crapass

Egregious example No. 1?

2010-04-25T11:39:00.000-07:00

Peter Delorenzo, a.k.a. the autoextremist, adds his 2¢ on the Chevy Campbell-Ewald split.

Crossing to Safety, Wallace Stegner

2010-04-25T11:11:00.000-07:00

"He said he understood that I was into a second novel. How did that go? I told him: slow and hard. Good, he said. Hard writing makes easy reading."

chevy drives away, strands hundreds

2010-04-24T12:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Chevy ended to its 91-year relationship with its main advertising agency, Campbell-Ewald, shifting its work to the Dallas office of Publicis. This is another major blow to Detroit’s ad community, leaving Ford’s* as the only one of the Big Three using a local agency for its work.

The suckage of this news is vast. Hundreds of folks are going to be tossed from C-E, and the ripple effect in the supplier community -- edit houses, photographers, printers -- will likewise be dramatic.

There’s the expected chatter about who deserves the blame, but I wonder if Don Gould could have avoided this outcome. You know his work even if you aren’t familiar with his name -- he created the “Like A Rock,” among other Chevy campaigns, back in the day. Sadly, he passed away about ten years ago.

Besides being a brilliant creative, he was a gifted leader. Gould was so comfortable in his own skin, he put everyone in the room at ease (a damn handy skill in a panic-stricken business). He was passionate, engaged, enthusiastic. A great teacher and a gentle critic. Gravitas without being a Dick Cheney about it.

Many talented and capable people worked their collective asses off to keep this business in the Motor City. I don’t doubt Chevy stayed a lot longer because of it. Still, a part of me believes Don could have made a difference.

*Not a typo. If you’re from around here, you say Ford’s not Ford, as in, “That sulfuric stink hovering over Down River is from Henry Ford’s company.” While we’re at it, there’s no e in Detroit: D’troit. Citizens of Cairo, IL and Prescott, AZ can tell you such things matter very much.

but it looks so small

2010-04-24T12:08:00.000-07:00

The Sandpit from Sam O'Hare on Vimeo.

paul harding wins pulitzer

2010-04-13T10:41:00.000-07:00

Paul Harding, Wrtiers' Workshop classmate, was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction today for his novel, Tinkers. Hooray!

plymouth, part two

2010-04-04T13:33:00.000-07:00

When my friend Bubba lived in the Yoop, Michigan's Upper Peninsula, he liked to talk about one day making Munising a "Bohemian Utopia." Having spent time in Munising during summers growing up, I thought it was kind of a stretch. It's located on the south shore of Lake Superior, with the famed Pictured Rocks nearby, but otherwise, there's not much really to work with.

Plymouth, Wisconsin, on the other hand, is ripe for a hipster invasion.

Downtown is filled with under-utilized buildings that with equal parts imagination, hard work and money, could really shine with quirky, unprofitable businesses. Just to the north, is a vast neighborhood of homes in various states of repair, but most with good bones, stately trees and owners who probably could be bought out of big city life. Plus, it's rural Wisconsin, so it's chock full of ironic delights, including a county fairground with a dirt car race track, a river named after a bad haircut, and an iconic Holstein to greet your return from the three-storey Kohler design center in Kohler.

I guess there are two types of bohemians in the world — those who travel and those who create destinations. So come and build your dream. I'll make sure to come by and visit. Eventually.

plymouth, wi part one

2010-04-04T12:50:00.000-07:00

I went for a walk on Good Friday. Between my father's apartment and the Mullet river — no lie — there's a small graveyard. I cut through it, pleased that so many of the century-old cement plank markers hadn't been vandalized and mended, carefully avoided those standing at sites because of the holiday.

In the corner overlooking the middle school and the river, I stumbled upon an area reserved for children. It was the saddest piece of real estate I've ever walked. Some of the markers only had year listed, some only a day. One didn't even offer a name: "INFANT SON OF S.L. LUECK."

Another marker had the dates 1903–1920. Two images crossed my mind: one of a patient young lady who liked to baby sit and another of a sullen girl forced to dine the children's table during Thanksgiving.

I wonder if there was solace for the parents in sharing. See? It is not uncommon. A dozen others here, and this the small town's smallest cemetery. I doubt it was any comfort, and hope to never know.

oh, detroit

2010-04-02T14:20:00.001-07:00

If you don’t listen to This American Life, I urge you to check out the episode covering the history of the Toyota-GM factory in California — NUMMI. Listen to all the loving details of how Japan shared its assembly system and how GM learned to build high-quality cars, then didn’t implement the knowledge company-wide for over 15 years.

spring!

