I'm about to take off for an extended weekend in Portland, OR (Powell's Books!), and I don't know that I'll be posting much. But I can't leave without sharing what is arguably the greatest article I've read in recent memory up on Huffington Post.
I truly believe Jennifer Lopez's greatest contribution to this world will be the way she embraced and flaunted her phat ass. I am dead serious about that and I say it with the utmost admiration and reverence.
And how about this?
Black and Latino people always appreciated a healthy badonk but before J. Lo, white folks weren't trying to get ass implants. Before J. Lo, mainstream media was not giving props to the junk in anyone's trunk. Before J. Lo, there were not Eye Candy chicks making a living off their (faux) asses. Before J. Lo companies were not selling butt pads in one-stop booty shops.
I agree with pretty much everything in the article. I don't know how much talent she has left in the tank, but for her contributions to society per this article I think J-Lo needs to have her . . . face . . . carved into a mountain somewhere.
No, not me. This is a hilarious video that I was hipped to by Christa Faust. Also, if I'm not mistaken, my Houston writer friend Rachel Brady makes a cameo at 1:58 (she of the turquoise shirt in the lower left corner of the screen). Maybe she will drop by to confirm!
Anyway, I don't know if I should laugh or cry watching this.
Jack Rebney is the most famous man you’ve never heard of — an RV salesman whose hilarious, foul-mouthed outbursts circulated underground on VHS tapes in the 90s before turning into a full-blown Internet phenomenon in 2005. Today, the “Winnebago Man” has been seen by more than 20 million people worldwide, and is regarded as one of the first and funniest viral videos. Filmmaker Ben Steinbauer goes in search of Rebney — and finds him living alone on a mountain top, unaware of his fame. WINNEBAGO MAN is a laugh-out-loud look at viral culture and an unexpectedly poignant tale of one man’s response to unintended celebrity.
This video is so classic. For those who haven't seen the original, here it is.
I hope Missoula gets this film. I'm laughing already.
I was bummed to learn a couple days ago that the comic series Unknown Soldier (Vertigo Comics) by Joshua Dysart is going to be discontinued after 25 issues. I have the first two trades ("trade" being essentially a collection of 5 or 6 single issues in graphic novel form) of this series, and at 25 issues I'm guessing there will untimately be four or five. It's disappointing, because in my opinion this is one of the best comics series going right now, and, unfortunately people just aren't buying it. It follows in the wake of another Vertigo title which is also being canceled, Air. I don't know anything about that book, as I don't read it, but what concerns me is some of the speculation that other Vertigo titles that don't sell a ton might also be on the chopping block. Rich Johnston at Bleeding Cool says:
Although never a great seller, Unknown Soldier survived the danger of early culling and seemed to be in process of setting up a series of trade paperbacks for the shelf, settling in for the long run. But then the same could have been said for Air, or indeed the late lamented Exterminators.
So now of course I’m suddenly also fearful for DMZ, Northlanders, Greek Street, Sweet Tooth and Scalped. Who do I need to pray to to keep the likes of these on the books?
What this tells me is that people, in general, don't want unique and original content. One thing all of these books have in common is they are creator-owned, they aren't rehashed stories of 50-70 year old characters like the big sellers typically are (Batman, Spider-Man, etc.). Now Unknown Soldier is based on an existing character, but I would submit that Dysart has updated the premise so drastically that he has pretty much owned the character. So it's unfortunate to see something of such quality just not making it.
Comics certainly aren't the only venue we see this in. How about movies, and the constant rehashing of old television shows and remakes? People grumble with irritation that Hollywood continues to churn this stuff out, but they obviously wouldn't do it if these films didn't make money. Movie studios aren't in the business of giving us what is necessarily "good" art after all; they are in the business of giving us what we are willing to buy. It's why everyone knows about the latest Transformers movie, but who saw The Messenger? People tend to go after what is most heavily marketed to them, then complain when those offerings suck. Those complaints don't stop the endless parade of awful movies at the megaplex, though. The same mentality gets us racks upon racks of mediocre Spider-Man/Batman/Avengers titles at the comics shop. One good book for each of those characters would be fine, but four or five or more of each?
