Y., 1926; Maureen Howard, novelist, short-story writer, Bridgeport, Conn., 1930; Mark Helprin, author, New York City, 1947.

Died: Daniel Decatur Emmett, "Dixie" composer, Mount Vernon, Ohio, 1904; Mortimer J. Adler, philosopher, educator, author, San Mateo, Calif., 2001.

Quote for the Day: "Man is born free, and everywhere else he is in chains." — Jean-Jacques Rousseau, from "The Social Contract."

June 27, 2008

Reader’s Almanac: 6/27

Born today: Everhardus Johannes Potgieter, poet, essayist, literary critic, Amsterdam, 1808; Lafcadio Hearn, author, translator, Leukás, Ionian Islands, Greece, 1850; Paul Laurence Dunbar, poet, playwright, short-story writer, Dayton, Ohio, 1872; Helen Keller, memoirist, educator, Tuscumbia, Ala., 1880; Richard Bissell, author, playwright, Dubuque, Iowa, 1913; Frank O'Hara, poet, playwright, art critic, Baltimore, 1926; Peter Maas, novelist, New York City, 1929; James Hogan, sci-fi writer, London, 1941; Alice McDermott, novelist, Brooklyn, N.Y., 1953.

Died: Giorgio Vasari, art historian, Florence, (Italy), 1574; Wanda Gág, children's author, illustrator, New York City, 1946; Malcolm Lowry, novelist, short-story writer, poet, Ripe, Sussex, 1957; Shelby Foote, historian, Memphis, Tenn., 2005.

Quote for the Day: "Science may have found a cure for most evils; but it has found no remedy for the worst of them all - the apathy of human beings." — Helen Keller, who was born today in 1880

This day in literature

1787: Between the hours of 11 and midnight, in the summer house of his garden in Lausanne, Switzerland, Edward Gibbon reaches the "hour of my final deliverance" by finishing "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," a book he had been working on for 25 years. In 1897, 110 years to the night, Thomas Hardy, in the same garden of what is now the Hotel Gibbon, commemorates the event by writing a poem, "Lausanne: In Gibbon's Old Garden," in which he railed at the small-minded who attacked writers such as Gibbon and Milton:

A spirit seems to pass,
Formal in pose, but grave and grand withal:
He contemplates a volume stout and tall,
And far lamps fleck him through the thin acacias.

Anon the book is closed,
With "It is finished!" And at the alley's end
He turns, and soon on me his glances bend;
And, as from earth, comes speech — small, muted, yet composed.

"How fares the Truth now?--Ill?
—Do pens but slily further her advance?
May one not speed her but in phrase askance?
Do scribes aver the Comic to be Reverend still?

"Still rule those minds on earth
At whom sage Milton's wormwood words were hurled:
'Truth like a bastard comes into the world
Never without ill-fame to him who gives her birth'?"

1928: James Joyce and F. Scott Fitzgerald sits down to break bread in Paris as guests of bookseller Sylvia Beach, who had published Joyce's "Ulysses" six years before, and her companion, Adrienne Monnier. This meeting of two dinner party went about as well as the meeting between Joyce and Proust: ("Our talk consisted solely of the word ‘No'," Joyce recalled. "Proust asked me if I knew the duc de so-and-so. I said, ‘No.' Our hostess asked Proust if he had read such and such a piece of Ulysses. Proust said, ‘No.'")

This time around, Fitzgerald got very drunk, very fast, and announced that, as a token of his esteem for Joyce, he would throw himself out of Beach's second-story window. They managed to talk Fitzgerald out of literally establishing a literary landmark, but it ended up being the high point of the dinner.

Links of the Day

Best of SFX: Andrew Wheeler looks atthis ranking of a Brit magazine's most popular sci-fi/fantasy writers, annotated with his reactions. Some nice surprises here (remembering the older writers such as Jack Vance and Michael Moorcock), some questionable picks (C.S. Lewis too highly ranked), but on the whole, a pretty literate and informed ranking, one to argue about, not dismiss out of hand. BONUS: Ray Bradbury, who is on the list, gets taken down for his lack of L.A. bookstore knowledge at the paperhaus: Ray Bradbury, venerable but clueless. Sad to see him in a wheelchair, though.

