Category: writing

In the nineteen-thirties and forties, Damon Runyon was the most widely read journalist in the country, and his movies like Double Indemnity and Broadway plays like Guys and Dolls were hits. Runyon held court nightly in Lindy’s Restaurant on Broadway and 51st Street, which, even in May 1949, three years after his death, was the fabled realworld haunt of many of his thinly fictionalized characters: Dave the Dude, Harry the Horse, Izzy Cheesecake.
In his Times’ May 22, 1949 profile, Leo “Lindy” Lindemann told of a “timid, well-dressed” older woman who came to the restaurant asking after “some of those quaint persons Mr. Runyon writes about.” Lindy pointed her to a regular, who he identified as Morris the Schnook. “She was delighted. She pressed his hand when she left. When she reached the siewalk, the Lindy habitues roared with laughter. Morris the Schnook was their invention. Their butt was really Abe Lyman, the orchestra leader.” And thus, the Times saw fit for the first time to print the term “schnook.”
Now, 55 years later, and just months after self-hating Jew Jerome Robbins was quoted calling himself “a schnook from Weehawken,” I’m as surprised as an orchestra leader to offer up the 86th appearance of “schnook” in the paper of record. Frankly, I’m a little verklempt.

What Is the Value of Priceless Art? Debate Continues on $20 Admission [NYT]

As part of a settlement in a discrimination suit, Abercrombie & Fitch will create an “Office of Diversity.”
$50 million buys a lot of waxing [SJ Mercury News]

A round of applause to the advertisers who keep greg.org swimming (ok, maybe wading…ok, maybe slightly damp) in MoMA tickets. Please show them we’re not ALL poverty-stricken Marxist anti-consumerists:

KevinKringle.com (it’s getting to be some time of year, anyway)

Moretosee.com (this mysterious campaign isn’t just for high-end flatscreen television anymore.)

The Life Aquatic, directed by Wes Anderson, who I believe you all know.

Just what’s been on my mind:

Louis Feuillade was the French anti-Griffith, whose crime serials and mystery, Les Vampires embraced elusiveness over narrative primacy; they were met with disdain from French critics. The director in Olivier Assayas’ Irma Vep was trying to remake Les Vampires with Maggie Cheung. BFI’s Sight & Sound has an article on him. [via mefi]

Donald Richie is the self-appointed chief gaijin. If he’s Paul Bowles, Tokyo is his Tangiers. His The Japan Journals: 1947-2004 are discussed at Metropolis. [via mefi]

Alberto Gonzalez is probably the single least likely person in Washington to empower an independent investigation or special prosecutor.

In his second term, Clinton cynically and deftly supported extensive testing of the missile defense system to avoid an unwanted fight with ongressional Republicans over it. Likewise, Congress’s loud but conflicted action on the 9/11 Commission recommendations enabled Bush to demand action, so he can sign something, even as all the Republicans knew nothing would actually be done.
In this way, well-publicized planning for the invasion of Fallujah innoculated GWB against mid-election criticism of the administration’s failures in confronting the Iraqi insurgency.
Now that the election’s over and the invasion has begun, Fallujah is exactly the kind of operation that the US military can succeed at, will “succeed” at. This could change the tenor of coverage of the war, even if it does not actually improve stability. Leaders on the ground were extremely critical of the entirely political/Washington-driven Fallujah invasion and pullback last Spring. Who knows if we’ll find out about this one?

That’s the gist of just about every pundit I’ve heard today: those pesky gays and their persistent existence cost Dems the election.
Sounds like it’s going to be a long, hard, punishing four years for gay folk in this country. At least the submissive bottoms will make out alright…

Hats off to writers Christian Newton and Casey McAdams for their hilarious NickNolteDiary.com, and for their help in putting together the timeline in the Times Sunday. I happily traded a greg.org mention in the piece for the byline, duh.
Alas, during rewrites, we cut the gratuitous digs at LA residents and my secret blogging shoutouts; for entertainment purposes only, here’s the intro I originally tried to sneak by the editors:

Even the best website ideas can languish unrealized for months, pushed off even the back burner by day jobs, intractable schedules, and inescapable inertia. So it was for Christian Newton and Casey McAdams, two Los Angeles residents (aka aspiring screenwriters), who took more than six months nurturing their vision: a fictional diary in the persona of actor Nick Nolte. The story of how their little weblog went from private homage to inadvertent global news hoax to cease-and-desist letter to sitcom pitch- all in one week- reveals the workings of the blog-powered buzz machine. And it may encourage would-be Hollywood players to get back to their laptops and finish that site.

