Hear ye, hear ye. I proclaim the end of political humor. Sorry Al, sorry Harry. Wait, are there any others? Please, don’t even mention O’Rourke, he hasn’t been funny since 1971.
Forget my post here from a couple weeks ago, funny though it was.
It’s not even funny to compare Bush to a monkey anymore. Or to Alfred E. Newman. It’s just not funny.
I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Portland, Oregon wondering if the wi-fi is sending my emails to the NSA, or to James Dobson or Pat Robertson or any other member of the Republican al-Qaeda (remember, that’s Osama for “the base”). Because you know, where there may be dedicated professionals at NSA who have no agenda other than to protect the American republic, you have to remember that they work for crooks who would invade their mother’s grave if it had oil under it.
Gallows humor, that’s what it is. “What’s the worst that could happen?” we asked after the Deibold referendums in 2004. You’re looking at it. And it’s not funny.
We who are about to die, write jokes.
Think about how many times in the past year or so you have said the words, “You can’t write something like that, nobody would believe it.” Believe it.
We Americans torture, kill, hate, steal, lie and ignore the Constitution. How long will it be before someone else who has a lot of weapons decides to retaliate? And when they do, if the current bunch is still holding power, how much worse will it be for you and me?
Say they attack us again. Say thousands of people die again. Not only will the Republicans (and Joe Lieberman) not take responsibility for not protecting us, but may give us a sequel to the “Patriot” Act that will allow them to suspend an election or two.
Bush will point to a Congressional authorization found in some small phrase stuck in some piece of legislation in the dead of night and passed by an unsuspecting Congress. His arrogant defense of NSA spying is merely a preview.
See? I’ve stopped being funny.
Ok, how’s this? Bush, Cheney and Rove walk into a bar.
There’s no punch line.
They’re not funny.
Korea is funny. “T’ings wit a K sound are funny.” Sorry, I was channeling The Sunshine Boys.
This also appears on Huffingtonpost.com
Monday, December 26, 2005
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Dear NSA
Hope you like my blog. Sorry you have to work on Christmas Eve. I so love an audience. Have a jolly holiday. You guys at NSA are so much better than having a fat old man coming down my chimney.
It's so much easier for you to see if I've been bad or good without any old court orders.
Here's looking at YOU, friends. Thanks for the gift of travel to, oh where? Someplace in Europe? I know, it's like Priceline, you'll tell me later.
It's so much easier for you to see if I've been bad or good without any old court orders.
Here's looking at YOU, friends. Thanks for the gift of travel to, oh where? Someplace in Europe? I know, it's like Priceline, you'll tell me later.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Tom Paine on George W. Bush
"But where says some is the King of America? I'll tell you Friend, he reigns above, and doth not make havoc of mankind like the Royal Brute of Britain. Yet that we may not appear to be defective even in earthly honors, let a day be solemnly set apart for proclaiming the charter; let it be brought forth placed on the divine law, the word of God; let a crown be placed thereon, by which the world may know, that so far as we approve as monarchy, that in America THE LAW IS KING. For as in absolute governments the King is law, so in free countries the law ought to be King; and there ought to be no other. But lest any ill use should afterwards arise, let the crown at the conclusion of the ceremony be demolished, and scattered among the people whose right it is."
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Current Events
The revelations over the past few days, of George W. Bush's illegal spying on Americans, should be ample proof that he should be impeached.
Now.
Now.
Friday, December 16, 2005
something that came to mind after the book was done
There’s No Sex Allowed in THIS Newspaper!
When I was making up stories for The Sun, a supermarket tabloid which, at the time was the equivalent of The Weekly World News (but since has backed off a little and added some other forms of lies), I wanted to write about sex. I wrote “Sex In Space. They’ve Already Tried It!”
I made up a fictitious company in England that was a combination airline and Love Boat and was planning a sex resort on the moon. The spacecraft that got you there was the Sex Shuttle. I made up a spokesperson. I made up his quote, “After all, when was the last time anybody invented a new way to make love?”
The early tests, using single astronauts went well, the only problem being how to deal with the results of male auto-erotic performances in a weightless spacecraft, a floating disposal problem, you might say.
The first “coupled flight” was a great success. The spokesperson said, “Just imagine what it must be like to make love floating in the air?” I made that up too. He went on to explain his marketing plans for gays (disposable income) and old folks (no worries about arthritis).
Unfortunately, the boss shot it down. He told me he didn’t want sex stories. Although he didn’t go into great detail, being the brusque guy he was, it was obvious he didn’t want to offend his readers. It was ok for me to write “Grandma Turns Pet Dog Inside Out Looking for Lost Lottery Ticket.” Just no sex. Normal logic in these cases doesn’t really apply.
I surmised that many of his readers were fundamentalists and therefore opposed to sex but welcoming to violence. It’s one thing to write about celebrities sleeping around as long as it doesn’t include exactly what the sex is. The fact that it’s a celebrity having the sex is enough. Anyway, that paper didn’t have celebrity stories, just goofy made up stuff.
The editor’s decision to cut me off from writing about sex prevented an avalanche of potential. That’s why you won’t find ANY sex in my new book “Rabid Nun Infects Entire Convent and Other Sensational Stories From a Tabloid Writer.” It’s a tell-all about that bizarre world of faux journalism.
I’m sorry to have to tell you that I was never privy to the sexual secrets of the stars because I made up all the people in every story, with the exception of Gay-Darlene Bidart, my own personal love witch and the Dear Abby of Latin America at the time. She was in dozens of newspapers, offering not advice but spells. She wouldn’t tell you what to do about your problem, she would tell you to burn x number of candles, or take a lock of his hair and put it in a box under your pillow, or some shit like that.
She was a wonderful mixture of witchcraft and performance, having a masters in theater from Yale. Originally from Honduras, she had deep roots in “good” witchcraft. She was also married to a millionaire warlock named Sol who made his money in construction.
La Bruja had a book out at the time, on body reading, telling your fortune by reading, kneading, sniffing and otherwise poking around your nearly naked body. You never knew when she was serious and when she was making a fool out of you. Yes, I had a body reading in her 34th floor apartment on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. She got everything right about me. Could be she was just a good judge of character, but……
Anyway, I was writing a story for the tab on a tribe in South America who had never seen the outside world and were found dancing around a nude statue of Elvis Presley and chanting something that sounded like “Viva Las Vegas.
I wrote, ““We asked them where they had gotten the statue,” said Rex Vosa, one of the men who found them, “and they told us their ancestors had made it. We asked them how long it had been in their village and they told us it had been there for centuries.” I made up Rex Vosa. I usually made up “experts” in my stories, but I hadn’t talked to The Love Witch since she had given me a potion to put on my big toe, a spell which, she assured me would find me love and get me laid. So after telling her that it only got me a blow job, I asked her about her theories on Elvis and the tribe. After she stopped laughing she paused and told me, “I have a theory about that. Elvis possessed tremendous sexual energy. It could be that, unknown to us, he was able to project his sexual energy anyplace in the world and reproduce himself. Do you know what I mean?
“He could have had the ability to lie in bed and project a map of the world on the ceiling and just point to anyplace in the world and reproduce himself. Remember, it was his sexual nature, his sexy wiggles and the way he carried off that macho sensuality that made him famous. It was a rare thing.”
She nearly said it without laughing.
But other than La Bruja del Amor, everybody else in my stories was made up. This means I can’t be Joe Esterhaz for you and tell you what Sharon Stone did to get parts, or reveal if Tom Cruise was ever Twink-of-the-Month for some Bob Crane type. Or tell you a single thing about the current state of Lindsey Lohan’s tits.
If I were writing for the tabloid today would anything I made up be more unbelievable than anything Michael Jackson has done?