People are afraid to take risks with unknown material, when the reality is that often original material crushes the "safe" options hands-down. Not only that, but the creators themselves do their best work when unfettered by the rules governing established characters. For example, I always talk about Jason Aaron, whose creator-owned project, Scalped, is also a Vertigo title. I just read the 6th trade, Scalped - The Gnawing, and was not at all disappointed. For my money, this is the best title in comics. Think of a cross between The Wire and Deadwood, and you wouldn't be far off the mark. Set on an Indian reservation that is basically a made-up version of Pine Ridge in South Dakota, this title kicks me in the guts every time. Every character is flawed, sometimes the good guys and the bad guys trade places, and nothing feels safe. It's probably not for everybody because of its violence and pathos, but it is built on fantastic writing and art perfect for the story. Anyone who ever asks me about comics hears about Scalped.
Jason Aaron is a good writer working on other titles as well. He's got a run going in Punisher MAX right now, plus some Spider-Man and Wolverine work. He did a run on Ghost Rider. None of his work on existing characters, at least that I've read, comes close to what he's done with Scalped. Not even close to close. I would say that about other writers as well. I love what Ed Brubaker has done with Captain America, but his series Criminal destroys it. Rick Remender is another guy whose creator-owned projects Fear Agent and The Last Days of American Crime run roughshod over the work he's done under Marvel's banner (though his bizarre take on The Punisher as a kind of Frankenstein monster comes real close). Jimmy Palmiotti always has creator-owned stuff happening; having hit home runs with The Pro, Back to Brooklyn, and Random Acts of Violence, he and writing parther Justin Gray will be delivering another project called Time Bomb yet this year. And Greg Rucka (who has quite a history of awesome creator-owned stuff, like Queen and Country and Whiteout) is absolutely killing it right now with Stumptown, a gritty PI story set in Portland, Oregon.
These projects are all labors of love, and I can't imagine there being a lot of money in them. They don't have the weight of decades of familiarity behind them to lean on. In a Batman arc, if things aren't going well DC can just fire the creative team and reload with different talent. In a creator-owned book being released by a larger company, it just gets dropped. Then there are the uphill battles fought by people going DIY, which is the case with Anthony Schiavino's Sergeant Zero. What's he's done with his creator-owned story is at least as good as what's coming out of the bigger houses, and far better than most. But will people actually give it a shot, or go get the latest new #1 of some sprawling Justice League-related title?
In a perfect world, these writers and creators could make their living with their creator-owned stuff, but that just doesn't happen. If notoriety from known characters helps them sell more creator-owned stuff, then more power to them and I wish them luck. Often it is their initial creator stuff that breaks them through, though, and earns them a steadier paycheck writing established characters for the bigger comics publishers. When it comes to novels, I think many writers have a smug disdain for those who write media tie-ins. I've only read one; Christa Faust's novelization of Snakes on a Plane. Yes, the book was way better than the movie. Certainly Faust had her hands tied with much of how the events of the book would play out, but she still injected her personality into it. While it was no Money Shot or Hoodtown, it was still fun. Max Allan Collins did the novelization of the GI Joe movie, and curiosity will probably demand I read it. He's no stranger to shared world stuff, having co-written a couple posthumous Mickey Spillane novels as well. James Reasoner has written over 200 books, some under "shared names" where various authors will write under a single author's name (a practice going way back to the pulp days, and other series like Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys). Hell, big-selling James Patterson pretty much does that now too.
I'd love to get in on this action. I'd do a tie-in in a heartbeat. I'd love to write a Gabriel Hunt novel. I'd do it because a) it's work, b) I'd like to think it would help gain some attention for my "own" novels, and c) it probably pays better than a typical book. I would guess Max Allan Collins sold more copies of the GI Joe book than he did his last Hard Case Crime book, but I could be wrong. Generally, though, I believe that is the case.
I wish that wasn't the way of these industries, and I wish more people would take chances on the unknown. I wish the long list of writers who can write circles around Lee Child would get some of his readers so that they weren't scraping by hoping to earn out enough to get another book published. Hell, most of the books I want to buy aren't even on the shelf in the big chains. I wish there wasn't such an emphasis on established characters that were in comic books when my dad was a kid. I wish movie studios didn't throw all their money at the dumbed-down and rehashed and gave some love to movies that actually don't suck. And I wish a reasonable fraction of the fans dropping fistfuls of cash on Iron Maiden football jerseys would instead spend it on a couple Slough Feg records, for crissakes!
But, you know, "if wishes were fishes" and all that. At least mine aren't chock full of mercury.
I finally had my opportunity to read Random Acts of Violence, the new graphic novel written by Jimmy Palmiotti and Justin Gray, with art by Giancarlo Caracuzzo, Paul Mounts and Bill Tortolini. This is a creator owned project that I know means a lot to these guys, so if you have any interest in horror, or comics in general, I urge you to pick it up. This little book surprised me, and left me more than a little disturbed.
