PLASTIC SURGERY

My main beef with plastic surgery is that there isn’t enough of it. I want to see an entire race of peoplecats take over the planet. Catlandia, as it will henceforth be called, will be ruled with an iron fist by the sinister Diane Cannon. This will lead to a period of deep oppression stemming from her ban on any new procedures in order to galvanize her position as the most stunning feline beauty in all the realm. Such despair will give rise to an underground revolution led by the brave thundercat Meg Ryan and her dangerously witty sidekick, Carrot Top. Michael Jackson will come back from the dead to declare his love to the man-jaguar Bruce Jenner. Their deep love will inspire Meg “Cheetah-Che” Ryan to challenge Queen Cannon in a no-holds-barred cage match to the death. Cheetah-Che will emerge victorious, helping foster decades of peaceful peoplecat existence. That is until her daughter, the bubbly bobcat Heidi Montag, turns to the dark side and threatens to destroy everything we’ve worked for.

ORDERING AT JAMBA JUICE

Fact: Jamba Juice is delicious. Fact: Jamba Juice is the category-defining leader in healthy blended beverages, juices, and good-for-you snacks. Fact: ordering the Berry Fulfilling makes you feel like a complete dillweed. Fact: telling a 16-year-old with a smirk on his face that you’d like a large Mango-A-Go-Go makes you question if you’re even a man. Fact: they called it a Razzmatazz just to mess with customers. Fact: The Peanut Butter Moo’d looks gross so I’m glad I don’t have to order it. Fact: starting a sentence out by saying “Fact:” is extremely annoying and will be the subject of a future post.

Roly-Poly Fish Heads

Was great to see everybody who came out to the Donald Ray Pollock event at Subterranean Books last week. I got to introduce him and decided to mostly read directly from Kyle Minor’s review of The Devil All the Time which was a good decision. Afterward, grabbed a drink with Rod, Judy and Matthew McBride and that was a good decision too.

You know what else would be a good decision? Doing what I tell you to, that’s what. How many times have I told you to pick up and read The Sixth Gun by Cullen Bunn and Brian Hurtt now? Mmmm, five or six anyway. Welllll, Imadoitagin. Pick it up. Read it before you watch it on SyFy. Over the weekend came the announcement  outta ComiCon that the cable network will be adapting the comic book for television. Am I excited? Hell yeah, I’m excited – that’s a great series and SyFy’s history boasts y’know Battlestar Galactica and… Well, Battlestar Galactica was a good fuckin show. Before the weekend’s announcement I was trying to drum up some adaptation fervor for Brian Hurtt’s latest book Cowboys, a Vertigo Crime one-off , written by Gary Phillips (who’s also got another comic book just out – Angeltown) over at Ransom Notes. I petitioned the likes of Martin Scorsese, Brian De Palma, Spike Lee and Antoine Fuqua, but I haven’t heard back from any of them yet.

I did hear back from one film maker though; Thomas Kaufman who stopped by the HBW with a guest post about writing violence a couple weeks back – a few of you read and appreciated that one. Just dropped a line to lemme know that he’s got a companion piece up at The Prime Time Crime Review.

Tomorrow night I’ll be at Square Books in Oxford, MS for the Megan Abbott - Scott Phillips event for The End of Everything and The Adjustment. Never been to Ol’ Miss, (though I used to live in Arkansas), and I’m looking forward to it. Speaking of Arkansas, I just read the first two issues of Fish-Head – a magazine devoted to people who like hang out under bridges and drink beer…- that I read about on Don Lee’s blog and enjoyed them immensely. They’re published outta Clarksville and speak of many places I know and knew in Fayetteville, Rogers and Eureka Springs, (hell, probably Erik Lundy did too, maybe even John Hornor Jacobs, Tom Franklin, Charles Portis, William Harrison or Daniel Woodrell – all spent their time in Arkansas). My favorite pieces included: How I Almost Wrote Porn for the Mob and Lived to Tell the Tale, Dept. of Strange Sexual Encounters: Case # 216B and Emmett Sudsbury’s Taxicab Confessions. Emmett? You’re ever up in St. Louis, let’s set up a reading.

Somebody else who’s worked as a cab driver that I’d like to rope into one of our events, other than Jack Clark (Nobody’s Angel), is St. Louis’s own Daniel Waugh who’s written at least a couple of books about St. Louis crime – Egan’s Rats and Gangs of St. Louis. Good anecdotal true crime that ought to enhance the St. Louis experience for anybody coming to town for Bouchercon in September.

When I get back from the Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter I’ll be focused on the next N@B event happening Saturday, August 6, 7pm at Meshuggah Café. Scott will be doing his first St. Louis event for The Adjustment, Jane Bradley will make you squirm reading from You Belivers, Jesus Angel Garcia will probably just collapse in exhaustion built up over the past weeks on the road, but hey I’m sure that’ll be entertaining too. David Cirillo will read from his story in Noir at the Bar THE BOOK! (which SHOULD be available for the first time that night!), so it oughtta be…emotional.

