Mean Monday on Tuesday: 42 Opus, Are you OK?
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I am not this frustrated
I like your journal. I have read some good poems and short stories at your literary magazine. I submitted something to you, using your great submission manager, in December of 2007. I have checked up repeatedly on your fantabulous submission tracker thing and I have read that two editors have read my thingy. One editor thing says this: January 2008 and then underneath, July 2008. The other editor thing says, January 2008 and then- nothing! And then there is your category- “final decision”. Nothing! Nothing in the final decision category!
Anyway, I am not totally being mean here. Because, you accept simultaneous submissions and so therefore you can hold onto it for a good long while, in my book. But I feel the need to give you a tiny bit of a hard time for taking OVER A YEAR. Also, I very politely queried you in November, at the 11 month mark. (I think, although maybe it was October, at the 10 month mark? You say in your submission guidelines that you welcome queries if we haven’t heard from you after five months). I have had no response to my query. Anyway, you slightly bug me that you have not gotten back to me. I still recognize that you are a quality literary journal. But, I am slightly irritated with you because of your no response thing. Maybe you are not well? If so, I hope you get better.
Yours Truly,
pr
Mean Monday: I Am A Pussy But I Don’t Like Everything I Read
PUSSY
I am too much of a pussy to post really truly mean shit. In fact, recently I profusely apologized to someone here for making them angry. That said, if you fuck with me, in real life, I will NEVER forgive you. I hate that about myself. I am a terrible grudge holder. I often find people like me who are huge grudge holders are conversely very loyal friends. Makes sense, though, right? OK! Here are some books I thought were not very good for various reasons:
Who Will Run the Frog Hospital? By Lorrie Moore—I read this book in manuscript form when it came out. I loved her stories at the time. After reading this book, I was very angry and had indigestion. It made me hate big publishers. Maybe if I read it now, I would like it. Really. ( I suck at being mean?) Someone tell me you thought this book was ass, too. Also, no question marks are allowed in book titles. It’s the law.
Mean Mondays: A play about how writers have big egos and think they are special and will never get along with each other
EXT. DAY – A VERDANT PASTURE
A group of three men squat naked on a hill, each quietly contemplating life while shitting. A spring cloud approaches from the east.
MAN 1
(jumps up excitedly)
I have created something beautiful! Look at my shit turd! Gaze upon its fullness! Take note of its deep color! Oh how special my turd is!
MAN 2
(pointing at his excrement)
Yes, I have created also! My beautiful jagged turd how I appreciate you! You are unique and different! A turd not of this world.
MAN 3
(acting disinterested)
I too have created. My turd is small and compact.
How Hated Is Jonathan Safran Foer?
The Guardian just released an article about how much shit talking is being directed at Jonathan Safran Foer. Having never read his work, does he really suck that bad?
All I know is that he’s a young successful writer. And from New York. And wears glasses. Wait, I’m looking at his bio photos…I think I hate him…No…Hmm…
From the Guardian comments section:
I always presumed Foer would be exactly the kind of author I would hate. He writes long, self-important books that fill 3 for 2 sections of chain bookstores, marketed perfectly as the clever read for stupid people.
Nice. Read the Guardian article HERE.
Mean Mondays: Blake Butler hates your medulla oblongata
Blake Butler is the single most selfish individual on the face of this earth. Blake Butler often smells of fatty oils and spits when he talks. I don’t understand how any one finds value in his writing.
Babies eating each other is not good literature. Is it even literature?
He’s constantly writing nonsensical fluff like:
d;lk**346;d44OIIIOOOPP3ffd)
What the fuck am I supposed to do with this? It has no meaning.
Or he’ll misuse body parts in ridiculous sentence structures. “Sniff urethra farm sailing pie”
huh?
Let’s analyze why Blake is a douche.
This post is mean spirited but only by semantic
I think I realized yesterday that all people really need in a forum is a placeholder under the illusion of an idea so that they have somewhere to argue and get their big O open.
Hmmm.
So, like, does Bret Easton Ellis suck ass or what?