I did anticipate the reality TV trend. I was working as a producer/reporter for the old Evening/PM Magazine in Baltimore. I had done “reality” stories like the series on a bunch of goobers who tried to break the world’s record for eating raw eggs (drinking them from beer mugs, actually).
I had sent another sex-related story to the tabloid editor at the same time I sent the “Sex In Space” story. It was a game show with real sex. It was kind of like The Dating Game except the woman choosing between three men asked them sex questions and then after picking the winner, the show would tape them having sex and would show it the following week when they would be judged, like in the Olympics.
This seemed far-fetched when I wrote it 15 years ago, but not to me. When I saw the movie “Network,” I was not surprised, nor did I think it was exaggerated. I worked in TV. I knew what those people (we people) were (are) like. As soon as the Repuglicans are thrown out of office and the FCC loosens up again, it would not surprise me one bit, if we see my pervy vision come to life.
Hey, I might produce that one myself. Oh, wait I think they already did it. They just stopped short of the good parts.
The point is, the more you try to keep ahead of reality the closer reality gets to your sickest imagination. One story in the book is “Cult Uses Human Heads For Bowling Balls.” That was me at my worst or best, depending on your point of view. When I was rewriting my original stories for the book, I had to stop in the middle of re-writing that one because it creeped me out just like it did when I first wrote it.
Well, a few weeks ago I ran across a story on the web. It read, “A man who allegedly decapitated a 17-year-old boy with a tomahawk in a suburban back yard later was said to have played with the teenager's head, rolling it in a paddock as if it were a bowling ball…Mr. Jones said Mr. Roughan laughed as he ‘bowled the head up the hill, like it was a bowling ball’…A chilling videotape showing police interviewing one of two men charged with the murder of transient teen Morgan Jay Shepherd was played in Brisbane Magistrates Court yesterday." That was from The Advertiser, an Australian Newspaper.
See? Truth catches up with the worst things you can ever think of.
Back when I was writing these things, I would get up, drink coffee, sit at the keyboard in my underwear and smoke a bowl, and then allow either the funniest or the most horrifying (or both) stories come out of my head, through my fingers and onto the page.
Well, I’m in Portland, Oregon instead of Baltimore, Maryland. And I’m not broke. And I’m not lonely. I’m not roommates with a guy (I’m married now), and I burned myself out on these stories. But I am in my underwear, and I do have that same writing aid. Should I?
Nah.
When I was making up stories for The Sun, a supermarket tabloid which, at the time was the equivalent of The Weekly World News (but since has backed off a little and added some other forms of lies), I wanted to write about sex. I wrote “Sex In Space. They’ve Already Tried It!”
I made up a fictitious company in England that was a combination airline and Love Boat and was planning a sex resort on the moon. The spacecraft that got you there was the Sex Shuttle. I made up a spokesperson. I made up his quote, “After all, when was the last time anybody invented a new way to make love?”
The early tests, using single astronauts went well, the only problem being how to deal with the results of male auto-erotic performances in a weightless spacecraft, a floating disposal problem, you might say.
The first “coupled flight” was a great success. The spokesperson said, “Just imagine what it must be like to make love floating in the air?” I made that up too. He went on to explain his marketing plans for gays (disposable income) and old folks (no worries about arthritis).
Unfortunately, the boss shot it down. He told me he didn’t want sex stories. Although he didn’t go into great detail, being the brusque guy he was, it was obvious he didn’t want to offend his readers. It was ok for me to write “Grandma Turns Pet Dog Inside Out Looking for Lost Lottery Ticket.” Just no sex. Normal logic in these cases doesn’t really apply.
I surmised that many of his readers were fundamentalists and therefore opposed to sex but welcoming to violence. It’s one thing to write about celebrities sleeping around as long as it doesn’t include exactly what the sex is. The fact that it’s a celebrity having the sex is enough. Anyway, that paper didn’t have celebrity stories, just goofy made up stuff.
The editor’s decision to cut me off from writing about sex prevented an avalanche of potential. That’s why you won’t find ANY sex in my new book “Rabid Nun Infects Entire Convent and Other Sensational Stories From a Tabloid Writer.” It’s a tell-all about that bizarre world of faux journalism.
I’m sorry to have to tell you that I was never privy to the sexual secrets of the stars because I made up all the people in every story, with the exception of Gay-Darlene Bidart, my own personal love witch and the Dear Abby of Latin America at the time. She was in dozens of newspapers, offering not advice but spells. She wouldn’t tell you what to do about your problem, she would tell you to burn x number of candles, or take a lock of his hair and put it in a box under your pillow, or some shit like that.
She was a wonderful mixture of witchcraft and performance, having a masters in theater from Yale. Originally from Honduras, she had deep roots in “good” witchcraft. She was also married to a millionaire warlock named Sol who made his money in construction.
La Bruja had a book out at the time, on body reading, telling your fortune by reading, kneading, sniffing and otherwise poking around your nearly naked body. You never knew when she was serious and when she was making a fool out of you. Yes, I had a body reading in her 34th floor apartment on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. She got everything right about me. Could be she was just a good judge of character, but……
Anyway, I was writing a story for the tab on a tribe in South America who had never seen the outside world and were found dancing around a nude statue of Elvis Presley and chanting something that sounded like “Viva Las Vegas.
I wrote, ““We asked them where they had gotten the statue,” said Rex Vosa, one of the men who found them, “and they told us their ancestors had made it. We asked them how long it had been in their village and they told us it had been there for centuries.” I made up Rex Vosa. I usually made up “experts” in my stories, but I hadn’t talked to The Love Witch since she had given me a potion to put on my big toe, a spell which, she assured me would find me love and get me laid. So after telling her that it only got me a blow job, I asked her about her theories on Elvis and the tribe. After she stopped laughing she paused and told me, “I have a theory about that. Elvis possessed tremendous sexual energy. It could be that, unknown to us, he was able to project his sexual energy anyplace in the world and reproduce himself. Do you know what I mean?
“He could have had the ability to lie in bed and project a map of the world on the ceiling and just point to anyplace in the world and reproduce himself. Remember, it was his sexual nature, his sexy wiggles and the way he carried off that macho sensuality that made him famous. It was a rare thing.”
She nearly said it without laughing.
But other than La Bruja del Amor, everybody else in my stories was made up. This means I can’t be Joe Esterhaz for you and tell you what Sharon Stone did to get parts, or reveal if Tom Cruise was ever Twink-of-the-Month for some Bob Crane type. Or tell you a single thing about the current state of Lindsey Lohan’s tits.
If I were writing for the tabloid today would anything I made up be more unbelievable than anything Michael Jackson has done?
I did anticipate the reality TV trend. I was working as a producer/reporter for the old Evening/PM Magazine in Baltimore. I had done “reality” stories like the series on a bunch of goobers who tried to break the world’s record for eating raw eggs (drinking them from beer mugs, actually).
I had sent another sex-related story to the tabloid editor at the same time I sent the “Sex In Space” story. It was a game show with real sex. It was kind of like The Dating Game except the woman choosing between three men asked them sex questions and then after picking the winner, the show would tape them having sex and would show it the following week when they would be judged, like in the Olympics.
This seemed far-fetched when I wrote it 15 years ago, but not to me. When I saw the movie “Network,” I was not surprised, nor did I think it was exaggerated. I worked in TV. I knew what those people (we people) were (are) like. As soon as the Repuglicans are thrown out of office and the FCC loosens up again, it would not surprise me one bit, if we see my pervy vision come to life.
Hey, I might produce that one myself. Oh, wait I think they already did it. They just stopped short of the good parts.
The point is, the more you try to keep ahead of reality the closer reality gets to your sickest imagination. One story in the book is “Cult Uses Human Heads For Bowling Balls.” That was me at my worst or best, depending on your point of view. When I was rewriting my original stories for the book, I had to stop in the middle of re-writing that one because it creeped me out just like it did when I first wrote it.