WATCHING HOARDERS HUNGOVER AT A CONVALESCENT HOME WHILE IT'S RAINING

There's something about watching Hoarders hungover at a convalescent home while it's raining that really bums me out. I don't know what it is. Maybe I just have a shitty attitude. Or maybe it's the fluorescent lighting, which always reminds me of the DMV. Or it could be the TV they have over there. Is that what it is? I'm so accustomed to a 40-inch flat screen that I can't watch anything unless it's in high-def? Wow, that's sad. Leave it to someone from my generation to find the bad in any situation. Why can't I just look past the constant smell of impending death in the air? Who cares if the coffee tastes like athlete's feet? Me and my country club expectations need to just get over it. Still though, it's difficult. Especially when every time I look over at Melvin he's staring deeply into my soul and rubbing his nipples. Gives me the willies. Then there's the fact that Regina stopped giving me half her pills. What a selfish bitch. I didn't mean that. Maybe it's all these things. Maybe it's none of them. Sigh.

MIXED NUTS AT BARS

Dear son, I know you haven’t been born yet, but I want to give you a quick heads up before I forget. For now I’m going to call you Clyde because people named Clyde are always cool as shit. Anyway Clyde, I need you to listen carefully. Never eat the mixed nuts at bars. Seeing as how your name is Clyde I predict you’ll find yourself in more than a few extremely sketchy bars. I’m talking about some real shitholes. The kind of places where a guy shivs you in the back one minute and hands you a pickled egg the next. So please son, take heed. In these dingy, dark and awesomely depressing bars people will visit the restroom and handle their dirty bits. Often, they’ll get a little pee on their hand, or worse. You’ll know what I mean by “or worse” because you’ll be a bright kid who can make connections easily. These people will then leave the bathroom without washing their hands and rejoin their companions. What comes next? A wrist-deep dive into a bowl of mixed nuts. After that point it’s just a big bowl of Hepatitis. Listen, you’re going to face a lot of challenges in your life and I can’t promise to prepare you for every one, but when it comes to the mixed nuts situation, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

SPOKEN WORD

Chicken in the rooster coop. That is life. The mother. Raising. Reaching. Reciprocating. Flowing through a cross-pollinated monochromatic half-lens. Slipping. Slipping. Slipping further down the pitch-black ether. And I deny. I deny this rooster game. But not yet, not ever. Mother. This mother. Mother Earth. The goddess of all who portend the enflamed liquid hopelight. Light be the majesty. Darkness be the void. Like so many wretched receipts responding and reacting to this paved-over blindfold. And paved-over once again. And again. And again. And again until shhhhh. Commercial in its emptiness. Filled full with regret. Damage done. And yet, the shadows speak in muffled tones! But the echo is real. Mother magnificence make me whole. Bring me into your womb. Leave me awash in that glorious placenta. Oh mother. Cover us all. From the liars and the thieves and the greedy greed greed of the political machine. Bring the rain that makes the rust that stops the system that kills the birth of a yet one more system. A new stream engulfing man and woman in one. Fell. Swoop. Buried. Into the deep nothing. A ripple-scorched landscape. Left bone dry but for one. Impossible glimmer. A drop of utopia. Waiting. Waiting. To keep us from evaporating.

UNNECESSARY USE OF THE WORD “LIKE”

The word "like" is a bigger scourge on society than cancer. And if you think that’s being too dramatic, you’re right, I already regret starting out that way. Cancer if far worse. Let me begin anew. The word "like" sucks nads. That's better. My statistician, Romeo, informs me that the average American says “like” 782 times a day. Astonishing. Romeo goes on to explain that 98% of us say it in 98% of our sentences throughout 98% of the year. Astounding. In a This Guy's Pet Peeves Exclusive, it has come to light that during the early part of 1982 an Al Qaeda sleeper cell embedded itself deep inside California's San Fernando Valley. Their central focus: to whisper the word “like” in the ears of unsuspecting teenaged blondes. Positioned conveniently next to Hollywood, the cell also disseminated the word into popular culture through such films as Valley Girl, Fast Times at Ridgemont High and Hardbodies. From there it took on a life of its own and none of us are safe from its clutches. Young or old, smart or stupid, its wicked tentacles have turned us all into mindless drones bent on turning everything into a simile. Resistance is, like, futile.

ONLINE SECURITY CODES

You need a 90-inch monitor and an advanced degree in computer engineering to figure out some of the security codes they lay on you. I'm no computer wiz and I hate to question protocol, but can't we at least stick to the keys on the keyboard? What are they testing anyhow, if you have eyeballs? Nope, that kid put farnimagin instead of famimagin, that's a code one breach. Access to professional wrestling tickets denied. I think this is what happened to the Unabomber. He was trying to surprise his wife with tickets to the symphony when he came across one of these. He snapped, yelled "Fuck It!" and marched into the woods.

