Officers and Gentlemen

Just finished Officers and Gentlemen by Evelyn Waugh and it was fine. It's the second book of his 'Sword of Honour' trilogy about a Catholic officer serving in the second world war. Waugh has a sharp and unforgiving eye for the officers of old England who knew that this new war was very different from the first. One character remarks that unlike WWI, no one will write poetry about the battles they were fighting. No Sigfried Sassoon, Robert Graves and others.

If you've overdosed on Band of Brothers and Saving Private Ryan, read OaG as a tonic."

A Writer Writes

It's been a good and bad week of writers. Let's start with the good news.

This is one of the best magazine pieces I've read in ages. I not only wished I wrote it, but I could see how it could easily appear in The New Yorker with a few minor edits. Great stuff.

Nora Vincent, a lesbian neo-con, hasn't been around for a while and I've missed her. I even mentioned her as a possible replacement for the repititious Maureen "Men are dumb because no one will marry me" Dowd. Now, Vincent has a book about her adventures dressed as a guy, called Self-Made Man. It wasn't a walk in the park, she tells us. Listen to Instapundit and his wife interview her here.

It was a very bad week for shallow, dishonest writers. First, James Frey took his lumps from Oprah when he admits that his drug rehab memoir was mostly fiction. (Duh, says most of the publishing industry who declined to publish the book when it was pitched as a novel).

But the writer dressing-down of the week has to go to Hugh Hewitt grilling of LA Times columnist/snarky lisper Joel Stein. He wrote a some-what brave if embarassing column that claims that since he does not support the war he refuses to support the troops. He does not wish them ill but neither does he admire them or the job they are trying to perform in hellish circumstances.

You have to admire Stein's bravery and I bet there are a ton of anti-war Lefties who wish they could say what Steine wrote. (A while back, a neighbor almost came out and wished for another attack on US troop as we saw in Black Hawk Down right before the election. It would be horrible, she said, but maybe it could help things...)

Hewitt did his usual shtick, which is to show that reporters and media members are reliably liberal and therefore anti-war/freedom/Bush. Stein's shallow answers and the realization that he could have been more precise is truly embarassing. Back to the gossip pages, Joel.

Mullets in Aisle Three

Here are three things I will admit to in this blog and nowhere else:

1. I am not looking forward to the day that John Updike dies. I check the obits for his name and I miss the man already. That said, I hope there's a few unpublished books in his desk that will see the light of day after he passes. Can you define selfish anymore pathetic and sweatier than that?

2. I daydream about flying a fighter jet, playing drums in a power-pop band and directing a film. It's called Ships at Night, about a young, callow naval officer who makes a critical mistake and his communication ship is captured by the Nazis. The senior officers are kept in captivity and tortured while the crew and the young, disgraced officer are sent on a humiliating PR mission around pre-war Europe to promote the might of the Nazis. They escape their captors and rescue their commanding officers and the damned boat too. They pick up a few refugees -- a family with a precocious girl and a mute boy and a young Jewish computer (what they called female mathematicians in the 30s) -- along the way and escape to freedom.

3. The last CD I burned to my Dell DJ MP3 player is Flashback: The Best of .38 Special.

Hold on Loosely, y'all!

Smile for the Camera

The public is eager to feast its eyes on two unpublished pictures. In celebrity-obsessed America, the first is the ultrasound image of Angelina and Brad's baby. In Washington, which has been called Hollywood for ugly people, it's a picture of the President shaking hands with scumbag lobbyist Jack Abramoff. Like the picture and video clips of Bill Clinton embracing his favorite thong-snapping, pizza delivery gal, reporters and critics want to show W. within 25 yards of the worst briber in, oh, as many years.

Does this prove guilt by association? Doesn't matter. The Anti-Bush Left wants to imply that because the President took a few pictures with one spectacularly bad man, he and his administration is the worst in history. No matter that the Commander-in-Chief has his picture taken with hundreds if not thousands of people each year.

I mean, Jimmy Carter had his picture taken with Yassir Arafat and Michael Moore. It doesn't mean that he's an anti-American demagogue.

Wait, on second thought...

Arrrrrr, Matey

It's been a weekend of depressing news: Two miners found dead in West Virginia, a whale dies as rescuers try to remove it from the Thames in London, and the parents of a kidnapped US reporter plead for their daughter's life. The only highpoint was something that should be from a movie: Sailors from the cruise missile destroyer USS Winston Churchill capture a pirate boat off the coast of Somalia.

Avast, ye hearties.

(Oh, and the official first draft of my freelancing piece is done, thank you).

A Little Victory Lap

Last night at the Incisive Media awards ceremony, Waters won Magazine of the Year. My publisher called from the London event and he was ecstatic. The New York office heard the news in real-time because a few of us were huddled around the speakerphone as a co-worker gave us the play-by-play. When our magazine was announced, the cheers shook the ceiling.

