I have been posting in a lot of different places the last year. Here are the biggest places you'll find me, other than this blog, in the order I visit them.

Friend or follow me on any/all:

THIS BLOG: Dave Cullen: Conclusive Evidence of My Existence

I've added them all to the left column.

I've been inactive on digg for awhile, so I never had many followers there. I could use a few.

Thanks.

Well it took most of the day, but I copied all the posts I made at my OpenSalon blog this year over to this blog.

This will return to being my main blog. I had some tech problems here. (I started this blog in 2001 or 2002, and I'm still stuck on the dreaded Radio Userland softward. Sometimes, it gives me fits.) 

I only went back through this year, so there are some 2008 posts which you will only find on my OS blog.

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FYI: to easily find this blog, go to my main site (davecullen.com) and click BLOG in the main nav bar.

AUGUST 22, 2009 12:29AM

I just got the nicest facebook msg from Ashley Merryman, who wrote NurtureShock with Po Bronson, who has had a string of bestsellers.

I have been interested in the book for months, but the msg made me watch the book trailer, and now I REALLY want to read it. (It's from my publisher, who promised me an advance copy. I'm chomping at the bit.)

I think I will be flipping straight to the chapter on siblings, after watching that video. I have eight. It's complicated. I don't expect to have kids of my own at this point, but I'm fascinated by them, and still reeling from my own childhood.

I never forgot the words of Tom Robbins, who ended (Still Life With Woodpecker? with the phrase: It's never too late to have a happy childhood. Wise man.)

This book is going to be huge. Their magazine stories leading up to it have won a ton of awards, so I expect it will live up. I hope so.

I also love the simple but appealing cover that communicates a great deal with so little.

I wondered aloud on my blog whether it might be from the same designer as my cover, and he emailed me saying that it was. He has the coolest blog on how he designs each cover. He said he'll be posting about that one very soon. Watch for it. The post on mine is here.

JULY 28, 2009 2:24AM

I guess that's the point. But still. I do not like that feeling.

What made me think I could watch a vampire show?

Oh right, the first season. It was amazing. And very modest does of creepiness. (I never got used to Bill biting Soukie, but she seemed safe, and they didn't linger, so I just gutted through it.)

I have never liked vampire stuff. This was different, though. Mostly. And incredibly done. It was hands down, the best show on TV last year, IMO.

This season, it's been interesting, but sluggish. The last few eps got really intense in the closing minutes. This one had me on edge most of the time, in a good way. Then the end, I shuddered from one scene to the next. Not happily.

This isn't a review, just a reaction. Alan Ball is damn good, but I might just be too much of a weenie for this. And I do not like glazed white eyes on people having sex. That really makes me shudder.

I also broke my rule about watching this show within two hours of bedtime. Damn. Now I'm going to have to stay up awhile. I do not want this shit polluting my dreams. And it will.

I don't know what I was thinking. I watched most of it over late lunch, but only had 15 minutes left, and somehow I scammed myself that it would be all right. And the worse it got, the more I told myself there were only five minutes left, and at least I'd get resolution. Right.

(I guess I'll watch the end of Kathy Griffin's  "Norma Gay" ep. It's the first good ep on that show in awhile.)

Oh, and I do not like that shaker lady.  Yes, I know I'm not supposed to, but I just had to spit the taste of her out of my mouth. (Especially with her luring in Sookie's friend, who is one of my favorites.)

And poor Laffeyette. And damn, Eric, I just started liking him. And trusting him. I do not like where that is headed.

I do like the young hot church lady coming to the good side, maybe, though not the way she ought to. Is it the good side? They got me to side with the vamps the first season, but those are some nasty bastards.

Maybe I should read the books. This lady who wrote them seems quite creative in conjuring up this world. Impressive. But yuck.

I can't stop, now, though. I have to see how this season resolves, and I'll probably be sucked in all the way to the finish. (Can we make her stop writing them?) Maybe the books will be easier. Or worse.

Hmmmmmm.

APRIL 4, 2009 1:17PM

My friend David Yoo just got a rave review in the New York Times for his novel   Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before . (Yes, it's a riff on The Smiths' song.)

Here's a bit of the review:

It wouldn’t seem possible to make high school jocks, popular girls and losers fresh and hilarious, but Yoo does it. His Romeo and Juliet story is a winner . . .  but it’s Albert’s ice-dry telling of his tale of woe that sets it apart.

