Archive for the ‘Biting the Apple’ Category

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Bullwinkle: I’m Okay

Sunday, September 7th, 2008

Wellington Leg: There is no question that the moose has entered the political fray this year. Alaska governor Sarah Palin’s former brother in law allegedly shot a moose; the governor has referred to mooseburgers and here in Wellington Leg the Bullmoose Party has nominated local resident Mister Bullwinkle as their candidate for High Sheriff. Bullwinkle is running against the favored Whig candidate in a contest that has become too close for comfort, too close to call, too late the hero, too much for the average voter to absorb. One thing is clear: there is a moose in the house and he’s not happy with the media. “The vast majority or moose go about their business of chewing vegetation without rancor or incident.”

Russian Spy Ring: Bullwinkle rose to prominence after foiling a Russian plot to grow tundra and build tractor factories not far from Wellington Leg’s sleepy outer suburbs. Bullwinkle recalled the incident in his memoir: “We saw the Russians trying to push an elm tree across the road,” Bullwinkle wrote. “They were carrying Insta-Tundra and diagrams of Tractor Factory Number Nine. We charged…they ran…some of the diagrams were trampled underfoot.”

Wearing the Powdered Wig: if elected Mister Bullwinkle will assume the mantle of authority and don the powdered wig. “The Whigs have mocked the wig. The people of Wellingon Leg expect their officials to look the part and the BullMoose Party understands that.” This comes on the heels of rumors that Bullwinkle ate the keys to the city. Pundits feel it is crucial Mister Bullwinkle confront the media and repudiate the rumor. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Bullwinkle is referring to the Bridge to Nowhere a scandal involving photographs of lakes and rivers without bridges. He has released aerial photos of Gastropod Alley before and after no bridge was built. One damaging photo depicts the earl trying on powdered wigs aboard his battle dinghy Forthright. “We see bridge designers lurking in the background,” Bullwinkle claims. A pile of rocks on the shore may be the footings needed for a monstrous bridge.

City officials blame Russian spies. “If the Russians can build bridges to nowhere then we’re all in trouble.”

T. Rex Love-Handles reporting.

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He Doesn’t Have to Love the Dog

Monday, September 1st, 2008

Wellington Leg: The school year resumes tomorrow so in honor of those kids staring glumly out the window we turn away from summertime pursuits be it control of vital natural resources or politicking for a glimpse at the rugged curriculum facing crime fiction writers this fall. Autumn remains the golden months for publication although this year presents some extra difficulties for writers.

If McCain Wins: A Republican victory in November will introduce subtle layers of ambiguity into crime fiction. Famous writers are expected to be invited to the White House for Fight With the President Day. If McCain strikes quickly and KOs literary big wigs early I predict that Fight With the President Day will be a flop and fail to provide the kind of marketing push that Fight With the Emperor Day once promised. Similarly Fish With the Vice President Day will lack drama because VP Palin is from Alaska. She knows fish. You don’t.

If Obama Wins: Before meeting with Obama writers will have to tackle the essay He Doesn’t Have to Love The Dog. This is tricky ground because let’s say you’re a writer headed for the White House. You were geared up for a fight but now you have to write an essay. I don’t know about you but I hate writing essays based on a preassigned theme like “trees” or “Russian poets.” And if he does love the dog this same writer will be tempted to go the other direction into uncharted character development or some tepid middle ground: I like the dog but not that much.

You Love the Dog: This is the correct answer, the one the Obama Adminstration will base the seating chart on. So, my short term advice to crime writers is this: start training now for either eventuality. Hit the heavy bag in case John wins, try a little surf casting work on those contrarian impulses in character development. Seek out canines of all varieties without alarming their owners ( I’m a famous writer. I have to go a White House dinner. I like your dog. No, wait, I love your dog.)

Don’t even think about going off topic. You could end up in the nosebleed section on the big night far from the madding crowd.

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More of What You’re Looking For

Wednesday, August 27th, 2008

Wellington Leg: A quick scan of searches that lead to this blog have been made into a report, neatly typed and sent upstairs where management remains in a constant huddle fretting about what you want, dear reader. Sometimes the aura of consternation becomes a miasma…sometimes just a mist. Of course the beauty of giving you what you want is offset by the realization that we gave you what you wanted or Google wouldn’t have led you here in the first place. So, in a sense, you’re searching for something you’ve already found and I’m writing a report to say that having found the thing you were searching for, you’ve returned to find it again.

