October 28, 2004

One good reason to re-elect Bush

Yes, well, we do love Jon Stewart—he’s our favourite American wisenheimer. His new spoofbook, America, has just been banished from the shelves of Wal-Mart, which is actually better than an Oprah’s club assignation, when you think about it. Wal-Mart execs rejected it on the grounds that it contains photos of “Supreme Court judges in the nude.” File under sexual explicitness or graphic violence, I wonder? I also notice that the Tucker Carlson-Crossfire debacle preceded Stewart's book release by less than a week. Jon, you sly little publicity slut. Don’t think I’m not watching.

What will happen to him if Senator Kerry wins? Bush: bad for the world, great for counterculture:

The thing that has allowed the fake newscast to flourish is the fact that it stands in opposition to Bush. So could this mean that someone like right-wing radio announcer Rush Limbaugh – who rose to prominence in the Clinton years – might move to the centre of the culture if Kerry wins? Oppositional pop culture always thrives, Schmeiser responds, but whether it has a real profound impact is another question.
Apparently Kerry and Stewart go together like Scotch oats and Elmer’s glue. According to Slate’s surfergirl, Stewart spent the whole of Kerry’s notably unfunny Daily Show appearance pitching “puffy interview marshmallows with rainbow sprinkles on them . . . Kerry was letting them sail by as if he planned to get to first base on a walk.”

What else, the Left Behind series becomes alt-lit? Shivers. Though not quite as frightening as the photo of Bush with Governor Schwarzenegger about halfway down the page.

posted by Charlotte at 9:20 PM | permalink | email it |0 comments

October 17, 2004

The agony becomes intolerable, with cupcakes

I'll attend to Emma's turtleneck slag later in the week. Along with more, better links once I'm done repairing lines like, "They had sex. It was great." And margin scribblings that include "note-to-self: make better." I'm like Strindberg over here with my eye twitch.

posted by Charlotte at 11:32 PM | permalink | email it |0 comments

October 15, 2004

LEE-LOg goes gangsta

Subscribers to LEE-LOg, the weblog of Lee Henderson, author of The Broken Record Technique and winner of the Danuta Gleed two years in a row according to a notoriously regurgitated press release, have noticed a content shift in the last six months or so. Lee’s fascination with internet minutiae and artistic curiosities has been lately eclipsed by gangsta rap. Here are LEE-LOg’s thematic travels, as charted through the archives. I noticed the tide turned around the mention of the Beasties. I'm willing to blame it on Abu Ghraib:

  • September ’03: Funereal tableaux of the animal kingdom by Walter Potter, Victorian taxidermist.
  • October ’03: Virginia State Police portrait gallery of fallen troopers.
  • January ’04: "My two favorite things in the entire world, wrestling and short stories, have combined forces with my third favorite thing in the entire world, digital rendering, and my FOURTH favorite thing in the entire world, nakedness, for this all-out, monster battle cage match fists of fury pixilated death blow polygonal excitement excitement . . ."
  • May ’04: Dairy board propaganda. Butt cracks at Abu Ghraib.
  • June ’04: "Today LEE-LOg exposes why the Beastie Boys is made of pure shit." The website of David Berkowitz, Son of Sam.
  • July ’04: "Upsetting" Buddhist mandalas by American 5th graders. "LEE-LOg is proud to announce that it has expanded into the music business."
  • August ’04: “An incredible little film of a dude taking the human beatbox thing to a whole new level of harmonica-based craziness. It's a really good thing, and it also segues nicely into what else is new. As you probably are already aware, LEE-LOg is always up on the latest advances. That's why we have expanded. To meet your log needs and to match our log interests we began to log more than unique and morbid websites. We realized we could log anything we wanted. So we started to log our favorite gangsta rap.” Jadakiss.
  • September ’04: Ghostface. More Jadakiss. “Artwork for Jadakiss is by Lil' Scrap, who wanted me to correct my earlier assertion that he's Sikh. In fact, he is Hindu. He's 16 years old and like the rest of his crew, uses only Canadian-made Laurentian pencil crayons. I keep forgetting to ask them what the name of their crew is, but they hang out at the IGA on Main street sometimes, look for them sitting on the brick wall at the north side of the parking lot drawing with Laurentian pencil crayons in their black books and whatever, loitering, acting like idiots. I usually don't bother them unless I have money, because they're not intimidating, just really needy, so unless I'm bugging them to buy some drawings off them, they look hurt when I say good-bye, like I'm leaving them there like orphans.”
  • October ’04: Ghostface, Killah. Wu-Tang Clan. The Absolute Best of Jadakiss.