In a nutshell, the story is about two friends, Ezra and Todd, who create and release their own horror comic, called Slasherman. It is a huge success, and before long is selling out multiple printings. The two guys go out on the road in support of the book, and soon come face-to-face with issues that many "real world" horror and thriller creators deal with all the time. Is all this violence necessary? Are these creators mysoginists because the killer in their book focuses on women? Does this kind of violence inspire people to do the terrible things depicted in the work of fiction?
As Ezra and Todd proceed on their tour, bodies start piling up. Indeed their comic has inspired a real world Slasherman who is committing gruesome murders, and how this all resolves itself is the crux of this comic's narrative arc. It is really very well done as not only a horror book, but also a social commentary via the book-within-a-book.
The whole issue of life imitating art used to be pretty cut and dried to me. When I was younger, many of my musical heroes -- Judas Priest, Ozzy Osbourne, KISS -- were being persecuted not only in the court of public opinion but also in actual courts of law on charges anywhere from being inspiration for kids to engage in obscene acts, to actual lawsuits charging them with responsibility for suicides. Then there was Columbine, and the Marilyn Manson connection. The West Memphis Three. None of the artists were ever convicted, and like my friends I thought it was ridiculous. Books, movies, music, whatever: my feeling was none of these things could make someone do something they wouldn't find a reason to do anyway, because they were obviously messed up to begin with.
Now I'm not so sure.
A couple years ago John H. Richardson wrote an essay for Paste magazine called "My History of Violence: A rumination on art, death, truth, hubris and the unsexy call for media accountability" that hit me right in the gut. I saved it, and have intended to write about it ever since. You can check it out HERE. Given that Paste no longer exists, that link is to an archive location in Google. I printed it to PDF as well, which you can download HERE if you are interested.
Richardson wrote of many of the things that started to work their way into my thought processes around the time I became a parent. Coincidentally, that is also when he started questioning his own ideas about violence in media. He makes some good arguments, and shows examples of situations where media definitely has influenced people to do ridiculously stupid things. Yes, they had to be stupid in the first place, but it seems to me it is naive and dangerous to assume copycats don't happen. I feel the whole issue is one of many elephants in the room that we just don't talk about in this country, at least not in honest ways.
For me, the biggest issue was music. No matter what I said about drugs and alcohol to my son as he entered his teens, it was my word against thousands of songs extolling the fun and virtues of partying and getting high, and that is a tough battle for any parent to fight, regardless of how committed they are. And that is the argument most people make, that it is about the parents and how they raise their kids. Unfortunately, there are multiple billion dollar industries squared off against Mom and Dad, and it really ain't a fair fight right out of the gate.
A recent movie that caught more heat than it was really worth is called Kick-Ass, based on the graphic novel by Mark Millar. Roger Ebert called it "morally reprehensible," mainly due to its depiction of youth violence and profanity. I don't know if I'd go that far, I just thought it was a pretty lame movie. The violence was stylized and fairly unrealistic, and the kids talked about how pretty much every kid I've ever heard talks (though the main focus of Ebert's ire, the young female assassin Hit Girl, had a filthy mouth that seemed there just for shock value; we were supposed to believe she'd been raised in a very sheltered environment by a father who, despite raising her to be a killer, used about as much profanity as Mr. Rogers). I never read the graphic novel, and the movie certainly didn't make me want to either.
I think Millar was trying to make a couple points in his story, though. One scene, where Hit Girl is mowing down a bunch of tough mob guys, she is wearing night vision glasses. The scene onscreen looks just like those ads I've seen for kill-everyone-in-sight video games. Frankly, I do find those things disturbing, especially games where as a player you are supposed to commit crimes and murders to advance yourself in the game. Would I censor them? Probably not, but it does beg the tired question: just because we can make those games, does it mean we should?
As a comics reader, it's getting overwhelming at just how much violence is being depicted. For example, in order to show how "evil" a guy is in a comic book, does that villain really need to throw a baby out an nth story window, as Millar had the Red Skull do in a recent Ultimates comic book? Personally, I don't think so. But maybe that's just me. I think that's too easy. It's like comedians making relationships jokes. It's low fruit. It isn't challenging because it's simple to shock someone with such gratuitous carnage. But the subtle dread . . . now that takes real craft.