2010-04-02T11:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, while driving from Detroit to Wisconsin to visit my father, I saw wind surfers on Lake Michigan. It was 83 degrees out, with strong winds and, holy smokes, were those guys flying. It was on that marshy stretch between the Gary smokestacks and the big Skyway bridge. You think between the refinery and Chicago, the water there would be so polluted you could roller skate across it, but I’ve seen folks fishing in there in the summer.

vision thing

2010-03-31T06:28:00.000-07:00

A couple of months ago, I asked my friends on Facebook if I would be a traitor to fellow writers if I bought an ebook reader, such as a Kindle or Nook. Fact is, my eyes had been killing me and I was very attracted to the idea of making type larger. I was hoping for some heated opinions on the question — I was willing to follow the crowd if the trend said to go for it, or lay off if it went the other way.

Only one person bothered to respond (thanks, Antoine!).

So I either have a bunch of unopinionated friends, or friends who don’t read my posts. Without someone telling me what to do, and being a cheapass by nature, I decided not to get a reader.

I’m glad I didn’t.

I lost my job about a month ago. In my last year at the agency that foolishly let me go, I did a tremendous amount of writing in Photoshop (for emails), which if you know anything about page layout, it’s the equivalent of writing in handcuffs on a window facing the morning sun. The program isn’t made for intensive copy, which didn’t seem to concern anyone except the people who actually create the documents.

I do not like programmers, no I don’t.

Since being let go, my vision has improved noticeably. This, at a time when I’m reading considerably more. I’m never going to write like that for a living again. Unless I’m overpaid. Then, of course, any way you want it, sir or madam.

RELATED: The New York Times has an article on book covers and free advertising in the digital age.

david brooks = william satire

2008-08-29T08:27:00.000-07:00

As a child, I was abandoned by my parents and lived with a colony of ants. We didn’t have much in the way of material possession, but we did have each other and the ability to carry far more than our own body weights.

David Brooks, 29 August 2008 Op-Ed, New York Times

a former elven wizard expresses his condolences

2008-03-12T09:49:00.000-07:00

Nice obit on Gary Gygax, co-creator of Dungeons & Dragons. I began playing in 1980, and didn't stop for a time longer than I'm willing to admit publicly. I didn't realize his involvement in TSR, the company he created to sell the game, ended in 1985, nor that he was a big proponent of the role playing aspect of the game. Reading, and rereading the rules, one had the sense Gary just was the dice and chart guy.

(For the counterpoint of Gygax's legacy, check out the Gygax obit on Slate. Be sure to check out readers' reactions to the story. Cogent + Geeky = No wonder you didn't get laid until the Internet company you founded issued its IPO.)

Of interest in the photo -- not me, by the way; google image seach -- is the purple dice bag. Seen it before? Course you have! It's a Crown Royal velvet baggy thingy. Much coveted in the high school geek world. The pointed ears, not so much.

arbuckle

2008-02-27T10:52:00.000-08:00

In 1978, Jim Davis began a newspaper comic strip called Garfield. For almost thirty years, this strip has endured, primarily because its inoffensive, storyless humour is immediately accessible. It is, if not quite the Lowest Common Denominator of the comic world, at least as close to it as one can get without being obviously mediocre.

The comic changes dramatically when one removes the thought bubbles.

Garfield changes from being a comic about a sassy, corpulent feline, and becomes a compelling picture of a lonely, pathetic, delusional man who talks to his pets. Consider that Jon, according to Garfield canon, cannot hear his cat's thoughts. This is the world as he sees it. This is his story.

"i was attracted to permanency"

2008-02-25T08:28:00.000-08:00

Excellent profile in the NY Times on Manny Vega. I love reading and hearing artists talk shop. The slide show is the real treasure, though: the woefully titled, Manny Vega and His ‘Hip Hop Byzantine’ Art. Great work and insight. The printed article does have its merits, however.

“Everybody wants instant art,” he said. “This is old school. A good design, some good materials, and shut up and do the work. There is no shortcut.”

photo id required, pointless

2008-02-19T07:03:00.000-08:00

From the New York Times slideshow coverage of the recent national elections in Pakistan. Note the woman on the left; now that's my kind of modesty!

And, yes! Semicolons are fun!

don't call it a comeback because it never left

2008-02-18T11:57:00.000-08:00

One of the school system’s most notorious graduates, David Berkowitz, the Son of Sam serial killer who taunted police and the press with rambling handwritten notes, was, as the columnist Jimmy Breslin wrote, the only murderer he ever encountered who could wield a semicolon just as well as a revolver.

Celebrating the Semicolon in a Most Unlikely Location, New York Times.

if you're reading this, you don't need to be reading this

2008-02-18T07:41:00.000-08:00

The problem is not just the things we do not know (consider the one in five American adults who, according to the National Science Foundation, thinks the sun revolves around the Earth); it's the alarming number of Americans who have smugly concluded that they do not need to know such things in the first place.