Who doesn't love a good gangsta? Get LEE-LOg delivered to your door. The unsubscribable consequences are worth it:

It is impossible to unsubscribe to LEE-LOg. If you have been added to this service by mistake that is your problem. Why don't you cry about it? How about that? Please contact John Hobday, Director of the Canada Council for the Arts (hobby) and Chim-Chimeny Chimney Sweeper for LEE-LOg (dayjob) if you have any complaints regarding the disrespect taxidermists get from the fuckin' art world. He has no control over your subscription to LEE-LOg, but he's lonely, so lonely,and likes to talk. John.Hobday@canadacouncil.ca.


posted by Charlotte at 1:40 PM | permalink | email it |0 comments

October 14, 2004

Emma Vye: In praise of lying--a panegyric, with vibrators

A quote, in which Screwtape, a senior minion of Hell, delivers a lecture for the edification of his nephew Wormwood, a junior tempter:

The man who truly and disinterestedly enjoys any one thing in the world, for its own sake, and without caring twopence what other people say about it, is by that very fact fore-armed against some of our subtlest modes of attack. You should always try to make the patient abandon the people or the food or books he really likes in favour of the “best” people, the “right” food, the “important” books. I have known a human defended from strong temptations to social ambition by a still stronger taste for tripe and onions.
--CS Lewis, The Screwtape Letters


The Italians, bless their little hearts, have a saying: Se non e vero, e ben trovato. Roughly translated, this means, "Well, if it's not true, it's a good story."

I am a self-proclaimed bentrovatist. I prefer a good lie to a dull truth and believe that the ability to lie separates us from the animals and should be cherished and nurtured.This is my tripe and onions: I like extravagant lies. I prefer adventure to alienation, disaster to disintegrating marriages, Narnia to Newfoundland, murder to moody exposition, redemption to routine adultery, and buccaneers to baby boomers. The bigger and more florid the lie, the more pleasure I have in being induced to believe it.

I realize that this declaration imbues me irredeemably with the stink of the intellectual proletariat and makes me about as fashionable as Hammer pants. On the other hand, though, my taste for a good old-fashioned lie may be preserving my immortal soul. Extravagant lies are a real pleasure. And pleasure can lead you back to yourself.

I'm convinced that letting pleasure be your pole star in your literary odysseys can be as much of a turning point as buying your first vibrator, and for many of the same reasons:

Why a Good Book Is Like Your First Vibrator

Hundreds of hours in time saved. You won't waste any more time on weak-chinned wimpsters or sensitive divorce novels when you've got a surefire source of gratification waiting for you at home.

Self-sufficiency. You won't have to rely on the Globe & Mail or your boyfriend for clues to how you should respond to clumsy overtures. There's no point in faking it when you don't have to please anyone but yourself.

Improved sense of humor and increased Zen rates. Trying to convince yourself that you're enjoying it when you're not leads to dourness, stress and wrinkles. Having a good lusty bout of pleasure on a regular basis turns you into a rosy-cheeked oasis of compassion. Which woman would you rather be, this woman or this woman?

Vastly increased maturity. You won't need to flash your cleavage around anymore. You can wear a turtleneck if you want. (Charlotte's is probably up to her eyebrows by now.) You can read The Fiery Cross on the subway without needing to camouflage it behind a copy of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. Hey, you're fulfilled. You have nothing to prove.

With these similarities in mind, let's go on to examine some of the more noteworthy devices on the market alongside their literary equivalents.

