Syntax of Things

The Big Book of Biblical Boredom

If someone were to ask you what the most widely available library book in the United States happens to be, would you guess the U.S. Census?  The Online Computer Library  Center lists the top 1000 titles owned by member libraries, and the Bible ranked a distant second to the Census but easily ahead of Mother Goose. 

{Link from the mf'er}

That Was KenJen!

{Spoiler alert!}

On August 2, 1978, Gene Garber and his quirky sidearm delivery struck out Pete Rose to end Charlie Hustle's 44-game hitting streak.  At the time, I was a seven-year-old Braves fan watching the game from my uncle's couch in Selma, Alabama.  I remember being fascinated by the way Garber reacted, jumping up in the air, both arms raised jubilantly and then pumping his fist a couple of times, celebrating as if the Braves had just won the World Series.  Even at seven, I knew that I had witnessed a piece of history that I would never forget, and sure enough, twenty-six years later, I can almost smell the popcorn that my aunt had popped at some point during the game.

Tonight, Nancy Zerg, a real estate agent from Ventura, California, will have every right to jump in the air Garber-style.  Nancy will do something that 149 other people have been unable to do.  Tonight, she will put an end to Ken Jennings' 74-game winning streak on Jeopardy!.

If you're like me, you watched a lot of Jeopardy! during the early days of Jennings' streak.  It was fun to watch him mow down the competition.  After a few dozen wins, we all began to wonder if it might just be a conspiracy, a ratings ploy.  Then it became boring and we were soon cheering for his demise.  But he kept crushing his opponents, kept setting new records, kept appearing on different talk shows and message boards.  Soon enough, the news leaked that he would lose and it became even less interesting.  The details were sketchy, but we knew that at some point before Christmas KenJen would meet his Gene Garber.

I'll miss Ken.  I haven't watched an episode in full since before Labor Day, but knowing that he was out there doing what he does and that people were interested meant that a whole slew of conspiracy nuts and KenJen fanatics would find my site through a Google search and contribute to the discussion at this post:  43 comments ranging from the adoration of someone who wants to have KenJen's babies to the anger of readers who think the whole thing is a sham and KenJen is the devil.  In all KenJen has brought more traffic to this site than links from Maud and largehearted boy combined and then multiplied by a factor of five.  It doesn't hurt that the July 2 post was linked in a Slate article.  Along with that, a link at wikipedia and countless searches have added to the traffic flow to Syntax of Things. 

I guess things will get back to normal now, as normal as things can get.  My site will become a haven for people looking for nude pictures of Charlotte Church and "Who is Ken Jennings?" will become the question to someone else's Jeopardy! answer.  We'll find another streak to follow.  I'll pop the popcorn.

RNA (Real[nice]Audio) of Literature

For those of you who've finished reading all of the interviews at the DNA of Literature and need more, you might want to check out the incredible amount of archived author interviews hosted by Ohio University.   These are uncut audio clips from Don Swain's CBS Radio show, "Book Beat." 

If you're looking for a place to start, try the William S. Burroughs interview from 1984 in which he claims "I've never met a writer who could write while he was drinking" and discusses his drug addiction(s) in great detail.

{Link from largehearted boy.}

Would You Like Fries With That--1990

{I'd intended to post something about pomegranates and Alfred Kinsey, but the leftover turkey has too much of a pull and I'm a sucker for football games played in the snow.  The little piece about sex will have to wait for later in the week when the distractions become less attractive.  This is the second in a series of posts about my work history.  To see the previous one, go here.}

My time of being a gas station sweeper/painter earned me enough pay to keep me happily unemployed during my freshman year of college. I was able to learn all of life's important lessons and attend classes without the hassle of having to do anything much more than making sure that I had enough Mountain Dew in the refrigerator to get me through the week. Of course, it helped that I had a pretty nice scholarship that kept four cinder-block walls around me and a cement slab roof over my head, not to mention that the salt-peter laced food of the cafeteria was kindly provided to me gratis by a Presidential Award (and to think, I never thanked him for all of those fried fish fillet sandwiches). But with the summer of 1990 looming, I knew that my idle time had to be filled. My father wouldn't stand by and let me do nothing. So I started making phone calls. Genius me came up with a plan. I would move to Atlanta for the summer and stay with my Aunt Jackie. Jackie's husband, Rex, said that he could easily get me some sort of job working on the truck docks at the company that employed him as an accountant.

