Dave Cullen: Arts, Movies, Music, Books, etc.

Follow me

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 21:08:12 GMT

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.

This blog is up to date

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 01:15:05 GMT

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.

---

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

Dolly and Charlie (Parton and Rose)

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 23:41:37 GMT

AUGUST 25, 2009 1:47PM

Charlie Rose just repeated an interview he did with Dolly in 2008. It was her first time on the show. About time.

Has anyone not yet figured out what a talent she is? Or what a fascinating person? She was a delight to listen to.

I loved her telling the story again, of seeing the town tramp as a young girl, remarking how pretty she was, and everyone saying, "Oh she's just trash!" Dolly thought, That's what I want to be. I want to be trash. Hahaha.

She said that a lot of people have said she might have been taken seriously much sooner and by more people if she'd looked more . . . serious, but what the hell. She likes it that way.

I like her, too. And I love a lot of the songs she wrote, especially the way she sung her own song, "I Will Always Love You."

Watch this book trailer: NurtureShock

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 23:41:02 GMT

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.

MadMening myself. And lying about it--updated

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 23:30:10 GMT

JULY 31, 2009 2:00PM

I MadMened myself:

Hmmmmmmm.

Does that look anything like me? (According to one blogger nice enough to come to one of my booktour events, she was pleased to see that I looked somewhat "wrinklier" than my profile pic. I also smile a lot more. Otherwise, it's a pretty true likeness I guess, on my best day. Or more precisely, the best out of 700 photos taken that day.)

The problem is, MadMen lets you--forces you to--select all the features yourself, down to your nose, mouth and eyebrows. I imagine the more comfortable you feel with your looks, the easier it is to tell the truth.

Damn. I don't think this is a likeness test, it's a self-consciousness test about your appearance.

I failed.

How did you do?

---

I've got to run to lunch with a friend--whose MadMen pic looks remarkably like her, oddly enough; but then she's hot, it was easy.

When I get back, I'm going to do what I was badly tempted to do the first time: select all the choices I want. I guess we'll find out what I really want to look like.

(Although I could just post a pic of Jan Hamm and be done with it, I guess.) Hmmmmm. Or Colin Farrell or the guy from The Mentalist.

I guess we'll see. Soon.

---

OK here's my ideal version:

It didn't look all that different to me, until I did the close-up. (I had to try to recreate the orig and couldn't figure out how to make the hair blue. I also figured out that I could/should add the bags under my eyes.)

"Actual":

Ideal:

Damn. That's pretty different. I'd much rather be this guy. Too bad.

True Blood is creeping me out

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 23:27:19 GMT

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.

Free advance copy of Po Bronson's book, "NurtureShock"

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 23:25:48 GMT

JULY 28, 2009 12:17AM

It's my publisher's Sept book, and they are giving away Advance Review Copies (ARSc) to the public, first come, first served. (Click here.)

I thought some of you might want one.

Po wrote What Should I Do With My Life, which was a #1 bestseller.

This one is co-written by Ashley Merryman.

BTW, I think it's a pretty cool cover. I wonder if the guy who designed mine did it.

Harry Potter is special for me because . . .

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 23:23:44 GMT

JULY 17, 2009 10:18PM

I'm heading out to Harry Potter. He's got a special place in my heart because I figured out Dylan in the middle of a the last Harry film, exactly two years ago. "Figured out" might not be quite right. Or "him"--more like how I was going to convey him.

It just all came together while I was watching--during the scene where they were on the suspension foot bridge and his girlfriend/pal (Hmine?) told him he needed his friends' help.

I pulled out my paper and started scribbling in the dark, continued in the lobby after. (My buddy was nice enough to wait while I spilled it. It doesn't come back if you don't catch it.)

I'm not sure how much of it had to do with Harry. It was a mildly spellbinding film, which got my juices flowing, and I think they were ready to rupture and there they went. It was not Harry-specific, but I maybe just needed something good.

That was also the end of my Dylan-induced depression. I noticed as I wrote that I was not depressed--it had just lifted, completely--but I was so close to the depression it was just fingertips away, close enough to observe it intensely for a little while, before it drifted slowly into the middle distance, where I could only see shapes and outlines. I was so close, yet outside it, which is everything. You can't see anything from the inside. At least I can't.

It occured to me also, that I had isolated myself for four months, and immersed myself in Dylan's world and maybe dragged myself into depression without knowing what I was up to so I could taste a bit of what he felt. I never did that consciously, but the trail looked pretty incriminating from there.