A few years ago there were several references on this blog to lederhosen. What this has to do with literature is beyond me but in fact remains that I brought it up, you searched for it and were brought here in the hopes of learning more about lederhosen, who wears it, perhaps wondering if you should wear it or associate with people who do. Well, the truth is the blog posts referred to a Lederhosen Ban here in Wellington Leg. The Internet is not capable of judging whether a blog is for or against lederhosen only that it was discussed. If you’re looking for Lederhosen Facts you’ve come to the wrong place. Maybe I should have stated that right up front.

We are complicit in the Lederhosen misunderstanding and do apologize. While management is content with this explanation I fear that by mentioning Lederhosen again the entire cycle will repeat and with bandwidth expansion occurring at an exponential rate this topic is forever enshrined as a footnote or codicil to literary blogging a rude testimony to the drawbacks of ordinary citizens expressing themselves.

Let that be the final word about you know what. I don’t want to mention it again for fear of setting off some sort of algorithmic data implosion down at the robot farm. They’re plenty busy down there as it is. I think we humans have a greater responsibility not to torture the robots or exploit their inability to distinguish between a casual reference and a work of Lederhosen scholarship.

TTFN, The Management.

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Literary Award Snafu

Sunday, August 24th, 2008

Wellington Leg: The Literary Faire suffered an embarrassment this weekend after judges awarded the coveted Narrative Nonfiction Award to the Earl of Watership Down for his submission of a 1984 Volvo owner’s manual. “We thought the extended warranty section was both poetic and quixotic,” said Judge Hamilcar Barca a retired Carthaginian general. “I was moved by the drivetrain description,” he added. None of the other judges granted an interview citing Russian tanks as the principle obstacle to serious discussion.

Coveted Statuette: The Smythe Trophy for Narrative Nonfiction stands a remarkable eleven feet tall and is sheathed in genuine Durabubble a miracle product similar in texture to an electric eel. A small percentage of the population experience an electrical shock when touching the Smythe Trophy thus the Committee is urging passersby to avoid grabbing the Smythe or urging others to do so. Regular readers may recall that the statuette vanished under mysterious circumstances after a Viking raid several years ago. The charred remains of a Viking helmet presented the only clue to the mystery. Portuguese explorers located the Smythe Trophy off the coast of Peru after being shipwrecked on a deserted island.

Prudentia Chalfont-Smythe is the widow of Garrison Smythe for whom the bell tolled during the seventh inning stretch one fateful afternoon. Mr. Smythe succumbed to injuries sustained after he was struck by space debris near the home dugout while signaling to a vendor.  “It remains unclear what my husband wanted from the vendor,” Prudentia said. “The nearest of these service people was a rock dealer.”

Though disgusted with the judges Chalfont-Smythe promises to present the trophy without expressing her simmering resentment at the earl’s victory. “One can hardly believe that an Owners Manual however well written is worthy of the Smythe,” she said. Her supporters threaten a demonstration during the award ceremony to be held during the middle of the night at the Dunkin Donuts on Great Chesterfield Street.

Indentured Servant Urquhart Depew reporting.

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Fannie and Freddy: Frannie and Zooey

Thursday, July 24th, 2008

Wellington Leg: A bailout plan for Fannie and Freddie has been expanded to include Frannie and Zooey according to unnamed sources far removed from the matter. Billions of “silly dollars” instruments that resemble real dollars are to be funneled through the Z Window to assist fictional duos whose fame may have withered over time. This is not going to cost the American taxpayer a penny because silly dollars are issued in lieu of real currency. “Eventually the silly dollars will be gathered or harvested and placed in grain silos where they will gradually decay,” said Treasury Undersecretary Lars Lander. “in exchange holders will receive colorful documents with stamps and filigrees and swirly things.”

Good Deal: Though popular with students of literature Frannie and Zooey are not backed by the full faith and credit of the United States. Under new omnibus legislation literary couples may be eligible for federally mandated programs such as Oeuvre Rehabilitation. Originally designed to enhance the performance of chickens many close to the legislation feel that chickens have enough on their minds. “The stress of being a chicken or being a writer is compounded by Oeuvre production quotas imposed by the marketplace,” Mr. Lander said. “We now have the means to permit these creatures a margin of error should the unthinkable happen.”

Lars Lander is no relation to Mars Lander, Mr. Lander added.

Harold and Maude? The federal intervention is not specific to the film industry although no exclusion exists to prevent a similar program for Hollywood. A Starsky and Hutch Proviso is stalled in conference and may not be enacted before the August Recess.

A Chicken in Every Plot? Technically only books that feature chickens are eligible for the Fannie and Freddy subsidy. “I think a character could eat chicken if it makes sense to the story,” Mr. Landers noted. The legislative anomaly may lead to a groundswell of chicken protagonists similar to the Giant Squid Situation a few years back.