Susan Jacoby, 02-17-08 op-ed, Washington Post. The NYT reviews her book here, The Age of American Unreason.

best book i've read since the interloper

2008-02-09T12:22:00.000-08:00

My friend, Antoine, kept bugging me until I finally read, Then We Came To The End. I wouldn't call it dead on in terms of what it's like to work in an advertising agency, but the characters and story are rich and wonderful and human. I can't recommend this book highly enough. Read it.

lisa can see you, now

2008-02-09T10:07:00.000-08:00

The ticklish buzz of clippers on your neck, the chimpanzee satisfaction of being groomed.

belated book plug, just in time for holiday shopping

2007-12-05T10:23:00.000-08:00

Antoine Wilson, ’00 classmate and great friend, released his first book this year, The Interloper, — a concise, chilling and darkly comic novel of revenge and the human heart. And you don’t just have my word for it. Others have written glowingly of the book and its plot (link includes reviews from Publishers Weekly, The New Yorker, Booklist). What I would add regards A’s growing skill as a writer. Rereading it again, I was struck by the relentlessness and deftness of each line; every word matters, but none seemingly more so than any other, all to a powerful affect. Frankly, I’m jealous.

For those of you who’ve wondered what it’s like to do a book tour, you can find an interesting account of Antoine’s appearances at his blog, Wot-What.

poetic justice

2007-10-18T10:58:00.000-07:00

My one-time pal GM Quinte has been impersonated. You can almost catch the eurostink of Nat Shermans and Valfraise wafting off the thrift-store shirt. Bravo, rogue actor! I almost thought it was you who still owed me money. Dry cleaning ain't socialized in this country, bub. Reagan saw to that.

what is the proper emotional response?

2007-10-18T10:46:00.001-07:00

A car directly in front of me at a red light had a bumper sticker that read, "Someone I loved was killed by a drunk driver. I'm MADD." When the light changed, the car didn't move until I beeped. That's when I noticed the driver was talking on a cell phone. Being drunk isn't like being on the phone, but being on the phone isn't like not being on the phone.

ha ha ha

2007-08-24T20:27:00.000-07:00

i'm a big boy, now

2007-08-23T12:34:00.000-07:00

A tour of the Little League record books shows that, for an American team, success is found by riding on the coattails of a hypertrophic hulk-child.

Thanks: Slate!

why the sopranos ending doesn’t matter

2007-06-15T07:54:00.000-07:00

Only turning professional witness offered him a real chance at a new life, or any sense of redemption. Whether he lived another three seconds or three decades, T.S. would die a gangster. How that happened, quite frankly, is incidental. As a character, he reached the end of the line.

I’m surprised there hasn’t been any big comparisons between Tony and literature’s great sociopath – Humbert Humbert. Monsters that need to be loved — on the next Springer.

the burning question nobody asked

2007-05-29T07:12:00.000-07:00

Slate magazine asked writers what typeface they prefer when writing. Glad to see Palatino made the top three. I use it for two simple reasons: serif typefaces are easier to read (I'm getting old) and proportional typefaces cram more words in per page (I'm frugal (cheap bastard)). I also use 1.5 line spacing for greater economies. How about y'all?

i made a funny, then they made the same funny

2007-05-17T13:36:00.000-07:00

See my 10/03 post on timetables (two posts down), then watch the first minute, originally aired 10/10. I've been robbed, I tell you, robbed! Or not. Whatever.

It should have gotten a bigger laugh, anyway. Stupid audience.

forgetfulness -- billy collins

2007-05-08T11:44:00.001-07:00

I'm not entirely sure if the video enhances the poem, or somehow limits it. Thankfully, the animator has chops. (And if JWTNY stands for J. Walter Thompson Advertising New York, I'm going to vomit).

timetables and testing -- different things, obviously

2007-05-03T05:43:00.000-07:00

President Bush, 02/2001, on his Presidential Education Initiative:

The cornerstone of reform, as far as I'm concerned, is not only high standards and maximum flexibility, but strong accountability systems. I think it's so important to measure. I think it's a legitimate thing -- I know it's a legitimate request from those of us in public life to say if you receive taxpayers' money, you measure, and you show us whether or not the children are learning.

And when I ask Congress to pass legislation that says, in return for federal help the state of Tennessee, local jurisdictions must develop accountability measures on an annual basis, 3 through 8, to determine whether or not our children are learning. It is essential we do so.

(my bold)

Now, I know there's some around who will say we can't measure, it's not the proper role of the government. Well, I believe the proper role of any government at any level is to insist upon results.