Well, a few weeks ago I ran across a story on the web. It read, “A man who allegedly decapitated a 17-year-old boy with a tomahawk in a suburban back yard later was said to have played with the teenager's head, rolling it in a paddock as if it were a bowling ball…Mr. Jones said Mr. Roughan laughed as he ‘bowled the head up the hill, like it was a bowling ball’…A chilling videotape showing police interviewing one of two men charged with the murder of transient teen Morgan Jay Shepherd was played in Brisbane Magistrates Court yesterday." That was from The Advertiser, an Australian Newspaper.
See? Truth catches up with the worst things you can ever think of.
Back when I was writing these things, I would get up, drink coffee, sit at the keyboard in my underwear and smoke a bowl, and then allow either the funniest or the most horrifying (or both) stories come out of my head, through my fingers and onto the page.
Well, I’m in Portland, Oregon instead of Baltimore, Maryland. And I’m not broke. And I’m not lonely. I’m not roommates with a guy (I’m married now), and I burned myself out on these stories. But I am in my underwear, and I do have that same writing aid. Should I?
Nah.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
What Congress should really be asking Alito about
As usual, when discussing the merits of Judge Samuel A. Alito, Jr., both liberals and conservatives are spending most of their time re-re-re debating the abortion issue and how he will or will not deal with it. They’re each missing several other issues, but one thing they’re both ignoring has folks of a certain age in Oregon holding their breaths, and it’s something that should concern everyone. It’s the Bush challenge to the Oregon Death With Dignity Law.
That law allows the terminally ill, after a rigorous process, to be prescribed a lethal dose of drugs (usually Nembutal) by a physician. The patient may then end his life when, where and in the company of whom he chooses.
The Oregon experience with that law has disproved all of the dire predictions that the (mostly religious-based) opponents made before the law was first enacted. I have interviewed many of the major opponents to the law and the only person to freely admit that his opposition was based on his faith was U.S. Sen. Gordon Smith (R-Oregon).
The law was passed by the Oregon Legislature and then by the voters in two ballot initiatives. The results of last vote in 1997 found Oregonians voting 666,275 to 445,830 to keep the law on the books.
It’s easy to talk academically, medically, theologically or philosophically about the issue, but when I think about it I see, in my mind’s eye, a bedroom in North Portland on May 3, 2003.
For my collaborator, Greg Bond and I, it was the end of shooting on a documentary we had been producing for twenty-three months, “Robert’s Story: Dying With Dignity.” It tells the story of the struggle of Robert Schwartz, fifty-two years old and terminally ill who had the medication, prescribed legally under the law. The struggle was with the decision when to end his life.
His family and friends gathered that day, and after a back porch communion service, Robert and his partner, his pastor, a representative from Compassion In Dying of Oregon, his mom and dad, brother and cousins participated his death in the most loving way possible.
I said my goodbyes, sat at his bedside and promised I would tell his story, and do right by him. After an anointing service, he drank the liquid Nembutal and went into a coma shortly thereafter, but not before his final act, which was to comfort his crying partner.
I think of the struggle he had trying to choose the right time. Of the two previous dates he had chosen, only to change his mind, because he wasn’t ready. He had more living to do, even in his weakened state. Robert had AIDS and many complications from it.
It was not a snap decision, as the opponents would like you to think. It was the most difficult decision he ever had to make.
Robert loved life, and he allowed us to video a hundred hours of it, in his weakest and strongest times. He gave up the ultimate privacy, his own death, so that others might learn how the Oregon law works.
The documentary is now complete and is in the marketing process.
This issue is not going away. Although it affects hundreds of millions more folks than the abortion issue ever will, it is much the same. The issue is simple, “I want people to have the right to self determination.” Robert told us. “I don’t mean just from their government but in every personal aspect of their life. As long as they are not hurting anybody physically or otherwise it shouldn’t make any difference to the guy next door.”
Isn’t that basic old-school conservative thinking?
When Judge Alito comes before the Senate Judciary Committee, will anyone ask him about his views on this issue, which is before the current court, and upon which his vote could be the difference? There are many terminally ill Oregonians and also those in other states (where the issue has yet to be decided) who are hoping for the peaceful option that we saw in Robert’s eyes.
This is also on huffingtonpost.com
That law allows the terminally ill, after a rigorous process, to be prescribed a lethal dose of drugs (usually Nembutal) by a physician. The patient may then end his life when, where and in the company of whom he chooses.
The Oregon experience with that law has disproved all of the dire predictions that the (mostly religious-based) opponents made before the law was first enacted. I have interviewed many of the major opponents to the law and the only person to freely admit that his opposition was based on his faith was U.S. Sen. Gordon Smith (R-Oregon).
The law was passed by the Oregon Legislature and then by the voters in two ballot initiatives. The results of last vote in 1997 found Oregonians voting 666,275 to 445,830 to keep the law on the books.
It’s easy to talk academically, medically, theologically or philosophically about the issue, but when I think about it I see, in my mind’s eye, a bedroom in North Portland on May 3, 2003.
For my collaborator, Greg Bond and I, it was the end of shooting on a documentary we had been producing for twenty-three months, “Robert’s Story: Dying With Dignity.” It tells the story of the struggle of Robert Schwartz, fifty-two years old and terminally ill who had the medication, prescribed legally under the law. The struggle was with the decision when to end his life.
His family and friends gathered that day, and after a back porch communion service, Robert and his partner, his pastor, a representative from Compassion In Dying of Oregon, his mom and dad, brother and cousins participated his death in the most loving way possible.
I said my goodbyes, sat at his bedside and promised I would tell his story, and do right by him. After an anointing service, he drank the liquid Nembutal and went into a coma shortly thereafter, but not before his final act, which was to comfort his crying partner.
I think of the struggle he had trying to choose the right time. Of the two previous dates he had chosen, only to change his mind, because he wasn’t ready. He had more living to do, even in his weakened state. Robert had AIDS and many complications from it.
It was not a snap decision, as the opponents would like you to think. It was the most difficult decision he ever had to make.
Robert loved life, and he allowed us to video a hundred hours of it, in his weakest and strongest times. He gave up the ultimate privacy, his own death, so that others might learn how the Oregon law works.
The documentary is now complete and is in the marketing process.
This issue is not going away. Although it affects hundreds of millions more folks than the abortion issue ever will, it is much the same. The issue is simple, “I want people to have the right to self determination.” Robert told us. “I don’t mean just from their government but in every personal aspect of their life. As long as they are not hurting anybody physically or otherwise it shouldn’t make any difference to the guy next door.”
Isn’t that basic old-school conservative thinking?
When Judge Alito comes before the Senate Judciary Committee, will anyone ask him about his views on this issue, which is before the current court, and upon which his vote could be the difference? There are many terminally ill Oregonians and also those in other states (where the issue has yet to be decided) who are hoping for the peaceful option that we saw in Robert’s eyes.
This is also on huffingtonpost.com
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
USA Today
There's a lovely piece on the book in Thursday (12/8)'s USA Today, by Deirdre Donahue
USA Today
And a special thanks to Random House publicist Karen Fink for landing it.
This will no doubt make or break this book. The response will most likely determine the next year of my creative life.
Or not.
Who the fuck knows?
While I'm doling out thank you's (or thank youse), I'd like to thank everybody who came to my reading at Powell's City of Books on Monday. I knew many of you. I loved signing for you. It warmed my heart.
USA Today
And a special thanks to Random House publicist Karen Fink for landing it.
This will no doubt make or break this book. The response will most likely determine the next year of my creative life.
Or not.
Who the fuck knows?
