Friday, July 25, 2003
I did work yesterday, trying to make up for all the time I squandered worrying about the frelling silly PW review, but I didn't get back to Chapter Six. I didn't really think that I would. But I will today. I promise.
Yesterday was devoted to two interviews, contracts that needed to be signed and returned to England, updates on the website, and the mountain of editing that has to be done on the "extra" material for the lettered edition of Low Red Moon. It was actually nice to have a lot of that sort of work piled up, needing my attention, because that was about the only sort of attention I had yesterday.
I love spam. I'm beginning to suspect it holds some great cosmic secret, if only we could assemble the innumerable quanta and see the profundity of the whole. For example, yesterday I received a piece with the following subject line: "Ladies, want a big penis?" There's so much to ponder here. Is this just another ad for a Viagra knock-off, or is it a query on the sublimated transsexuality that haunts so much of our culture? Is it about strap-ons, or size preference, or both? Is it really a question, or a statement with a cleverly misappropriated question mark? Oh sure, I could open it and find out what it says, but you gotta remember Shroedinger's cat, right? Perhaps each of these states - each interpretation of the question - is implied by the question, "Ladies, want a big penis?" Perhaps, each of them is equally true and not true, until I read the e-mail. My poor noggin. Why must people continually vex me so with these terrible existential dilemmas! "Ladies, want a big penis?" indeed! I can see through your little games.
And speaking of strap-ons, if you aren't already reading Tristan Crane and Ted Naifeh's How Loathsome, you are to start today. It's one of the few "must-read" comics being published. A new ish came out on Wednesday. Rush out and buy it. Delicious, hilarious stuff. Sexy, fab art. Gritty realism. Do yourself a favor. It's cheaper than a date and you won't even need a condom.
And speaking of dicks, I'm not going to waste a lot a breath and adrenaline on the new and tellingly censored report detailing the intelligence breakdowns that led to 9/11. Instead, I will direct you to the following editorial, which says it much better than whatever rant I might be able to pull together at 12:03 p.m. on a Friday afternoon: "Weapons of Mass Redaction". Thanks to Jada for the link.
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