Congratulations to Eugene Grygo, colleague and cohort, for winning Scoop of the Year. Much deserved.

On Beauty and Gigolos

I finished Zadie Smith's On Beauty a couple of weeks ago and it's still swirling around in my head. She writes such great characters that even though they have their limitations and go their separate ways, you want them to remain together in the same household. And for a long book, you want it to be even longer. I avoided her White Teeth follow-up, The Autograph Man because it received some harsh reviews and seemed like a perfect example of the sophomore slump. Forget that, I'm getting it this weekend.

In the meantime, I'm reading Easy Riders, Raging Bulls, Peter Biskind's take on the new Hollywood generation of the '70s. It's a great book and I get to hop around -- this chapter here, that section there. I've heard a lot of these stories before but not in one volume and the portraits really stick out. Steven Spielberg seems like the ultimate loser schlub, which didn't jibe with the boy wonder coverage he received after Close Encounters. And Francis Coppola practically deserved his exile and stangnant career for his behavior before, during and after Apocalypse Now.

But my favorite character has to be Paul Schrader. I'm on a Schrader kick these days. I borrowed the Auto Focus DVD from the Briarcliff Library for the third time and played the flick with his voice over commentary. He's a so-so filmmaker but his stories are great. I read somewhere that a person would rather discuss his films than actually see them and he had a point. Schrader is intellectual, articulate and has a world weary view of the world around him. And he sounds like a mixture of Truman Capote and a high school gym teacher/teen minister. I am trying to find a DVD of American Gigolo with his commentary but no luck. Isn't that film 25 years-old now?

The Bigger Bang

This fall I picked up my first Steven Hunter novel, Hot Springs. I'm a snob when it comes to thrillers -- I only read Elmore Leonard and Alan Furst -- but I loved his column on the DC Sniper a few years ago. As a gun enthusiast, he wrote a smart piece on what we know about the sniper who terrorized Washington DC after 9/11: he was a good shot but not a great shot; he chose stationary targets and he was stationary himself when shooting. It was the best kind of article: you were instantly smarter after reading it and couldn't wait to parrot some of the best lines to family and friends.

Hot Springs is about Earl Swagger, a former Marine who is recruited to clean up the Arkansas hot spot after the war. It's hard to read the book and not see a young Nuck Nolte -- tall, haunted, and ready for action -- in the role. It's hard to think who could do this right now becuase we're in a weird era of action stars: could Will Smith or Colin Farrell play a man who has seen too much on Iwo Jima? Who has the square jaw these days? No one comes to mind.

One thing about Hunter is he knows guns. He writes about Colts and Brownings the wat James Joyce wrote about Dublin and John Updike wrote about housewives in the 60s. Hot Springs -- read it now.

Closer But No Cigar

Yuk yuk yuk. Rented Mike Nichols' Closer from the library the other day and semi-enjoyed it. It was billed as Carnal Knowledge for the new millenium and it's true that it's about some spectacularly good looking people leading miserable lives. I guess Clive Owen's character is Jack Nickolson's woman-hater but Owen was more of a softy. He at least has feelings beyond self-pity, which seemed to be the fuel for Julia Roberts' adulterous photographer and Jude Law's pathic obituary writer/novelist. Natalie Portman played a fragile and elusive stripper -- she seemed to realize how lucky she was to be in the movie. Rent it for the cool photography and Clive Owen's randy doctor. His online sex chat with Jude Law is worth the rental price.

Outrageous 2006 Predictions

This isn't going to be a good year for Hillary Clinton. Sure, she'll be re-elected to the US Senate from her home state of New York without breaking a sweat, but 2006 will be the year the anti-war faction becomes a full-fledged wing of the Democratic Party.

They may make up one-third of registered Democrats and they won't be searching for third party candidates like Ralph Nader. Instead, they'll stay inside the old party and shun anyone who voted for the war. This is bad news for Hil, who stands by her vote. Even if she switches sides and deamnds that the troops come home now, it will be seen as too calculated.

So who runs? Russ Feingold is on everyone's lips and Al Gore seems poised to think about this seriously. I see Howard Dean throwing his hat in the ring after he steps down from the party leadership role this year. Paging Dr. Dean.

Satellite Radio Days

The media have discovered Howard Stern again the week before he says farewell to terrestrial radio and starts his new gig at Sirius, the satellite radio station. The coverage has been glowing and there are a few interesting things to note: it seems like each interviewer from the mainstream media asks the same question: doesn't the FCC cencorship implore you to be more creative? Stern refuses to see how he can be more clever and I loved one complaint he made to Newsweek: the threats of hefty fines have forced him to curtail his show. "I haven't had a porn star on the show in six months!"