Public Show of Affection

I still don't understand what she saw in me, a dirty, drunk and getting drunker bartender at a dive bar, working for drinks and trying to stay alive on bar peanuts and popcorn.  Recovering from regrets, I remember telling someone at the time.  But she came over to me during a break in my shift and I felt oblige to comp her a beer and talk and make plans that I was probably too drunk to realize I was making but still happy to make them.  You don't know how tiring sadness can be.

I don't know what she saw or why, but I'm glad she saw it. 

Today, Elaine and I turn two, legally.

But it was seven years ago (give or take a few days) that she took a risk, stepped outside of her usually iron-clad box and introduced herself to a drunken bartender and brought a smile to his face...and he's still smiling.

Happy Anniversary, Elaine!

Join the Movement

The Christmas Resistance Movement gets the full SoT endorsement:

The relentless onslaught of advertising exerts constant pressure. So do the unified bleatings of herds of shoppers, who call you "Scrooge" if you fail to enthusiastically join their ritual orgy of consumption. Friends and family needle you with gift requests, store windows beckon with shiny colorful packages, the same "classic" holiday jingles are piped constantly through every speaker in town.

How can you resist?

Join the Christmas Resistance Movement!

              

Sad News

I hate to start the Friday after Thanksgiving off on a downer, but I've just learned that Larry Brown, one of the "lit grit" writers from Oxford, Mississippi, passed away on Wednesday at the age of 53.  Brown is one of those writers whose writing will surprise you.  Nothing about his storytelling seems manufactured or MFA'd. Rabbit Factory is the last book that I read twice in succession.  He was also a great reader.  I once saw him at a book store in Fairhope, Alabama, and came away a big fan.  He'll be missed.

+  Excerpt of Larry Brown reading from his short story "Old Frank and Jesus".

From the prologue to Billy Ray's Farm:

Thanks!

To all of my regular readers and to the people who stumble upon this page looking for stuff such as this, thank you for putting up with me. 

We're planning a day with the turkey fryer.  I hope to be back...soon.

Turkey Cooking Music

If you're looking for some good music to cook your casseroles by, go here for a RealAudio stream of the Nirvana Peel Sessions.  If you just want to sample, the BBC Radio 1 site has links to every song and every session.

Happy cooking!

Would You Like Fries with That--The Early Years

{With so little going on and T'giving preparations looming, I'm going to revisit a series of posts I began in the Blogger days of SoT.  I never finished the series, but hopefully I will be able to over the next several weeks.}

Not many people I know entered the workforce at age 13 (and I’m not including grass cutting, car washing, or lemonade selling). Trust me, I didn’t one day wake up and decide to get my career started before all of the good ones were taken. My decision was made for me. In 1983, my dad discovered that there was an alarming shortage of electrical contractors in the tiny town of Atmore, Alabama. He saw a way to make his thousands by starting his own business there. Those first few years were definitely the Mom & Pop years of the new company. He operated out of a rented apartment while Mom served as the secretary and bookkeeper, doing much of her work from the kitchen table as she multi-tasked homework help and cooking. In the summer of 1984, in the midst of his first large job as a newly minted business owner (an addition to the First Baptist Church in another small town nearby), Dad decided to dip into the family work pool, so he recruited me as his first full-time helper. At the tender age of 13 ½, I became a taxpaying member of society. My initial salary was $2.50 an hour, but Dad paid for all lunches, and the benefits included unlimited vacation for visits to cousins and a few days off to be, well, thirteen. The work was mostly menial labor but did have its share of risks (electrocution was always a misplaced screwdriver away) and rewards (getting to know my father as something other than a disciplinarian and occasional batting practice pitcher).

So Long, Kenneth!

"As a reporter—and I don't want to say that that's the only context—I've tried everything. I can say to you with confidence, I know a fair amount about LSD. I've never been a social user of any of these things, but my curiosity has carried me into a lot of interesting areas.  As an example, in 1955 or '56, I had someone at the Houston police station shoot me with heroin so I could do a story about it. The experience was a special kind of hell. I came out understanding full well how one could be addicted to 'smack,' and quickly. When the children were fairly young, and there was so much emphasis everywhere on drugs, it was not possible for them to tell me I didn't know what I was talking about."