New ‘Found Objects' Blog in Town: Does just what it describes: Passive-Aggressive Notes.

Plug of the Week: Jerome Weeks turns a one-night stand (at least, I think so) involving a child's wading pool and a too-steep slope into a recommendation to buy Sarah Bird's book.. That's something you don't see everyday.

Ted and the Righteous Indignation: James Marcus thumbs through the "Letters of Ted Hughes," coming from FSG in September and finds a few choice remarks about a critic and fame.

Jefferson's Library: NPR's "All Things Considered" reported on the Library of Congress' exhibit that attempts to rebuild his library.

June 26, 2008

Reader’s Almanac: 6/26

Born today: Bernard Berenson, art critic, Vilnius, Lithuania, Russian Empire, 1865; Sidney Howard, playwright, screenwriter, Oakland, Calif., 1891; Pearl S. Buck, novelist, short-story writer, Hillsboro, W.V., 1892; Laurie Lee, poet, memoirist, novelist, Slad, Gloucestershire, 1914; Charlotte Zolotow, childrens' s author, Norfolk, Va., 1915; Colin Wilson, novelist, author, Leicester, Leicestershire, 1931; Thomas Boyle, novelist, East Stroudsburgh, Penn., 1939.

Died: Peter Rosegger, poet, novelist, Krieglach, Syria, 1918; Ford Madox Ford (ps. Ford Hermann Hueffer), novelist, editor, critic, Deauville, France, 1939; Kenneth Fearing, novelist, poet, New York City, 1961.

Quote for the Day: "Well, he was trying to get home - aren't we all, really, in the end?" — Laurie Lee, who was born today in 1914

This day in literature

1957: The Mysterious Affair at Ripe: English writer Malcolm Lowry dies at 47 from an overdose of alcohol and barbiturates. Was it accidental, as the inquest ruled? Or suicide, as his wife, Margerie Bonner, suggested? Or was it something more sinister?

In the annals of writers who were destined to die too soon, Malcolm Lowry was one of the great drunks of literature, leaving behind a trail of broken promises, broken bottles and broken works. He wrote massive amounts of material during his brief lifetime, but published only two works, both novels: "Ultramarine," written as an undergraduate at Cambridge, and "Under the Volcano", considered one of the great novels of the 20th century.

Not surprisingly, it was the bottle that loomed largest in his life, and Lowry was violent when he was drunk. In Mexico, where he had set and written most of "Volcano," his behavior led to the dissolution of his first marriage, numerous breakdowns and the threat of deportation. In the United States, he met and married Bonner, a former silent film actress, and settled in the squatter's shack outside Vancouver. There, he found enough serenity to be able to finish his novel.

Published in 1947, "Under the Volcano" was a hit in the United States, but after that, Lowry's life quickly unraveled. The shack was demolished, and Bonner decided to move them, first to Sicily, then back to England, to the village of Ripe in East Sussex. There were attempts at sobriety, using aversion therapy and hospitalization, but Bonner's drinking — she could match him, glass for glass — encouraged him to revert to routine. He would be violent at times, and had tried to strangle Bonner twice during an earlier trip to Sicily. His health faltered and although he was working on a novel, the chaos made it difficult for him to create. Worse, Bonner seemed to have formed an attachment to a neighbor, Lord Peter Churchill.

This night, events came to a head. There was drinking, as usual, and an argument, as usual. Bonner later told police that, to stop him drinking, she smashed the gin bottle. He threatened her with the broken shards, and she fled, spending the night at a neighbor's house. When she returned the next morning, she found Lowry on the bedroom floor, dead, amid the debris of broken glass, a splintered furniture and scattered food.

But as Bonner told her story to the police, to friends and to Lowry's relatives, inconsistencies began to crop up. She wrote to friends that Malcolm had repeatedly threatened to commit suicide and that she had found a note, which she had promptly destroyed, a point she never mentioned to the police.

A bottle containing 20 sleeping pills was missing, yet she had taken one that night at her neighbor's house. Two hours after the police had searched the room, she found the missing bottle, in a drawer in the spare bedroom. Lowry's friends were suspicious. They'd seen him with the shakes. The prospect of a drunken, suicidal Lowry able to twist off the cap on a pill bottle, then replacing the cap and hiding the bottle in the next room, seemed too bizarre to be believed.