Two installments on The Today Show, a glowing profile on 60 Minutes, two pages in Newsweek plus cover stories in New York and Esquire. If I were the editor of a magazine that covered this story, why not write the non-Howard profile? Interview Opie and Anthony on Sirius' competitor XM? Ask them about what Stern can expect. Did they drop off the media radar because practically no one has satellite radio? Will his contract depend on signing up new subscribers? Is the freedom all that wonderful when you have fewer listeneers? Does the joy of using the F word fade after a while?

And another story idea: I want to go over to satellite and listen to Stern and his two channels but the company isnt making it easy for me. Why? The handheld Sirius devices are ugly and expensive. $349 for a lousy looking handheld? Why don't they hire the guy who designed the iPod and get him or her to work on a snazzy handheld version? To make matters worse, XM has a handheld device that costs $149.99 and isn't too bad looking. Hmmmmm. XMmmmmmmmm.

Giving One Pinter Pauses

"The crimes of the United States have been systematic, constant, vicious, remorseless, but very few people have actually talked about them. You have to hand it to America. It has exercised a quite clinical manipulation of power worldwide while masquerading as a force for universal good. It's a brilliant, even witty, highly successful act of hypnosis."

Ah, the words of a Nobel winner. Yassir Arafat? Jimmy Carter, you ask? No, the man of letters, Harold Pinter and winner of the 2005 Nobel Prize for Literature. If the Swedish Academy wanted to praise an artist's work while smashing the US in a single choice, they could not have done better than old Mr. P.

Of course, not every decision and policy of the US has been successful or 100 percent noble but the playwright's screed begs the question, if we are such vile scum, why is the United States still standing? The biggest guns? The old USSR had some heavy artillery and yet it fell to the wayside after 80 or so years of torturing its citizens. The empty promise of the American Dream? Not so empty because people are dying to come to this country each and every day. The NYTimes Magazine had a fascinating article about 30 year-old Jordanian man. He was conflicted: does he travel to the US and work for Microsoft or does he join the Jihad? Decisions, decisions.

Pinter sees the US' glass not only as half empty but the liquid stale and putrid as well. This is one odd switch between the Neocons and the New Left: The Neocons are now the pie-in-the-sky dreamers (the Middle East can support a democracy!) while the New Left are the sticks in the mud. Ask many Lefties about deposing Saddam and trying to establish a democracy and someone will soon say, 'some people cannot be run by a democracy.' Imagine if Dick Cheney said, "some people cannot operate a VCR."

(Yes, yes, a VCR and a democracy are two different things but just because a people do not have experience with free elections does not mean that they naturally want a vicious dictatorship.)

It's a shame that Pinter cannot see the good that America has done to for the world: we share our technology and hope; we want democracy to flourish and we have a nasty habit of liberating people from the vice of fascism. This last fact misses the ailing Pinter, who, if the Americans had not joined the fight in WWII, would certainly have a Nazi swastika on the corner of his typewriter paper when he wrote his first play in the early 1960s.

Congratulations to Harold Pinter. Brilliant playwrite and a perfect dupe of the Nobel Committee.

Murtha of a Nation

Rep. John Murtha intrigues me. His background is heroic, his idea for pulling troops from Iraq is suicidal but his role in Hilary's future is interesting. After a few months of Cindy Sheehan's shaming of the president, her dingbat idea is catching fire. Even Republican Senators are wondering that three years of a shooting war is too much for a country to bear, even though casualties haven't reached the levels of the morning of D-Day. How, one has to wonder, does the junior senator from New York handle this growing anti-war spasm?

Hillary Clinton, an anti-Saddam hawk, cannot be happy. She has heard the intelligence report since the mid-90s, she has sat on intelligence committees, and met with hindreds if not thousands of soldiers, reservists and airmen in her tour of military bases in New York. How does a neocon - yes, a neocon - convince the anti-war, bring them home, no blood for oil Left that she is their chice for the White House in '08.

Easy: she can't. Expect Hillary to go to the other side to join Sheehan, Murtha and countless other senators and representatives from both the right and left who have lost their stomach for the war. It's over. Expect to see politicians on listening tours so that they can vote to bring the troops home.

The O'Hara Factor

English Major Bears His Soul: I've tried to read Appointment in Samarra at least three times and I couldn't make it past the third page. I hate to admit this but I am a font queen -- if the book is ugly, the font too small and the paper too ugly, I usually give up. And because most of John O'Hara's work is out of print and only promoted in a poorly packaged collections, the publishers are practically daring readers to discover this amazing writer. Appt in Sam is well worth the wait and is designed for readers who have lived a little. I've heard and read several critics say it is the true Jazz Age novel instead of The Great Gatsby and they are right. Appt in Sam is about class, drink and desperation while F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote about longing, true love, and limitless wealth -- all things teenage future English majors dream about. Talk about playing to the back row. If there is a list of great American novels, Appointment in Samarra should rank between Couples by John Updike and The Human Stain by Philip Roth.

