Damnsle Inthis-Dress

poety, rants, and self-loathing self-acceptance...what could be more fun difficult annoying ridiculous outrageous?

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Location: NW OH

Je pense, donc je doute. Je suis. Je pense.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Oh, how busy we all are...

I just realized how few posts I've done in the past month. It makes me wonder: why do I like writing best when I'm drinking? Is it (excuse the hubris) Hemmingway-ish or is it just lush-y-ish? In any case, my not-been-writing has coincided with my not-been-drinking. I'll leave it up to you to decipher the meaning behind it. I'm like religion like that: Do me as you will.

Anyway, I also just noticed that it wasn't long after I posted my one and only book recommendation that said book was then discredited by The Smoking Gun, torn apart in the media, and made Oprah to look the right fool. I had no idea of the power I weld wield weiled had.

By the way, there's nothing better than a Funky Lama Tempranillo to brighten up an otherwise blah Thursday evening. Good enough to drink without needing to be drunk already, cheap enough to drink the entire bottle alone. Repeatedly. Only, you know, not the same bottle repeatedly. Multiple bottles.

As I was saying, James Frey got spanked by Oprah (thank god I never actually got around to buying the book - how foolish would I feel then), Oprah got spanked (privately, I presume, and in a respectful manner) by the press, and the publisher got spanked by all the media attention that is keeping the damn book on the bestseller lists. Moral: everyone must get spanked to keep the dough rollin' in. I am so now going to write my memoir about how I was in the live audience today and how it changed my life and how I now so totally respect the truth and all it means. Except for the part of where, well, everything – the whole damn memoir – happened, it will be completely true.

Ok, enough people have taken potshots at the guy, so now I feel that I must say that he did show balls in showing up to admit he lied. Of course, if I had a few million dollars worth of book contracts and advances already in the bank, I wouldn’t mind doing the extra Oprah (A.K.A. Most Powerful /Watched /Worshiped /Copied/ Respected /Envied /Shares-A-Birthday-With-My-Sister-So-She-Should-Be-My-Best-Friend) spot to do more subversive pushing of my book. Cuz no one really meant to make the book seem even more intriguing and readable, did they? Huh? Did they? What? WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT WAS ALL A MARKETING PLOY TO SELL MORE VOLUMES? I feel so used. I must now go take a scalding shower and eat a tube of toothpaste. I will speak more tomorrow if I can peel my face from my pillow after the dried tears have welded the two together during the night.

Well, you know, if I don't have anything better going on.


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