I just shortened it for length. There is not one negative word in the review.
This book deserves attention. It's classified "young adult" and aimed at the high school to college market, but I think anyone who remembers high school will be laughing all the way through it, and wincing sometimes, too--in a good way. High school isn't easy. David doesn't sugar coat it. But he's got a great eye, with sharp insights.

(Yes, he's my friend. That's why he's my friend.)

The book is told by a Korean high school kid named Albert. He's just about given up on his tragic adolescence, when he falls for stunning Mia Stone. Everything is looking glorious, until Mia's ex Ryan is diagnosed with cancer. Ryan wants Mia back and totally uses the illness to his advantage. The whole town rallies behind him, and Albert is kinda screwed.

It takes off from there.

I knew David had a winning idea as soon as he described it to me. I wanted to read that book. And man, did he come through.

Don't take my word for it. Read the Times, or check out other reviews here.

Or listen to the great Jonathan Lethem:

David Yoo's voice is so witty and charming it only seems fair to give warning: he'll break hearts of teenage readers of all ages with this bittersweet love story.

Then check out the book. You'll be glad you did.

FEBRUARY 19, 2009 2:04AM

How did I miss The Gaslight Anthem this long?

After that wrenching but wonderful experience with "The '59 Sound," I downloaded a bunch of their stuff and it's been glorious. I listen to it at the gym, and nothing pumps me like they do. It makes me smile, too.

 At first, I thought a lot of it sounded too much alike, but oddly, it's gotten better with repeats. They are clever lyricists, they have a ball--check out the video--and most importantly, they mean it.

Somehow, I continued to overlook "Ida Called You Woody, Joe," my new almost-favorite. (Video below. Lyrics and great insights about them here.)

I paid no attention to the clunky title, hit play and they blast right into it, with the singer taken by another song:

I felt my fingertips tingle, and it started to rain
When the walls of my bedroom were tremblin' around me . . .

. . . and then there's this really familiar chord progression and Brian Fallon sings, "

And this was the sound, of the very last gang in town.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. He's listening to Joe Strummer. "Last Gang in Town" was a great Clash song. My favorite group ever. Joe was singer, songwriter, and rhythm guitarist. (I had to look this up, but he loved Woody Guthrie so much he called himself Woody, for awhile--while he was a young pretentious dork, I guess. Hahaha. That didn't last. He was wonderful.)

The next line, how freaking wonderful:

As heard by my wild young heart,
Like directions on a cold, dark night,
Sayin', "Let it out, let it out, let it out, you're doing all right."

Nice. That's how I heard Joe, too. How many punkers write lyrics that tender?

And how cool for the Gaslight guys to still have wild young hearts, but the wisdom, too, already to see that's how they're absorbing it. How do he know?

One of my favorite Clash-kinda images was actually from the other guy, Mick Jones, in his followup band, Big Audio Dynamite:

I`d wish I could`ve seen you
When you could run wild
I would`ve liked to know you
As an innocent child

I think about so many people when I hear that, including Mick himself, and Joe Strummer. I never saw them play together. They never toured the Midwest once I discovered them in 1979. I saw Mick with Big Audio Dynamite, but the show was lame. I don't care. I still love them.

And I love that The Gaslight Anthem wrote this song for Joe, who died in 2002, unexpectedly of an undiagnosed heart ailment.

This part is sweet:

And I carried these songs as a comfort wherever I'd go.
. . . And I never got to tell him, so I just wrote it down.
I wrapped a couple chords around it and I let it come out . . .

Punkers with heart. Just like Joe.

FEBRUARY 11, 2009 11:41AM

Simon Baker has rarely done much chat TV, but he was on Leno Monday night: adorable and endearing, though the guy cannot tell an anecdote.

He told about five, and they all tanked: good start, but they peter out. He can tell a beginning and a middle, but no ending.

Of course neither can Jay, and he does it for a living.

Try his first story in this second half of the interview, after the commercial break (the first clip takes you to the break):

It was great to hear him speak Australian, though.

But he didn't quite seem the sexiest man alive anymore. I like my sexy smart, and snappy. And stunning how much smaller he looked, less commanding presence. I guess the Mentalist team really knows how to shoot him.

But the smile was still great.

So here's the thing:

 I watched The Mentalist last night, and it was hard to concentrate. It didn't seem like the "real" him or something. He seemed kind of smaller--I knew he wasn't really that commanding. Or that he didn't talk that way?