CHINESE TOURISTS IN CHINA TOWN

I don’t speak Chinese, but I can tell they’re being total snobs about how crappy all the stuff is. It’s pretty obvious that they’re getting a good chuckle over the shitty craftsmanship on some of those Zodiac paper placemats. Just one look at their body language tells you that none of the mooncakes comes close to the quality you’ll find in Shijiazhuang or even Guǎngzhōu. How is a lady from Nebraska supposed to feel after she picks up a hot little silk imperial dragon cheongsam to spice things up with the husband back in Lincoln only to have some O.G. Chinese folks smugly laughing from overall lack of authenticity? All she’s trying to do is honor your country by initiating some awkward, sweaty and heartfelt sexytime. And what do you do? You sit there and laugh at how ripped off she's getting. Not cool.

On the Way

Well it looks like those Los Angeles fellas Eric Beetner, Stephen Blackmoore and Aldo Calcagno have pulled off a successful launch for their strain of Noir at the Bar. Last night they were joined by Josh Stallings, Holly West and Duane Swierczynski and apparently nobody died. I'll be following their regress with interest - looks like they're already looking at another event in October. 'Course, they don't have their very own book like St. Louis N@B does! We are now down to the waiting for hardcopies to land and I'm terribly pleased with the book. Just goes to show what you can accomplish when you're surrounded by generous, talented people and you don't give two shits about punctuation or spelling.

Y'know who gets a big fat round of applause for this book tho? Fuckin Jon Bassoff and Matt Kindt, thems who. Bassoff formatted it and pulled some strings for my cherry ass and Kindt designed the shit outta it. Y'know who else gets a big thanks? Our blurbers - Lawrence Block, Duane Swierczynski, Megan Abbott, Todd Robinson, Roger Smith, Tom Piccirilli, Stephen Graham Jones and Sara Gran. Without their cavalier attitudes toward public decency in the information age I would've been without the leverage to wrangle some juicy recommendations outta that prestigious lot.

So, who wants a copy?

Here's what you need to know: this has been put together as N@B's effort to help out our local bookselling heroes at Subterranean Books, which is why they're the only place you can get it. As soon as it's available, I'll make that announcement and you can order one off their website or send me a suitcase full of cash to trade for it. What? You don't order books online? Fine, come on out to a N@B event 'cause you know we'll pimp 'em there. Are you attending Bouchercon in September? Subterranean Books will have a table in the book room and you can make for to purchase it there too. There will be no eBook.

Not good enough? Kiss my ass. Publish your own damn book.

I was hoping to have them available at Subterranean by Wednesday for the Donald Ray Pollock event, but that aint happening. Should be able to put one in your hand Saturday, August 6 at Meshuggah Cafe when we do the whole N@B thing live with Jane Bradley, Jesus Angel Garcia, David Cirillo and Scott Phillips. Show the hell up and getcha one. Also pick up You Believers, badbadbad and The Adjustment while you're at it.

Poopsmear™

That ain't chocolate, kids. Poopsmear™ angers me on a number of different levels. It angers me because it's, well, poop on a sidewalk. It also angers me for the person who steps in it. There's something about seeing Poopsmear™ that immediately transports you to the moment it occurs. You can see them reaching new levels on Angry Birds as they walk. You can feel the moment of impact; the shoe pressing down hard on the hot, wet dog (we hope) poop; the unmistakeable mix of disappointment and rage on their face. And we can empathize with the emotional trauma it will surely cause during cleanup.

Every Poopsmear™ tells a unique story. In the one pictured above, Wolverine was out walking his dog Pickles. The night before, as Wolverine was making his nightly spot of tea, Pickles saw his chance to devour the bread bowl of clam chowder sitting on the coffee table. Pickles was in heaven, but it didn't come without a price. During their morning walk he had to let loose the lion something fierce. Wolverine tried to stop it, but even he isn't fast enough for that kind of action. Being the good guy he is, he tried to pick it up. With bag in hand he gave it a fair go, but the situation quickly escalated. They had no choice but to flee the scene. Moments later, I mosey up and nearly step in it. But I don't. Because I'm not into Angry Birds.

How Long Has It Been?

16 seasons removed from its last championship, UCLA fans can only reminisce on the "Glory Days."

 

In Pauley Pavilion, they don't hang final four banners, but only those of the teams that triumph over all competitors and win national championships.  In the late 1960's and early 1970's, UCLA Basketball set the standard for the rest of the nation to follow.  Led by a supreme coach and a few hall of famers, the Bruins won like no other collegiate team in history.  However, nearly 50 years since their first title, the Bruins are trying desperately to rebuild a true contender in college hoops. 