The truth behind Lowry's death will probably never be known, except maybe to Lowry, who told a psychiatrist that either he was going to kill Bonner, or she was going to kill him.

Links of the Day

Tired of LOL Cats? How about LOLmanuscripts blog? (Tip: Bibliophile Bullpen)

Writing Quote of the Week: I'll credit Gregg Hurwitz for bringing this up, but save you the trouble of clicking through:

"Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader—not the fact that it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon." — E.L. Doctorow

The Cone of Silence, Made From Yarn: From the "You Knit What?" blog. Worth it, if only for the picture. (Tip: Jenny Crusie)

Glad That's Settled: Celine Dion's rendition of AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long" was voted the world's worst cover version in Total Guitar magazine's survey. Although you've lived if you haven't heard Keith Moon warbling "When I'm 64" on the soundtrack to "All This And World War II." (Thanks Bill Crider)

Writing Tip for the Day: Transitions: Jane Espenson, the "Battlestar Galactica" scriptwriter, makes some interesting points about how to handle a scene in which there are two subplots that need to be advanced. Although it's for TV scripts, but I think the tip's worth considering for fiction as well.

June 25, 2008

Reader’s Almanac: 6/25

Born today: John Horne Tooke, philologist, essayist, politician, London, 1736; Rose Cecil O'Neill, author, illustrator, Kewpie Doll creator, Wilkes-Barre, Penn., 1874; George Abbot, playwright, director, memoirist, Forestville, N.Y., 1887; V.F. Calverton (ps. George Goetz), editor, author, Baltimore, Md., 1900; George Orwell (ps. Eric Arthur Blair), novelist, essayist, critic, Motihari, India, 1903; Dorothy Gilman, mystery novelist, New Brunswick, N.J., 1923; Eric Carle, children's author, Syracuse, N.Y., 1929; Anthony Bourdain, chef, author, New York City, 1956; Yann Martel, novelist, Salamanca, Spain, 1963.

Died: E(rnst) T(heodor) W(ilhelm) Hoffmann, author, composer, artist, Berlin, Prussia, 1822; Johnny Mercer, songwriter, Bel Air, Calif., 1976.

Quote for the Day: "Saints should always be judged guilty until they are proved innocent." — George Orwell, who was born today in 1903

This day in literature

1857: Serving as a model for disaffected youths sure of their brilliance, French poet Charles Baudelaire publishes his first collection, "Fleurs du Mal." Like a Marilyn Manson album, "The Flowers of Evil" touches all the bases as it lashes out against society, religion, hypocrisy and praises death, decedence and the erotic. Or, as he put it: "I put my entire soul, my entire heart, my entire religion, my entire hatred into that horrible book."

As a distillation of concentrated evil and sex, "Fleurs du Mal" rivals an Alice Cooper album. After an introduction that praises Satan and condeming boredom, Baudelaire cuts to the heart of the matter, saying that if you don't love evil, you aren't trying hard enough:

If rape and poison, dagger and burning,
Have still not embroidered their pleasant designs
On the banal canvas of our pitiable destinies,
It's because our souls, alas, are not bold enough!

After that, you can pick and choose your poison to your heart's content. For gloomy despair, there's "The Desire for Annihilation":

"Conquered, foundered spirit! For you, old jade,
Love has no more relish, no more than war;
Farewell then, songs of the brass and sighs of the flute!
Pleasure, tempt no more a dark, sullen heart!"

Adorable spring has lost its fragrance!

If you seek the delights of travel, there's the island of "Lesbos"

"Where deep-eyed maidens, thoughtlessly disrobing see
Their beauty, and are entranced before their mirrors, and toy
Fondly with the soft fruits of their nubility"

And if it's sex and despair you want, there's "Metamorphoses of the Vampire," which mingles sex and despair:

"My breasts like two ripe fruits for his devouring — both
Shy and voluptuous, insatiable and loath —
Upon this bed that groans and sighs luxuriously
Even the impotent angels would be damned for me!

When she had drained me of my very marrow, and cold
And weak, I turned to give her one more kiss — behold,
There at my side was nothing but a hideous
Putrescent thing, all faceless and exuding pus."