T. Rex Love-Handles reporting for Wellington Leg Legislative Spotlight.

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Hair Oil Futures Spike

Friday, July 11th, 2008

Piltdown Exchange: A sharp rise in Hair oil futures caught traders flatfooted as the monthly inventory report showed a dip in supplies. Trading curbs imposed at noon prevented a blow off in the vital commodity as circuit breakers blew. Rumors that Daniel Baldwin had a buzz cut curtailed some of the panic although the possibility of a remake of WALL STREET drove the price per barrel of West Texas Intermediate Hair Gel to an all time high.

Light Sweet Crude: With his hair slicked back a young man may pursue numerous careers especially those requiring an aura of ruthlessness. Nowhere is this more evident than on the trading floor where those with limp dry hair are pushed to the rear of the crowd helpless to prevent financial ruin.

Speculators Blamed: Professor Moriarity has studied the markets for years and believes that speculators are manipulating supply. Hair Oil Reserves represent a stockpile of the strategic stuff stored in tank farms in the Mojave Desert. “During the 1980s the reserves were low as demand crested,” Moriarity said. Supplies rebounded in the ’90s but now emerging nations are net importers of the precious pomade. “Indian and Chinese men want to look ruthless too,” he said.

Refining Margins Squeezed: Having survived the writer’s strike, Hollywood faces a new threat: actors with crummy hair. Villains on the Lifetime Channel alone require 400,000 barrels of hair oil a level of demand now exceeded by Bollywood. Some have proposed drilling in the Santa Barbara Channel while others see the La Brea Tarpits as a short term solution. Actors could be dipped in the Tar Pits semi-annually for hair maintenance.

Hybrid Hair? Professor Moriarty may have an ingenious solution. After studying Baywatch reruns he realized that water may be a substitute for Hair Oil. “When I saw Pammy on the beach I saw hair oil independence,” he said. The professor demonstrated by pouring a bottle of Evian water onto the head of volunteer Alfredo Garcia. Alfredo’s hair glistened for eleven minutes before evaporation took its toll.

Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia: the professor will repeat his experiment near the New York Commodities Exchange after the market closes.

T. Rex Love-Handles reporting.

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Our Hero

Sunday, July 6th, 2008

Wellington Leg: Even the electronic version of the New York Times lands harder than its rivals with all the implied gravitas of a message from headquarters. All the news that is fit to print is a better slogan than most. Being book people we look to the Arts section for enlightenment and there it is a lengthy review of a novel written by James Frey called BRIGHT SHINY MORNING that the reviewer, Walter Kirn, didn’t like very much. Mr. Kirn dissects the work in the context of Frey’s now famous memoir, the one with how ever many little pieces it takes to create a bestseller.

Say what you will about James Frey, he is a successful writer in that he makes money, his works are trashed in all the right places, his prose secondary to this punishing celebrity he maintains through one ordeal after another. I don’t know if BRIGHT SHINY MORNING is the most important book reviewed on Fourth of July Weekend but James Frey is our most important writer. His is the face of our industry, he is the keeper of our dreams. If we had our own literary Rushmore we would sculpt his visage from rock.

He stands alone: Frey has suffered for us all. The royal bollocking from Oprah was a Moliere Moment when the artist faced certain death from an angry imperium, beheading, or quartering, or, worse yet, exile to a remote island. Of course he was exiled to Manhattan sheltered only by a storm of money in his disgrace. What would he do?

Man and Metaphor: I know you think I’m kidding when I say James Frey is our most important writer, but I’m not, and I’m not excluding proud subgroups like historians, biographers, citizen journalists, pundits, bandits, Pre-Agathaites, ruralists, urbanites, members of the Commonwealth. Frey is so much the hero of current publishing that he is the very thing we all aspire to when we seek to have our words published in print.

If you have the desire to understand publishing as a business, to look beyond the academic cringing at his output, study James Frey. Future generations may not. We have to, we don’t have the luxury of perpetual confusion. Let’s face it we want all to be Frey, or Freyed, or Freyesque. And, when summoned before the queen, we will kneel and be dubbed Sir James or be banished to the penal colony Trump Tower.

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Politicos Eye the Leg

Monday, June 30th, 2008

Succotash House: Analysts are becoming convinced that the Bailiwick of Legg may be a swing district in this year’s presidential election. That means that major figures in the US political landscape are paying close attention: Ice Cream Magnate James Carvel was in town yesterday for the Gastropods fourteenth consecutive loss. He carried with him several candid remarks delivered in an exclusive off the record scoop to the Druidical & Literary.

Senator John McCain on Wellington Leg: “I haven’t been there. They tell me it’s nice.”

John, those are Joe Walsh lyrics. “Well, I’d like to meet the Forty Third Earl. He’s a battlefield giant.”