However I'd gotten in there, or why, I was out. It was like I was drowning and someone yanked me out of the water and I was completely dry. (Another metaphor? Hahaha. Sorry. I guess I'm just working them out here. The fog didn't seem quite right, because those don't disappear instantly, do they? This did. I was miserable, miserable, miserable, and then this one thought struck in the theater, my pulse raced, I started scribbling . . . and I never sank back down.

I have not been depressed since. Thank God. I don't like depression. At all.

Sept 7 Update:

Here's what I posted on the film briefly, later:

The movie kind of dragged. Probably the dullest of the lot, though at least there was none of the goofy filler high school dance stuff.

A great novel gets its due in the New York Times

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 21:13:05 GMT

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.

Here's the book trailer. I think you'll enjoy it.

I've also got links to a lot of great books by friends and colleagues here.

Survivor: monkey see, Brendan do

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 21:07:54 GMT

APRIL 3, 2009 2:59AM

Check your tivo. Put it on slo-mo.

The oddest thing happened at minute 7.

They are discussing "another coach moment," after he burnt the beans. It's the awkward moment right after (Sierra?) speaks up and calls him on his shit, and Coach is saying, 'Thank for saying that, blah blah blah' while the two of them and Brendan were in the shot.

Brendan is picking at his teeth, and Coach is blabbing on and on, covering his discomfort by waving his arms from front to back at waist level and sort of clapping them together each time they met in the front--except he was actually smacking one fist into the other open palm, and if you watch closely, he alternates which hand is the fist vs palm.

After the third clap, he looks over at brendan, standing right next to him, who quits teeth-picking, and starts doing the exact same thing! Total monkey see, Brendan do. (I shuddered to see my favorite as the follow-monkey, but there he was.)

Except Brendan is doing it a little dorkier: just regular clapping, and with his fingers spread apart. (He's still adorable. I still hope to marry him.)

Coach is sweeping his head side to side, too, turning back and forth to address his accusor, and check in with his alpha male adversary, Brendan, who is grinning, uncontrollably.

On the first look after Brendan begins to clap, Coach just glances at him, but on his next rotation, he looks right down at Brendan's hands. Brendan follows coaches gaze down to his own left hand, which is just then rounding his hip, coming forward for his seventh clap. At that exact moment, both hands hit an invisible wall, and bounce back off it. Brendan's arms hang there, rigid, for a few seconds, jerking back and forth in tiny abbreviated swirls just a few inches forward and back, like a swing chain that's been jerked to a halt but can't quite stop its motion yet. His smile drains and he turns to watch the final movements of his other arm, incredulous and then appalled.

Incredible.

I watched it over and over. I didn't get any further. I have to go to bed.

Sept 7 Update:

It's amazing, but after all these years, I'm still enjoying Survivor. I'm looking forward to the next season, starting in less than two weeks. And Brendan turned out to be one of my all-time favorite characters. What a great guy.

The Muppets take Danny (boy)

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 21:03:55 GMT

MARCH 17, 2009 2:46PM

For St. Patty's Day, my sister sent this version of "Danny Boy":

Hehehe. Brilliant.

But I could go to Irish Hell for that.

I'll take my chances.

I do love the song, though, and for a more earnest take, try the Pogues' version (try to ignore the visual commercial):

Their take might be heresy in some quarters, too, but it makes me ache.

30 Rock steps up

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 21:00:27 GMT

MARCH 10, 2009 12:24AM

My tivo surprised me a few weeks ago. It was Friday morning, so I was kinda happy to spend breakfast with The Office, but instead 30 Rock came on.

It came on, because they were listed on the Now Playing screen back to back, and in that split second of my thumb bopping the cursor down to The Office, the pleasure center of my brain (I guess) hijacked it and went for 30 Rock instead.

That's the first time I realized it. I wanted to see 30 Rock more.

The last three seasons or so, I'd thought The Office was my favorite scripted show (ie, not including Project Runway), and for most of that it was, but I think 30 Rock passed it about six months ago and I failed to take note of it.

I wonder why I didn't want to admit it. In retrospect, I could see it. Odd.

Anyway, The Office is still wickedly clever quite often, but there are a lot more dry stretches each episode. For me, it's still the second-best comedy on TV, but definitely off its game this season. Maybe it's run its course. I hope not.

But 30 Rock just keeps getting better and better.