Some of these musings may seem strange, seeing as how I'm often raving about books and movies and characters and comics that are inherently violent. I've never been much of a horror fan, at least as it relates to things like "slasher movies." Never got into the Halloween/Friday the 13th/Nightmare on Elm Street franchises. Haven't seen, or had any interest in seeing, the new wave of movies like Hostel or the Saw series. Not a big fan of all the zombie movies, though I did see, and really enjoy, Shaun of the Dead and Zombieland. I liked 30 Days of Night. I thought Drag Me to Hell was a blast. But even in movies I love; Tarantino flicks like Pulp Fiction or Inglorious Basterds, I'm usually hiding my eyes in the violent spots. I'm just not into it. I don't need to see limbs hacked off or all the blood and guts.
I don't care for a lot of that in fiction either. It's one thing to read about a barbarian in a fictitious world carving a path to a throne with his battle axe. It's something else to read exquisitely detailed torture scenes in flash fiction. I'd rather have the violence implied, not blown up on the big screen in all its glory. That's when it is truly powerful to me, and disturbing, rather than just off-putting.
Finally, don't get me started on the overabundance of torture porn directed at women. Or the simple fact that scenes of graphic violence are so much more acceptable to the culture than the naked human form, let alone scenes of sensuality and sex. I can read a Punisher comic with all manner of graphic and horrible violence and guts-shed, but show a couple people graphically fucking over multiple pages and it will probably be pulled from the shelf. It's really pretty twisted where our priorities are, and I find that disturbing. I don't have the answers, but it is certainly something I think more and more about, especially as I work on my own fiction and the places I want to take it. I like dark, adult-oriented stuff, but it's a fine, fine line to walk.
Funny that the questions raised in Random Acts of Violence should have me back digging for the Richardson article again, and putting down these meandering thoughts. Thing is, media empires wouldn't choke us on this stuff if we weren't buying, so we are getting what I guess we deserve. Not that I see Random Acts as part of the problem -- Palmiotti and Gray do a great job of raising the question while also showing us some pretty gruesome shit, and having characters in the book have serious conversations about it. Conversations more of us should be having. The book made me seriously revisit considering the choices I'm making if I really want to walk the walk, and not just stumble, and I appreciate it for that.
I'm curious to know what other people think about the topic. What are your own limits when it comes to the depiction of sex and violence in books, movies, television, etc.? Does it make people do things they maybe wouldn't do, or is that whole argument bullshit? Who will speak for the children?!
Chris Eliopoulos is a guy who makes his living lettering and writing comic books. He's also an excellent cartoonist, and for over two years now he's been doing a web comic called Misery Loves Sherman that I've been on board with for about a year or so. It's great stuff, with a handful of quirky characters that I've come to really enjoy.
For the last month or so, a character named Zort, who is a little alien guy with plans of world domination, has been dealing with his coffee addiction. Considering how many people are coffee addicts, I thought this would be a great time for folks to jump on board. Here is the first strip from back in April that kicked the whole thing off. I urge you to check it out, then subscribe to the thing (which would be free, of course). It'll make you smile, and that ain't no bad thing!
click picture to read!
The story takes us from his problem being identified, the attempted intervention, on into Zort becoming leader of the dreaded Coffee Cult. Funny stuff!
Here's part two of my elegy for a couple of my idols that have unfortunately passed away in the last week.
Ronnie James Dio (July 10, 1942 – May 16, 2010)
Saturday night I was sitting in the Palace Lounge in Missoula, waiting for my kid's band to play. They were playing last, which means they went on late. I was impatient and irritated. The band before them, one which I've seen three times before and have always loathed, played a cover version of Killswitch Engage's cover version of the great Dio classic, "Holy Diver." I hate Killswitch Engage, and their cover is a travesty. So as I was listening, I was thinking to myself that I hope Ronnie never hears the version, as it would likely kill him; I was already aware the man has been battling stomach cancer, but last I heard he was recovering.
I got home after 2 AM and saw that his death had been announced, then retracted as a hoax. By morning, though, it was final. The little man with the huge voice was dead at 67.
I came to Dio via Black Sabbath. My cousin and I went to the theater and saw the animated movie Heavy Metal when it came out in 1981. During this gruesome scene, the music playing behind it kicked my ass, and when I rushed out for the soundtrack I learned it was "The Mob Rules," from Black Sabbath's album of the same name, with Ronnie James Dio on vocals.
In the age-old debate among metalheads as to who is the better singer for the band, I'm a Dio guy all the way. Sure, I can accept the historical significance of the original lineup, and those first four albums in particular are musical classics, but Ozzy Osbourne just doesn't deliver for me like Dio. The man tops my list of greatest rock vocalists ever, and The Mob Rules is my favorite Sabbath album of them all.