Not surprisingly, "Fleurs du Mal" was a hit, especially after the Second Empire fined the author and his publisher for "an insult to public decency." Several poems were excised in the next edition, including "Lesbos" and "Vampire." These were republished separately in Brussels, perhaps for the tourist trade. Among the banned poems

It would be lovely to say that Baudelaire laughed all the way to the bank, but when it came to disaffected, dissipated poets, he was the real thing. He lived for poetry and the arts, and championed in his journalism for Edouard Manet, Richard Wagner and Eugène Delacroix. His translations of the stories of Edgar Allen Poe boosted his reputation in France, and, in turn, back in America. He also handled money badly, spending when he was flush and begging for help when he wasn't. Inheriting 100,000 francs and several parcels of land 21, he blew through both within a few years. He also drank heavily and indulged in laudanum, both of which probably contributed to his stroke in 1866 that left him a semi-invalid before his death at 46 the next year, leaving his mother to pay off his massive debts.

But "Fleurs du Mal" lives on. Edmund Wilson and T.S. Eliot praised it; H.P. Lovecraft drew upon Baudelaire as inspiration for his short stories; he's been namechecked in "Dragnet," New York Times columnist, and the works of "Lemony Snicket." He even gave his mother, who he loved passionately, some consolation over her boy who died too young: "I see that my son, for all his faults, has his place in literature."

Links of the Day

The Digested Read spits up "The Whole Truth" by David Baldacci. Wonder if it's as bad as "London Bridges," the Alex Cross "novel" by James Patterson I'm listening too. (Tip: Bio of a Bookslut)

Vanishing Classics: The Times of London reflects on books that don't survive their age.

George Carlin: The Last Interview: I was waiting for this. It's a staple when somebody famous dies to bring out the last time they spoke into a microphone. This time, Psychology Today won.

What I Don't Understand About Mars is all this stuff about finding ice there. Kristina Lindgren's post makes the point that some writers have known it all along. But I remember the old "How and Why" books from the ‘60s that showed Mars with polar ice caps, and how they wax and wane. So why is it such a big deal to have it confirmed?

To Find The Best Posts over at Frank Wilson's blog, simply start at the top. There! Sixteen links taken care of.

Who Bouchercon is named for: Maxine points[ the way to Jeff Mark's work on Anthony Boucher, writer, critic, promoter of mysteries. BONUS: If you don't care for mysteries, she links to thermal images of great cities that are coolicious.

June 24, 2008

Reader’s Almanac: 6/24

Born today: Henry Ward Beecher, minister, Litchfield, Conn., 1813; Ambrose Bierce, humorist, short-story writer, wit, Horse Cave Creek, Ohio, 1842; Mary Wesley, novelist, near Windsor, England, 1912; Norman Cousins, essayist, editor, Union Hill, N.J., 1915; John Ciardi, poet, critic, translator, Boston, 1916; Pete Hamill, journalist, novelist, Brooklyn, New York, 1935; Anita Desai, novelist, short-story author, Mussoorie, India, 1937; Lawrence Block, novelist, short-story writer, Buffalo, N.Y., 1938; Stephen Dunn, poet, New York City, 1939.

Died: Adam Gordon, poet, Brighton, Victoria, Australia, 1870; Sarah Orne Jewett, novelist, short-story writer, South Berwick, Maine, 1849; Westbrook Pegler, columnist, Tucson, Ariz., 1969; R(onald) F(rederick) Delderfield, short-story writer, novelist, Sidmouth, England, 1972.

Quote for the Day: "Ever since I could first write I have been doing so. When I was taught how to write and read at school, I made up my mind that this was what I love to do best and this was the world I was going to occupy." — Anita Desai, who was born today in 1937

This day in literature

1890: Rudyard Kipling's poem "Mandalay" is published in The Scots Observer."

1902: Rushing to finish a deadline and at the end of his rope, Joseph Conrad upsets an oil lamp and burns his current work. The title? "The End of the Tether."

1956: Five days before he's to be married to Marilyn Monroe, playwright Arthur Miller testifies before the House Un-American Activities Committee. Although he willingly describes his involvement in leftist and socialist groups, he refuses to name members of the Communist Party, saying "I could not use the name of another person and bring trouble on him." Monroe, putting her career at risk, also appears and testifies on behalf of her future husband. Miller will be convicted of contempt, a charge later overturned on appeal.