                         --Dan Rather, interview with Ladies Home Journal, 1981

We'll miss you, Dan.

Song on the Brain (The Turkey and Stuffing Edition)

I'm trying to clean things up around here.  What better time to do it than Thanksgiving week when five day's worth of work is crammed into three working days, the other two being spent eating and lounging and watching tape-delayed-for-the-West-Coast parades that will put all of us in the mood to officially hate Christmas.  To start, I have to do something with the Song on the Brain.  Although I've posted numerous songs over the past few months, the listing on the right hasn't changed.  Until today...

If you had to name a band that has produced the most songs with that certain stuck on the brain quality to them, which one would it be?  For my money, it would have to be They Might Be Giants.  For instance, name the capital of Turkey.  If you know the answer, you'll probably spend the rest of the day singing the song.  Or if I say the word birdhouse and follow it too closely with the word soul, you'll more than likely curse me for the rest of the day, doing anything in your power to get the song out of your head.  I could go on (Particle Man), but I think you get the point.

Last Saturday night, I watched Gigantic, a documentary about TMBG.  For someone like me who spent the better part of the late 80s and early 90s with at least one TMBG song on my brain, it was a great trip down memory lane.  I vividly remember sitting in my dorm room my freshman year of college and watching as the channel that once brought us music videos premiered "Ana Ng."  My roommate, a Billy Ray Cyrus devotee, put down his Field & Stream long enough to say, "What the fugk?"  Truth be known, I think I wondered the same thing.  I'd heard TMBG songs before, but never one so perfect.  In fact, I remember thinking that someone had finally written the perfect song:  an absurd love poem set to a catchy yet somewhat annoying tune.  Within days I had the Lincoln cassette in my possession and played it so much that my roommate would often be reduced to tears.

That's why the new Song on the Brain has to be "Ana Ng."  You know you want to sing along.

+ Download "Ana Ng" by They Might Be Giants

See also:

+  "Ana Ng" video from Launch.com

What Does This Button Do?

For those of you tired of the same old, stale prose on this site and others, don't fret.  The future looks bright:

This is not science fiction. With little fanfare and (so far) no appearances at Barnes & Noble, computers have started writing without us scribes. They are perfectly capable of nonfiction prose, and while the reputation of Henry James is not yet threatened, computers can even generate brief outbursts of fiction that are probably superior to what many humans could turn out - even those not in master of fine arts programs.

I'll be beating my head against the wall if you need me.

Continuing the Buzz

If you still haven't given the Arcade Fire a listen, or you want more, I have something for you.  CBC Radio 3 brought AF into the studio to record five songs, including a cover of the Talking Heads' "Naive Melody."  Go here and follow the links.

I'll Have a Blue Christmas Without This

For those of you who may be wondering what to get me for Christmas, here's an item on the top of my list:

Some of Elvis Presley's first RCA recordings from nearly 50 years ago, including never-before-heard takes of "All Shook Up" and "Jailhouse Rock," will be put up for bid on Sunday at an auction of show business memorabilia.

The six unedited reel-to-reel tapes -- "pre-master" originals from the private collection of the studio engineer who recorded them, are valued at between $30,000 and $50,000, according to international auction house Bonhams & Butterfields.

I promise to burn you a copy.

The Bullets and the Damage Done

I woke up to a strange yet familiar sound, one that shook the dogs out of their beds with a bark.  It took me a few minutes to realize that I now must use two hands to count the times I've heard thunder in San Diego in the six years I've lived here.  Other than this storm--which I heard referred to as an "inside slider"--the weekend was awash with bullets:

• Nice to see the fans in Detroit make good use of their beer cups and popcorn to tear down the fourth wall.  Although many are calling it one of the darkest days in the history of the NBA (or American sports for that matter), I'm guessing that more than a few NBA owners are happy that the league is actually getting some press.  Before this incident, was anyone paying any attention to the league?  In case you've been in a hermetically sealed chamber, ESPN has a video recap.
• If you haven't already seen it, you should rent Guy Madden's The Saddest Music in the World.  The best way to describe it is "weird."  Or as Boston Globe critic Wesley Morris puts it, "Weird in the way that a first kiss is weird. You've never tried it before, but you go with it because you hear it's pretty amazing. His movies are easy, too. Point your eyes at the screen; the magic follows."  You can see the film's trailer here (quicktime).
• On her way out the door for a Thanksgiving trip to Florida, Maud rips Neal Pollack a new one.   
• The NYTBR asked a group of poets and critics, "What book of poetry, published in the last 25 years, has meant the most to you personally -- the book you have found yourself returning to again and again?"  Poet Jorie Graham listed Denis Johnson's The Incognito Lounge as her choice:

  There is a strain of our poetry that wants to speak in a tone of voice, out of a predicament, that feels exclusively American -- the sound of damaged lives eked out in desert lots, trailer parks, motels -- lives unemployed (both literally and spiritually), abandoned by the dream of freedom though still haunted by the habit of it, abandoned by God although he might be one motel down the road, who knows; a loneliness born as much out of feeling one's self to be ''outside history,'' as out of being abandoned by the dream that America owns to its marrow: the dream of the loner, of absolute self-reliance. ''But here one weeps,'' Johnson writes, ''to see the goodness of the world laid bare / and rising with the government on its lips."

I list Johnson's "You" from The Incognito Lounge as one of my favorites (look under the fold for the poem in its entirety).

• One of my old hometown newspapers devotes some column space to an appreciation of Michael Chabon.  SoT favorite Little Toy Robot has been stalking Chabon for many days now.
• Finally, War Eagle!

Goodbye Weekend...

Hello short week!

Aragorn's Stones and Other Nonrequired Unmentionables

As part of my birthday shopping courtesy of family and friends, I picked up the 2004 edition of The Best American Nonrequired Reading.  Thanks to Gaddis and other reading engagements, I haven't had a chance to dig into the selections, but I did take a few minutes to read the "Introduction" written by the ex-Mr. Exene Cervenka of X, also known as Viggo Mortensen.  As the last remaining human who hasn't seen a second of The Trilogy, I know little to nothing about Mr. Mortensen's ability to act, much less his ability to write.  I did find his introduction to the collection to be a pretty good read, even if he all but begs the reader not to read it, or the book for that matter.  He does seem to have a thing for words:

I value words.  I am curious about the way words sound, how they draw pictures and provoke unexpected emotional reactions.  A single disconnected word or phrase can stop you cold, give you a new world to live in.  I like reading unauthorized excerpts of the minutes of private meetings.  I like reading photo album captions, want ads, my son's homework, Chinese AIDS-prevention pamphlets, laundry lists, foreign phone books, obituaries, awkward subtitles, road maps, lost-pet fliers fading on the streetlight poles, old and forgettable books, instruction manuals I do not need but have found torn out of publications or removed from the packaging of the obsolete product concerned--useless information that I imagine having discovered or saved from extinction.  I enjoy reading how people wrote in another time about what I do not understand.

If, like me, you were wondering "Why Viggo?", Dave Eggers anticipated such a question and provides the answer in his "Foreword" to the collection:

Viggo has been associated with 826 Valencia for some time, having helped us with fundraising and such.  He is also a noted poet and artist, and thus the perfect ambassador for this collection, bringing, we hope, new people to some great contemporary writing.  We can only hope this introduction-writing business takes off for him, given how lucrative it is and how much glory attends it.

Poet?  Isn't everyone?  But it seems that Viggo has some published pieces to his name.  For example, this one entitled "Stones":

met by a lake near the sun.
your mouth and eyes, arms
and legs, melted as though
we'd known each other well
and needed only rekindle
warmth of the familiar.
as if patience were rewarded
and now we'd share everything.

Judging from this example, it might behoove Viggo to stick to introduction writing.  Mortensen does have his own publishing company and with the volume of stuff that Eggers puts out there, it could be lucrative. 

The Opening Access

If want to know where to find me over the next few days, I'll be over at The Paris Review site checking out the DNA of Literature.  The first round of interviews dating back to the 1950s includes too many notables to list here.  I'm going to start my tour with Ralph Ellison and work my way through the double-helixed treasure chest.