I remember one summer in particular, driving around with my boombox beside me blasting a recording I'd made of his The Last in Line album. Arguably, that is my favorite release he did as a solo artist.
The first time I saw him live was on December 30, 1985, in Spokane, WA. My friend Mike and I went and saw him -- it was the tour in support of his third solo record, Sacred Heart. The concert was mindblowing. His D&D-ish imagery and epic songs (there was a friggin' DRAGON onstage, for crissakes!) blew my mind. I was amazed at his ability to deliver the goods live too; so many singers are disappointing live, but not this man. His voice made him larger than life. We went home and played a New Year's Eve show the next night, and all of our music sounded limp and lifeless to me.
I know many people sneer at this stuff, at the whole notion of metal and its imagery. Dio tried to write "literary" songs, and succeeded often enough. But his voice was undeniably epic, with a range and power that others can only dream of. Not only that, but his work in both Rainbow and Black Sabbath, let alone his solo stuff, is timeless to fans of heavy music.
During the drought of the 90s, as it relates to metal anyway, Dio kept writing and recording albums, and touring. Where others gave up he kept on, and while some of his output over those years is spotty he was still delivering the goods. His popularity surged again in the wake of the Heaven & Hell project, which came together after the release of the Black Sabbath -- The Dio Years compilation.
For years the name Black Sabbath was being ground into the dirt, in my opinion, as they would perform in sketchy appearances as part of Ozzy Osbourne's OZZFEST tours. The same songs year after year, delivered by Ozzy's steadily weakening voice and sideshow television bullshit, brought down not only the name of the band but also seemed to tarnish the legacy and reputations of the rest of the band as rock legends. When Heaven & Hell -- essentially the Dio version of Sabbath under a different name so that Sharon Osbourne wouldn't have a conniption -- got together and toured, metal fans rejoiced. The band also recorded an entire album of new material, and it kicks ass. It showed again why this band is so heralded. Behind Dio's rock solid vocals, bandmates Iommi, Appice and Butler were able to show what made them icons in the first place.
I urge anyone to pick up the live album and watch the DVD that came with it with all the behind-the-scenes stuff. Another good option is the documentary Metal -- A Headbanger's Journey, where Dio is featured heavily.
My biggest regret is not driving to see the band. I had a couple opportunities within eight hours drive of me, and never did it. Now it's too late. I'm thankful that I did get to see Dio in his solo band a couple times, and I'm glad the guy went out as a creative influence putting out fantastic music until the very end. He'll be missed.
It has been a tough week for artistic giants that have had profound influences on me, as two have passed away since last Monday. It kind of bums me out, to be honest with you. Since I have a lot to say about both, I'm going to break it into two posts. Here's the first.
Frank Frazetta (February 9, 1928 – May 10, 2010)
I am not a visual artist, but the influence that Frazetta had on me from my earliest years as a reader and fan of the things I love cannot be underestimated. From the San Francisco Chronicle:
Frank Frazetta, an illustrator of comic books, movie posters and paperback book covers, whose visions of muscle-bound men fighting with swords and axes to defend scantily dressed women helped define fantasy heroes like Conan, Tarzan and John Carter of Mars, died Monday in Fort Myers, Fla. He was 82.
The cause was complications from a stroke, said Rob Pistella and Stephen Ferzoco, Frazetta's business managers.
Can't judge a book by its cover? Maybe true . . . but an awesome one sure helps. When I was young and starting to read, Frazetta's art opened an entire new world to me, as it did many others. His cover art got me into books in the first place, and the words, coupled with his imagery, kept me there. He is most remembered for his artwork portraying Robert E. Howard's sword-swinging hero, Conan the Barbarian. In the old days, when Howard's Conan stories were first appearing in magazines and books, these are the types of images that accompanied them.
Frazetta not only took the imagery to a new level, he put it on another planet.
Or this one, which was used for the cover of the first Conan book I ever had.
Even today, I can stare at these images endlessly and feel much of the same awe and wonder I did as a pudgy kid. Frazetta captures the rawness of Howard's world, the dark menace that was an undercurrent of his stories.
Among other things, Frazetta painted images for Edgar Rice Burroughs creations Tarzan and John Carter of Mars.
He was also a fantastic illustrator and cartoonist.
I'm sure my taste in women owes much to his portrayal of the curvier variety, I'm not ashamed to admit!