While I'm doling out thank you's (or thank youse), I'd like to thank everybody who came to my reading at Powell's City of Books on Monday. I knew many of you. I loved signing for you. It warmed my heart.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
This is also on www.huffingtonpost .com
When I was making up stories for one of the supermarket tabloids in the mid-1980s, little did I know that I was making up a template for others to follow, to use and prosper and with which take over America, however temporarily. This template has been used by many Republicans, by Rush Limbaugh, by Bill O’Reilly and his colleagues at Fox News, by foreign religious zealots and similar American Christian fanatics, by The Lincoln Group and of course many American newspapers who fail to check the accuracy of their reporters closely, if at all.
This template served me well as I wrote classics like “Rabid Nun Infects Entire Convent,” which happens to also be the title of a book I wrote on the subject of tabloid journalism. Ok, not capital “J” Journalism, but apparent journalism, let’s say.
Stories like “Grandma Turns Pet Dog Inside Out Looking for Lost Lottery Ticket,” “Woman Gets Pregnant, Has Baby Same Day,” and “Cult Uses Human Heads for Bowling Balls” all followed this simple template.
Here are the Rules:
First: Make up something false. It doesn’t matter how whacked-out it is, or how patently false to anyone with half-a-brain.
Second: Put it in a context that people are comfortable with. If it’s for a newspaper, write it so that it really really sounds like a newspaper story, with quotes, even. Make it sound like you have multiple sources, even though you’re pulling out of your butt.
The same goes for TV. It’s always best to have a distinguished-looking person read it, or a forceful one. Or one who shouts a lot and of whom people will be afraid not to believe upon penalty of being bitten. He (or a bleach-blonde she) doesn’t have to actually be an actual journalist at all. A good way to go is to find someone who has recently been a journalist, come from another network, and can provide sufficient credibility when he or she delivers the lies that you have pulled from your butt.
Third: Tell the story a lot. Play the story over and over if it’s for TV. The more you play it, the more people will believe it. Find a way to re-write that lie repeatedly if it’s for print. The average attention span of those inclined to swallow your lie is approximately seven seconds, and his frame of reference is tends to be in the last-fifteen-minutes range.
The big lie, told often, becomes truth after a while. I think Machiavelli said that, or Stalin. Rove, maybe? It might have been Nick Tosches.
Fourth: Pander to the worst in people. Work their fears, their ignorance and perverse pleasures. A worst-case scenario always worked for me. Predicting a worst-case scenario has worked for politicians since antiquity, be it Mongol hordes or mushroom clouds on the horizon.
Fifth: Quote somebody whom others do not know, or will never check. Hardly anybody checks anything. It’s better to jump on board the bus and run with an outrageous story. Some editors will just let things slide. Other editors or news directors have instructions from on high.
Sixth: Make them feel a very big emotion. Get their blood boiling. Make them cry. My stories “Clown Ghosts Save Dying Boy,” and “Dead Daughter Leaves Message of Love on Daddy’s VCR,” are examples that can never fail to bring tears to those easily fooled.
Gross them out. My stories “Man Sells Bodies from Chemical Disaster to Starving Ethiopians as Meat for Prepared Meals,” and “Bandit Steals False Teeth from the Mouths of Elderly Victims,” are prime examples of this technique. The ability to tell a story in a way that makes the audience react emotionally will keep you employed.
Seventh: Whenever possible, get somebody not connected with your organization to deliver your lie. Pay them well to plant stories, or to give opinions supporting your lies. Pay newspapers cash to run stories you’ve made up.
Eighth: Under no circumstances admit you were wrong or that your butt comprises your two independent sources. When someone comes at you with the real facts, call them names. Impugn their patriotism. Imply that they’re mentally ill. Divert all attention from your story. Make them the story. Make yourself the story. Do anything to avoid the truth.
Not all of these rules applied to the tabloid stories I wrote, but they are good rules and true. If you follow them closely, you too can become the next Stephen Glass and get serious backend money on the movie. You could get Random House to pay to make a book out of your lies, as I did.
Or you could get some fool elected president and start a war.
It’s easy.
This template served me well as I wrote classics like “Rabid Nun Infects Entire Convent,” which happens to also be the title of a book I wrote on the subject of tabloid journalism. Ok, not capital “J” Journalism, but apparent journalism, let’s say.
Stories like “Grandma Turns Pet Dog Inside Out Looking for Lost Lottery Ticket,” “Woman Gets Pregnant, Has Baby Same Day,” and “Cult Uses Human Heads for Bowling Balls” all followed this simple template.
Here are the Rules:
First: Make up something false. It doesn’t matter how whacked-out it is, or how patently false to anyone with half-a-brain.
Second: Put it in a context that people are comfortable with. If it’s for a newspaper, write it so that it really really sounds like a newspaper story, with quotes, even. Make it sound like you have multiple sources, even though you’re pulling out of your butt.
The same goes for TV. It’s always best to have a distinguished-looking person read it, or a forceful one. Or one who shouts a lot and of whom people will be afraid not to believe upon penalty of being bitten. He (or a bleach-blonde she) doesn’t have to actually be an actual journalist at all. A good way to go is to find someone who has recently been a journalist, come from another network, and can provide sufficient credibility when he or she delivers the lies that you have pulled from your butt.
Third: Tell the story a lot. Play the story over and over if it’s for TV. The more you play it, the more people will believe it. Find a way to re-write that lie repeatedly if it’s for print. The average attention span of those inclined to swallow your lie is approximately seven seconds, and his frame of reference is tends to be in the last-fifteen-minutes range.
The big lie, told often, becomes truth after a while. I think Machiavelli said that, or Stalin. Rove, maybe? It might have been Nick Tosches.
Fourth: Pander to the worst in people. Work their fears, their ignorance and perverse pleasures. A worst-case scenario always worked for me. Predicting a worst-case scenario has worked for politicians since antiquity, be it Mongol hordes or mushroom clouds on the horizon.
Fifth: Quote somebody whom others do not know, or will never check. Hardly anybody checks anything. It’s better to jump on board the bus and run with an outrageous story. Some editors will just let things slide. Other editors or news directors have instructions from on high.
Sixth: Make them feel a very big emotion. Get their blood boiling. Make them cry. My stories “Clown Ghosts Save Dying Boy,” and “Dead Daughter Leaves Message of Love on Daddy’s VCR,” are examples that can never fail to bring tears to those easily fooled.
Gross them out. My stories “Man Sells Bodies from Chemical Disaster to Starving Ethiopians as Meat for Prepared Meals,” and “Bandit Steals False Teeth from the Mouths of Elderly Victims,” are prime examples of this technique. The ability to tell a story in a way that makes the audience react emotionally will keep you employed.
Seventh: Whenever possible, get somebody not connected with your organization to deliver your lie. Pay them well to plant stories, or to give opinions supporting your lies. Pay newspapers cash to run stories you’ve made up.
Eighth: Under no circumstances admit you were wrong or that your butt comprises your two independent sources. When someone comes at you with the real facts, call them names. Impugn their patriotism. Imply that they’re mentally ill. Divert all attention from your story. Make them the story. Make yourself the story. Do anything to avoid the truth.
Not all of these rules applied to the tabloid stories I wrote, but they are good rules and true. If you follow them closely, you too can become the next Stephen Glass and get serious backend money on the movie. You could get Random House to pay to make a book out of your lies, as I did.
Or you could get some fool elected president and start a war.
It’s easy.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
When this book thing is over
I'm going to be using this blog to write some of the same fine essays you may be used to seeing on the op-ed pages of the Oregonian, among other places. I got a head full of ideas that are driving me insane. That is, unless somebody is paying me for them.
Friday, November 25, 2005
My first bad review
On some badly named site called "Bookgasm." It says, "From the very first article, “Grandma Turns Pet Dog Inside Out for Lost Lottery Ticket,” it’s evident the stories are complete fabrications. It’s also evident that they’re completely not funny."
That he doesn't think that story is funny is the best indication of his sense of humor. He has none. I can't tell you how many times I've heard people laugh out loud at that one and all of the rest of them. Loud laughter. Universally.