So, if, like Congress or somebody governmental like that, said, "Hey, you've spent $600 billion and stuff and like people are dying and stuff on a war that's been going on for like four years, and you still want to continue with this, so now we're going to set to deadlines and measurements and if you don't meet them were going to close shop" you'd be cool with that? Or am I just being unpatriotic?

draft day

2007-04-25T11:37:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday was the open tryout and draft for Detroit Men's Senior League Baseball. I was a mid-first round draft choice. Well, actually, we were all first round draft choices, but I was 7 out of 13 and I'll take that gladly. I was selected by the A's. The team has a number of guys I played with three years ago, the Royals, so I guess I had an in.

So far, I ache like hell, and we don't play a game for at least a month. I twisted my right ankle shagging flies at the tryout and my back is killing me from the batting cage. But the worst of it is my throwing. I don't really expect to hit much, or to be a defensive wiz, but I'm having real difficulty just tossing around the pill. I've taken time away from the game before, but have never struggled with this. It's pretty disappointing.

not my secret, yet it is

2007-04-23T11:03:00.001-07:00

a postcard from postsecret.com

However, my cat somehow survives unhurt.

over. and out.

2007-04-20T08:46:00.000-07:00

Republicans are up in arms because Sen. Harry Reid (D-NV) says the war is lost. Can't anybody get this straight? Yes, Reid is wrong, but so are Republicans. So, for the record, here's the answer:

We won the war four years ago. It's the nation-building we lost.

War is the exertion of political will of one government upon another. U.S. Armed Forces performed with skill, precision and heroism. Credit where credit is due: Rummy and company won the war in 2003.

It was President's high-minded optimism — and total disregard for history — that got us into this mess. Consider what a democratically-based Iraqi government needs to overcome: Sunnis and Shiites have been at each other since nearly the very beginning of Islam; citizens with no practical understanding of open and free government; almost no independent institutions binding the country; meddlesome neighbors — Iran, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Al Qayda — looking to expand influence; those Kurds waiting to raise their own flag.

Granted, creating a more stable and secure Iraq would have helped matters at the outset of occupation, but can we truly expect the U.S. Army to mediate all that even under the best of circumstances?

If stability is victory in Iraq, we could have it relatively swiftly — we find another Saddam, equip and fund him, then look the other way. Not that I'm advocating that. A thug, even if he's our thug, is still a thug. What we need to do is accept the fact that Iraq is going to be a mess for a long, long time and that it will be up to Iraqis to figure it out from here.

Sorry, Secretary Powell, but the Pottery Barn rule is dead. We broke, but someone else is going to pay for it.

another guilty pleasure brought to the web

2007-02-26T13:54:00.000-08:00

I never judge a book by its cover, but I admit to judging people by the books they read. (Pick a lady up on a first date and I always make an excuse to see the bookshelf (and if there ain't one, dinner is dutch cuz I'm going home early)). Library Thing brings title snooping to a new level. Create a profile and build your own virtual bookshelf. Write reviews. Meet people who've read a lot of the same books you have. Request a suggestion for a book you may like. Or, more fun, a suggestion for a book you'll hate.

Yeah, yeah, yeah -- I read the Da Vinci Code. It's not like I was going to go out with you, anyway.

january links

2007-01-23T10:42:00.000-08:00

I haven't been posting, but I have been surfing. Here's a list of what I've found interesting in the last few months.

• Through Kiva, you can make small business loans in third world countries. Pick your country, pick your entrepreneur — very cool. You can then follow their progress through web updates. All interest made on your loan is use to fund Kiva's operations; however you do get your principle back (to loan again, one would hope).

• Zefrank has been at it four or five days a week for nine months now, and I don't know how he does it. The Show withZefrank is funny, political and somewhat daft. If you have an
eight-hour shift to kill, you can even catch up on all the past episodes. It's also available as a podcast.

• Lifehacker has a ton of cool "hacks" for daily living. DIY projects. Software tricks. Links to cool sites.

• Here's one I found through Lifehacker: Open Culture. Sounds like they have a lot of lectures, interviews and stories available or linked to. Here's a big fat for instance: 10 Excellent University Podcasts.

• Gizmodo recaps new technology and products. Sometimes boring.

No Mass

2006-04-28T13:13:00.000-07:00

Joyce
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

In the past three days, I have been to two funeral masses — John Kalinski, brother to my oldest friend Peter, and Pauline Kelly, mother of one of my newest friends, Mike Kelly. And it was just as much fun as you'd expect.

John Kalinski was an educator, family man and general prankster. I did not know him all that well, frankly. His viewing and service was packed, quite easily the most well-attended funeral I've ever attended — at least 400 people. I drove away wondering if there was enough time in my life to have that big of an impact on the lives of others.

Pauline Kelly was also a teacher. I didn't know her at all, but her family said Mike takes after her quite a bit, so I guess I missed out once again.

My own mother passed away nearly two years ago. I've been meaning to post the eulogy I gave her, and now seems as good as time as any.

Be well, friends. And if you can help it at all, please don't die for at least a couple of months. I could use the break.