One of the things about Frank that most blows me away, as revealed in the magnificent documentary Painting with Fire, is that after his first stroke he lost the ability to paint with his right hand. So he learned to do it with his left and just kept right on working.
One of my "life list" goals is to create an opportunity to see some of these paintings, the originals, in person. I can't imagine how awesome they must be in full, living color. In light of all the problems surrounding the estate, even before Frank died, recently being settled, I'm hoping they remain collected in part of a museum.
Frank's death has reverberated through the community of artists and writers that I follow. Comics writer and artist Jimmy Palmiotti wrote a moving piece on Frank's influence, and the day he spent with Frank several years ago, that you can read HERE.
Other artists have created their own tributes to the man who inspired them to pick up the brush, like this one from Francesco Francavilla:
Even today, I judge all artists working the genre in how well their work captures that of the original master, Frank Frazetta, at least in depth and tone. Many try, but few get there. The man will be missed, and I feel fortunate to have been able to grow up having my imagination inspired by such a powerful artistic force.
I've never read Lee Child, though his name comes up often whenever modern crime writing is discussed. I've thought for a while now that I needed to rectify that situation, because so many of the "must reads" that I have encountered (George Pelecanos, Megan Abbott, etc.) have turned out to be all they were hyped to be. His main character, Jack Reacher, star of 13 novels, is described as "a possession-free maverick who travels from place to place and has no permanent address." That sounds like something right up my alley!
I've talked before about wanting to strip down my possessions, live a little closer to mobility, etc. It's tough to do with a house and family and all that, but I definitely try to live a little "less is more" lifestyle. I keep my books culled down to ones I'll either re-read or use as reference, I don't buy many DVDs (maybe 5 a year?), and my CD collection has been massively culled . . . that and I hardly ever buy any music anymore anyway. I've told Julia more than once that if anything ever happened to her, or when she finally gets around to trading me in for a 20-something, switch-hitting male model, that I plan to just throw whatever fits into my truck and disappear into the Great Unknown.
So when I saw a link to this article about Lee Child from the Wall Street Journal, titled "Reacher's Minimalist Roost: Crime writer Lee Child creates a home that his fictional hero might approve of," I was intrigued. A guy as successful as Child choosing to live Thoreau style? Awesome! This I gotta see!
It starts out well enough, where Child talks about having to draw the line at homelessness. I can deal with that. The article continues:
So instead Mr. Child lives in a two-room apartment in the Flatiron district that's architecturally stark, wrapped in white and bereft of rugs, curtains, side tables or accessories. The entire left-hand wall—stretching from the white Corian kitchen counter along the living space and to the windows that open to a small balcony—is a plane of glossy white laminate cabinetry. Inside the cabinets are some 3,000 books, as Mr. Child believes books make a room visually chaotic and that displaying them is pretentious. The books are shelved randomly; Mr. Child said his photographic memory allows him to know exactly where each one sits.
Okay, doesn't sound the kind of minimalist space I'd want, at least aesthetically, but to each his own. 3000 books ain't exactly minimal, and if you ask me hiding them doesn't mean they aren't there, possessions-wise. I also felt a stab of umbrage at his assessment that "displaying them is pretentious." But we'll move on.
We next read about the bare furnishings, a single painting, the view. Next we hear from his friend and fellow author, Alafair Burke.
"Every time I go there I want to come back and clean my apartment," says fellow crime writer Alafair Burke, a friend who lives a few blocks away. She says Mr. Child always laughs at things she has around her house, asking what she needs stuff for.
The article goes on to talk about how much the apartment cost ($1.5 million), how much he's spent to renovate it ($800 grand), etc. We learn about his childhood and that he always had "stuff." Then comes the crack in the whole friggin' facade:
Then there's Mr. Child's other apartment on a lower floor, where he keeps many of his possessions. Smaller in size but similar in layout, this writing office has lots of visible books, New Yorker cartoons, Reacher paraphernalia and a "technology museum" consisting of all his old cellphones and his first laptop. "I need a stimulating environment to write because my books are driven at 100 miles per hour at a time," he explained. "A calm environment is for after I finish work."
Hmm. We hear of how he and his wife handle their different aesthetic ideals.
She currently spends most of her time at their homes in the south of France and Rye, N.Y., which she decorated in more of a country style, he said. "It isn't that we dislike each other's taste. It's that there's nothing compromised this way," he said.