Tina Fey is brilliant. And kind of a new voice, too. I don't know if she's gaining confidence, or the show is just continuing to gell, and they're focusing on the better characters, but I like it more and more.

Sept 9 Update:

Man, that post was overdue. The saddness of The Office's decline had been swimming in my head for months, but I resisted. By the time I posted, it had fallen off a cliff. It was downright horrible once the Michael Scott Paper company sequence started.

Let's hope they rethought everything over the hiatus and got back on track.

As heard by his wild young heart

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 19:09:16 GMT

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.

Humanizing Simon Baker--was that a good thing?

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 18:49:49 GMT

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.

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.

Just when I need it

Sat, 31 Jan 2009 18:56:46 GMT

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.

Everyone should compare me to Capote

Mon, 12 Jan 2009 21:29:56 GMT

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

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 06:02:00 GMT

More is More

Will Leitch's blog led me to someone's called Sefra, who sent me spiralling into a Sufjan Stevens weekend. I was savoring and wallowing in Sufjan for 72 hours. Hard to get enough of him.

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

Made me laugh

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 05:25:35 GMT

marklisanti:

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

---

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

New blurb from Alexandra Fuller

Tue, 06 Jan 2009 04:10:29 GMT

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.

---

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

---

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.

What happened to Masterpiece?

Mon, 05 Jan 2009 16:55:46 GMT

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?

Trying to stomach Studio 60

Tue, 26 Sep 2006 17:04:53 GMT

OK, I watched the first eight minutes of Studio 60, episode two, and I don't think I can take anymore. I'm just waiting for a line of believable dialogue.

The press conference was particularly appalling. And how could Amanda Peet be so bad playing Jordan? Is she ever going to drop that smug smile and the touche-style delivery of every line? Blech.

The most puzzling aspect was the "jokes." Are we supposed to believe that a room full of cynical reporters is laughing their asses off at rim-shot grade cutesisms, or does aaron actually think those lines are funny? Neither one seems plausible. Why would reporters behave that way? I've attended a lot of press conferences--never seen anything like that.

And the annoying part was Aaron constantly cueing us in to how well the press conference was going, by having one character after another watch it and tell us they were doing well. It kinda seemed like Aaron knew he had not written it convincingly enough to convey that to us by watching it, so he felt the need to have his characters tell us.

Sad.

Salon explains why Studio 60 stinks

Tue, 26 Sep 2006 17:04:04 GMT

Salon's great Heather Havrilesky weighs in on Studio 60, and she had a pretty similar sense to me of the downside, though she was bigger on its upside. A chunk:

All of which brings us to Aaron Sorkin's "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip" (10 p.m. Mondays on NBC), a show that, on the one hand, tackles the pathology of the professional circle jerk and its resulting mediocrity head-on, yet on the other hand, indulges the incredible self-importance of the TV writer to an extent heretofore unseen on the small screen.

Again, for the same reasons that it's easier to stomach the self-important banter of idealistic politicians and cops and doctors and other high-minded civil servants, it's also easier to stomach TV shows that focus on these kinds of people. On "Grey's Anatomy" or "ER" or "The Wire" or "The West Wing," we tolerate the melodrama that characters drum up about their jobs, we tolerate their all-knowing tones and their self-righteousness and their indignant attitudes because they do have pretty high-pressure jobs that serve the common good, at least in theory, and it makes sense that they're dogmatic and idealistic and stubborn about what they do and what they should be doing.

But self-important banter among magazine editors, just for example? Not so easy to swallow.

Then she spends a few paragraphs on some of its good points, where I think she's overly generous. Then more on the trouble:

The trouble is that, when Danny and Matt stop to gaze around the set of their new show, and the camera circles them dramatically like it's the last scene of Werner Herzog's classic film "Aguirre: The Wrath of God," at least one or two cells in our bodies can't help but rebel against the pomp and circumstance of the moment. It feels wrong, somehow, to romanticize TV writers this much, however talented and witty they might be. Meet a few TV writers and you'll see what I mean. It's not that they're bad people -- many of them are charming and smart and extremely friendly -- but they're richer than God, yet they always seem to be jealous of someone who's even richer and more successful than they are. Plus, even the ones who write for really crappy shows, shows that they should pay a tax for inflicting on the human populace, talk about their bad shows like they're saving the free world. ...

