Where C-SPAN is the local TV news
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| The Washington Canard Where C-SPAN is the local TV news |
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Thursday, September 30, 2004
BLOWN AWAY Without going into the kind of details that could get me into trouble, know well enough that the office complex I work at DC is one you have undoubtedly heard of. Now consider that around 10:17 this morning, the following e-mail found its way to my inbox:
This morning at approximately 7:30 AM, the police were called to [REDACTED] to respond to a “forced entry” call. When they entered the [REDACTED] room, they discovered what appeared to be a pipe bomb. The bomb squad was called in and [REDACTED] Ave was closed from [REDACTED] St. At approximately 9:15 AM the police determined that there was no threat and they reopened [REDACTED] Ave. Had there been a need to evacuate, our property management firm was prepared to make a building wide page. I arrived at the scene at 7:50 AM and was in close contact with our property management firm and key individuals in [REDACTED]. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me. If this blog mysteriously ceases to publish at some point, you can probably turn on the news and find out about it before I do. Tuesday, September 28, 2004
HEY, IT BEATS LARRY SABATO  Blog calls attention to one of many meaningless pre-election superstitions; i.e. whichever candidates' Halloween mask sells better goes on to win. Bush leads that one. I'd like to point out two more equally reputable predictors. One is followed intensely here in Federal City. The other matters, to some at least, out in Hollywood. Last first:
Consider the prophecies of Jacqueline Stallone's dogs. Remember, Sly Stallone's psychic mom? She has "clairvoyant canines." (Who could forget?) Unfortunately for JFK2, Jackie's miniature pinschers are reported to have correctly picked Bush to win by a narrow margin in 2000. This time they say -- assuming their barks were correctly deciphered -- that Bush will win by as much as 15%. I should be embarrassed to repeat this, but I'm quoting a mainstream newspaper here. If they're wrong about these psychic pets, I'm sure they can find a blog to blame.  Then there's the 72-year, 18-election standing oracle that is the game between the Packers and the Redskins. If the Washington franchise wins, the incumbent will go on to victory. If the Green Bay team carries the day, Kerry can probably start finalizing drape patterns. As if that wasn't spooky enough, the teams meet this year on Halloween. Both teams are coming off close losses. Talk is that the game has passed by formerly recumbent coach Gibbs, and incumbent QB Farve doesn't have the team he once did. I'm no expert, but I'll give the edge to Kerry here.
Good thing DC hasn't had a baseball team all these years, huh? GREAT SPAMS OF THE INTERNET, SECOND DAY RUNNING Only if she's 5'3":
Subject: Jessica24 has invited you to open a CHATING_WIVES Nick Name: Jessica24 Measurement: 36 28 36 Status: Married Fantasy: Let a stranger treat me like the whore, I really am! Favorite sexual position: Deep throat Monday, September 27, 2004
GREAT SPAMS OF THE INTERNET As with many great spams, this one is mostly pedestrian, save for one thing. This time it's the subject line:
Subject: teen labias can cost you your job Date: Sun, 26 Sep 2004 05:41:54 -0600 Saturday, September 25, 2004
YES, YOU MENTIONED THE FREE WINE Earlier this week I had the pleasure of drinking quite a bit of quality wine, courtesy of British publishing tycoon Felix Dennis. If you don't know about Mr. Dennis, here are some interesting facts:
 But the only reason he would matter to 99% of Washington Canard readers is because he is the founder and publisher of such fine periodicals as Maxim, Stuff and Blender. The reason I'm writing about him now is that, late in life, he's become a poet.
Dennis has just begun the North American leg of the world tour promoting his first collection of poetry, "A Glass Half Full." The tour's name, "Did I Mention The Free Wine?" is highly appropriate. Before the readings, during the intermission and afterward, Dennis keeps the wine flowing. Last Wednesday evening, I attended his DC reading at the Folger Shakespeare Library on the corner of SE 2nd, nestled between the Adams and Jefferson (Library of Congress) buildings. I stayed late after work and hopped the Metro to Capitol South, arriving just after 6:00 p.m. Outside the building I saw a wide, wild-haired oldster gesturing emphatically at a Range Rover. As I approached the front, he crossed my path to meet a couple standing nearby. He sat down with a cigarette and started talking with a crisp English accent. Felix Dennis for sure. I hadn't managed to convince anyone else to come along, so once inside I helped myself to the wine and occupied myself by checking out the main exhibit, about 14th and 15th century religious intolerance. Truth be told, the Folger Shakespeare Library undersells itself a bit. It's not just Billy Shakes in there -- they've got all kinds of old books, not to mention some wicked paintings with yet wickeder decapitations and public bloodletting. Where would the modern horror genre be without the auto-da-fé?  My first thought, while moving from well-preserved 16th century religious texts under glass to a tagboard poster featuring the line-art portrait at right, held at chest height by a flimsy wire easel, was: I hope you're enjoying it, because this is the last time your work will be featured in such esteemed company.