Vibrators and Books for the Aspiring Pleasure Slut

Natural Contours vs. Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier
Natural Contours: Sleek, portable, aesthetically pleasing, not obviously phallic vibrator designed by porn star-turned-sex-educator Candida Royalle. Only drawback is it's a bit noisy.
Rebecca: Sleek, streamlined, aesthetically pleasing, not obviously bodice-ripping feminine-suspense novel written by socialite-turned-novelist Daphne du Maurier. Only drawback is it's a bit campy.
Verdict: Doesn't look particularly electrifying, but being created by a woman makes all the difference. Sure, your friends will all know you're up to no good, but you'll be having such a good time, you won't care.

Rabbit Habit vs. Fingersmith, by Sarah Waters
Rabbit Habit: Double-barreled rabbit-shaped toy. Just about everything you could want in a dual-action vibrator: vibration, gyration, pretty colors, fun theme, pornographic function. Immensely popular, and for good reason.
Fingersmith: Double-narrative Victorian gothic. Just about everything you could want in a historical novel: murder, blackmail, intrigue, corsets, the underworld, madness, a love story, pornographic collection. Immensely popular, and for good reason.
Verdict: Sometimes reputation is deserved. Warning: Such a good time, it might put you off men forever.

The Hitachi Magic Wand vs. Patrick O'Brian's Master and Commander series
The Hitachi Magic Wand: The ne plus ultra of plug-in vibrators. Costs well over $100. High-intensity vibration will drive your hydro bills through the roof. Doubles as a legitimate massager, too. Drawback: Rumored to cause insensibility to slighter stimuli.
Patrick O'Brian's Master and Commander series: The ne plus ultra of historical novels. Runs well over 3,000 pages. High-intensity sea battle sequences will drive your pulse through the roof. Doubles as an intensive education in early-19th-century European history, too. Drawback: Rumored to cause insensibility to less gripping stories.

Ducky vs. Outlander, by Diana Gabaldon
Ducky: A jolly vibrator made for the bath. Shaped like a rubber duck, but vibrates when you squeeze it. Not really designed all that well, but really fun and packs a genuine punch.
Outlander: A jolly bodice-ripper made for the bath. Looks like a trashy romance, but has lots of adventure and a surprisingly rewarding love story when you get into it. Not really written all that well, but really fun and packs a genuine claymore.
Verdict: Even intellectuals need to take a bath sometimes. Men claim to despise it, but secretly love it, the scamps.

See how well pleasures go together when you follow them far enough?

Next time: Fake black eyes, and other ways to tell whether you're American or Canadian.

posted by Emma Vye at 5:23 PM | permalink | email it |0 comments

October 13, 2004

U.S. elections @ the Drake Hotel

Four years ago on Election Day I ended up in a strip club watching the polls close with some writer pals. (What can I say? The TVs were huge). For all the Aerosmith and Kylie Minogue we couldn’t hear much of the feed, but at that last point when the numbers came up and a whole lot of Republican faces changed shape, we knew the world was screwed in specific but as yet unfathomable ways. It’s a very strange thing to watch a friend burst into tears while in the background Bush supporters jubilate and a stripper peels out of a schoolgirl uniform. But there you have it. This time around we'll be at the Drake, Powell Street, Vancouver. (Not to be confused with the altogether funkier Drake on Queen Street, Toronto). A repeat performance in hopes we don’t have to have a repeat performance.

Also this article, which I received via Madeleine Thien about a non-American election campaign focussed on Clark County, Ohio, which is balanced on a razor’s edge between Republicans and Democrats. I’ve quoted the first paragraphs from her open letter—she shot me right in the heart this morning while I was uncaffeinated and hoody-eyed.
Dear Mr. Culp,

My name is Madeleine Thien and I'm a Canadian citizen. This morning, while reading the morning newspaper online (the article I was reading is enclosed), I requested an address for an undecided registered voter in Clark County, Ohio. The name sent to me was yours.

I'm writing to you to encourage you to vote in this upcoming American election, regardless of which candidate you believe will be the best leader for your country. We, too, recently had an election in Canada, an election that so split the electorate that the government now in power does not have a clear majority.

