Dec 15, 2015
Dec 14, 2015
Defining the "Republican" party
Here's an entire article by Brian Beutler that appeared in the New Republic a few days ago. It contains the best definition of today's Republican Party (or GOP) we've seen in quite some time. Indulge us:
If you’ve been following Donald Trump’s presidential candidacy and his effect on the Republican primary closely, you were perhaps beset Monday by a strange sense of speechlessness—one born less of ineffability than of tedium.
Trump’s plan to prohibit Muslim immigration into the U.S. is indeed extreme, but to students of the Trump phenomenon and conservative politics more broadly, it was neither unexpected nor the source of any new or profound lesson.
While closing the country to foreign Muslims altogether is a radical idea relative to our founding ideals and current policy, it is but an incremental step relative to the outer bounds of legitimate debate in the GOP primary. Republican presidential candidates have supported discriminating against Muslims in our refugee policy, and opposed the very notion of a Muslim-American president, all without subjecting themselves to universal condemnation. The most surprising part of the latest Trump story is that it proves a Republican candidate can take Islamophobia too far for his party’s tastes.
Dec 12, 2015
Lachrymal glands --- This is heaven --- (teaser 6)
Another teaser from This Is Heaven, the second part of the best-selling GREEN EYES series. Context: John, Alex, Dr. Alice Sandeman and Godehart have spent a boozy time on the terrace of Nick's restaurant, cooking up an absurd scheme that involves counterfeiting the internet site of the upcoming Georgia Beach Festival. John (the blogger) is tasked to do it. Then Dr. Sandeman is off to work, and the three men repair to Godehart's place, where John can use the office and the computer for his work. Godehart has the brilliant, yet unsurprising idea of an intermezzo in the bedroom, but John, who's still hurting from a similar intermezzo earlier during the morning in the dunes (the gay cruising area), turns them down, so Alex and Godehart are left to their own devices. The bedroom is upstairs, the office is downstairs. And, one more thing, the computer is password protected. And, one more thing, the name of Godehart's self-steering SUV is Isolde.
Wile E. Coyote goes off the cliff now. He goes to Google’s Blogger, the platform for his site. His site is a blog, but an official event site mustn’t look like a blog. He knows little about the festival, and begins to realize the enormity of his task. He feels the need for coffee, goes to the kitchen, gets the Delonghi espresso machine going, feels the effect of the alcohol wearing off (good in some respects, bad in others), returns to the office with a cup in his hand, sits down, realizes that the laptop has gone asleep and requires the password anew, gets up again, climbs the stairs, opens the door to Godehart’s bedroom, and is hit by gravity.
The fall begins, in slow motion, him descending back down the stairs, back into the office where he---at least---can’t hear the noise. He sits down again, clasps his face with both hands, and begins to cry, tears rolling down his face, more tears coming, dripping onto the desk, the keyboard, flooding the floor, flooding everything, until he drowns.
Wile E. Coyote goes off the cliff now. He goes to Google’s Blogger, the platform for his site. His site is a blog, but an official event site mustn’t look like a blog. He knows little about the festival, and begins to realize the enormity of his task. He feels the need for coffee, goes to the kitchen, gets the Delonghi espresso machine going, feels the effect of the alcohol wearing off (good in some respects, bad in others), returns to the office with a cup in his hand, sits down, realizes that the laptop has gone asleep and requires the password anew, gets up again, climbs the stairs, opens the door to Godehart’s bedroom, and is hit by gravity.
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| The threesome that wasn't --- Miguel Angel Reyes (2004) |
The fall begins, in slow motion, him descending back down the stairs, back into the office where he---at least---can’t hear the noise. He sits down again, clasps his face with both hands, and begins to cry, tears rolling down his face, more tears coming, dripping onto the desk, the keyboard, flooding the floor, flooding everything, until he drowns.