Strange. It's not like I've never seen an actor on a talk show before. Maybe because I've lost interest in him, kinda?  (Just a little. But enough for a big dent.)

Temporary, probably.

I'm not sure.

I still enjoyed the show, though, especially for writing like this:

"Do you have any good clothes?"

"I'm wearing them."

"Ehhhhhh . . ."

Hehehehe. Even better delivery. 

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Sept 7 Update:

I never did regain interest in the show too much after that. I kept expecting to, but they just kept piling up on my tivo. I eventually watched them all, but with nothing approaching my earlier joy.

Some of that was probably coincidence: the novelty of the show wearing off. Some.

Last night was rough. I've been sailing along, ecstatic about the progress of my book, but a few events this week forced me to confront something that's been looming: the brutality in my book. There's some pretty searing stuff in there.

So the past few days, I've been thinking about the parents reading it: parents of the victims and the killers. I wrote someone an email about it last night, after midnight, before I went to bed, and I thought that would help a little, but it tore me up and I was here all alone and needed a hug or something. Or just to say it out loud, because sometimes I can't get to the sadness and let it out unless I say it to someone first. It wells up, but I can't get it to the surface.

I couldn't figure out who was up--most of my best friends are on the east coast, or central, so I texted a few people to see if they were without waking them (what a great invention that is), but nobody was, so I went to sleep.

I woke up numb, which is worse. I know it's still in there, but couldn't feel sad, or anything. That just means it's lying in wait.

And then I turned on Craig Ferguson on the tivo to share breakfast, and I have it set to catch the last four minutes of Letterman to play the musical guest.

I was not hopeful. The album cover, the title and the group name--The Gaslight Anthem singing "The '59 Sound"--all screamed rockabilly. 

I used to enjoy rockabillly, but it's a thin vein and been mined pretty deep. Can't remember the last rockabilly sound that felt fresh.

The singer started wailing on his guitar, and I thought, "Great, a noise-band, shitty garage band. Blech."

But the band kicked in and they hit a rhythm and it was glorious. Their faces were so expressive, but that was nothing compared to their bodies. They really meant it. They were playing for dear life. You could hear it, you could feel it, that's everything. (And only vaguely rockabilly, btw. Kinda punk. Fresh. They made it fresh.)

And the opening lines, which Brian kinda shouted:

Well I wonder which song they’re gonna play when we go
I hope it’s something quiet and minor and peaceful and slow

Minor? Peaceful? Nothing like what was coming out of him. This guy had a heart. And a brain. 

Then he sang about chains, Marley's chain's that he'd been carrying around his whole life. (Apparently the ghost from Dickens' A Christmas Carol, who carried one rung on his chain for each bad thing he'd done.)

There's a car crash, she didn't make it, he wonders if she was scared when the metal the glass, and most of all, he wonders if she heard one last beautiful song:

Did you hear the ’59 sound coming through on Grandmama’s radio?
Did you hear the rattling chains in the hospital walls?
Did you hear the old gospel choir when they came to carry you over?
Did you hear your favorite song one last time?

He sang it exhuberantly. Painful, but joyous. Life is exhilarating. Every brilliant song that revs up your bloodstream and makes you feel alive.

I felt a little guilty enjoying it. Romanticizing death, maybe, doesn't seem appropriate--ever, maybe, but particularly for me right now. But he was romanticizing life, I think, all those joyous moments the victim radiated life. This guy is radiating one on my teevee right now. I'm absorbing it and maybe some will reflect back.

The guilt helped, made me sob. The sadness in the lyric is understated, but it's everywhere, that got them rolling, too. It all boiled up to the surface and spilled out. Thank you. I got it all out, or crap, I guess the first wad of it out. There will be more, but I got the big chunks up. And I got hope with it. I feel alive. And I've got a wonderful new band who feel life and know how to write it and sing it and play it and explode with it to explore and enjoy. Who knows how much I might learn from them. They might comfort me and enliven me for years and years. Maybe they'll unlock nothing. This could be their one good song. It happens, sometimes. But I'll wager against it.

This is the thought that is really healing me right now: Each one of the victims in my book felt moments like this--I'll take that on faith; everybody does sometimes--even a baby, first time she notices her toes and latches onto them, you can see a delerious little smile. They had thousands of these moments, hundreds of thousands. Me too. Hopefully their parents still do, from time to time. I wish them more.