Links of the Day

The Growth of One-Handed Reading: Sex was the driving force behind early adoption of videotapes and the Internet. Has it also be driving acceptance of e-books as well?

The Long View of Global Warming: A look at ice-core samples from Antarctica reveal an interesting pattern that might give pause to global warming claims. Note: changing the name to "climate change" doesn't help your position. The climate is always changing; it has been ever since the Earth was created.

Look for a Munchy Box Near You: If ever a food concept was ripe for American marketing, it has to be Scotland's Munchy Box. The latest advance in gorging technology, brought to you from the people who created the deep-fried Mars bar.

Some Good News About Prices: From Sippican Cottage: "I need pine to make furniture. And I paid 34% less for it this week than I did exactly one year ago."

It Explains the Point on Tintin's Head: That's a hella bruise from all the beatdowns he's taken.

How China Sees the Rest of the World: From the Strange Maps site comes a weird map of China's ruling Han population expressed as an island. It helps you to understand why they're so concerned about western China, Tibet, Mongolia, etc. Imperialism: It's not just for Westerners anymore. BONUS: From the same site: Thinking really big by damming the Mediterranean.

New World Central: Another feed to add to your list: Word Spy, where future buzzwords are found.

June 23, 2008

Reader’s Almanac: 6/23

Born today: Typewriter patented, 1868; Irvin S. Cobb, humorist, journalist, Paducah, Ky., 1876; Anna Akhmatova (ps. Anna Gorenko), poet, near Odessa, Russia, 1889; Jean Anouilh, playwright, Bordeaux, France, 1910; Theodore Taylor, novelist, Statesville, N.C., 1921; Richard Bach, author, aviator, Oak Park, Ill., 1936; David Leavitt, novelist, short-story writer, Pittsburgh, Pa., 1961; Miss Piggy, self-help author, star.

Died: William Kirby, historical novelist, Niagara, Ontario, 1906; Michael Arlen, novelist, short-story writer, New York City, 1956; Boris Vian, novelist, playwright, Paris, 1959; Shana Alexander, journalist, author, Hermosa Beach, Calif., 2005.

Quote for the Day: "If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they're yours; if they don't they never were." — Richard Bach, who was born today in 1936. Yes, the author of "Jonathan Livingston Seagull" was responsible for this one.

This day in literature

1766: Flame Wars in the Age of Reason Never one to let a good deed go unpunished, Jean-Jacques Rousseau writes a letter to Scottish philosopher David Hume, accusing him of conspiring to dishonour him. When Rousseau's notorious publications attacking the ancien regime and religion made France and Switzerland too hot for him, Hume was asked to find a home for the writer in England. Hume, his works ignored in England and Scotland, had found a home for a time in Paris, where he was known as "le bon David." So he was inclined to help Rousseau, who had vigorously praised Hume: "Your great views, your astonishing impartiality, your genius, would lift you far above the rest of mankind, if you were less attached to them by the goodness of your heart.

On the other hand, there was Rousseau's enemy, Baron D'Holbach, who told Hume that "you don't know your man. I will tell you plainly, you're warming a viper in your bosom."

Six months later, Hume had to agree with the baron. Rousseau hated living in London. He wanted to live in the country, where he could pursue his interest in botany and continue writing his "Confessions." So he was moved again, first to Chiswick, then in March to a country house in Staffordshire.

But along the way, he began to suspect a plot against him. His letters were being read. His papers were in danger of being seized. The pressure increased until it burst in his letter to Hume, where he accused "le bon David" of being behind the plot: "You brought me to England, apparently to procure a refuge for me, and in reality to dishonour me. You applied yourself to this noble endeavour with a zeal worthy of your heart and with an art worthy of your talents."

Hume was shocked. He feared for his reputation. Rousseau's pen could wreck his good name, and the news of the feud was already spreading by letter and salon throughout the intelligensia of two nations. Could Hume risk not responding to the charges while Rousseau was already calling Hume "noir, black, and a coquin, knave." He wrote back demanding that Rousseau put up or shut up. What proof did he have?