Plus, ask anyone who lives in Los Angeles or works in the industry: Hollywood culture is pretty distasteful, no matter how you slice it. Even though that's one of the points of Sorkin's show, dramatizing what dicks network executives can be or giving TV producers lines like Judd Hirsch's in the pilot -- "That remote in your hand is a crack pipe!" -- doesn't really change the fact that these are Hollywood wiseasses, not heroes.

Yeah, she really nailed it. The "Aguirre: The Wrath of God" reference was perfect. The whole show felt kinda that way to me. I think that ultimately, I resented Sorkin's presence, because half my brain was thinking, You've got a pretty good show here: interesting situation, good characters, etc.--so why the fuck do you have to piss all over it with self-importance, like it's Aguirre: The Wrath of God?

I remembered thinking that West Wing at first turned me off with it's self importance, but at least the characters were facing earth-shattering decisions. Here, not so much.

'The Greatest Story Ever Sold'--what a title. and . . .

Wed, 20 Sep 2006 04:53:07 GMT

And the book looks pretty damn good, too, from my quick stab, tonight.

Frank Rich's The Greatest Story Ever Sold: The Decline and Fall of Truth from 9/11 to Katrina came out today, and is already #2 at Amazon, so you're prolly going to be hearing a lot about it.

I checked it out tonight at Denver's great local bookstore Tattered Cover. Really interesting opening, written in Frank's usual fluid style. And I was really glad to read this in the intro:

This book is not intended to be a harangue about George W. Bush or the war in Iraq, though my views will certainly be evident. What it is instead is a critical retracing of the sophisticated steps by which some clever people in the White House, handed an opportunity and a mandate by the shocking events of 9/11, unfurled a brilliantly produced scenario to accomplish a variety of ends . . .

Thank you! As much as our fearless leader irks the hell out of me, I don't really need to spend time on a detailed analysis of how. The man will come and go as a mediocre to horrible president, and I've already lost interest. He's just not an interesting guy. But, the way the media has been co-opted and participates in promoting these preposterous fictions upon us--that's important.

That's exactly what The Daily Show and The Colbert Report are ultimately all about, and that's why they are insanely popular, and brilliant at the same time. (And most of the press still doesn't quite get them--or chuckles along with them, but doesn't get that they are the butt of the joke more than the politicians. Either they don't get it or can't figure out how to change.)

Those shows do it on a daily basis, bit by bit, but so nice to have someone pull the whole picture together.

And what a gutsy move by his publisher to devote 100 pages to a timeline, showing side-by-side what the white house was saying internally, and the alternate reality they were pitching to us. That's worth the price of the book all by itself. (The book says the timeline will be updated continually at his website. It's not live yet, but there's a "coming soon" sign.)

So far, so good. I'll let you know more as I get further.

Meanwhile, he's going to be the guest on Fresh Air on NPR Wednesday.

And here's the PW review:

Starred Review. This blistering j'accuse has vitriol to spare for George Bush—calling him a "spoiled brat" and "blowhard"—and his policies, but its main target is the PR machinery that promoted those policies to the American people. New York Times columnist Rich revisits nearly every Bush administration publicity gambit, including Iraqi WMD claims, Bush's "Mission Accomplished" triumph, the Swift-boating of John Kerry and the writing of fake prowar letters-to-the-editor from soldiers. He uncovers nothing new, but his meticulously researched recap-cum-debunking—complete with appended 80-page time line comparing administration spin to actual events—builds a comprehensive picture of a White House propaganda campaign to bamboozle the public, smear critics, camouflage policy disasters and win the 2002 and 2004 elections through trumped-up security anxieties. Along the way, he pillories a sycophantic media (Bob Woodward gets spanked hard), spineless Democrats and an infotainment culture that happily accommodates the Bush administration's erasure of the line between reality and fiction. Sometimes Rich's critique of Republican politics as cynical image-manipulation goes overboard, as in his "wag the dog" theory of the Iraq war as a Karl Rove electoral maneuver; more often, though, it's on target. The result is a caustic, hard-hitting indictment of the Bush administration, timed to make a splash in the upcoming election campaign. (Sept. 19)

Amazon link here.

Wednesday Update:

Frank was on The Colbert Report last night, and NPR's Fresh Air today (the first 3/4 of the show). Listen to Fresh Air show here.

Comedy Central repeats Colbert endlessly through the next day, and a lot of stations play or replay Fresh Air at night, so you still have time to catch both. He was great on both.

(And if you watch Colbert, tune in two minutes early to see the preview on The Daily Show. Nothing to do with Frank, but it involves Stephen's word-a-day calendar, which I won't give away, but it still has me snickering just remembering.)