I take everything personally.....except this guy.
That he doesn't think that story is funny is the best indication of his sense of humor. He has none. I can't tell you how many times I've heard people laugh out loud at that one and all of the rest of them. Loud laughter. Universally.
I take everything personally.....except this guy.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Ever try to be funny at 3:40 a.m.?
Unless you're still messed up and haven't gone to bed, and still have the same audience you've had all night.....don't try it. It's a surreal experience to say the least. Take my word for it. When do I go to sleep now?
Saturday, November 19, 2005
On the radio next week
The book comes out on Tuesday. I will be on the following shows. All times PST:
3:40 am to 3:50am -Tampa - WFLA-AM “Tampa Bay AM”
4:10am to 4:25am - Baltimore- WIYY-FM- “Kirk, Mark & Spiegel in the Morning”...Should be a lot of fun since I savage Baltimore in the book.
5:10 am to 5:25 am - National Radio from Chicago - WKQX-FM - “Mancow’s Morning Madhouse”...also heard all over Southern California and Detroit among other places.
7:10 am to 7:25 am - Cincinnati- WLW-AM - “Jim Scott Morning Show”
Wednesday, November 23, 2005 - 6:00 am to 6:10 am
Latham/Albany, NY- WPYX-FM - “The Wolf in the Morning Show”
Yes, I will have to be awake and funny in the middle of the night. I can handle it.
3:40 am to 3:50am -Tampa - WFLA-AM “Tampa Bay AM”
4:10am to 4:25am - Baltimore- WIYY-FM- “Kirk, Mark & Spiegel in the Morning”...Should be a lot of fun since I savage Baltimore in the book.
5:10 am to 5:25 am - National Radio from Chicago - WKQX-FM - “Mancow’s Morning Madhouse”...also heard all over Southern California and Detroit among other places.
7:10 am to 7:25 am - Cincinnati- WLW-AM - “Jim Scott Morning Show”
Wednesday, November 23, 2005 - 6:00 am to 6:10 am
Latham/Albany, NY- WPYX-FM - “The Wolf in the Morning Show”
Yes, I will have to be awake and funny in the middle of the night. I can handle it.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Coming up for air
This rotten bug that's going around put what's left of my brain underwater for over a week. This is the first day I've been able to put more than 3 coherent words together.
I've been given the opportunity to write something for Nerve.com, the sex-is-intellectually-cool website...in exchange for being able to flack my book. They want something that's sex and tabloid related. I can do that. I haven't written anything about sex since 1998 when I wrote a few things for "The T&A Times" (really) in Portland. It was a stripper magazine. I remember, vividly, interviewing a prostie in a "jack shack" in suburban Portland.
No, I didn't get any.
I had met the (incredibly sleazy) publisher when he was a guest on my radio show. He brought a couple of contestants in the Miss Nude Oregon contest, which later on that evening I had the surreal pleasure of helping judge.
Again, I didn't get any.
Not too long after that I wrote a whole lot of porn reviews (at $25 per) for a kind of proto-Netflix website that rented porn tapes and dvds. My all time favorites were the lesbian tickling videos...how could you NOT laugh along with them? Also Bridget the Midget set new standards for me, standards that were pretty low to begin with.
So I'm looking forward to writing this thing. Maybe it'll sell a few books. In the meantime, I am prepared for the attack of the morning zoo shock jocks next week. A full schedule is on the book website. www.rabidnun.com
I've been given the opportunity to write something for Nerve.com, the sex-is-intellectually-cool website...in exchange for being able to flack my book. They want something that's sex and tabloid related. I can do that. I haven't written anything about sex since 1998 when I wrote a few things for "The T&A Times" (really) in Portland. It was a stripper magazine. I remember, vividly, interviewing a prostie in a "jack shack" in suburban Portland.
No, I didn't get any.
I had met the (incredibly sleazy) publisher when he was a guest on my radio show. He brought a couple of contestants in the Miss Nude Oregon contest, which later on that evening I had the surreal pleasure of helping judge.
Again, I didn't get any.
Not too long after that I wrote a whole lot of porn reviews (at $25 per) for a kind of proto-Netflix website that rented porn tapes and dvds. My all time favorites were the lesbian tickling videos...how could you NOT laugh along with them? Also Bridget the Midget set new standards for me, standards that were pretty low to begin with.
So I'm looking forward to writing this thing. Maybe it'll sell a few books. In the meantime, I am prepared for the attack of the morning zoo shock jocks next week. A full schedule is on the book website. www.rabidnun.com
Friday, November 11, 2005
Anti-climax
The premiere last night was drab. The doc wasn't drab but the night was rainy, only 40 people showed up, somebody had smudged the dvd so we had to stop at a crucial time and put a new one in. But everyone cried and there were some good questions afterward. Oh well, it wasn't planned to be retail. The NW Film Center asked us to show it.
I think I'm having post-partum depression over this doc. The book too. This being the sixth day of having the bug doesn't help. And it's raining again.
The promotion is going slowly for the book. They've lined up 6 morning zoo type shows and no TV or newspapers yet. Emphasis yet. I'm still holding out hope they can pull out something big.
I think I'm having post-partum depression over this doc. The book too. This being the sixth day of having the bug doesn't help. And it's raining again.
The promotion is going slowly for the book. They've lined up 6 morning zoo type shows and no TV or newspapers yet. Emphasis yet. I'm still holding out hope they can pull out something big.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Premiere night
The NW Film and Video Festival is showing the doc tonight. Greg and I were on local radio here (Thom Hartman's Show on KPOJ) for about 10 minutes promoting it this morning. If you visted the doc's website www.robertsstory.com, landed here, and are going tonight, please let me know what you think of it.
I am wondering what my reaction will be tonight, myself. Secretly, I hope the audience is as shocked and stunned and in tears as the first two audiences that saw it. Unlike the first (private) screening, this one is a paying crowd.
I'll report tomorrow.
I am wondering what my reaction will be tonight, myself. Secretly, I hope the audience is as shocked and stunned and in tears as the first two audiences that saw it. Unlike the first (private) screening, this one is a paying crowd.
I'll report tomorrow.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
pulling one way/pulling the other
First, the Randm House publicist sent me an advance copy of Mad Magazine with an item about the book in the "Go Fetch" section. They have two parts to each item, "The Hype," which describes the book or dvd or game, etc, and "The Snipe," which is the joke about it.
"The Snipe" in the book item says, "Bolongna! We know for a fact that all of these stories are true! That spineless D'Antoni is back-pedaling because of the Patriot Act!"
Ha! Not a bad idea. I think that when I begin doing interviews, I'm going to say that the stories are indeed all true, and that I lied in the book.
Anyway, it took me only 47 years, from the time I began reading Mad, to this minute to get inside the covers.
What Me Worry?
Second, I found out that the doc didn't get any awards the the NW Film and Video Festival, and then later that docs aren't part of the judgning process.
And then, I got my first round of interviews from the Random House publicist. Chicago, Detroit, L.A., Cincinnati and Tampa..in one morning.
So you see how I'm being pulled one way and then the other? As if trying to get my head around the book and the doc at the same time isn't tough enough!!!
Wool hat boys are almost as bad as Republicans.
"The Snipe" in the book item says, "Bolongna! We know for a fact that all of these stories are true! That spineless D'Antoni is back-pedaling because of the Patriot Act!"
Ha! Not a bad idea. I think that when I begin doing interviews, I'm going to say that the stories are indeed all true, and that I lied in the book.
Anyway, it took me only 47 years, from the time I began reading Mad, to this minute to get inside the covers.
What Me Worry?
Second, I found out that the doc didn't get any awards the the NW Film and Video Festival, and then later that docs aren't part of the judgning process.
And then, I got my first round of interviews from the Random House publicist. Chicago, Detroit, L.A., Cincinnati and Tampa..in one morning.