Joyce Woodward, July 10, 1933 — July 4, 2004

There are times when we are at a loss for words. We’ve all felt this: moments when we are so filled with gratitude we become tongue-tied, instants when we are blinded with anger and all our stinging comebacks are lost, hours such as this.

Joyce Woodward never, not once, struggled for something to say.

If you wanted to know my mother, all you had to do was listen. Take, for instance, something as simple as a piece of apple pie. If she liked it, it was “Wonderful!” “Delicious!” “The best I ever had!” And if it wasn’t very good, it was, “Horrible!” “Awful!” “Just plain rotten!” She was decisive in her thinking, her words filled with boldness and sparkle. She owned a strength you wouldn’t expect in a woman a notch above five foot, an intensity that belied the softness of her blue eyes. Simply, she spoke with a passion and a candor we long for in our politicians.

She brought that same energy and courage to every aspect of her life. At an age most girls were still occupied with saddle shoes and the crooning of Frank Sinatra, she married my father and soon began a family. Together, they had two daughters, one handsome son, and one outrageously handsome son. And if the worth of a mother is measured by the happiness of her children, then Joyce was a wild success. We all have good jobs, comfortable places to call our own, educations both formal and self-taught, families that we cherish. This was our inheritance from her, and we received it well before she passed.

Of course, us kids weren’t her only accomplishments. She was a loving grandmother and great grandmother, a devoted daughter, a fine sister, a nutty aunt who livened up birthday parties and baby showers. I can’t remember her having many friends, but the few claimed were unusually close. Her work in people’s homes improved the lives of children and the sick. In the larger scheme of things, her and her contemporaries defeated the great tyrants of the last century and created prosperity even our founding fathers would find difficult to believe.

But of all her achievements, her greatest was her marriage to my father. Alfie and Sweetie Face would have been married 56 years tomorrow. From flat-broke kids to pensioned old folks, they stuck together through the layoffs and the house payments, the first days of school and the walks down the aisle. Some months it was all they could do to scrape by, but they made it, they always did, with hard work and a little bit of luck. Being Woodwards, they didn’t always make it easy on themselves, or each other. Dad was a bit of a pistol is his younger days, and Ma was not a woman to back down from anyone. I know I’m not the only one here today who wondered sometimes what kept them together. It was love. Love. My parents’ marriage was proof that even the most complex relationships can have the simplest foundation.

There are many things I will remember about my mother — the clatter of Yahtzee dice on the kitchen table; the way she wiggled the same little Twist to pop music; her love of flowers and fishing and knickknacks and good coffee; the way she’d sometimes call me “Steve, I mean Jack, I mean Devon, oh hell, you know your own name”; her easy and genuine thrill opening Christmas presents; and, of course, her face, a beautiful echo of a grandmother I so sorely miss.

The newest member of our family, Shelly’s husband Mark, said that it was appropriate that Mom passed on the Fourth of July, her being such a little firecracker and all. And that’s a good way of remembering her, but for me, I will always treasure her voice, and the power and clarity of her words. I don’t think she realized how much of me being a writer was because of her.

With the last of her time, she spoke her heart. It wasn’t always easy to listen in those waning hours; candor is a rose often armed with all its thorns. Yet, in that hospital room, there was kindness, generosity and love. Naturally, hearing her gave me hope, her speech a sign of strength, but when the room finally fell quiet, I knew that what the doctors had predicted would come to pass. In the silence since that awful, early morning, I have wondered if anything had been missed, a memory I wish I had shared, a thought she had wanted us to know. On both accounts, after much reckoning, I’ve come to a conclusion, and about her entire life as well, and I hope that when all my tomorrows are yesterdays, and a roomful of family and friends gather such as you have here and now, the same can be true of me as it is for my mother: when the final page was written and the book finally closed, absolutely nothing had been left unsaid.

Ye olde private dick

2006-03-07T10:24:00.000-08:00

paper
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

A different take on the detective story. Set in 1719 during the South Sea Stock Bubble Crisis, A Conspiracy of Paper follows a former boxer as he tries to solve the murder of his father during the first days of the English stock market. Quite different, and not bad for a first-time novelist, either, assuming you like the genre.

Still, the best period thriller I've read in the last few years must be The World At Night by Alan Furst.

Sleeping, Writing, Reading

2006-03-04T21:26:00.000-08:00

Went to the doctor this week to see about my insomnia. It was crazy bad -- inability to fall asleep, waking up with night terrors and winter itch, staggering through days half-asleep. About the only thing missing was bed-wetting and waking up with a horse's head under the blanket (Godfather reference, not sexual enuendo (not that I'm above it or anything). It's been going on for months. Dr. B. prescribed Ambien, and yes, folks, it works like a dream. After three nights, I don't need the help falling asleep anymore. I'll save the rest for spot treatment when I can't sleep. Huzza. Wack me upside the head with a pill and everything goes back to normal. I LOVE SCIENCE!

