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for updates & short takes
Regarding the word chunky, and other gravy matters
Okay, so that Chicago Author's Roundtable is this coming Monday night--not, as I'd totally foggily reported last week, this past Monday. (I guess that's obvious, since time moves forward and not backward.) I hope you'll come to the lovely air-conditioned comfort of the Sulzer Regional Library to hear Zulkey and Erin and Kevin Guilfoile and me, along with Kevin Smokler, who is touring this summer as the editor of a very cool book, and who is a great person to commiserate with about the bugfucking crazy business of having to push your own book as much as possible within about six weeks and on about four hours of sleep per night. We'll be talking about stuff like what it means to have both online audiences and books to promote, whether having an internet presence can help a writing career, and, most importantly, discuss the mystifying differences between a blog and a chatroom (kidding).
So please come. It'll be fun. I have no idea whether the table will actually be round. That could be awkward.
I feel I ought to provide some updates regarding the dicksmackery observed in Wednesday night's post. It seems Bill Zwecker was pretty much spanked by his co-anchors on the Channel 2 morning news the day after his blog post (video here), and they read some viewer/reader email, including one my friend Brenda wrote. Richard Roeper continues to totally leave his karmic toilet seat up by posting a brief response at the end of his Thursday column, in which he's under the impression that we ladies a.) need him to tell us that the Dove women are indeed "normal-sized," b.) are persecuting him for his "preference for fantasy-thin women in their underwear" and c.) have no sense of humor whatsoever.
To which I'll respond:
a.) Okay, look: if you think the Dove women are chunky, you think they're chunky. God knows how your eyes work, but we trust our own, and we also trust our knowledge of Standard English enough to understand that "chunky" isn't what you say when you mean to convey "normal-sized" with humorous intent. It's just what you say when you're a dickclown.
b.) We never asked for you to apologize for your preference for fantasy-thin women in their underwear. You don't have to apologize for your preference for fantasy-thin women in their underwear any more than you should apologize for preferences for fantasy-fat women wrapped in Cling Wrap, say, or fantasy-freakshow women with six to eight impossibly perky double-D-cup dirtypillows, or whatever the hell happens to rock your little Richard, Roeper. We never asked you what your fantasies were to begin with, and in fact we wouldn't give a shit about your fantasies if you hadn’t published a petulant half-assed half-column about how icky the Dove women are for not fulfilling them.
c.) Um, we're so funny we have the motherfucking power to make your columns funnier retroactively. Did you like how your July 19th column got funnier after July 19th? Notice how all those lines that weren't jokes on July 19th are totally jokes now? Isn't it cool how you're funny, but only when you write crazy nutty time-release jokes that we don't get? Ha ha!
Have a good weekend. I'm going to see Gravy Train!!!! tonight, because they are my fantasy women. (And that includes the two guys.)
pounded out by Wendy at 1:42 PM
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Smell the Dove
Thank you, Sun-Times and Channel 2 fellas, for exposing those Dove billboards for the anti-erection propaganda that they are. That's right: in their menacing white panties, the Dove women are chunky size-ten threats to the fantasies that Chicago newsmen clearly feel entitled to enjoy at all times, or at least while commuting or running errands, or rushing out to cover a breaking story about a fire or a murder or whatever, or otherwise cavorting through the vast, roofless Playboy mansion that is our entire goddamn city. Because apparently it's bad enough that actual women are allowed to walk around Michigan Avenue or Navy Pier with their real live fleshy-flesh sticking out from under shorts and halter tops as if it were hot out or something, as if Richard Roeper's boner wasn't totally at stake. (Does he think it's like his thumb and that he gets to vote with it?)
Plus I love it when these editorials say stuff like "ads should be about the beautiful people" (see the second segment), and "if I want to see plump gals baring too much skin, I'll go to Taste of Chicago," as if it were all just a matter of venue--because, what, it's of great masturbatory importance to see chubby chicks in one place and not another? Like are there secret freaky Old Testament-style Jerk-Off Laws that prohibit getting off on "real women" when they're served up on the same platter used for taut model fantasy fucktoys? I know these guys are talking out of their asses, but there's a whiff of righteous outrage coming out of there, too, and it's creepy.
And don't even get me started on this guy's remark about these ads encouraging people to be out of shape. Uh, yeah, we can see right through that, and it doesn't help the "obesity epidemic" any when the chub you're most concerned about is the one in your pants, dude. We know what's up with that. (Or what's not up. Or... ew.)
pounded out by Wendy at 10:39 PM
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oh, DUH
The panel is NEXT week. Not tonight. I am stupid. And busy.
But I live stupidly close to Sulzer Library, so I'll walk by there anyway, just to relieve my guilt. If you don't read this in time and show up anyway we can browse the paperbacks together and do catalog searches for titles with dirty words. It'll rock!
pounded out by Wendy at 4:34 PM
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Pulling myself out from this little online hiatus is to some extent a matter of digging myself out from under a couple hundred backlogged manuscripts at work (including YOURS, probably, but don't ask), but I'm getting to the point where my office is normal office colors again and not caste in a queasy yellow-beige light from so many manila envelopes. I seem to be making some progress.
If you're in Chicago, you might wanna hit Sulzer library Monday night to see me at this thing. More later...
pounded out by Wendy at 4:10 PM
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Oh my, it's July
already.
I guess I've been taking a midsummer hiatus here while I recover from the California trip and get ready for my trip to Durham this weekend. Even though I'm not there yet I'm going to be on North Carolina Public Radio today at 11:00 Central time to speak philosophically about my own fat ass and the fat-assery of the nation as a whole. And then on Friday, I'll be reading at the Regulator Bookshop in Durham for my last captial-O Official scheduled reading for this tour. There will likely be some other local events (including a panel in a couple of weeks), and I wish I could have hit DC, Minneapolis, Pennsylvania and other cities, but for now, I need a break from flying. The only kind of travelling I want to do after this weekend is of the goofy summer road-trip variety: Dickeyville Grotto or bust!
Expect a wrap-up of the whole damn tour thing sometime after I get back. (Emphasis on the "sometime.")
pounded out by Wendy at 10:57 AM
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