So you see how I'm being pulled one way and then the other? As if trying to get my head around the book and the doc at the same time isn't tough enough!!!
Wool hat boys are almost as bad as Republicans.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Robert's Story in The NW Film and Video Festival
Happy to report that the doc, "Robert's Story: Dying With Dignity" will be a part of this year's NW Film and Video Festival. It will screen on Thursday, November 10 at 7pm at The Guild Theater, 829 SW Park Ave. in Portland. Tickets are $7. For more information go to www.nwfilm.org
Yesterday, I showed it to a group of law students and lawyers at Willamette University in Salem. I wasn't really prepared for the reaction the doc got when we had a private screening for those in the doc and friends last month. They were speechless and mostly in tears. I knew it was powerful, but I didn't really expect it to move people as much as it did. I saw the same reaction yesterday. I'm better prepared for it now.
We will have some Q&A after the NWFVF in November. If you come, bring some kleenex.
Yesterday, I showed it to a group of law students and lawyers at Willamette University in Salem. I wasn't really prepared for the reaction the doc got when we had a private screening for those in the doc and friends last month. They were speechless and mostly in tears. I knew it was powerful, but I didn't really expect it to move people as much as it did. I saw the same reaction yesterday. I'm better prepared for it now.
We will have some Q&A after the NWFVF in November. If you come, bring some kleenex.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Robbie and other bad memories
If the book doesn't totally stiff, there may be another book in my future. I started working on it last week. I won't give away any details, but one of the stories I'm basing it around is on the rabid nun website www.rabidnun.com. It has to do with a lot of awful jobs I've held over the years. The newspaper story that the Rabid Nun book was based on was one of those.
As I was writing about the teenage traumas that caused me to behave badly later, I was discussing the "Spit Pit" at my junior high, and how the real guys from Barry Levinson's movie "The Diner" used to push us younger boys down the concrete steps that led to a locked door to the basement of the school, off the playground. As soon as we got far enough down the steps, they would spit on us, hence the name.
One guy who hung with them in high school later became a friend of mine. I called him Robbie when I wrote my only published short story. I passed it off as fiction, but in fact, it is real. It's a twist on my tabloid stories which were fiction but I passed off as fact. Every word in her letter is true.
What's wrong with me? Here's the piece:
ROBBIE
Robbie dreamed of nuns with fangs again. He didn’t know why. He had fallen asleep with the vcr on. This time it was the Jessica tape. “Jessica wakes up & dresses for work in sexy sheer dark brown stockings & garterbelt, She pees for you,” it said on the tape box.
The nuns were devouring bats before an altar.
Next to the bed was a letter Robbie had received today. It was in a pink envelope. It was from a girl named Laura in Phoenix, Arizona. She had enclosed a picture of herself, clothes on, in a sexy pose.
“I don’t know why I wrote back,” Robbie told a friend. He really didn’t know. He liked the personals. He was looking for whores who advertised. His ad read:
FEMALE WANTED!
to be
“ROBBIE’S GIRL”
WHO IS ROBBIE?
· LAWYER
· WRITER
· TV PRODUCER
· AND WEALTHY!!
“ROBBIE” WANTS A NICE GIRL
35 OR UNDER
NO TALLER THAN 5’5”
SLIM
AVERAGE LOOKING OR BETTER
DON’T DELAY!!
Her reply letter was pathetic. Eleven small typewritten pages, and on the first page was a picture of a kitten which she had outlined in black.
“My goodness, there’s so much that I’d like to tell you. As I sit here I feel like telling you the story of my life—and I will if you give me the chance. When I was sixteen I lost my hearing but I can talk and read lips so I manage to get by. Still, I am deaf. Do you think this will make a difference?
“Right now my life is all jumbled up, to tell you the honest truth. When I finish my school this summer I will be moving back to Bethesda. Both of my parents were killed in a car accident when I was fourteen, so I don’t have any real family anymore.
“But the thing that’s all jumbled up is I’ve just learned that I have to pay $173 more on my tuition and this is making a mess of everything. If I can’t pay, I don’t get my diploma and if I don’t get that then I can’t my cosmetology license which means I can’t work.
“Isn’t this a mess? Do things like this ever happen to you, Robbie? Sometimes I think they only happen to me really.
“Now I’m going to do something which might displease you but please don’t feel that way, ok? I just want to know if you would like to help me out with $15 or so. Now you don’t have to, you know.
“And Robbie, I know this is not a very good way to start out a relationship (it’s a horrible way, isn’t it?) but it’s just that my life is like this now—flat broke but not down and out!!
“I’m not really too good at writing letters so I’m not quite sure what to say now. But if you could ask me questions (about anything really) then it would be fun getting to know each other that way.”
Robbie didn’t want this. Robbie wanted a girl he could tie up. He kept reading.
“I don’t know if I’m the woman you are looking for, but I would like to be considered. And if you should find me not suitable, I’ll understand. I feel if someone should truly try to touch my heart and my soul and my body, then I will be drawn to touch them in the same loving way.”
Robbie couldn’t stand it. He wanted to spit. He couldn’t stand the dream, either. The nuns were about to eat him alive. Her letter continued.
“Let me also tell you that I feel very bad about asking for a helping hand. I’m really not that kind of person. I would appreciate any thought you might have of me. Please understand.”
Robbie couldn’t deal with this. He just wanted his thirty dollar whores. He just wanted to be able to beat them and make them tell him they were vermin, and then put them in a cab. But he continued reading.
“Do you think it’s still possible for us to become friends? I would like that very much. I would really be grateful for a few kinds words from someone special who would want the same…so Robbie, I hope you will write to me. I will try very hard to overcome the differences we might have between us.”
The girl’s letter was in response to Robbie’s reply to her ad in the personals. She had liked it. This was unusual for him. Even his girlfriend of eight years use to find money in her underwear when she left his apartment on Sunday afternoons. Robbie was not in the business of pleasing anyone but Robbie. Robbie was strictly retail.
Handwritten in purple was “Love, Laura. P.S. I have black hair, green eyes, weigh 115 lbs and stand 5’3” in m stockings. Also, I’m staying at this place for the deaf (it’s kind of a dump, really) so please write to me Robbie. I’m waiting.”
She wrote her address at the bottom and added, “I also want to love.”
The next morning Robbie called his friend and gave the letter to him. After he got off from work, Robbie went to the bar, came home with a thirty dollar whore, tied her up, beat her, paid her, sent her home and went to sleep.
Laura cried herself to sleep at the home for the deaf.
Robbie’s friend stayed up all night reading and re-reading the letter. He couldn’t bear the weight on his heart. He couldn’t even show it to his wife, and as he listened to an elegy on the radio, he hoped that Robbie’s dream of being devoured by nuns would come true. He knew that Laura’s dreams of Robbie would not.
He called Robbie the next day and told him to send the girl the fifteen. Robbie said no. His friend said, “Then I’m going to steal it from you the next time you get dead drunk.” His friend went home and wrote Laura a letter.
Robbie would never get his hands on her.
Robbie didn’t want her anyway.
Robbie was having a dream about nuns with fangs again.
As I was writing about the teenage traumas that caused me to behave badly later, I was discussing the "Spit Pit" at my junior high, and how the real guys from Barry Levinson's movie "The Diner" used to push us younger boys down the concrete steps that led to a locked door to the basement of the school, off the playground. As soon as we got far enough down the steps, they would spit on us, hence the name.
One guy who hung with them in high school later became a friend of mine. I called him Robbie when I wrote my only published short story. I passed it off as fiction, but in fact, it is real. It's a twist on my tabloid stories which were fiction but I passed off as fact. Every word in her letter is true.
What's wrong with me? Here's the piece:
ROBBIE
Robbie dreamed of nuns with fangs again. He didn’t know why. He had fallen asleep with the vcr on. This time it was the Jessica tape. “Jessica wakes up & dresses for work in sexy sheer dark brown stockings & garterbelt, She pees for you,” it said on the tape box.