It may piss their parents off to hear me say that--I hope not. I started off worrying about the parents, but maybe it was the kids and the teacher I was hurting for, too. I never met any of the victims. I met a lot of parents, and so freaking many survivors in the school. I got a feeling for them. They were all different, but I got to know them. The victims--I have no way to reach them, to grasp who they were.

I think this song helped. He made me feel closer to the victim of this car crash because he knew her and he makes her real for me in this song.

My little sister Missez Che (that's what we call her) wrote me years ago and asked me to make sure they play Prince's "Sometimes It Snows In April" at her funeral, and to put a baseball in her hands, so that somebody will know how much she loved watching the Cubs. (We've from Chicago.) Wow, some weird paralells in that song. But this line leaps out at me right now: "Always cry 4 love, never cry 4 pain." I always thought that was niave, especially in light of the song, which is SO painful. I don't think he's suggesting we make true very often, just that we're better off when we try.

I asked her to play Rickie Lee Jones' "Company" for mine. I heard it first in 1979 and t's still the sweetest song I've ever heard. Sweetest sentiment: not I loved you madly and I'll miss the passion, she says, "I will miss your company." 

I hope someone misses mine. I hope somebody remembers which song. I better write it down somewhere.

I'm so grateful for pop music--and films, and books and sometimes even TV shows. Painting rarely does it for me, or live theater, opera, sculpture . . . most of classic arts, sorry. I don't feel the passion--or it's a passion I can't internalize. I may be a dimwit, but pop culture speaks to me. The good stuff zaps right through me: I feel what he felt when he wrote it, when they played it like their life depended on it.

It's a gift. How how does it know to arrive just when I need it?

Thank you, The Gaslight Anthem. I've replayed the song at least eight times already--I'm afraid my neighbor below is going to walk up the stairway and complain--and it's not wearing out, not fading a bit.

I'm going to grab a Kleenex and then plug you into itunes, but youtube first, because I want to see more of that torutured smile. (Update: tons of free downloads at their myspace page.) Looking forward to plunging into your backlist. And hoping for many great moments to come.

I think I got over my car robbery so well last week, because I discovered it while calling my parents to deliver some good news. All I could think on the drive to the gym thirty minutes later was, "The lord giveth and the lord taketh." (Feel free to substitute "karma" or "the universe." Works the same.)

He, she, it or they have been giving a lot more than taking for me personally, lately, and even that day. I decided if I had a choice on living the day over again, letting go of either both or neither, I'd take it. Worth a robbery for this email from my editor:

One of the most highly regarded independent booksellers read COLUMBINE and has recommended it as a selection for the IndieNext pick.  Actually, what he's written is more than a recommendation.  I think you'll be pleased.  His note is below.

Every once in a rare while a book arrives to bear witness and such is the case with Columbine.  This definitive account of the Colorado high school tragedy will not only surpass all others, it will endure and take a rightful place on the shelf along side In Cold Blood and The Executioner's Song.

Bill Cusumano, Nicola's Books, Ann Arbor

Nice. From now on, I want everyone to compare me to Truman Capote. Norman Mailer optional. Hehehe.

It was the second blurb in a week comparing my book to In Cold Blood. You can never have too much of that. So please allow me to use this pleasant opportunity to whine about something. I have spent decades in bafflement at authors/artists who complain about comparisons like that. (Pop stars seem most heavily prone.)

The complaint tends to runs along the line of wanting to be original. I'd like that too, but I know I didn't invent the form of narrative nonfiction. It would suck to hear that I had shamelessly copied one of those books or was a pale imitation, but I'm not getting that here.

I felt I had to reserve a little judgment, though, because you never know. I might see the comparison differently if I were ever so lucky to provoke it. I am now that lucky. And eager for more.

Also feel free to compare me to Nabokov. Hahaha. I don't think I write anything like him, but I'd like to.

I named my blog after him: Conclusive Evidence of my existence. (Explanation at the link). I used to post a Nabokov of the Day occasionally, just to hear a great prose melody again. Here's a quickie:

People in trains, who lay their newspaper aside, fold their silly arms, and immediately, with an offensive familiarity of demeanor, start snoring, amaze me as much as the uninhibited chap who cozily defecates in the presence of a chatty tubber, or participates in huge demonstrations, or joins some union in order to dissolve it.

-- Speak, Memory / Conclusive Evidence, p. 108 (Vintage Edition)

That's my all-time favorite book, in a tie with Catcher in the Rye. I have still not decided between them, and don't intend to.