Senator Barack Obama was more sanguine: “You look at a town like Wellington Leg and think is the glass half full? I think the glass is half full, and I know that the citizens out there think so too. They’ve had enough of feudal lords and crazy edicts that really don’t spur economic growth. We’re gonna change all that. And that baseball team? They’re gonna win the pennant.”

President George Walker Bush: “I’ve never heard of Wellington Leg. That’s intentional because the information that I receive is vetted first. If all sorts of facts and stuff hit my desk I wouldn’t be able to run this country. So, bottom line, I’ve already forgotten this conversation.”

William Jefferson Clinton: “I love the people of Wellington Leg. I love ‘em to pieces and do you know why? I’m just like them. They’re just like me. I’ve been to Eddie’s Book Nook a million times and I’ll come back anytime. Sign books. Cry a little. And, hey, balance the budget.”

Nancy Pelosi: “This House is about pocketbook issues, gas, food, opera tickets. I would love to visit Wellington Leg but have no plans to do so because the Republicans have parked my car in and I can’t get out. Where’s my cab? This is gridlock.”

The Dowager Princess:  “They can come here, kiss my ring, but unless the Tigers win the pennant I’m not supporting anybody. Belly up, you guys, make it happen.”

T. Rex Love-Handles reporting.

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The Tuffington Post: My Ice Cream is Melting

Thursday, June 26th, 2008

Wellington Leg: The relentless news cycle suffered a curious interruption late yesterday: nothing happened. Oh sure, the Literary Faire Committee held a parade in honor of Prudentia’s victory last year. Members of the Towne Council stood on the reviewing stand wearing uniforms bedecked with medals and ribbons saluting as formations of writers straggled by.  Pretty boring until Brenda’s flyover. Wow, that MIG is fast! Hizzoner hit the deck when he saw her coming, but the damage was minimal. Good thing because all the mayor’s horses and some of his men are on summer holiday. It took months to reassemble Hizzoner at who knows what cost to out strained budget.

I didn’t believe in global warming but now I do! During the Writer Review I ducked into Eddie’s Book Nook for an ice cream cone. Eddie has a cool statue of Eugene O’Neill and fourteen flavors of ice cream. Anyway my ice cream melted! I’m like, dude, this is science in action. Eddie has a strict return policy: he wouldn’t refund my money. Now I’m a victim of Global Warming.

The writer parade would be more fun if they had tanks and stuff. Some of the writers were panhandling during the Inaugural Address which is really not cool. The first runner up won a Smythe Oven with two extra slots so you can make four pieces of toast instead of two. I’m so jealous! With a four slot oven I could make two days worth of toast all at once and be that far ahead of the game the next day.

By the way a lot of you complained about my use of personal pronouns in the last Tuffington Post. Thanks for the heads-up. I hope I don’t review any movies like THEM anytime soon! Or write for US. After a week of being a reporter I think it’s time to get a paying gig.

Wish me luck!

Tuffy Tuffington.

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Call Him a Plutocrat, But He’s not from Pluto

Friday, June 6th, 2008

Wellington Leg: Every fourth Friday or so the imaginary staff of the Druidical & Literary assemble for a round up of sorts. We bash through the literary news of world, collate it, aggregate it, and, of course, distort it or modify it so that regular readers, many of whom are not human, may have the opportunity to enjoy a bit of respite before examining the outer limits of cyberspace as is their wont and custom. Frankly my hat is off to the googlebots and web crawlers: you may be robots but you keep coming back for more.

I know that the human readers among you often wonder what this blog is about. No less a body than the American Drycleaners Association once claimed this blog as one of their own. The truth is rather tawdry: it is simply the blog of an author who, tiring of serious work, knocks out the most ridiculous things he can think of in an effort to return to his serious work. It works for me, it works for many in the former eastern bloc and Warsaw Pact nations although I do wonder why. I console myself with the thought that this is an audience who doesn’t understand a word I say. Sometimes I feel bad that somewhere in Silicon Valley inanimate creatures are archiving my posts storing them in great server farms keeping them cool in the summer dry in the winter and probably drawing us that much closer to peak oil impending chaos whirring and chirping in robotic harmony. Of course if a great meteor strikes the earth wiping us all out we will have a record for future generations to ponder after they go through the usual dinosaur cave dwelling phase to discover The Server Farm.

This blog is much like the Volkswagen Woody Allen discovers in Sleeper. Centuries from now it may serve as a template for a new civilization, a kind of feudalistic  blend of myth and legend, confusion, rebellion, chaos, and a few laughs. It will stay cool in the summer, dry in the winter and will please our great leader, Dr. Pepper.

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