I was born in Vancouver, just across the border from Washington State, and I now live in Quebec City - a place that is geographically closer to Boston than it is to Toronto. I have dear friends and family throughout the United States, from New York to Orlando to Madison, Wisconsin. As you probably know, the line between our country is the longest undefended border in the world. The future of our two countries is deeply entwined. And if this American election is the most important in recent memory for you, then I believe that must be true for me as well. Fortunately or not, I do not have the right to vote in your election, though I feel that its results will impact not only American citizens, but also myself, Canada, and the world . . .
More anti-Bush sentimentalia: George Saunders’ "Press Release from PRKA" (People Reluctant to Kill for an Abstraction), via one of my fave litbloggers, Stephany Aulenback at Maud Newton’s.

Push comes to shove, there's a bright side--if Bush gets a second term, think of all the cool Americans who’ll move to Canada, where skater kids wear "Bush for President" T-shirts as ironic fashion statements.

posted by Charlotte at 7:50 PM | permalink | email it |0 comments

October 8, 2004

Emma Vye, literary avenger

I see Ms. Vye has been hard at it in my absence, administering her first stiff drubbing to David Bezmozgis’ widely gooed-over Natasha, a book I quite liked, incidentally. "Tapka" had me, I tell you—throw the words "gaylord" and "mental case" in with an injured immigrant dog, and I’m a goner. But of course it will eventually become clear that I’m a very permissive reader, the kind of person who invites that perverted, pees-in-the-sink friend to the party when everyone else has the good sense not to. He tells a good joke, who cares! That’s why Ms. Vye does the criticism around here.

Emma Vye—Miss Manners meets Terry Eagleton with a splash of Annie Sprinkle. She invites your kudos and objections but only if they are grammatically correct (I’m advised she scored 100% on the Eats, Shoots & Leaves punctuation quiz). All submissions will be considered fodder and therefore publishable.

Email Ms. Vye.

posted by Charlotte at 1:30 AM | permalink | email it |0 comments

October 7, 2004

Emma Vye on Natasha: Better than porridge?

Don't you just love Dasani? It's like cold, natural spring water, only it's been triple-filtered, demineralized, remineralized, bottled and branded, so you can hydrate yourself in perfect peace of mind. It's water, only... more so.

The curmudgeon may protest that this is a lot of trouble to go to just for a drink of water. The same party-pooper may be inclined to point out that you can experience cold, natural spring water by standing in a downpour with your mouth open. As for hydration, that can be accomplished with a twist of the tap. Sure, you're going to ingest a whole lot of squirming little animalculae and non-designer trace chemicals, but life's too short to worry about such trifles, isn't it?

David Bezmozgis' Natasha is the Dasani of modern fiction. It has the crisp, perfected bite of icy bottled coldness. It's reality that's been chilled and distilled to an edge. It's lucid, sensitive writing about people just like you and me, living ordinary lives in a familiar neighborhood. It's life, only more so. And audiences have been guzzling it down.

Ms. Vye's instinctive response to such apparent voracity for reality on the part of the reading public was awe and marvel. After spending a full day exposed to reality, working with people just like you and me, she is content to treat her delicate constitution to a cold compress, a peach daiquiri and a Celexa. She is certainly never tempted to reach for a novel offering more of the same.

Natasha, of course, isn't reality, any more than Dasani is spring water. It's realism, that is, the aesthetic impression of reality without any of reality's vulgar theatrics. And the only people who have ever clamored for realism have been those fortunate few who are able to avoid reality, just as Dasani caters not to those who are thirsty but to those who can afford not to drink out of the tap.

Your friend Ms. Vye would like to propound the hypothesis that books like Natasha are for these privileged few, for whom merely living doesn't already provide an overdose of reality. Unfortunately for the rest of us, these privileged few have their loafers firmly on the neck of modern literature. Realism has become the definitive genre, the white-toothed, Model-UN prom queen, and more imaginative fiction gets wallflowered.

But do not despair! There's more than one prom in this town. The rest of us -- the poor, the dumb, the ugly, the ill, the depressed, the unlucky, the defective, the unfashionable, the sentimental, the alienated or the just plain geeky -- are hereby invited to gather in this corner, where Ms. Vye will be leading Spin the Bottle and telling you how you too can recover from literary serfdom.

Next time: Literary equivalents of your first vibrator.

posted by Emma Vye at 1:37 PM | permalink | email it |0 comments