Okay, who exactly does this guy think he's kidding? It's like if I pointed to my back porch and said, "See, there is absolutely nothing in this 'room,' that means I am a minimalist and I laugh at you and all your possessions! Mwuh ha ha ha!" Then I go back to my garage full of music career (ha! on editing, I realized I'd written "career" instead of "gear" here. I'm leaving it, because it' actually an appropriate description of my music life -- stuffed in the garage collecting dust!) and junk, or my living room clogged with bulky furniture and dog hair, feeling all satisfied with myself.
What he has is what amounts to a rich guy's play room (nothing wrong with that, mind you, just call it what it is) that he can set up to appear like he's some kind of stripped-down adventurer ready to throw a go bag in his Land Rover and ride off into the sunset. Please. I can't see how he could participate in this article with a straight face. And if I were Alafair Burke, the next time he goes judgmental on having possessions I'd bust him in the face.
And he says displaying books in your home is pretentious? This cat just redefined the friggin' word.
Shoot the President, are You Mad? (The Outfit, 2010) is the long-awaited fourth book in the Augustus Mandrell series by Frank McAuliffe, and is actually the first full length novel of the bunch. The first three books in the series were essentially collections of novellas detailing the first person adventures of the Englishman Augustus Mandrell; Of All the Bloody Cheek came out in 1965, Rather a Vicious Gentleman in 1968, and For Murder I Charge More in 1971. Shoot the President was written in 1975 but has never seen publication until now. McAuliffe's daughter Liz, who played a large role in getting the book finally published, explains in the Afterword:
"My dad wrote this book in 1975 and sent it off to his publishers, Betty and Ian Ballantine. Even though it had been twelve years since the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, the mutual consensus was that the American people were not fully healed, were not ready to make light of the demise of an individual whom [sic] held possession of the highest office in the land. The manuscript was boxed up and closeted for thirty years."
I haven't read the previous books so I was somewhat unprepared for what was in store. The main character, Augustus Mandrell, is "the founder, president, chief executive, principal employee, and treasurer" of the firm Mandrell Limited. Just what then is Mandrell Limited beyond, as our narrator describes, a "service organization"?
The firm of Mandrell Limited is in the business of insuring that selected individuals move from this life on to the next life not on a schedule arranged by Mother Nature or by mischance, but rather on a schedule dictated by an "interested party" (my customer).
In other words, Augustus Mandrell is an assassin. He is also a master of disguise possessing myriad other talents that come in handy in the most ridiculous of situations.
Not much can be discussed about Shoot the President without spoiling the twists and turns of the plot. It opens with Mandrell dropping an unfortunate Portland, Oregon businessman named Clifford Waxout off a cliff.
Before Clifford Waxout died escaping my arms, he screeched "...bastard...you lousy bastard..." It was a farewell fraught with genealogical inaccuracy, but one of enviable vigor, under the circumstances. (The brisk descent from the picturesque cliff; the sudden, definitive embrace of the rocks....)
Mandrell assumes Waxout's identity for the entire book, and puts into a motion a plan that takes him from Oregon to Washington, DC, where he is to complete his contracted assassination. Along the way he must keep those people who know Waxout from being suspicious even as he sows the seeds of odd behavior for them to report on in recollection, presumably when they are interviewed in the wake of his successful mission. His plans also require the seduction of the virginal opera diva Consuela DiMartino, she who possesses "the most dramatic derriere in opera today," so that he can get close to the president. The president referred to in the title is named only as "Old 76." The Chief Executive has a thing for the number 76; he does 76 push-ups every morning, has 76 suits in his closet, keeps 76 brands of beer in his refrigerator, has 76 presidential advisers, etc. Mandrell's plan to execute his dark deed requires he be one of 76 guests at the opera star's special performance for the president. The only way he can see achieving that is if the opera star is on his arm.
Shoot the President is an interesting read that takes a little getting used to. As a narrator, Mandrell is prone to meandering descriptions and frequent asides that refer to previous adventures (presumably detailed in earlier books in the series) or unrelated topics altogether. His words drip with arrogance, and he has a solution for every possible problem. As the story steamrolls forward, the difficulties that rise up to challenge his efforts become more and more far-fetched, and his successful workarounds increasingly absurd. Still, as farce and satire it works, and is actually quite fun. If it were a movie, it would be a screwball comedy with some darker moments. After all, it is about an assassin, so there are scenes of violence and bloodshed. A couple plot twists keep the outlandish story interesting, right up until the closing lines of the book.