I'm Famous! (and kidding, if you're humor-impaired)

This is me, on the 'perils' of gay marriage. Enjoy

Syrup Blogging, Baby

Last Friday, co-workers mentioned a terrific smell wafting through our SOHO office while they worked late the night before. Like maple syrup or fresh pancakes, they said. The NY Times even had a short, only-in-New York story the next day but there might be something serious at work here.

All last week, workers at Grand Central Terminal had their smell detectors out and running. These are long, thin aerials that hang from the entrance ways to the lower section of GCT, on the subway platforms and even on small carts in the middle of the main floor. What for? They track a colorless and odorless gas that officials release to test the flow of air where thousands of people walk through each hour. So if Al Queda releases a poison gas, the people in charge can see or predict where the gas will flow.

Why not test the release of a gas outdoors and check the log of phone calls to 911? No need to make it smell like rotten eggs -- which might panic the public -- but something homey and re-assuring.

Me, I like cinnamon.

Un-Savvy Boob

Yesterday was a good day to be a reporter. Instead of writing or editing a story about trading platforms, networking or asset management, I wrote a breaking news item about a strip club. Why? The CEO of networking firm Savvis is disputing a credit card charge at a strip club to the tune of $241K.

The editor of our sister newsletter asked me to write it up so I went to work. I called Savvis three times for comment plus I sent an e-mail to the communications director. No reply.

I then called Scores, the high-end strip club that gets tons of publicity as Howard Stern's favorite place to blow off steam. I interviewed Lonnie Hanover, the club's publicist, and he couldn't have been nicer or more professional.

My favorite reply came when I asked how many dancers entertained the Savvis party of four back in October 2003. He said that he didn't recall but that "there were so many."

Sadly, my fellow editor removed one from my story, which went like this:

"On the morning the story broke, Savvis had yet to add a link to the NY Daily News story on the firm's In the News section on the company Web site."

Here's the Yahoo News story. Waters should cover it in our December issue.

Miller's Crossing

Yesterday's four-page autopsy of the Judith Miller affair was odd. It felt like a hit piece from the very beginning with an anecdote about one of the Times star reporters getting her facts wrong. The first paragraph has Miller misspelling Joe Wilson's wife's name as Valerie Flame. Nice anecdote but it subtly shows that some in the Times newsroom would like Miller gone, thank you very much.

The piece seems thorough in nailing Dick Cheney's chief of staff as the official leaker of Plame's identity but that Miller and others were told she was an analyst and not an operative. If that's true, then no crime was committed. Just DC gossip.

But what of Miller -- does she leave the Times? They certainly cannot fire her even though her reporting on WMD was erroneous and boosterish. She went to jail for 87 days, for goodness sakes. As much as they'd like to dump her, that's no way to treat a lady.

Network News

Okay, I bought a home networking kit at the height of summer and after three, maybe four attempts, it is now finally working. I'll spare you the gory details but I am now typing this from my kid's PC. Wireless, baby! After the Motorola techie helped me set-up the network and set-up some security, I asked the wrong question.

"So, I can share files between the two PCs, right?"

"Well, no sir. You'll have to call Microsoft for that."

"But it's a home network. You should be able to share files, right?"

"This unit is only for sharing Internet access. Microsoft will help you with file sharing."

Great, now they tell me. Still, it is pretty neat.

Somebody Stop Me

I am in the Ft Lauderdale Airport waiting for my flight and I have no book with me. A book dilemma this profound should be making my hands shake. Actually the book I finished -- The Other Hollywood: An Oral History of the Porn Film Industry -- is in my garment bag in the hull of some 757 and I have nothing to read. Nothing. I was going to bring a paperback but nothing appealed to me. Gods and Generals? The kid is a decent writer compared to his dad, who wrote The Killer Angels but this sequel is just leaden. Junior's book on the Mexican-American war was much better but the name escapes me.

So do I buy a book? The selection is awful, all Grisham, Grifton, Steele and Patterson. I feel my brain shrinking just looking at the covers. The bookstore does have the new Zadie Smith but I doubt I can justify $25 for a new book. I loved her White Teeth -- just amazing even if it was a touch over-praised -- and this one has received glowing reviews as well. If it were in paperback, I'd scoop it up.

Maybe I'll just tap out some notes for my novel. I have an idea about a guy who gets a vasectomy and it launches the mother of all mid-life crises. Not based on personal experience but I see a slim, comedic novel about a happily married man with three different girlfriends. Who has the time for this much madness? Me, I hope to have the time to write the damned thing. How's this for a title: Snip.

Snip by Phil Albinus. I like that.