I've been writing more regularly. I may send out some pages to friends in a week or two. It's been a long time since I had three sessions in a week. I am hopeful. I'm also thinking of Podcasting chapters as I go along. I usually read out loud for errors and flow, so why not?

I've been reading more as well. Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking and Patchett's Truth & Beauty. While I usually read for art's sake, I found both books to be profoundly helpful on a personal level. Friends, co-workers and family have all hinted I've been pretty fucked up about something for a long time, or just flat-out accused me. And I have. These books, on pretty sad subjects I might add, helped me deal with some of my own crap. If you're dying with curiosity, call and I'll explain. Or read the books and speculate amongst yourselves.

Good God, Ann Patchett can write. I wish she would have had more of Elizabeth McCracken in T&B. E.M. taught a semester at Iowa, and I loved her class (and her). Sadly, I screwed up royally with E. She was coming to Detroit, and I made plans to meet with her, only to come down with the flu so badly I missed her visit without so much as a word from me. If anyone out there runs into her, please tell Elizabeth Johnny W. is very sorry. I'd be very grateful, and in return, she'll give you a very puzzled look. Whooooo????

Off to bed.

Story Idea

2006-02-28T07:51:00.000-08:00

I had an idea for a story as I was falling asleep last night. What if, instead of warts, blisters and compromised immune systems, STDs gave us benign but annoying ailments. Like insomnia. Or stuttering. Or strange but harmless personality quirks. "I slept with this girl I met at Shutter's and now I pass only on the right." "I went to the doctor and he gave me a shot of penicilin and now I'm recycling my newspapers again."

Ultimately, I think the story would prove that not only God exists in that world, but that He is also a Democrat.

Ain't nothing but a rock out!

2005-12-05T13:20:00.000-08:00

China Rocks!
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

If you haven't tried streaming video from Google, now is the time. The Backstreet Boys with an international flair. I don't know which is best: the sketchy cast, losing the headband, or the kid playing doom in the background.

Thanks: All Things Christie!

How Andy Dick saved my career.

2005-12-01T11:03:00.000-08:00

Wet Dick
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

The Andy Dick shoot I did in September for the incredible Chevy HHR is now online. Don't postpone joy: see it now!

A few people have asked how it was to work with Andy. I have to say he was a pretty decent guy. Sure, he had that A.D.D. most celebrities have (which I imagine is pretty normal considering a bunch of people were vying for his attention all day), but he really paid attention to you in a conversation. Of course, that's what improv players learn first: to listen.

Yes, he is a little weird, but I like that. And he was very generous to our contest winner, asking him to stick in town for a couple of days to see a taping of Less than Perfect.

How not to plagarize.

2005-12-01T10:29:00.000-08:00

Plagarist
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

Originality is the art of hiding one's sources, some famous guy/gal said. If so, then Brad Vice is no artist. Check out side-by-side comparisons for instant indignation.

Some words of advice for Mr. Vice: if you're going to steal from quality writers, please respect the original text. Not only are you a thief, you're a hack editor. Chortle, indeed. Who in the fuck chortles, anyways?

Thanks: Arts & Letters Daily!

Helluva thing, getting older.

2005-09-23T22:38:00.000-07:00

lolita
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

Nabakov's masterpiece hits the ripe old age of 50. Nice retrospective from the New York Times.

Advice to writers: never throw out computer discs.

2005-09-19T11:29:00.000-07:00

Found it: 171 total pages. Uncle and the suit. Dissertation. Even Bonnie. How could I have forgotten good old Bonnie and her giant purse?

So no more excuses, right? Right.

Working titles so far: Crapass and Bongs, Books, Bush.

Andy Dick will save my career.

2005-09-19T07:14:00.000-07:00

Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

So we had this contest, and the wheels around work wanted it to end it with a bang. A big bang. So they bought out the entire commercial time on an episode of The Tonight Show -- 17 minutes of national airtime. Then they put me on it.

Uhm, thanks?

My first act was to get more people involved, because having only a fraction of the blame is better than all of it. Yes, folks, I'm a survivor. After three weeks of nervous paper-shuffling, we finally bore down and panicked.

And out of the Maelstrom emerged Andy Dick.

Of all the directors we talked to, he was the only one that had the guts (or plain arrogance) to think he could film nearly a sitcom's worth of material in less than two weeks.

He turned out to be a pretty decent guy on a personal level. Friendly, a good listener, polite, excellent grooming habits. As for being a director, decide for yourself. Our 17 minutes of fame airs on Leno Thursday, September 22nd. Try not not to laugh. (That wasn't a typo).

Advice to writers: don’t take two years off.