When Ben Howland led UCLA to three straight final fours from 2006-2008, it seemed as if a new era of UCLA basketball had been ushered in.  However, since then, UCLA has not advanced past the second round, and is yet to have a team that can truly contend for a title amongst college basketball's elite.  So, why is a team with such a talented coach struggling out get out of mediocrity?  Maybe players don't want to play out west, not enough exposure?  Could it be that there may be more competition in the Big East, Big Ten, ACC, etc.?  To be honest with you, I don't know the answer to that question.  One thing that has me scratching my head, however, is UCLA's struggle to gather at least a somewhat solid recruiting class.  And, without a talented team, UCLA fans will only be able to have memories of the "good ol' days'".

Vampires Without Mullets

Since when did it become okay for vampires not to have mullets? Since never if you ask me. Call me traditional but I think it’s every bit as important as red velvet furniture and sharp fangs. In fact, the vampire mullet is the only cool mullet out there. I can already hear you throwing Blade and this new guy Eric Northman in my face, but the former is only a halfie and the latter is a glorified bar manager. All I’m asking is that we have a little respect when it comes to the way we treat the undead. And by that I mean super-pimpin’ clothes, bejeweled canes and glorious, flowing mullets. I’ll leave you with a collage of things done right.

Katy Walker’s decision to go to HR

I don't understand what her deal is. She went to HR and said I’m stalking her. Me. Stalking. I know. How crazy is that? We’ve been working together for just over eight-and-a-half months and I thought we were pals. You can imagine how flabbergasted I was to hear this news. Sure, I’ve run into her a few times outside work, but it’s a small world. That’s going to happen. Like when I saw her at the coffee shop on Sunday morning, total coincidence! She looked at me all cross-eyed like I was some sort of psycho freak. The table next to hers was the only one open. What was I gonna do, stand and read my Muscle and Fitness magazine? Uhhhh, not likely. I thought it was a little weird that she was wearing a guy’s sweatshirt and I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it, but still! Also, is it my fault her house at 1426 Grove Street is basically on my way to work? No, it’s not. We're going to run into each other! Listen, nobody was more embarrassed than I was when I saw her with some dude at that wannabe-chic restaurant. I actually tried to hide behind a menu because I thought to myself, she must think I'm stalking her. The bar was directly in her line of sight. What am I supposed to do! I think the guy she was with's name was Brad or Bret or Brent or something. Whatever, he looked like a tool and I'm pretty sure they're not dating anymore. He probably doesn’t even get her adorably dark sense of humor. When I happened to bump into her at the farmer's market, I was like, this is too weird. She must be stalking me! That's always been my farmer's market. It’s a little far from my house, but it’s the only place to get those amazing hand-foraged golden chanterelles we both love so much. Anyway, I smoothed it over with HR. We chalked it up to a really long series of unfortunate coincidences. I hope it doesn't affect our working relationship. Or any other relationship that could possibly sprout up. I bet her hair smells like flowers.

Dr. Pollockian's Monster

Cruising the Twitters the other day I caught Brian Lindenmuth remarking that his favorite character on Breaking Bad was Jonathan Banks' Mike the PI and having just finished watching season three on DVD, I can find no fault with that choice - a testament to the strength of the writing, acting and production in general that among a heavyweight cast of amazing characters somebody can take a "small" role and make it shine. Myself, I might pick Giancarlo Esposito's Gus Fring. I've been a big fan of Esposito's since I saw him ooze menace in Boaz Yakin's Fresh (back in what '94?) Throw in Dean Norris and Bob Odenkirk's supporting work and geez is it any wonder it's my favorite show on the TVs right now? Gawsh, even Anna Gunn got better, (less irritating) things to do this season - I LOVE that she's throwing herself into the business - it's the reaction I've been waiting for from a compromised spouse for too long (The Shield, The Sopranos, Dexter - had your chances). Back to Banks though, Brian said that Mike the PI recalled to him the character Joe Sarno played by James Caan in Christopher McQuarrie's superb Way of the Gun (speaking of strong character ensembles), and it got me thinking - I just watched Caan in a pretty decent recent crime flick Middle Men (uneven for sure, but I didn't want my two hours back afterward) - and I ought to put together a quick list of my favorite James Caan crime films that aren't y'know, The Godfather. So, here you go in no particular order:

Christopher McQuarrie's Way of the Gun
Michael Mann's Thief
Matt Dillon's City of Ghosts
James Gray's The Yards
Rob Reiner's Misery
honorable mention to Flesh and Bone, The Gambler, The Killer Elite and Bottle Rocket

So... yeah, there's that.