This proved a mistake. While Hume was a man from the Age of Reason, Rousseau relied on emotions and feelings, bending the facts to fulfill his preconceived notions. He fired back with a long, blistering letter, written with a novelist's eye for drama, overwhelming with emotion but playing fast and loose with the facts. For example, as evidence of a plot, Rousseau wrote that he had heard Hume mutter in his sleep "Je tiens JJ Rousseau" — "I have JJ Rousseau."

Not a night passes but I think I hear, I have you JJ Rousseau ring in my ears, as if he had just pronounced them. Yes, Mr Hume, you have me, I know, but only by those things that are external to me ... You have me by my reputation, and perhaps my security ... Yes, Mr Hume, you have me by all the ties of this life, but you do not have me by my virtue or my courage."

Hume tried to respond effectively. He published in Paris his "Concise and Genuine Account of the Dispute between Mr. Hume and Mr. Rousseau," responding point by point to Rousseau's charges.

But this added fuel to the flame war. Everyone piled on, either drawn in by the charges (such as King George III and whether or not he promised Rousseau a royal pension), or the enemies of Hume or Rousseau who saw it as an opportunity for payback. Anonymous letters appeared in the press, blasting Rousseau for his lack of gratitude, while Hume was roasted for his perceived lack of hospitality and respect for the eminent philosopher.

But was Rousseau wrong to suspect Hume? In "Rousseau's Dog," from which much of this account was taken, David Edmonds and John Eidinow make the case that Hume, his best work behind him and jealous of Rousseau's popularity, was not quite a pure of reason as he claimed. He had his friends in France investigate Rousseau's finances to see if he was as poor as he claimed. He may even have contributed to the notorious "King of Prussia" letter that Hugh Walpole circulated. This satirical letter, purporting to be from the King to Rousseau, promised sanctuary, saying "If you want new misfortunes, I am a king and can make you as miserable as you can wish." While claiming not to know anything about the letter, history shows that he was present at two dinners where Walpole read his satire at the table.

Eventually, the wildfire of talk burned itself out, leaving both men personally exhausted but their reputations intact. Rousseau returned to France, having found another protector, and Hume was left to reflect on the controversy. One wonders if he reflected on a prescient line from his "Concise Account."

"Quarrels among men of letters," he wrote, "are a scandal to philosophy."

1868: Christopher Latham Sholes receives a patent for the typewriter. There were several attempts to build a writing machine during the 1860s, but it was Sholes, in conjunction with three associates, who succeeded. The first machine seemed to show little promise. It typed only in capital letters, it was balky and slow, and the arrangement of the paper in the roller meant you couldn't see what you were typing. Sholes apparently thought so little of the machine's potential that he sold his share in the invention for $12,000 to E. Remington & Sons (one of his associates held onto his interest and profited handsomely from it.) Later in life, as interest in the machine took off, and the typewriter became the means by which women entered the white-collar world of employment, Sholes reflected, "I builded wiser than I knew, and the world has the benefit of it."

Links of the Day

Space Geekery: When I wrote my space shuttle novel "Ride of My Life," I relied heavily on the NASA site for photos and information, but these photos from the last shuttle mission still blew me away. (Warning: there's 12 honkin' huge pictures, so it'll take forever to load on dial-up). Looking at them gives me an itch to go back to the manuscript and refine my descriptions of walking in space, but I know better. Still, knowing the complexity and daring it takes just to get into orbit, it makes me feel hopeful for the future, and that's not a small thing these day. (Thanks, Instapundit)

Meanwhile, back on Earth: Ready to pay more for electricity? Forbes has the story.

If you're a Neil Gaimen fan: Twenty big boys will get you this beautiful poster featuring a free-verse poem by him, available nowhere else. Bonus: It's signed. Only 1,000 available.

If you're a Jules Feiffer fan: Chris Mautner interviewed him about the publication of his work for the Village Voice.

If you're a Grand Theft Auto IV fan: Chris also tells us what he thinks of it.

If you're a "Spirit" fan: Here's some posters featuring the female stars. Warning: if you click this link to Yahoo and pass the cursor over the posters, they talk!

Find of the day: The New Saint Joseph Baltimore Catechism

Because I Find It Hard To Let You Go: Pete Emslie discusses how political correctness can hurt the design of black and other minority characters. Even Disney fairies.

Yes, this list has a definite cartoon theme: So let me round it off with iso9's list of "Superheroes who get laid all the time". Is Wolverine on this list? Why, of course he is!