The nuns were devouring bats before an altar.
Next to the bed was a letter Robbie had received today. It was in a pink envelope. It was from a girl named Laura in Phoenix, Arizona. She had enclosed a picture of herself, clothes on, in a sexy pose.
“I don’t know why I wrote back,” Robbie told a friend. He really didn’t know. He liked the personals. He was looking for whores who advertised. His ad read:
FEMALE WANTED!
to be
“ROBBIE’S GIRL”
WHO IS ROBBIE?
· LAWYER
· WRITER
· TV PRODUCER
· AND WEALTHY!!
“ROBBIE” WANTS A NICE GIRL
35 OR UNDER
NO TALLER THAN 5’5”
SLIM
AVERAGE LOOKING OR BETTER
DON’T DELAY!!
Her reply letter was pathetic. Eleven small typewritten pages, and on the first page was a picture of a kitten which she had outlined in black.
“My goodness, there’s so much that I’d like to tell you. As I sit here I feel like telling you the story of my life—and I will if you give me the chance. When I was sixteen I lost my hearing but I can talk and read lips so I manage to get by. Still, I am deaf. Do you think this will make a difference?
“Right now my life is all jumbled up, to tell you the honest truth. When I finish my school this summer I will be moving back to Bethesda. Both of my parents were killed in a car accident when I was fourteen, so I don’t have any real family anymore.
“But the thing that’s all jumbled up is I’ve just learned that I have to pay $173 more on my tuition and this is making a mess of everything. If I can’t pay, I don’t get my diploma and if I don’t get that then I can’t my cosmetology license which means I can’t work.
“Isn’t this a mess? Do things like this ever happen to you, Robbie? Sometimes I think they only happen to me really.
“Now I’m going to do something which might displease you but please don’t feel that way, ok? I just want to know if you would like to help me out with $15 or so. Now you don’t have to, you know.
“And Robbie, I know this is not a very good way to start out a relationship (it’s a horrible way, isn’t it?) but it’s just that my life is like this now—flat broke but not down and out!!
“I’m not really too good at writing letters so I’m not quite sure what to say now. But if you could ask me questions (about anything really) then it would be fun getting to know each other that way.”
Robbie didn’t want this. Robbie wanted a girl he could tie up. He kept reading.
“I don’t know if I’m the woman you are looking for, but I would like to be considered. And if you should find me not suitable, I’ll understand. I feel if someone should truly try to touch my heart and my soul and my body, then I will be drawn to touch them in the same loving way.”
Robbie couldn’t stand it. He wanted to spit. He couldn’t stand the dream, either. The nuns were about to eat him alive. Her letter continued.
“Let me also tell you that I feel very bad about asking for a helping hand. I’m really not that kind of person. I would appreciate any thought you might have of me. Please understand.”
Robbie couldn’t deal with this. He just wanted his thirty dollar whores. He just wanted to be able to beat them and make them tell him they were vermin, and then put them in a cab. But he continued reading.
“Do you think it’s still possible for us to become friends? I would like that very much. I would really be grateful for a few kinds words from someone special who would want the same…so Robbie, I hope you will write to me. I will try very hard to overcome the differences we might have between us.”
The girl’s letter was in response to Robbie’s reply to her ad in the personals. She had liked it. This was unusual for him. Even his girlfriend of eight years use to find money in her underwear when she left his apartment on Sunday afternoons. Robbie was not in the business of pleasing anyone but Robbie. Robbie was strictly retail.
Handwritten in purple was “Love, Laura. P.S. I have black hair, green eyes, weigh 115 lbs and stand 5’3” in m stockings. Also, I’m staying at this place for the deaf (it’s kind of a dump, really) so please write to me Robbie. I’m waiting.”
She wrote her address at the bottom and added, “I also want to love.”
The next morning Robbie called his friend and gave the letter to him. After he got off from work, Robbie went to the bar, came home with a thirty dollar whore, tied her up, beat her, paid her, sent her home and went to sleep.
Laura cried herself to sleep at the home for the deaf.
Robbie’s friend stayed up all night reading and re-reading the letter. He couldn’t bear the weight on his heart. He couldn’t even show it to his wife, and as he listened to an elegy on the radio, he hoped that Robbie’s dream of being devoured by nuns would come true. He knew that Laura’s dreams of Robbie would not.
He called Robbie the next day and told him to send the girl the fifteen. Robbie said no. His friend said, “Then I’m going to steal it from you the next time you get dead drunk.” His friend went home and wrote Laura a letter.
Robbie would never get his hands on her.
Robbie didn’t want her anyway.
Robbie was having a dream about nuns with fangs again.
Monday, October 17, 2005
Splitting headache
I was talking with a reporter today, one who may be doing a piece on me/the book/maybe the doc/who knows(?). I was trying to explain to him how one side of my head had to always be in this serious, empathetic mode. That's the doc side. Then there's the other side, the one that manufactures gross-out tabloid stories. I actually had my hand on first the left side of my head and then my right. I have no idea why I assigned the left side to the doc and the right to the book.
I used to know what left-brain and right-brain functions were, but I forgot. Did the side I grabbed correspond to the real function of that side? It isn't a bad thing to be this stupid.
I know the time is coming soon when some interviewer is going to start asking me how I cope with being in both modes at the same time.
Luckily both projects are finished. I was never in both modes on any single day while I was making these things. How could I be? But now, as the pub date approaches and sale(s) of the doc are imminent, I am going to be put in the position of TALKING about each one.
If the interview is about both, am I going to have to be tabloid funny one minute and (literally) deadly serious the next?
I better practice.
The best thing that can happen is that the doc airs sometime in February or March, after the first rush of the book blows over, but hopefully before it's remaindered.
Tomorrow, the Random House publicist is going to send me some questions to answer for the press packet that's going out next week. Let's see what I do with them. I'm more curious than you, believe me. I'll put them on the site www.rabidnun.com when I'm done.
And, yes the actual book will be delivered to them and to me next week. I expect all hell to break loose the following week.
I can't wait.
I used to know what left-brain and right-brain functions were, but I forgot. Did the side I grabbed correspond to the real function of that side? It isn't a bad thing to be this stupid.
I know the time is coming soon when some interviewer is going to start asking me how I cope with being in both modes at the same time.
Luckily both projects are finished. I was never in both modes on any single day while I was making these things. How could I be? But now, as the pub date approaches and sale(s) of the doc are imminent, I am going to be put in the position of TALKING about each one.
If the interview is about both, am I going to have to be tabloid funny one minute and (literally) deadly serious the next?
I better practice.
The best thing that can happen is that the doc airs sometime in February or March, after the first rush of the book blows over, but hopefully before it's remaindered.
Tomorrow, the Random House publicist is going to send me some questions to answer for the press packet that's going out next week. Let's see what I do with them. I'm more curious than you, believe me. I'll put them on the site www.rabidnun.com when I'm done.
And, yes the actual book will be delivered to them and to me next week. I expect all hell to break loose the following week.
I can't wait.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
A Tosches day
Don't EVER spend the day reading Nick Tosches and then try to do business. Read him, sit and cry, wallow in despair, rip the flesh from your own bones, but NEVER, EVER send emails to your lawyer, editor, agent, PR rep or anybody who doesn't know you that well after reading him.
This morning I was sitting in a cafe eating breakfast and reading "Cut Numbers" again. I jumped when the waitress came up to my table, all blonde bouncy and cheerleader-like, calling me "sweetie." I jumped out of my skin because it was the part of the book where Louie is having a bad dream (like Louie could have a good dream, forgodssake). She interrupted me when the black bile of death was pouring out of the woman and beginning to seep out of Louie's wrists.