Speaking of good stuffs on TV, I was pleasantly surprised by Southland on DVD. I dunno, ads made it look like the typical craptastic, networkerrific body of the week procedural, but turns out it's a character ensemble working with pretty decent scripts that allow for some of that weird street shit that you want from cop shows while not becoming all about 'solving crimes'. Far from blowing me away, but far better than I was expecting, I'm hoping a second season really solidifies this show.

Well, Jed, you may ask, what is blowing you away these days? To which I'd reply, Pete Dexter's memoir in disguise Spooner and of course, Donald Ray Pollock's The Devil All the Time. And you'd say  'well duh' and I'd say 'hey you asked' and you'd say something trite and I'd karate chop you in the neck. Seriously, this is the book of the year far as I can tell, and you have a need to experience it. You can read my review of it at Ransom Notes. St. Louis people, if you don't show up at Subterranean Books next week, July 20 for Mr. Pollock's event, you're dead to me. The rest of you that can't make it here would do well to aim for September 10 in Corydon, IN. where he'll be appearing with Scott Phillips, Kyle Minor and myself for the release of Frank Bill's Crimes in Southern Indiana. I see lots of names appearing on the might-be-there list - Matthew McBride, Chad Eagleton, Aaron Michael Morales, Matthew C. Funk, Richard Thomas, Fred Venturini, Cameron Ashley and Daniel O'Shea. That's gonna be a party.


Also, don't forget N@B on August 6, 7pm at Meshuggah Cafe. Scott's new book The Adjustment will be available, as will Noir at the Bar the book! Also, Jesus Angel Garcia with badbadbad, Jane Bradley with You Believers and David Cirillo. What a mix! What an event! What a country!

So, in case you're keeping track, the anthologies you can find me pushing especially hard the rest of the year are Noir at the Bar, D*CKED, Surreal South '11 and Crime Factory - which just got a little mention in PW. Guess whose story they found 'revolting?' Yup, Greg Bardsley's. Can Not Wait. Speaking of the Bards, he and Kieran Shea are working awful hard on D*CKED and even getting me off my substantial ass to contribute (just a little). Anyhow, I re-read Scott Phillips', Hilary Davidson's, Cameron Ashley's, Harry Hunsicker's and Eric Beetner's pieces the other night and really enjoyed them... I dunno, I got to thinking of setting up a special D*CKED at the Bar event for Bouchercon week. Any of you contributor's gonna be in town and wanna do that? Lemme know.

Wearing baseball pants to softball

Listen dude. The dream is over. You didn’t make the cut. Sure, you had a good stretch during your junior year of high school when you batted a serviceable .289 with 12 RBIs for the 8-and-7 JV squad. Back then, you should’ve taken things seriously. Who knows, you could’ve had a stellar off-season and really come into your own on Varsity the following year. Perhaps that would’ve led to a tryout with the Kane County Cougars or the Burlington Bees. Maybe then you find your stride in the Triple-A where you spend a couple years honing your game when finally, look at that, the starting third baseman for the Cincinnati Reds breaks his leg. Suddenly, you’re in the show. And you do well, not great, but well. Well enough in fact to meet a beautiful and exotic Hawaiian Tropic model. She’s not brilliant, but shit neither are you. You have a couple kids, you go bone fishing once or twice a year off the coast of Key West and you’re able to buy your mom a house so she doesn’t have to stay in that apartment building that always looked like it was going to burn down. Then guess what happens? You buy a car dealership and things really take off. You’re elected to city council and your life actually starts to mean something to you, and more importantly, to the people around you. But none of that happened. No, you got cut. You moped around for a bit then finally signed up for drama club where you played Joe Crowell Jr. in a really bad production of Our Town. And you were awful but you didn’t care because it looked good on college applications. It helped you get into Kansas State University where you studied accounting. Why not, you had a knack for numbers. After college, you eventually passed your Series 4 and got a decent paying job with a local accounting firm. Problem is you’ve grown to hate that job over the last 12 years, but you’re stuck with three kids and an ex-wife who’s bleeding you dry because you cheated on her at an accounting conference in Chicago. The softball league is the only thing you look forward to during your whole miserable week. So you take it very seriously. So seriously that you keep track of your stats, refuse to drink beer during the game and you wear baseball pants, just like the big leaguers. Because, if only for a moment, when the light is just right and you stretch that single into a double, it makes you feel like a pro. It makes you feel like a winner.

Wide Walkers

Whilst moving unnoticed in rural outcroppings, the quasi-mythical Wide Walker may be spoken of in the same breath as the Front Fannypacker or Speedlane Clogger. These creatures have an innate knack for commandeering an entire sidewalk no matter how large it may be. Powerful instincts draw them to any side the passer attempts, as if guided by an internal magnet. Acute psychological skills have developed over centuries to make others believe they roam completely unaware of their powers of frustration. Upon being snapped at, one of their more devious methods of trickery is to make bustling young urbanites feel super-guilty. The most skilled Wide Walkers do not need a large body mass to be effective. However, many of them do thanks in part to The Olive Garden's liberal endless breadstick policy. They are at their most insidious during rush hour when their enemies are required to be swift and direct. Police are always on the lookout for instances of sidewalk rage, so do your best to avoid them at all costs.