2005-09-16T10:47:00.000-07:00

So, like, I’m trying to get off my ass and write. Yesterday, I printed out the novel I stopped working on when my wife and I decided to divorce, circa September, 2003. One hundred and twenty pages, not much of it good, but, you know, they're pages, which matter more than anything, even if they're bad. What’s killing me is that there are at least 50 pages missing. The uncle and nephew buying the suit. The mashed potatoes scene. The dissertation summary. Gone. Vapor. Most of it is still in my head, but that suit scene; man, I just know I’m never going to get it as good as I had it. I know it. "Him being all avuncular and shit," being the only line I can remember. Fuck.

Naturally, I blame my ex-wife for all of this.

1106 Lafayette

2005-05-02T06:48:00.000-07:00

1106 Lafayette
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

It's been over two weeks since my bid was accepted; I close next Wednesday. This is my third house, but it's the first one I'm going into alone. It's intimidating. I lost my job while living in my first house (Iowa), but I was married then, and while it was tight, we were never in danger of losing the place. This time, well, let's just say I need to be careful at work. Lost job equals financial ruin.

That said, I'm very excited. I'm having the floors refinished, so I won't move in immediately, but I've been visiting Home Depot a lot, thinking about what furniture I need to buy and just where the hell everything is going to go. I'll need to paint the exterior by winter next year, so I get to make it look all Johnny. Orange and brown? Purple and yellow? Two different shades of pink?

Best of all, no more laundromat!

You stupid kids, get off my lawn!

2005-05-02T06:47:00.000-07:00

Porch
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

This is where I'll will seal my reputation as the neighborhood crank.

Freakin' me out

2005-04-28T12:18:00.000-07:00

Movie times. Word definitions. Price comparisons. What won't Google SMS do?

Imaginary characters. Real places.

2005-04-26T06:41:00.000-07:00

The New York Times has an interesting idea for lovers of books and the Big Apple -- mapping the city's literary characters' homes. Perhaps the Freep can get one started for Detroit. Let's see: Greektown and Grosse Pointe for Middlesex. Uh, um. Royal Oak for Michael Zadorian's Second Hand. There's got to be more. Suggestions?

The authentic primitive

2005-04-07T11:07:00.000-07:00

Frank Conroy
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

A nice obit in today's NYT for Frank Conroy. Anyone who attended the Writers' Workshop in the last few decades has a Frank story -- including the poets. Even though I've never been in the military, having been in his workshop, I can understand now how veterans can look back at their drill sergeants with teary-eyed fondness. I had his workshop first term, first semester. Due to some foolish planning on my part, a story of mine was one of the first two reviewed. Tuesday came, we assembled in his office, and, luck of the draw, I went first. It was like an appendectomy. Performed in the 16th century. By barbers. Wearing blindfolds. Frank, being Frank, led the charge, took the opportunity to expound on his literary pyramid, stopping occasionally to point out various errors and affronts to good writing in his offhanded way. I tried being all professional and junk -- writing notes, listening, not weeping openly -- then I noticed the guy who was going up after me. It's hard to judge your work compared to others, but I knew this fellow's story wasn't as strong as mine. Dude was white as a ghost. I felt so lucky at that moment. At least I hadn't known what was going to happen to me beforehand.

Of course, this is the part where I'm supposed to say, "He was tough, but it was tough love." And you know what? It was -- a tough love of literature. He attacked, and occasionally praised, but only what was on the page. And I knew it wasn't personal, at least with me, because I don't remember him addressing me by name. Of all the writing teachers I've had, his ideas have stuck with me most. Meaning, sense, clarity! Mediate upon the text! Good writing is where the energy of the writer and the energy of the reader overlap!

I wish I had heard him play the piano. Does anyone out there have a tape?

Other obituaries: Associated Press, Washington Post, The Guardian.

Conroy speaks: The Connection (NPR interview), The Reign of Shit (with props to Antoine).

Eric Bennett May Not Think It's Funny, But I do

2004-11-29T16:45:00.000-08:00

I hate practical jokes, but love pranks. So needless to say I was very impressed with the mischievous Elis at the annual Yale v. Harvard football game. Absolutely gutted! I thought, until I read about Cal Tech at the 1961 Rose Bowl. Wait a minute, you say. Didn't Washington and Minnesota played in the ’61 Rose Bowl? Sure enough, which makes Cal Tech's triumph one for the ages.

Boochie, this site will get you all crunk!

2004-11-12T07:23:00.000-08:00

Do you sometimes smile weakly and nodded your head when your hip-hop friends are seemingly speaking another language? Ever get lost watching episodes of "The Wire"? I'm feeling you, gusgus. Be a fuck nut no more with the help of Urbandictionary.com. Updated by authentic youths, it will give you the 411 on today's slang. Learn the difference between a cousin and a nephew. Never give the low down when you should be down low. And don't forget to try the random word generator for 25/8 fun! In no time, all the jardels will think you're a real linguistic Tad Allen -- damn skippy!