I have a few quotes from it I like even better, but I can't find them on my blog archives. (That one was from 2003.) I may have to go find the book. I only keep three copies in my apt.

Oh, I was saying . . .

I decided the night of the car-theft, that I'd gladly trade that blurb for a robbery. I got some even better news the next day, which I can share in about a week. Hopefully I won't have to get mugged.

More is More

Sefra posted a really cool youtube--a live version of "For The Widows In Paradise; For The Fatherless In Ypsilanti" with him just picking at the banjo, brilliantly-- which you can watch at the link, but it's "Chicago" that really bleeds me:

Is that what heaven's going to feel like, on the anxious stroll in through the gates?

(You'll never find out. hahaha.)

I'd never heard it until I saw Little Miss Sunshine--what an under-rated film. I think "Chicago" came on during the first scene of the van off on the highway, running under those beautiful expressway cloverleafs.

I was already in awe of the film, but that was the moment I fell in love with it. And eventually it came to this, my favorite moment:

I almost couldn't take the moment just before it. When he discovered his ailment (I won't wreck it) and started pounding on the walls and roof of the van, I rolled off my couch onto the floor crying. (Yeah, that happened. I was watching alone and that caught me by surprise. Nobody to hug.)

And that self-muted guy was my favorite character.

I never did decide whether it was my favorite for the year. It was a tough race with Half Nelson. (A name I can never remember. I had to look it up on my Facebook page.)

Both were amazing. What a year.

Hennyway, the youtube up top is a live version--not the best musically, but worth it to watch Sufjan perform--in his butterfly wings, even:

He aludes to them with a chuckle during his intro--". . . who believe, as I do, that more is more." Hehehe. I'm generally of that persuasion. Watch it, and decide. Or just enjoy.

Mesmerizing boy.

--

Photos of Sufjan by Joe Lencioni, shiftingpixel.com

marklisanti:

Seriously, that mouthy little boy-wonder fuck should’ve better known better.

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(That was his caption. I found it via The Will Leitch Experience.)

I got a really nice message from my editor today. Alexandra Fuller, who wrote the critical hits and bestsellers Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight and The Legend of Colton H. Bryant, sent a really nice blurb for my book Columbine:

"Like Capote's In Cold Blood, this is a vivid exploration of the broken logic that drove two young men to commit a terrible, senseless crime. A stunning achievement -- clear-eyed, compassionate, thoroughly researched. However much we may want to, we cannot afford to look away."

How cool to get compared to Capote, and In Cold Blood. I freaking love that book.

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FYI, here are the previous blurbs. (My editor says I can't repeat them too much. hahaha. So I just added them to the sidebar, too):

"Half the anguish of Columbine is our mystification. How did those boys get so twisted, so murderous? Now, after nine years of great reporting, Dave Cullen has done the impossible: you will know these killers -- and it will shake you up. This is a big-time work that will endure."
        --Richard Ben Cramer, author of Joe DiMaggio and What It Takes

 
"Dave Cullen is the Dante of this high school hell. I came away from it thinking of Jack Nicholson hollering 'You want the truth? You can't handle the truth!'. Read this quietly powerful account of Columbine and find out if you can."
        --Ron Rosenbaum, author of Explaining Hitler and The Shakespeare Wars

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BTW, I would greatly appreciate any links to my book site -- http://davecullen.com/columbine.htm -- preferably with "Columbine" as the anchor text--so that google searches on "Columbine" find it. I'm currently ranked #16 on that keyword, and need to break into the top ten. So the completed link would look like this: Columbine.

Thanks.

A few years ago, Masterpiece Theater (now just "Masterpiece") was one of my favorite TV shows. I've still got it on my best list on Facebook and all my other friend sites (which are getting out of control).

Then all these really cheeseball productions--worse than Hallmark Hall of Fame. Did they switch producers a few years ago? But aren't they just buying most of this stuff from existing Brit productions--or do they have a hand in making it?

Last night, they kicked off their new season with Tess of the d'Urbervilles, which was marketly better. The first installment didn't play like self parody, but it was only barely engaging. I got interested, but it dragged, badly. And it didn't really get inside the characters very well. Just not very artfully crafted.

What's going on here? Just a show long past its prime? Time to write it off? Or do they just need to fire some nitwit and bring in a new team to replace the failed new team?