Pronouncing Chile Correctly

We get it. You’re amazingly well traveled. You speak four languages. You actually write in your diary. You have a serape from Papua New Guinea draped over your couch below masks from Mozambique. You went on semester-at-sea in high school. Your dad is a missionary, but a cool one, not a creepy one. You actually saved a whale once. At some point you'll open a hostel in Costa Rica where you'll teach yoga. You think Eurail passes are for pussies. You’ve developed your immunity so you can drink the water in the Okavango Delta. You made your own sling thing to hold your baby. Your baby is half African. You once wore a Patagonia jacket in Patagonia. 98% of your facebook photos are shots of food you’ve eaten outside the United States. 12% of your facebook friends don’t speak English. You once made it from Portland to Cape Horn on a bike for only $6 a day. You’ve seen Like Water for Chocolate nine times. You've seen Dodgeball zero times. You also think The Amazing Race is for pussies. You don’t have a TV. But if you did, you’d only watch Frontline. We get it. You’re sucking the marrow out of life. And that’s awesome. Just don’t say freakin’ Cheelay.

The daily recommended amount of water

In order to consume the daily recommended amount of water you’d have to drink a glass every 4 minutes for 24 straight hours. You’d have to make a neck strap for your laptop to do work in front of the toilet. You’d have to buy a really good straw, for snorting Flomax. You’d have to wear a camel back and a camel front. You’d have to trade in your water bottle in for a water bucket. You’d have to sleep with Depends under your wet suit. If just 5% of the world drank the recommended daily amount of water we’d have to melt more polar ice caps. Those are better if read in Bob Hope’s voice.

Thomas Kaufman: Guest Post

I met Thomas Kaufman a year ago when he stopped through St. Louis promoting his first novel, Drink the Tea. We grabbed dinner and talked about our shared enthusiasms – film and crime fiction. I knew Tom was a funny, bright and insightful guy from that one exchange, but when I saw him six months later at NoirCon and heard him discuss Patricia Highsmith film adaptations, I felt retro-actively intimidated. This guy knows his stuff. He's a film maker and novelist who puts half-assed posers like me to shame with his chops. I'm going on a bit about Tom and his second Willis Gidney title, Steal the Show at Ransom Notes, while over here, Tom's got something to say.

Take it away, Tom.

(SPOILER ALERT: If you've never seen PSYCHO, this may ruin some of the surprises for you.)

Something that I love about the internet is the democratization of music, video, and writing.  Anyone can attain a global audience, especially if they create something noteworthy.  There's a lot of stuff out there, and some of it is extraordinary.

And the rest of it?  Ordinary. 

Or worse.

Now, I love noir fiction.  Charles Willeford is a favorite author.  So is Horace McCoy, David Goodis, Cornell Woolrich, and Donald Westlake (especially when he wrote as Richard Stark).  There are many others.  If you want to write noir, you look to the greats, you sample what's been done.

When I read noir fiction online, what I usually come across is a bloodbath.  And while it's true that you can't have noir without violence, the stuff I come across reads the crime version of a soft-core pornography.

Seriously.  Substitute the sex for violence, and what've you got?  It seems you're only a paragraph or two into some short story and already the hero is humping attacking someone, killing them in some graphic way.  And while the writers may be talented, the effect is a let-down.

Why is that? In my opinion, it's because there's no build-up.  Just like the sex act, anticipation is –nearly – everything.

The shower scene in Psycho is a great example.

Bloody, violent, swift, merciless.  But it's also a release of tension that began when the movie started thirty minutes ago.  So while the shower scene is a brilliant use of direction, camera work, and montage, it would just be a series of shots if it weren't for what came before: the theft of the money, the suspicious cop, the strange conversation with Norman Bates, the decision to return the money, the cleansing shower.  These elements keep building and building tension in the audience.

And what does Hitchcock do after this shower sequence?  He takes the pacing way down.  The shots of Norman Bates cleaning up after the murder are of long duration (as opposed to the fast editing and quick shots during the shower scene).  Hitchcock is telling the audience to calm down, relax.  In other words, he's getting them ready for the next shocker.

Let's face it, folks, this is foreplay.  And sex without foreplay is rarely any fun.  Let's take a look at the second murder in Psycho, when the private eye Arbogast dies:

Do you see what Hitchcock is doing here?  He's building the anticipation.  The shots of the detective going up the stairs, the door opening a crack, the light spilling through, leading to a high angle of the killer rushing at the victim.