Two themes stuck out immediately, though the reading had yet to begin: Felix Dennis is really, really, really rich; and, Felix Dennis is a deadly serious artist with a populist streak. One such promo sign included this quote from Dennis: "I'm using a split brain here, where one half is working where millions of dollars could be the consequence, and the other half is trying to work out what to do with, 'Who seeks to breach the siege of song?'" Apparently even populists can be pretentious. I should also note, I was easily among the youngest in attendance. I'd been expecting to see more of a Maxim audience, but the New Yorker crowd showed up instead. It seems you can bring the elitists to popular poetry, but you can't bring the populace to literature. Curious about the wine list? I know nothing about fine wine, and prefer to leave the serious wine reviews to those who know what they're talking about. But in case you're at a Parisian restaurant in the near future, you may want to give these a try:
Domaine Louis Latour Corton Grancey 1999 Michel Faraud Gigondas 2001 Rauzan Segla Margaux 1999 The Whites: Domaine Louis Latour Puligny-Montrachet Premier Cru "Les Champ Gain" 1999 Vieux Telegraphe Chateauneuf-du-Pape Blanc 2002 Hippolyte-Reverdy Sancerre 2003 Mysteriously, the lights began to dim, then rise -- dim, rise, dim, rise. I threw back what remained of my pinot noir and followed the crowd into the Elizabethan theater. It's a small theater; I doubt capacity is any higher than 100, though I didn't think to count the rows and columns. On each seat was a copy of one of Mr. Dennis' non-laddie publications, The Week, sort of like The Economist meets Reader's Digest, if that makes any sense. Obviously, The Week was "sponsoring" this trip. In other words, his poetry tour was also serving as an advertisement for his newsmag. A multimedia display on the small stage at front showed rotating issues and endorsements by an improbable number and variety of literary figures, political commentators and Hollywood celebs. Among them:
Arianna Huffington John Cleese Christian Slater Paul Theroux Barry Diller Mario Cuomo Hugh Downs Kurt Andersen Christopher Buckley Charlie Rose Harvey Weinstein Dominic Dunne Bill Moyers John Turturro But the best quote, hands down, came from none other than MC Hammer, who declared: "The Week is great. You can't touch it." Before too much longer, Dennis the Menace -- as some call him -- bounded up onstage, dressed expensively like a tramp. Felix Dennis was indeed the man I'd seen out front. Dennis took up a position on a high stool behind a podium in the center of the stage. With one glass of white wine and one of red within reach, he took out a pack of cigarettes and explained that while it was illegal for the rest of us to smoke or drink in the theater, it was permissible for the performer as long as it was absolutely necessary. It was the only reason he agreed to do the tour, he joked. And so he puffed away. And the reading itself began. Now, if the thought hasn't already occurred to you, it's a neat trick to pour wine down your audience's throat before reading them amateur poetry. But the deck-stacking didn't end there: While he read the poetry, the lighting changed, a video montage played on the screen to his right and ambient mood music aided his performance. At either end of the stage, smaller televisions displayed Dennis in real-time, fed by cameras somewhere on the second level. The first poem he read was, he said, also the first he wrote. It showed, with stanzas -- I trust I'm within my bounds of fair use here -- such as:
Never return to the haunts of your youth. Keep to the track, to the beaten track. Memory holds all you need of the truth. He set up each poem with a few rambling thoughts about his wild past, his business, his wine, his mother, his lack of children, his immense wealth, always concluding his anecdote or rumination with ... the title of the next poem. Used sparingly, it's a fun device, that hidden transition. If you've ever read a collection of Harlan Ellison stories, you know what I'm talking about. At one point he stopped and asked the audience to shout the names of their favorite American poets. According to Dennis, most places he went, audience members replied with Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost (note to non-English majors: you're supposed to hiss). Various crowd members offered names such as Emerson, Ginsberg, Whitman and Bukowski. One person shouted "Wallace Stevens!" once, and then again, more insistently -- "Wallace Stevens!" After a moment's thought, I yelled: "Eliot!" partly to be a pain in ass, and partly because I meant it. I succeeded on the first point, because Dennis cocked his head to the side and barely got going before trailing off, "Well, that might be a bit of cheating..." He then admitted his favorite poets were Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost.  Later on, he claimed that 52% of poets worldwide live in the United States, but offered no proof and no elaboration. (I can't verify this, either.) I think this was just his way of sucking up to the audience.