Dec 11, 2015
France still exists
We went on an excursion, urgently, today, because Chang can no longer handle Michael's rambling talk about the new novel he's writing, working-titled "The Senator and I," a YA novel with a sixteen year old girl and a member of the Planetary Senate (the senator), and no sex. So we went on this excursion, and here's the result (this is in Moustier St. Marie, Alpes Haute-Provence, France):
And here's a fragment from "The Senator and I" (just a fragment). Alice, the narrator, meets her (new) foster mother (the senator's wife) for the first time. We're in polite society, and Xato is Alice's new PA:
I was led into the pool house, fawned over by an unknown assistant, left alone when I asked for it, and when I returned to the pool, the majordomo had disappeared. Instead, two woman were sitting at a table on the terrace under a huge patio umbrella that had not been there before. Xato touched me briefly at the small of my back (nice), whispered “The Lady Abercrombie,” and guided me towards the female couple. The Lady had indeed taken note, was perhaps even expecting me, since she raised her regard and made contact with lazy, tired eyes. In front of her, on the table, lunch had been laid: a large bottle of Cointreau and one long-drink-glass, filled almost to the rim with the honey-colored liqueur. She didn’t speak however, and there was nothing of a body language on her part, Xato introduced me to a silent and motionless person dressed conspicuously in an iridescent bathrobe like me, one elbow on the table, the other on an armrest, a cigarette---a real, smoking cigarette, not an electric one---between two forefingers (signet ring on the pinkie). Xato explained about my morning adventure in a burlesque language I had not heard him using before, while the smoke from her fag curled, billowed, and headed for my nose. I sneezed and turned away for a sec, and when I turned back the Cointreau glass was half-empty. The Lady managed a gesture that seemed like an invitation to have a seat, at least that’s what Xato took it for since he hastened to shove a chair into place and made me sit down. I stole a glimpse at my imitation-ring that had survived the freak wave, then began to wonder how a person like her would harness the energy to “panic,” or do other things that might require body language. My new mother. One is never too old to learn.
And here's a fragment from "The Senator and I" (just a fragment). Alice, the narrator, meets her (new) foster mother (the senator's wife) for the first time. We're in polite society, and Xato is Alice's new PA:
I was led into the pool house, fawned over by an unknown assistant, left alone when I asked for it, and when I returned to the pool, the majordomo had disappeared. Instead, two woman were sitting at a table on the terrace under a huge patio umbrella that had not been there before. Xato touched me briefly at the small of my back (nice), whispered “The Lady Abercrombie,” and guided me towards the female couple. The Lady had indeed taken note, was perhaps even expecting me, since she raised her regard and made contact with lazy, tired eyes. In front of her, on the table, lunch had been laid: a large bottle of Cointreau and one long-drink-glass, filled almost to the rim with the honey-colored liqueur. She didn’t speak however, and there was nothing of a body language on her part, Xato introduced me to a silent and motionless person dressed conspicuously in an iridescent bathrobe like me, one elbow on the table, the other on an armrest, a cigarette---a real, smoking cigarette, not an electric one---between two forefingers (signet ring on the pinkie). Xato explained about my morning adventure in a burlesque language I had not heard him using before, while the smoke from her fag curled, billowed, and headed for my nose. I sneezed and turned away for a sec, and when I turned back the Cointreau glass was half-empty. The Lady managed a gesture that seemed like an invitation to have a seat, at least that’s what Xato took it for since he hastened to shove a chair into place and made me sit down. I stole a glimpse at my imitation-ring that had survived the freak wave, then began to wonder how a person like her would harness the energy to “panic,” or do other things that might require body language. My new mother. One is never too old to learn.
Dec 10, 2015
Succès de scandale
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| John Lee, narrator of the GREEN EYES |
That's why the GREEN EYES are selling so well, they are scandalous. From an actual review (on Goodreads): "All in all so far this guy [John, the narrator] has been with four different guys in the span of only two days and I don’t think I can read any further." Yes.
Dec 9, 2015
As the likelihood of a Trump presidency increases by the minute...
...we asked our friends over at StarWars to share their insights. Here they are:
And while you are at it...okay, first this...
...and soon we'll have a link to an article in the New Atlantic with the best characterization of today's GOP ever (stay tuned).
...and soon we'll have a link to an article in the New Atlantic with the best characterization of today's GOP ever (stay tuned).
Dec 8, 2015
We interrupt our broadcast...