Notice something else? When the detective is at the bottom of the stairs and the killer is going to finish him off, Hitchcock frames the knife as it comes up, into the frame. 

By doing this, Hitchcock is emphasizing the anticipation of the knife coming down.  And that, folks, is great direction.

(It's not that different from music: listen to the end of a Beethoven Symphony, say the last 60 seconds.  What would it sound like if he'd begun the symphony that way?  Like a bad dream.  Beethoven spends his time wisely, guiding the listener and building to that final 60 seconds.  Musical foreplay, leading to a great climax.)

Donald Westlake's series about Parker may sometimes begin in the middle of the action. I can think of at least two books that start with Parker killing someone.  But in a typical Parker story, the violence is implied.  Westlake uses this to create tension. Just now I'm finishing The Green Eagle Score just one of the many Parker books I've enjoyed reading over and over.  I'm near the end, and so far Parker hasn't even swatted a fly.

So why is the book suspenseful?  Because of the people and the situations Westlake puts them in.  We know Parker can be violent.  We can see trouble ahead.  In other words, you need to build towards the violence.  The flipside is, if you have one violent act after another after another, you could wind up with something like this:

Great for humor, but for suspense?  Not so much.

Here's one last observation: before you kill off a character, please go to the trouble of bringing her/him to life in the mind of the reader.  Psycho stunned people because Hitchcock had the audacity to kill off the lead character (and the only "name" star of the film) within the first thirty minutes. We have her point of view up to her death, Hitchcock carefully brought her to life in the minds of the audience before she got sliced to ribbons – that's one of the reasons the shower sequence is so powerful.

So go ahead.  Shoot, stab, and garrote to your heart's content.   Just remember the build-up.

Checking yourself out in the mirror at the gym

Nothing cheeses me off more than when a guy can't stop eye-banging himself in the mirror while I'm trying to isolate my glutes. Some of us are at the gym to actually work out. To us, the mirror is an important tool, like a jump rope or a stability ball. We need it to focus on our technique in order to prevent injury and maximize our intensity training. To these tools, it's a personal buffet featuring a wide array of themselves for which to feast on. If these guys weren't so huge I'd tell them to get back in their corvettes and head to the local singles bar where they can stare at themselves in the mirror while sipping mojitos. Freakin' posers. It's almost enough to spoil my post-workout smoothie. Theses guys make me sick. I say guys because I'm not sure if women are guilty of the infraction. I'm too busy checking out their expertly sculpted buns.

The End Is Nigh

Can't say the title of the new Megan Abbott book, The End of Everything, without cuing that Chris Isaak song in my head. Come to think of it, they sorta go nicely together - both are melancholy and haunting, shimmery summer mirages that come on sweet and twist something in your gut before they're through. Anyway, I'm talking about Ms. Abbott's latest over at Ransom Notes. Planning on hitting Square Books in Oxford, MS. on July 27 for Megan's event, and I'll be in Corydon, IN. September 10 for Frank Bill's event with the Donald and company. I've also just found out about a Surreal South shindig at SIUC in Illinois hosted by the Benedicts in October... hmmm, wonder if John Hornor Jacobs will be there? Have you checked out Senor Jacobs' blog Bastardized Version lately? He's doing a new interview series called Why I'm Badass. So far he's spoke at Daniel O'Shea and Julie Summerell Teat. Entertaining format, yup.

Anybody seen or know interesting shit about (that other Arkansas guy) Jeff Nichols' latest Take Shelter with Michael Shannon? If you saw his feature debut with the same star Shotgun Stories, then you, like me are excited about this one based on pedigree alone. How about Martha Marcy May Marlene? John Hawkes as a creepy-ass cult leader? Sold. Speaking of creepy, the usually so Peter Stormare leads in Small Town Murder Songs which looks terrific and Monte Hellman's The Road to Nowhere looks like it could be something good featuring songs by, no not Ozzy Osbourne, but Craig McDonald favorite, Tom Russell.

I got nothin.

Aaron Neville's Mullet

Dante Condor's life decisions

Dear Dante, there’s certainly nothing wrong with being a bathroom janitor. Cleaning up other people’s shit is what most of us do for a living every day. It’s a whole lot more honorable than being a celebrity lawyer or blood diamond merchant or Donald Trump. There’s absolutely no shame in it. Unless your name is Dante Condor. Then it’s time to aim much, much higher. You’re Dante Freakin Condor, man. Just saying your name makes me feel like I could punch through a brick wall with my face. You should be saving defenseless women in dark allies or threatening to fire a missile at the world from SpaceLab Dante IV unless they hand over Fort Knox and Hawaii. Whichever way you want to go, it’s yours for the taking. I’ll even be your sidekick. I could be Andre Falcon or Eagle Steve or something. You’re right, I’m not bad-ass enough. I’ll be your wise butler slash father figure. Who knows, maybe you’re working up to things, filling out your back-story, creating solid alibis. Or maybe you’re leading a double life, but then you wouldn’t use your real name but maybe your real name is even more awesome. Who am I kidding, it can’t get any more awesome. Listen Dante, sorry, Mr. Condor, this is only chapter one. How the remainder of your epic tale unfolds is up to you. That being said, when I have extra time on my hands I sit at home, blast Motorhead and think about what you should be doing instead of cleaning bathrooms. Here are a few:

-Barracuda rancher

-Ballet Dancing Assassin

-The man who finally tracks down and kills Santa

-The man who actually saves the whales through the most human of all tactics, vengeance

-Electrify the fashion world by creating pleated pants that gay men actually want to wear

-Hollywood super-agent who resurrects Steve Guttenberg’s career.

-Sarah Palin’s fluffer

-Parlay your Mr. Universe title into a lucrative action-movie career that helps you meet and marry a beautiful and highly connected TV news personality which propels you to become governor of California where you cripple the state with hilarious policies because you’re focused on a passionate love affair with your maid who has a heart of gold but ain’t too easy on the eyes which you don’t care because she bears you a child named Conan the Condor who goes on to be the fiercest Barracuda Rancher in all the land

-The first black, non-muslim president

-The first Guatemalan to score a basket in professional hoops

-Rhinestone cowboy

-Hard and/or soft-core porn director, writer and actor

Front Page Funnies

"LeBron's cell phone only vibrares because he doesn't have any rings." "Why didn't LeBron James go to college? Because he didn't want to show up for the finals." "I asked LeBron can I borrow a dollar and he gave me 75 cents. I asked where the other 25 cents were and he said 'Sorry, I don't have a fourth quarter.'" In the eyes of the general population, LeBron James is the enemy. To the outside world, he may come off as an underachieving and overrated "superstar". Can you blame people for feelings this way, though? I mean, here's a guy who has all of the physical abilities any man could ever wish for. A 6'8" Small Forward who can get to the basket like Jordan, run like a gazelle, has a crossover like Iverson, can pass like Magic, and has the defensive prowess of a Dennis Rodman. So, why is this two-time MVP award winner so often criticized? Part of the blame is deserved, but a decent amount of it is unnecessary as well.




 LeBron James' fourth quarter stats are comical. Plain and simple. My three pound chihuahua has more of a killer instinct that "King James". If you're the MVP, you have to be exactly that, valuable to your team. I understand that Derrick Rose was the Most Valuable Player this year, but LeBron by no means had an off year. For goodness sakes, the guy averaged 26.7 points and 7 assists, along with having the highest PER (Player Efficiency Rating) in the NBA. If you put up numbers like that, you can't suddenly vanish in the fourth quarter. You have to be the player that everyone looks to, and has faith in to make the big time shots. If it wasn't for LeBron, however, Miami doesn't go to the finals. They don't completely dominate the top seeded Bulls in the Eastern Conference Finals. While "The Decision" and the Three Kings of Miami Parade may have been a bit much, LeBron is also one of the most poised players in the league, along with being one of the more mature. Before this year, can you ever remember LeBron James having an outburst during a press conference? Has he ever swore on camera? Even this year, he never said anything that was out of line. Even if you watch his interviews during his high school days at SVSM, he was always very professional. I personally Believe that type of attitude is admirable and demands respect. It sets an example for how high school athletes are supposed to act. In 2009, when the Cavaliers visited the Lakers, Cleveland dominated from start to finish. So, when the Los Angeles fans starting cursing and throwing foam fingers onto the Staples Center floor, LeBron didn't egg them on or respond. He was the consumate professional, gathered his team, and settled the players' moods down. Whoever says LeBron isn't a leader is fooling themselves. The intensity he brings and example that he sets pushes other players to levels they may not have ever known they were capable of reaching. I think LeBron frustrates the media because he won't give in, if anything. Maybe that's why they try to put a spin on everything he says and magnify it by three thousand. Although his fourth quater struggles are evident, his value to a team is unmatched, and he doesn't deserve this "overrated" tag because he is the best player in the world, bottomline.

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Corporate Buzzword: Trousermeat

I’m sure you’ll agree that trousermeat is one of the most annoying corporate buzzwords to come down the pike in a long, long time. People think they’re so smart when they break it out. I can’t help but bight my lip when I hear a colleague say something like, “let’s drill down to the trousermeat” or, “we should embrace a more holistic approach to trousermeat,” or the absolute worst, “let’s just take the trousermeat as it comes.” So lame, right? I realize that moving at the speed of business requires vigorous, free-flowing discourse, but it usually ends up coming off so dry. You certainly don’t want the conversation to peter out before it begins, but why must we always climb on top of the same stiff, unimaginative language? I don’t know, it all gets a little hairy.