Dennis pronounced himself to be an ardent defender of America, especially when confronted with European snobs. This elicited applause from a surprising number of people -- that being just under half of the audience. But their enthusiasm (and okay, mine) more than made up for those who sat on their hands. At that point, Dennis launched into something called "Shanty for the U.S. Department of Homeland Security," which seemed to warn that the Patriot Act could turn the U.S. government into a monsters itself, if we weren't careful. Another poem castigated politicians in general as disingenuous, which wasn't a terribly profound insight, either. His final grave intonation on politics: "I hope someone is checking those electronic voting machines." There was also a strange moment where he asked if anyone had had trouble with cocaine, and no one responded. This being a small audience of bookish types in sleepy Washington, it's possible this was true. In any case, he implored us all to stay away from it. And I jotted down this Felix Dennis quote, from one of his rambling introductions: "I think plastic surgery sucks, unless you've been in a really serious accident or something."  Other poems concerned computer servers, the perils of travel, fighting with his teenage girlfriend (note: written from a teenage perspective), the '60s hippie movement, and a sonnet dedicated to water. On the whole -- here's the actual "review" part of this post -- he may be an average poet, but he's an inspired one, too. Though you wouldn't want to confuse it with modern poetry as we know it, the writing of poetry of, for and by "the people" is perfectly legitimate. What's wrong with rhyming? It's like rock music -- it may or may not lead one to get into more challenging art, but it has its place, and it's pleasing as heck. End review.
As I said, even populists can be pretentious, and even rock music can be canonized. One of his better pieces was about Hitler's pre-suicide wedding to Eva Braun, which he said would be in the next edition of the Oxford Book of English Verse. So maybe I was wrong about the evening's company. Perhaps he will be featured in the Folger Library circa 2504. By the end of the reading I was persuaded to buy the book. I'd enjoyed the evening, the book cost just $10 and included 2 CD/DVDs, and apparently he was donating all the proceeds to a Folger elementary school program. Tonight, I would think of the children. Back out in the exhibit hall, I grabbed another glass of wine -- my sixth? seventh? who knows? -- and got in line. "A Glass Half Full" is blurbed by a host of what I assume to be eminent Brit lit crits (anytime you want my headline-generating services, Variety, you can call me … well, not for the next week or so). To his credit, he includes a couple of dismissive comments from established British poets. On the front are two intriguing recommendations. One is from Tom Wolfe: "A 21st century Kipling" and better yet, the other is from Mick Jagger: "I enjoy his poetry immensely." Soon it was my turn up front. I had planned to say something like, it's the electric poetry that Jim Morrison was going for, with all of the ego but none of the pretension. Hmm ... that wouldn't come out right. All of the talent? No, too obsequious. What I finally said was something like, "Thanks a lot! It was a great evening." Dennis was friendly and had been gregarious with others in line, but I had spent too much time kicking around the "electric poet" thought in my head and reading blurbs to come up with something to actually say. Oh well. Yes, make it out to Bill. The Morrison thought survived, unrecognizably, in the Ozzy quote I asked and he consented to sign with: "You can't kill rock n' roll!" (Hat tip goes to FLOG™.) Well, I spent too much time piecing this together in a non-linear fashion, so I didn't come up with a proper conclusion. We'll just have to leave it at that. Suggestions for further reading:
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
"WHAT'S A BLOG?" Oh, how I look forward to the day when this article never needs to be written again:
Monday, September 20, 2004
CRAZY TAXI  Long ago (relative to a twentysomething's lifetime) I once asked a recently relocated friend for his new digits. To my dismay, he didn't know what it was. He shrugged, saying: "I never call myself."