About that Survivor casting

Wed, 20 Sep 2006 04:39:43 GMT

you know, if you're going to cast a show along ethnic lines, it seems pretty lousy to pack two teams with A players and the other two with a lot of duds.

that white team has one jock, though hard to say yet how smart he is, and i don't see a lot of other potential. the sorority girl and the "alternative" "rollergirls" are likely to be worthless on all fronts. they always cast dorks with little to offer as writers (bastards!). seems pretty weak.

the black team was the only one with zero apparent brawn, which is a pretty basic component. it's hard to know from one puzzle, but the first indication is that he didn't cast the brightest bulbs. but then he never does. from day one MB has cast one dumb black person after another, especially men. (dumb lazy black is his most frequent cast move of all, followed by flaming homosexual and mean, hypocritical vocal christian.

i feel worst for the christians, believe it or not. the first few seasons i loved chuckling along to how nasty the hard-core christians they were, the very soul of hypocrisy. by about the third one, i realized it was just bigoted casting. of course you can make every christian look like an asshole, every homo look like a queen and every black man look dumb and lazy if that's how you cast them. it's revolting.

and i have no problem with ANY of those people getting cast. does he have to make it nearly every time? mark burnett's idea of a homo seem to equal a boa. if you're not belting out showtunes, you don't get cast. so what a surprise that the apparent gayboy turns out to be a fashion director. mark, what a departure for you. but at least he's a hunky, athletic one. that's a first, isn't it? (with all the gayboys packing the gyms, you'd think he could have found one before. and something tells me the hard-assed, muscled, outdoorsy gayguys are the ones applying a lot more than the drag queens. i don't think most drag queens really want to be on survivor. and yet, mark finds the marys and only the marys.)

Survivor goes racist?

Wed, 20 Sep 2006 04:38:53 GMT

I would say, no. I thought the early protests about dividing the show into racial/ethnic teams was a little premature: why not see what they do with it, whether it's revelatory or racist. So far, so good. Though some of the casting aspects have always sickened me. (More on that in the next post.)

These comments made real-time as I watched Thursday (I just can't stop myself), posted now:

I just started watching the first ep, and I literally get the chills at the beginning. I will get irritated as it goes, but the whole idea of the social experiment of Survivor is just incredible. It was one wonderful idea. (That needs some heavy tweaking, but there's time for all that.)

I'm about 20 minutes in, and so far, the cultural-split stuff has been fascinating to watch in so many different ways. It was interesting to see the Asians being almost bewildered by the lumping of them, with good reason. What they basically seemed to be saying was, "uh, we're half the population of the planet. you whiteguys may see us all as one thing, but we're a whole bunch of different cultures." they are probably the most culturally mixed of all the teams.

also fascinating to hear "cowboy" introduce himself and they're all ultra whitebread assimilationist names, like brad. (and is brad the big gayboy? i'm wagering on it.)

several of the asians seemed uncomfortable with the asian jokes, stereotyping and grouping, wanted nothing to do with it, and the black group was nearly the opposite, doing a chant about Representing.

it does some kind of unfair that the deck seems stacked physically heavily in favor of the asians and latins. the blacks have a couple big fat guys, the whites have a couple jocks, and the asians appear to have two muscle studs and possibly two female athletes, and the latins have a pro athlete and a young guy who looks like he could be the smart version of bobby jon, who will hurtle himself full-bore into anything. climbing that tree and getting the coconuts was kind of amazing. and i laughed my ass off at jp calling him jungle book.

and jp . . . he seems whiter than me, culturally--as do several of the asians. which is kind of interesting. i'm surprised/sad burnett did not cast an oreo or two on the black team, though i'm not surprised. he's been casting stereotypes on this show since day one. (stereotyping every stripe imaginable, whether it's blacks, homos, hillbillies, evangelicals . . . he's kinda gross that way.)

it is interesting so far to see how some of the groups do approach things very differently, though, and especially in how they see themselves.

it might get VERY sticky down the road when alliances come into play, though. god, picturing it getting ugly and the whites cutting down a group of blacks or whatever . . . that could be unappetizing. it will be interesting to see if things like white guilt come into play, though, and if some of them can't bring themselves to do it (or do it publicly).

i have a feeling burnett will mix up the teams soon, though, and then we'll get to see which people stick to the ethnic/cultural lines and which do not.

but so far, very interesting show.