The Positively True Adventures of the Counterfeit Diary of Nick Nolte [NYT]
Nick Nolte Reviews Movable Type [the greg.org post that started it all, after Andy Baio’s one-man meme-machine Waxy.org, of course]

Father forgive me for ever doubting the authenticity of NickNolteDiary.com. After all, Ireland Online has reported about Nolte’s traffic accident with Rosanna Arquette.
Nolte crashes into Arquette [Worldwide Entertainment Network News, via IOL]

Which was registered two years ago last week, it turns out.
Registrant:
Pending Renewal or Deletion
P.O. Box 430
Herndon, VA 20172-0447
US
Phone: 570-708-8786
Domain Name: GAWKER.COM
Record expires on 05-Oct-2004
Record created on 05-Oct-2002
Update: Trying to think of a gift for Gawker? They already got a sharp stick in the eye from Network Solutions… (Nick says the whole thing’s an NSI screwup, although I’d suspect BMW.)

I love this place: BYU newspaper yanks T-shirt ad [Deseret News]
And I love these t-shirts: I Cant…I’m Mormon

That’s what I’m thinking of changing the subtitle of this weblog to, although I’m still unconvinced.
It works in Europe, where I am not, at least most of the time. Top ten lists on the radio are called “le best of,” as are McDo value meals (“menus best of”). Also, “the making of” has become a programming genre all its own.
But it still looks a little funny. And this ain’t Europe. And so I remain undecided.

I just assume that everyone knows about PublicRadioFan.com, Kevin A. Kelly’s up-to-the-minute online programming guide for public radio stations.
The more I listen to radio online, the more frequently I find myself crafting my own programming schedule; I’ll listen to All Things Considered on Pacific Time, and This American Life and other weekend programs whenever I want by finding a fresh stream from some station, somewhere. The only problem is when you get in the car, and the local station is playing a show you’ve already heard.

Until I see them standing side by side, I’m going to assume that “Jessica Coen” is really Choire Sicha indulging his “breast-wielding, 24-year old D-girl” side. I mean, it’s not like he needed an excuse to read WWD…
Or waitaminnit, maybe Nick is the Remington Steele to Choire’s Laura Holt… or maybe Nick is Remington and Ana Marie is Laura Holt, and Choire is just that other guy, who got booted after the first season…Or maybe Skyler and Raven had to leave Port Charles when […]
[next day update: ok, maybe not LaToya and Michael.]

To be filed under P for Playah Hatah:
Setting: the downtown 6 train, 59th – 50th street.
Dramatis Personae: a shapely 20-something woman of a certain race with a JPMorganChase totebag, two 30-ish gentlemen of a certain race with knee-length T-shirts, sitting three occupied seats down from the woman. A 30-something white guy standing in front of them all.
The young banker studiously ignores numerous gestures and pleas from the playah: [waving across 2 people] “Miss, Yo, miss!” Playah hatah, meanwhile, pulls on his friend’s arm, trying to get him to stop.
Finally making eye contact, the playah mouths something about a number. “you a model, right?” “No.” “Awww, you should be. Now–”
The train pulls into 50th st and begins to slow. The banker grabs her bag and moves toward the door. She’s decided to walk the last 8 blocks to Grand Central, or wait for the next train. She disappears.
Playah [loudly]: “Yo, why you messin’ with me while I’m workin’?”
Hatah [louder, exasperated]: “Damn, bitch ain’t gonna give any shit up. Why you embarass yourself like that?”
Playah: “You see that ass and don’t even try nothin’? What, you a faggot? Damn.”
Same train, same car 42nd-33rd st.
Dramatis Personae: two seated whitey white white office casual guys behind a 30-something white guy.
WWWG1: “A thousand bucks?? You can’t expense that!”
WWWG2: “But it was client development.”
WWWG1: “There is NO code for a lapdance [pause] Dude, a thousand bucks??”

To be filed under P for Playah Hatah:
Setting: the downtown 6 train, 59th – 50th street.
Dramatis Personae: a shapely 20-something woman of a certain race with a JPMorganChase totebag, two 30-ish gentlemen of a certain race with knee-length T-shirts, sitting three occupied seats down from the woman. A 30-something white guy standing in front of them all.
The young banker studiously ignores numerous gestures and pleas from the playah: [waving across 2 people] “Miss, Yo, miss!” Playah hatah, meanwhile, pulls on his friend’s arm, trying to get him to stop.
Finally making eye contact, the playah mouths something about a number. “you a model, right?” “No.” “Awww, you should be. Now–”
The train pulls into 50th st and begins to slow. The banker grabs her bag and moves toward the door. She’s decided to walk the last 8 blocks to Grand Central, or wait for the next train. She disappears.
Playah [loudly]: “Yo, why you messin’ with me while I’m workin’?”
Hatah [louder, exasperated]: “Damn, bitch ain’t gonna give any shit up. Why you embarass yourself like that?”
Playah: “You see that ass and don’t even try nothin’? What, you a faggot? Damn.”
Same train, same car 42nd-33rd st.
Dramatis Personae: two seated whitey white white office casual guys behind a 30-something white guy.
WWWG1: “A thousand bucks?? You can’t expense that!”
WWWG2: “But it was client development.”
WWWG1: “There is NO code for a lapdance [pause] Dude, a thousand bucks??”