Well, it sure is a good thing I know my number because I've been calling myself (on my un-losable all day long. Right now I'm about 95% certain that I left my cell phone in the cab I took to work. I exited the vehicle at about 7:00 a.m., but didn't realize it was gone until about 1:30 p.m. At that point I gave myself a call, hoping to find a bemused commuter on the other end. Even a grumpy dispatcher would do. Instead, I found nothing but my own disembodied, denasalized voice greeting me. Over and over and over again. This isn't the first time I've left this cab in a taxi cab, either. Blog and I made a summer jaunt (you could even say "progulka") to New York City last year, and one evening I just left the phone behind. Luckily I realized this within moments and started plugging quarters into the nearby pay phone. How exactly I got it back is a bit of a story, but Pretty Little Head is to thank. Back to today: Eventually I gave up and placed a call to Sprint for advice on what to do. They gave me a Sophie's Choice-like proposition: Leave my service as is so I could keep trying my phone and risk someone using my phone to call 900 (or 809) numbers. Or turn off the service and probably never see the phone again. I decided to leave it on for another day or so. So, if you're a reader who has my partially palindromic phone number -- most of you, probably -- give me a call and then afterward tell me what you find.  P.S. About those work phones -- recently all the phones in my office building were replaced with brand new Avaya phones. Up to this point I was vaguely aware that Avaya had something to do with business communications, but that was about it. Now, you could say, I'm "living in the state of Avaya." How is it? Well, it's marginally better than the old phone system, but I won't really be happy until Wayne Brady comes in and does improv to amuse us during the dull early morning hours.Sunday, September 19, 2004
AH, MARION BARRY. IS IT TIME FOR ANOTHER SHIPMENT ALREADY?  Last night I saw the local band Cartel play their CD release party at the Velvet Lounge along U Street. Having never been to the Velvet Lounge before, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. As you climb the pitch black stairwell from the bar to the second-floor concert hall, the first thing you see are the exposed beams, and you immediately think: This is like an attic. Then when you get up to the quite small venue, you realize: This is an attic. Albeit, one with a better sound system than usual. Talk immediately turned to the Great White disaster in Rhode Island early last year, so I made a promise to myself that if the place I would leap down the stairs and risk a broken leg or two rather than burn alive on the second story of a rickety downtown firetrap.
Needless to say, it was a promise I didn't need to keep. I like those promises. Having heard Cartel play DC 9 around the corner a few months before, I knew what to expect. Even then, having known one of the guitarists for the better part of a decade, I would have a pretty good guess sight unseen ... er, sound unheard. I don't have an adequate vocabulary to describe their sound (lest I would have answered this call) except to weakly observe that it's on the emo side of indie, or if you prefer, college music. It's not everybody's cup of tea, but that's one genre known to cycle forward on my iPod playlists fairly often. You can stream the first two songs from their first EP, "Safety in Numbers," from the band's official website. Better yet, you can actually download them to your iPod at this supersecret Washington Post-affiliated website -- shhhh! -- as I have done. It was a good show, if a little brief. I do recommend buying the EP itself, as I will do when they start selling them online (soon, I understand). They're playing in New York City next weekend and again at DC 9 in the middle of October. Maybe I'll see you there. P.S. Somehow this eluded mention the first time around: The Velvet Lounge had a special that night: One can of Schlitz and a shot of Wild Turkey for $6. It was my first Schlitz ever -- I had no idea it was still being made! It was exactly how you might expect it would be -- pretty Schlitzy. And needless to say, it was not my first Wild Turkey. Saturday, September 18, 2004
ATTENTION, CONSPIRACY THEORISTS! As if news that Macaulay Culkin had been detained for marijuana possession in Oklahoma City wasn't enough, other questions may be raised:   With haste -- to the message boards! UPDATE:  The plot thickens! P.S. I don't care what you say -- it's more believable than those CBS documents! Wednesday, September 15, 2004
YESSS!!!! The Mayor-for-Life is now Councilman-for-Life.  After a campaign beset by infighting, ethics problems and general weirdness, Marion Barry has made yet another comeback, defeating his former aide and sitting DC councilwoman Sandy Allen.
 About 6 p.m., Barry arrived at Hendley Elementary School in the ward's biggest precinct. Over a loudspeaker, a campaign aide called out: "Help is on the way, brothers and sisters! He's back, folks. Marion Barry. He is back."But there's more good news: At-large councilman Harold Brazil lost his seat to political newcomer Kwame Brown. I'm not sure how Brown is going to keep his obligations to the city while playing 82 games a season (and no more) for the Washington Wizards, but he's obviously a true renaissance man. If he proves as successful on the city council as he has been on the court, well, at least he probably won't be recalled. Wait a minute, didn't I already make lame joke? Monday, September 13, 2004
FOUND IN TRANSLATION? If I didn't already have too many blogs going, I might start my own Bibliolatrist. Instead, this post will just have to go here: From comments on this board and others, a few of you know that I'm reading Haruki Murakami's 1989 novel, "A Wild Sheep Chase." On page 249 of the Vintage paperback, Murakami writes:
P.S. While I have both the book and Blogger open, I may as well quote the end of Part Seven, which made me laugh:
Sunday, September 05, 2004
REMEMBER SYRIANA? Well, I sure blew it on this one. I've had these pictures for the better part of a month now, and I still haven't posted them. Until now. Without further ado, and with only minimal commentary, here are 15 pictures from in, around and above the set of "Syriana" in Washington, DC, early this August. Less talk, more rock:                Wow! Wasn't that thrilling? The Washington Canard finally becomes the last of my ongoing web ventures to return from hiatus. Here in DC we're into the busiest months of the quadrennial electoral cycle we follow like the tides, but I'll be around. |
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