Things just got worse as the day wore on and I put "Cut Numbers" down and picked up "The Nick Tosches Reader."
I had to appologize to my editor at Random House for the hysterical email.
I still want to make a documentary on Tosches. I'm just not sure if I could stand it.
This morning I was sitting in a cafe eating breakfast and reading "Cut Numbers" again. I jumped when the waitress came up to my table, all blonde bouncy and cheerleader-like, calling me "sweetie." I jumped out of my skin because it was the part of the book where Louie is having a bad dream (like Louie could have a good dream, forgodssake). She interrupted me when the black bile of death was pouring out of the woman and beginning to seep out of Louie's wrists.
Things just got worse as the day wore on and I put "Cut Numbers" down and picked up "The Nick Tosches Reader."
I had to appologize to my editor at Random House for the hysterical email.
I still want to make a documentary on Tosches. I'm just not sure if I could stand it.
Monday, October 10, 2005
The unfunny part of being funny
Next week, Random House sends out the publicity on the book, and the books themselves. What I've found in the whole process is what every comedian finds, be he standup or writer or film maker. Getting the chance to be funny is deadly serious, and no fun.
Hopefully, I'll get a lot of calls from TV, radio and newspapers, wondering what kind of person could write these awful things. But the process of getting those calls is tedious at best.
Do I sound nervous? Why shouldn't I be? There's a lot riding on the success of this book. There's a very funny screenplay ready (which I now miss working on). There's a second book in my head.
And then there's the prospect of failure.
Shut up, will you? You're scaring off the customers. You're supposed to be funny, you dumb shit.
Ok ok.
Go read the stories on the book website. They're a hell of a lot funnier than me sitting here and grousing. There's also a funny part of the book on the Amazon site:
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0812975189/qid=1128969842/sr=2-1/ref=pd_bbs_b_2_1/104-2512942-7322302?v=glance&s=books
You'll like. Really.
Hopefully, I'll get a lot of calls from TV, radio and newspapers, wondering what kind of person could write these awful things. But the process of getting those calls is tedious at best.
Do I sound nervous? Why shouldn't I be? There's a lot riding on the success of this book. There's a very funny screenplay ready (which I now miss working on). There's a second book in my head.
And then there's the prospect of failure.
Shut up, will you? You're scaring off the customers. You're supposed to be funny, you dumb shit.
Ok ok.
Go read the stories on the book website. They're a hell of a lot funnier than me sitting here and grousing. There's also a funny part of the book on the Amazon site:
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0812975189/qid=1128969842/sr=2-1/ref=pd_bbs_b_2_1/104-2512942-7322302?v=glance&s=books
You'll like. Really.
Friday, October 07, 2005
The first interiview on the doc
It aired today. If you want to hear it go to www.opb.org/oregongterritory. I thought I sounded scattered. I thought Greg started slowly but warmed up and said some good things. I've always felt that getting interviewed is eaiser than interviewing...and I've interviewed thousands of people.
It was a good rehearsal for when the doc gets picked up. I need to listen to it a few more times and find out what the hell I said. Sometimes I'm my own worst critic. On the other hand, lots of other people have been critical of my work, usually my employers.
On or around October 17, a distributor is taking Robert to Europe. She thinks she can sell it there. It has been terribly frustrating this week, with the Supreme Court hearing oral arguments on the Bush challange to the Oregon Death With Dignity law. This documentary should be out there now. I am trying to be patient, but it isn't easy.
I believe in this doc.
I am hoping the folks who are looking at it in New York and Europe feel the same way.
It was a good rehearsal for when the doc gets picked up. I need to listen to it a few more times and find out what the hell I said. Sometimes I'm my own worst critic. On the other hand, lots of other people have been critical of my work, usually my employers.
On or around October 17, a distributor is taking Robert to Europe. She thinks she can sell it there. It has been terribly frustrating this week, with the Supreme Court hearing oral arguments on the Bush challange to the Oregon Death With Dignity law. This documentary should be out there now. I am trying to be patient, but it isn't easy.
I believe in this doc.
I am hoping the folks who are looking at it in New York and Europe feel the same way.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
They argued today
The U.S. Supreme Court heard oral arguments on the Bush challenge to the Oregon Death With Dignity Act today. From all reports, it was not a win for Oregonians. Some reports say rookie Chief Justice Roberts appeared to agreee with Bush.
Should that shock you? Should the next 25 years of his reign shock you? Roberts may well turn out to be the curse of the W that lasts for a century.
I wish I were still writing the screenplay from my book. It was nice to lose myself in. Much better writing funny, than having to think about the gasping for breath of democracy in the U.S.
What's odd is that it seems like the Republicans are trying to drown themselves as hard as they are trying to obliterate any opposition. I guess we'll see if they drag us all down with them, as it currently appears.
As the pub date for my book grows closer, I'll get funnier. Let's hope.
Should that shock you? Should the next 25 years of his reign shock you? Roberts may well turn out to be the curse of the W that lasts for a century.
I wish I were still writing the screenplay from my book. It was nice to lose myself in. Much better writing funny, than having to think about the gasping for breath of democracy in the U.S.
What's odd is that it seems like the Republicans are trying to drown themselves as hard as they are trying to obliterate any opposition. I guess we'll see if they drag us all down with them, as it currently appears.
As the pub date for my book grows closer, I'll get funnier. Let's hope.
Monday, October 03, 2005
The First Interview/Doc
Co-Director Greg Bond and I were interviewed this morning by Christy George for the "Oregon Territory" show at Oregon Public Broadcasting Radio. It was the first time we had really gotten to talk about the doc itself. We spent two years shooting it and two more making the rest happen and mostly talking about that process...not the finished product.
I'm not sure what we were asked, to tell you the truth. It was such a relief to finally talk about the piece. Christy's questions were excellent. She knows how to ask a question that gets an answer. I think Greg and I were both kind of shocked at the prospect, when the interview started.
This will be a learning experience, and will prepare us for interviews to come. Christy is an OPB collegue, not that she pulled any punches.
It airs on Friday, October 7 @ 4:30pm on the radio stations of Oregon Public Broadcasting.
www.opb.org/programs/oregonterritory
I'm not sure what we were asked, to tell you the truth. It was such a relief to finally talk about the piece. Christy's questions were excellent. She knows how to ask a question that gets an answer. I think Greg and I were both kind of shocked at the prospect, when the interview started.
This will be a learning experience, and will prepare us for interviews to come. Christy is an OPB collegue, not that she pulled any punches.
It airs on Friday, October 7 @ 4:30pm on the radio stations of Oregon Public Broadcasting.
www.opb.org/programs/oregonterritory
The Doc and the Book/The Book and the Doc
It might be fun for you to watch this trainwreck. I have a funny book and a serious documentary being born at the same time.
I suggest you go to this piece on my confusion http://www.rabidnun.com/confused.htm and see what I have done to myself.
In the coming weeks, this blog will appear on both websites:
The Book: www.rabidnun.com
The Doc: www.robertsstory.com
You got here through one of them, no doubt.
I have my first interview on the doc today. Oregon Public Broadcasting's "Oregon Territory" http://www.opb.org/programs/oregonterritory/ show is taping an interview with me and Greg Bond. I'll let you know how it goes. It's actually a relief to finally talk about the doc itself, and not the struggles to get it made.
I suggest you go to this piece on my confusion http://www.rabidnun.com/confused.htm and see what I have done to myself.
In the coming weeks, this blog will appear on both websites:
The Book: www.rabidnun.com
The Doc: www.robertsstory.com
You got here through one of them, no doubt.
I have my first interview on the doc today. Oregon Public Broadcasting's "Oregon Territory" http://www.opb.org/programs/oregonterritory/ show is taping an interview with me and Greg Bond. I'll let you know how it goes. It's actually a relief to finally talk about the doc itself, and not the struggles to get it made.
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