...Jeff Bozos (Amazon) has tweeted this picture under the heading...
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| ...The Perfect Plan to Deal with Donald Trump |
Dec 3, 2015
Michael and friends --- by Joe Phillips
Yes, this is little Michael, right in the middle (the serious looking guy), and it's not even photoshopped. Done by Joe Phillips for his 2016 calendar, which is on pre-order now, using an only mildly outdated picture of the bestselling author.
Nov 30, 2015
More stars for the Green Eyes
Another five star review for the Green Eyes:
What a delightful and tongue-in-cheek romp through the drama, the pitfalls and the high camp of gay love obsession!
In general, I'm not a fan of "erotic" books, but a friend recommended this to me, and I must say that in spite of my reluctance, I was hooked on the story from the first pages in, because the writing and plotting is so outrageously witty, literate and engaging. John, the narrator, is a hunk of attractive, dysfunctional gay man, who is still partner-less and feeling washed out at approaching that deadly age of 29. He meets Alex in the sand dunes of the "gay beach" in his Georgia town, and the rest is a wild, and wonderfully sardonic, ride through wild parties, back rooms, emergency rooms, attempted murder, Georgia sodomy laws, and yes love, in a whole host of hilarious and totally dysfunctional mini plots. With chapter headings like "Richard Wagner and Ludwig the Second; Bavarian Leather Shorts; Playing with my Caravaggio; In Flagrante Masterclass; Six Minutes to Eighth Heaven; and Look Muffy, He Brought His Instruments" - well you get the idea. There's plenty of sex, but even that's written in the same, most entertaining, tongue-in-cheek manner. The writing style is really original and the plotting, well, it's just totally crazy - but it works great! I was well entertained - Green Eyes is delightfully offbeat, and highly original.
What a delightful and tongue-in-cheek romp through the drama, the pitfalls and the high camp of gay love obsession!
In general, I'm not a fan of "erotic" books, but a friend recommended this to me, and I must say that in spite of my reluctance, I was hooked on the story from the first pages in, because the writing and plotting is so outrageously witty, literate and engaging. John, the narrator, is a hunk of attractive, dysfunctional gay man, who is still partner-less and feeling washed out at approaching that deadly age of 29. He meets Alex in the sand dunes of the "gay beach" in his Georgia town, and the rest is a wild, and wonderfully sardonic, ride through wild parties, back rooms, emergency rooms, attempted murder, Georgia sodomy laws, and yes love, in a whole host of hilarious and totally dysfunctional mini plots. With chapter headings like "Richard Wagner and Ludwig the Second; Bavarian Leather Shorts; Playing with my Caravaggio; In Flagrante Masterclass; Six Minutes to Eighth Heaven; and Look Muffy, He Brought His Instruments" - well you get the idea. There's plenty of sex, but even that's written in the same, most entertaining, tongue-in-cheek manner. The writing style is really original and the plotting, well, it's just totally crazy - but it works great! I was well entertained - Green Eyes is delightfully offbeat, and highly original.
Nov 28, 2015
AuthorsInterviews
Cool, folks, we've had a sit-down with Fiona Mcvie of AuthorsInterviews about the Green Eyes, and we held forth like there's no tomorrow.
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| They seem to have some really cool offices over there |
(Q: "Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?" A: "Yes and no. There are lots of messages. I don’t know whether you had this in High School, writing essays that would “interpret” a particular piece of literature. We had this a lot. The (implicit) question always was: “What does the author mean, what does he/she want to say?” Even then I thought the question beside the point. If you have a clear message, you write an opinion piece for the New York Times, you don’t write a novel, or a play, or a poem. Art---if that’s what we are doing---art is about ambiguity. There is no clear message, there shouldn’t be, in fact. The more ambiguity, the better"). Along those lines.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 25, 2015
Google mis-search --- This is heaven --- (teaser)
(We're already in Chapter 5. Godehart has been tricked into underwriting the Festival Award of $$$ 100k, which explains the whiskeys. Alice, Godehart, Alex and John sit on the terrace of Nick's restaurant, and talk, yes, what, they talk neologisms:)
“If you control the website, you control the festival, more or less,” Alex says.