White Man's Overbite

2004-10-30T08:50:00.000-07:00

Me: 39, obviously not in the right bar. Her: 25, obviously not caring her date feels he is obviously not in the right bar. We share the dance floor with girls who think Halloween is a chance to dress like a slut and a guy get up like Ralph Cramden ready to hit the links. Then the Crown Royal starts to settle in. Bass guitar must be obeyed. Blinking lights blessedly hide half of my awkward gyrations. And she's digging me. She laughs. She touches. She dances away, then dances back. We didn't dress up for the holiday; Halloween is not big in her country, yes? Okay-la. But as the sweat makes my button-up shirt stick to my back and my legs beg for another drink, I stay on the dance floor, untroubled by my gracelessness. It's then I realize I am indeed in costume.

I am Bullworth.

2Much

2004-10-25T09:33:00.000-07:00

Yoga
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

On a recent visit to Cali, I snapped this photo of my friend Antoine's license plate. And, yes, all you Iowa bloggers, he's still riding large in the Towne Car.

"I own a cat!" "Me, too!"

2004-09-15T15:37:00.000-07:00

"I own a cat!" "Me, too!"
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

My divorce buddy Paul and I went to a single's mixer last night. It was one of those 25 3-minute, round-robin date deals. Being an opinionated, reckless loudmouth with my friends, you'd think I wouldn't have trouble striking it up with women, but I do, which just goes to show you my brash personality is just a shield for the tender-hearted manchild that I am. Either that, or I'm gutless. Or quite possibly both.

The event was at a martini bar in Grosse Pointe, an enclave of high-level auto executives, old money and Motown stars, what passes for swank in these parts. Robusto's was something out of Cigar Aficionado -- private humidors sunk into the walls, $7 dollar Bombay's and tonics, blonde dolls with serving trays. I told people at work it'd either be fun or funny, and while I believed deep down the night would end up being fodder for the John Woodward recreational outrage machine, I had a swell time.

It was hard not to like most everyone there. Perhaps it was because we were like bald men or Red Sox fans or Zany Brainy shareholders, part of a fraternity held together by a common, low-grade misery. I met the usual brand of auto people, advertising types and sales reps, but also a medical photographer (one of the few jobs that's actually as grim as you'd imagine), a burlesque singer (love those fishnets) and an electrician. Hobbies included: shopping, science fiction movies, fishing, interior decorating, reading (Tolstoy to Rand to Cook) and, my favorite, "not much, just hanging out, I guess." Shine on, rock star.

After each "date," you had a scorecard and checked a person either up or down; if you and someone both voted for each other, you'd be emailed on how to contact them. My score: I voted for two girls out of 24; one of my selections voted for me; another 6 women voted for me but not I for them. Divorce buddy Paul: ten yesses out of 24 (the man slut); four of his selections voted for him; another 8 women voted for him but he did not. One other woman, who arrived late and missed our three minutes together, struck up a conversation with me after the show. After a minute or so, she asked me if I wanted her business card. I managed a "that would be great" instead of the "oh, fuck yeah!" I could have sworn was going to come out of my mouth. She looked at me like I was a hunk of meat the entire time we talked. It was great.

Internet Antics

2004-09-14T11:24:00.000-07:00

HweenDogButt
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

On his blog, my friend Antoine asked what people looked for when using the Google Image search. Now you know.

It's good to be home.

2004-09-11T21:05:00.000-07:00

Can't wait to sleep in my own bed. I will be posting photos and freeze frames the next few days. Go Lions!

What fun!!

2004-09-08T16:34:00.000-07:00

LONDON -- So far I've lost a dental crown, taken my father into two gay pubs, got ripped off for $180, and have slept vey little. Not the funniest outing. Can't wait to get home; my luck followed me across the pond.

Jack's going back.

2004-09-02T09:59:00.000-07:00

dad2
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

On September 3rd, my brother and I will be taking Pvt. Jack Woodward, U.S. Army Air Corp. (retired), back to England. He hasn't been there since 1945. It'll be his second time on an airplane; the first was when he flew on a Flying Fortress on a training mission over the White Cliffs of Dover. We're going to drink and drink and drink.

My blog is ugly

2004-08-31T20:52:00.000-07:00

I've been blogging for like half a day and I already have low self-esteem regarding my site. Where are the zany photos and the ironic links? I am lame.

Back at it. Procrastinating, that is.

2004-08-31T12:49:00.000-07:00

After a 15 month layoff -- for all the usual tragic bullshit indignities that are heaped upon decent men whose only crime is the audicity of closing in on forty -- I'm writing again, which means, naturally, I'm looking for new ways to fuckaround; hence, this. No wonder so many writers were alcoholics before the Internet was invented.