Also of note, the National Endowment for the Humanities has announced that millions of pages of newspaper articles published between 1836 and 1922 will be available to anyone with a computer as soon as 2006. 

Anything But Listless

Rolling Stone polled 172 musicians to come up with a list of the top 500 rock'n'roll songs of all time.  So many to choose from and this is what they came up with for the top 5:

1. Bob Dylan - Like a Rolling Stone
2. Rolling Stones - Satisfaction
3. John Lennon - Imagine
4. Marvin Gaye - What's Going On
5. Aretha Franklin - Respect

The magazine doesn't have the results online yet, so I guess I'll have to wait until my next visit to a waiting room.

Information Leafblower has posted the results of his second annual list of the Top 40 Bands in America, as voted on by a select panel of music bloggers:

1. Ted Leo/Pharmacists
2. Wilco
3. Interpol
4. Guided by Voices
5. The Fiery Furnaces
6. The Pixies
7. Brian Wilson
8. Luna
9. Modest Mouse
10. Spoon

Largehearted Boy, who was on the panel, has listed his top 10.

Finally, a band that could move into one of the top spots next year, TV on the Radio, won the Shortlist Music Prize.

Must See

Don Knott's Is Dubya

Highly recommended.

What's He Doing to Those Bums?

I'm letting this one stand on its own:

Assistant District Attorney James Butler said [Jimmy Lee] Cone would pick up homeless men under the guise of hiring them for odd jobs. Once on a job site, Cone asked the men to pick up something.

Once they bent over, Cone would attempt to stab them.
...

"Jimmy doesn't believe he did it," Cone's lawyer, Ralph "Buddy" Armstrong, said. "He said he may have blacked out, but doesn't believe he would hurt anyone."

 

The Day After Yesterday

I'm writing this yesterday, my birthday sun sneaking down behind the neighboring rooflines, and in a few hours, I'll stand on my balcony hoping to pick out a few meteors, but there will be clouds and police helicopters and landing airplanes.  Before that my wife will treat me to a dinner, Jimmy Carter will cook, and then we'll head off to Border's where I'll use a coupon and my birthday cash to strike a few items from my wishlist.  Otherwise, today--or yesterday--has been another day:  worked half the day, napped a few hours, read on the Gaddis and the Eggers, a strange combination if there ever was one.  Made myself a latte and thought a lot about my 34 years, of good times and better times and just plain times.

One of the books that I plan on picking up tonight is The Windblown World: The Journals Of Jack Kerouac 1947-1954.  In honor of this purchase, I'm going to give all of you the opportunity to grab an mp3 (see below) of a radio show interview Kerouac did.  I say rare only because I've never heard it before.  Anyway, it features an obviously drunk and getting drunker Kerouac giving the two interviewers a fair amount of hell.  They discuss everything from On the Road to The Dharma Bums to whether or not  Christopher Marlowe wrote Shakespeare's plays.  It's a rather large file, so I'm only going to keep it up for a week or so.  Beyond that, email me.

Finally, to all of you who took the time to wish me a happy birthday in the comments, thank you!  You make me smile.

+  Jack Kerouac radio interview

Another One Down...

November 16 is the 320th day of the year (321st in leap years) in the Gregorian Calendar, with 45 days remaining.  Today is also my 34th birthday.

I'm giving myself the morning off, maybe even the day. 

"Don't look at me like that."  The baby SoT thinks (or has gas).

Quick Reminder & Warning

I attempted something yesterday afternoon that I want to warn against.  Do not think that you can put off reading William Gaddis until the last minute.  I know, I know, this isn't an assignment and there isn't a paper due, so to speak, but I'm using the Gaddis Drinking Club as a sort of guide, a drunken disciplinarian.  With other things on the schedule this weekend, I said to myself, "Sixty-two pages?  Nothing to it."  And so I put it off until mid-afternoon. 

Mistake.

Don't delay the Gaddis.  See, you'll need more than your eyes and the book.  You'll need a nice dictionary, the reader's guide, a few aspirin, a quiet room, and some prayers.  Sixty-two pages!

Anyway, it's not too late for you to join.  The first chapter recap and analysis is up with discussion to follow, but if you begin now, you'll be ready for the next section on the 22nd.  Good luck.