“This isn’t the festival site,” I say, “It’s my site.”
“Who would know?” Alex asks.
“Anybody who needs to know about the festival. It takes a split second to discover a mis-search. People have experience,” I say.
“Mis-search.” Alex’s tongue likes the word. “A bit heavy on the ear perhaps, but useful. The most frequently committed act of our era, mis-search, an act in dire need of a term. You invented this? ... Can you google ‘mis-search’?” he adds in Alice’s direction.
Alice---who should slap Alex’s wrist now and steer the conversation back to Godehart’s predicament---Alice says:“We have him back, we have him back.” She means Alex.
“I was like this before?” Alex asks.
“Yes, on a good day.”
“Well, this isn’t a good day,” Alex answers, “google ‘mis-search’.”
Alice googles “mis-search.”
Nada. Not one mis-search on Google. “A real neologism, John,” Alex says, and slaps my shoulder. “Dude. You are worth it.”
“If you control the website, you control the festival, more or less,” Alex says.
“This isn’t the festival site,” I say, “It’s my site.”
“Who would know?” Alex asks.
“Anybody who needs to know about the festival. It takes a split second to discover a mis-search. People have experience,” I say.
“Mis-search.” Alex’s tongue likes the word. “A bit heavy on the ear perhaps, but useful. The most frequently committed act of our era, mis-search, an act in dire need of a term. You invented this? ... Can you google ‘mis-search’?” he adds in Alice’s direction.
Alice---who should slap Alex’s wrist now and steer the conversation back to Godehart’s predicament---Alice says:“We have him back, we have him back.” She means Alex.
“I was like this before?” Alex asks.
“Yes, on a good day.”
“Well, this isn’t a good day,” Alex answers, “google ‘mis-search’.”
Alice googles “mis-search.”
Nada. Not one mis-search on Google. “A real neologism, John,” Alex says, and slaps my shoulder. “Dude. You are worth it.”
Nov 20, 2015
Thanks God (Tristan Verran)
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 14, 2015
We mourn the victims
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| A victim outside the Bataclan concert hall in Paris on Friday night |
“A body fell on me—it emptied blood on my legs. . . . My neighbor, a man of about fifty, was shot right in the face, in the head. Bits of brain and flesh fell on my glasses,” one blessed escapee from the theatre recollected. “I tried to keep my eyes on the floor, it was an immense flood of blood.” Another concertgoer, named Célia, recounted, “I saw the assailants clearly. I think there were four. Their faces weren’t hidden. All very young, in their twenties. Not especially handsome, but not at all devilish looking. They wore big tunics, one beige, and two all in black. The one in the beige tunic had a short beard. They were all Middle Eastern types but spoke French without any accent.” And another survivor remembered one of the attackers saying, “You have killed our brothers in Syria, now it’s your turn,” while they fired at the crowd. It was a non-stop fusillade, and a gunman shouted, “The first person who moves his ass, I’ll kill him.” Célia added, “My cell phone was lit because I was going to film parts of the concert, but I didn’t have it out. Good thing, because those who took theirs out were killed immediately.”
(Eyewitnesses, quoted in an article in The New Yorker)
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 6, 2015
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 29, 2015
Yesterday
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| This is the Dom, at 4505 m. the third-highest mountain of the Alpes, the peak is in the clouds. You can see autumn descending down the slopes (the rainbow of colors). |
Oct 26, 2015
A third Bush in a row, that would be....like this guy
"I don’t want to be elected president to sit around and see gridlock just become so dominant that people literally are in decline in their lives. That is not my motivation. I’ve got a lot of really cool things I cold do other than sit around, being miserable, listening to people demonize me and feeling compelled to demonize them. That is a joke. Elect Trump if you want that."
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| Jeb Bush, Oct. 25, 2015 |
PS: (msnbc):
Addressing his many troubles at a campaign event in New Hampshire over the weekend, Jeb Bush said, “Blah blah blah blah, that’s my answer, blah blah blah.”
PSS: And if you want to know FF's views: Emerging dynasties are bad, especially in a republic. A third Bush in a row, that would be, qua analogy, like this guy:
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