What I found particularly interesting, in light of today's news, is the idea that Waxout is a leading member of an organization called America's Americans. This is a fringe political group criticizing the president for being, among various other crimes, soft on Communism. This affiliation of Waxout's is a large part of the reason he is the man whose identity Mandrell chose to assume, since it makes sense that he could potentially be an assassin, keeping the blame from falling anywhere near the firm of Mandrell Limited. I thought it was amusing how this idea is echoed in today's America.
Shoot the President is anything but a typical "novel about an assassin." It is more comedy than action story, about a character so unbelievably ridiculous that one can't help but cheer for him. I wouldn't necessarily consider myself a fan of comedic novels, but in this case I make an exception. The crazy plot and the circumstances that Mandrell must get himself into and out of make for a charming read, and this is a book whose availability is certainly long overdue.
Friday night was the long, LONG awaited finale to the 4th Annual Project Selvedge Fashion Design Competition held at Selvedge Studio in Missoula. My wife, Julia, along with two other designers, had advanced through 6 challenges to reach the finals. I think there were something like 16 or 17 designers to start out with. The whole thing really began back in February when they received their first challenge, so it's been quite a hectic, stressful year for us so far. But this week, one way or another, it was to come to an end.
The crowd was filling in early, and by the time things kicked off the room was pretty well stuffed with people.
Each designer then paraded their models up and down the makeshift runway. I wasn't in position to shoot them, mainly because of the crowd (and I'm too lame of a photographer to get good "action" pictures anyway), so I didn't even try. I did shoot them once they queued up to be critiqued by the judges. Caryn was first.
Each designer had to name their line, come up with a logo, and describe what they were going for as designers. I'm amazed at the amount of work involved, besides the act of making the clothes themselves. It was a lot of work. I'm not that good at judging these things, but when I saw Caryn's stuff I was really nervous that she could be the winner.
Next up was Candice. She actually made a couple things for guys as well. Here line was really cohesive across the board, I thought.
Then it was Julia's turn. Her models looked great.
Many of the garments Julia designed were reversible, could be worn multiple ways, could be changed from a skirt to a dress, etc. She doesn't know how to make patterns, yet, so everything she did she just pulled out of the air from designs she would draw on paper. She told the judges that not being able to make patterns was the biggest hurdle for her to overcome.
After all the designers had been critiqued, the judges adjourned to deliberate. While that was happening the fashion show continued, with all the previous designs being paraded about the room. I didn't even bother to try and take pictures. I was being approached by waves of people talking about Julia and asking a lot of questions. Frankly, it's all a blur. I was really freakin' nervous. I did take this shot of our friend Kim wearing the corset thing Julia made as part of the first challenge (the fabric wasn't her choice, they had to take fabric given them and try and make something that showed what they are all about as designers).
When the judges returned, they spoke to each designer about what they'd done, told them what they liked, etc.
Aimee from Betty's said Julia's crew looked like a gang.
Then they called just the three designers out. Before announcing the winner, they gave props to others who had helped as sponsors, like Boom Swagger Salon, who had been doing hair and makeup; Noteworthy Paper and Press; Le Petit Outre had been supplying food for each event; and Betty's Divine, of course. Also, Timeless Treasures donated the fancy sewing machine the winner would receive. Cheers to all of them!
Then it was the big moment. Caryn took second runner-up, Candice was first runner-up (and also won award for most improved), and Julia was named the winner! It was all very exciting, I had to suppress a few tears, to be honest, because she had worked so hard and I was happy for her. Yes, the entire contest had turned our household upside down for a couple months, but in the end it was really worth it. It's easy to say at this juncture that it would have been great even if she hadn't won, but I think that, despite disappointment, she would have agreed. Her technical skills improved several times over, and I was quite proud to see all the positive attention lavished on her.
We met a lot of great people over the last couple months, and we both love how many friends came out to cheer Julia on (Toni and Bruce; Angie and Dean; Christine, Carrie and Lisa; Kim; my old rock n' roll friends Kia and Jen; my mom, sister, nephew, 2 aunts and an uncle; the list goes on and I'm probably forgetting people too!). Not to mention new people we'd never met before coming out to see what she would come up with next. Julia was pretty dazed by it.
So yeah, it was difficult and at times frustrating, but also great and turned out fantastic. And we're both very, very glad it's over!
Chris La Tray is a rocker, a writer, and a wannabe adventurer. His nonfiction writing has appeared in the Missoula Independent, Vintage Guitar magazine, and World Explorer magazine. His short fiction has appeared at Beat to a Pulp and the Crimefactory special edition, Kung Fu Factory. It may appear in other places too if he’d just get around to submitting it.
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