Mean Monday: Strong Poetry
Cut your fucking ears off and put them in my mouth, chud fucke*s. All y’all ever talk about up in this bitch is your fucking Morning Nutritious blend Vitamin A cattle finch pomegranate quicksilver soggy sonnet dick bullshit literature.
Your indie this / Adbusters that / dead white guys with white beards and ski caps.
Fuck ski caps.
What you need is the feeling of car keys against your throat. What you need is a little yellow smiley gone bloodsoaked, with some mutton showing, with its face jiggling off.
What you need is some STRONG POETRY.
And bless your shoe licking hearts, I’m here to deliver, courtesy of the only man I’ve ever seen eat six anvils with a cock ring on: K “THE SILEM” MOHAMMAD. Witness this, his analysis of what makes a STRONG POEM, and by analysis I mean free steak:
George W. Bush, Bill Clinton, Hilary Clinton, Sarah Palin, and Barack Obama are strong poems. Al Gore, John Kerry, George H. W. Bush, and Geraldine Ferraro are weak poems.
The relationality of the strong poem should not lead one to believe that its strength is not tangible.
The strong poem fully expects to be hated by many. This increases its strength.
The weak poem is reducible to a rectangle or rhombus whereas the strong poem resembles a parallelogram, or more exactly a trapezoid or irregular quadrilateral.
Conrad Aiken’s “Morning Song of Senlin” is a weak poem. Charles Olson’s “The Lordly and Isolate Satyrs” is a strong poem. The verdict is out on Allen Tate’s “Ode to the Confederate Dead.”
Not every instance of the term “strong poem” is relevant to the definition at hand. Sometimes it is merely a convenient, informal, and largely meaningless designation, as in “Good, Susan, that’s a strong poem compared to your earlier work.”
The strong poem carries with it the undercurrent of a threat in the guise of robust confidence. It is always on the verge of violating something.
“Strong,” but not yet stale, sweat.
And, yes, there’s more. You thought that was it? It? You don’t even know half of it! That’s because it is a half of shit, and half of shit is your shit (oh! what!) and half of your shit is the shit I just shit on your shit. Bitch. That’s because you’re a–wait, no, you’re not a pussy, not even that, no, you’re a bunny cunt, you’re a blowjob in pajamas. Go eat a fucking Mounds bar, girl. That’s what girls do. They just sit around eating Mounds bars and–
Mean Monday: Christy Call Talks Shit About(4) Lit Blogs
Here is a piece of our latest gchat about lit blogs:
me: heywe need to dolike a talking shit thingfor tomorrowwhat do you ant to talk shit about?9:41 PM heytalk shit about something!HEYChris: WHAT9:42 PM me: we need to have you talk shit about somethingChris: oh rightmust talk shitabout somethinggive me a topicme: okyour topic islit blogsChris: uh ohi first read little blogsthat was weird9:43 PM so like now i know though you want lit blogsme: yeswe are not communicating very well tonightChris: nowe are communicating brilliantlyme: there is nothing brilliantabout this gchatChris: this conversation is a microcosm for lit blogsme: microcosm?9:44 PM Chris: microorganismme: microgasmthis is dumbwe need to start overChris: microwave itme: stopChris: HAHAHAHAHAYESme: oklit blogstalk shitgoChris: WE NEED TO START OVERAGAINme: we already started over goddamn itChris: like whose lit blogme: i dont know
I want to start over again. I want to go to sleep.
Yawn.
Mean / Comments Off on Mean Monday: Christy Call Talks Shit About(4) Lit Blogs
December 1st, 2008 / 4:14 am
December 1st, 2008 / 4:14 am
The Jeopardy! Report #2
par oft an ongoing series, wherein my friend Danielle watches Jeopardy! and then emails me a diary of her concerns.
Oh my God, Alex Trebek has totally crossed the line now. First of all, the panel must have the lowest combined age of all time, and they’re attractive too. It’s like for one magical day someone parted the dark, pendulous storm clouds that hang eternally over the Jeopardy! set, and the light shone down upon these three rare specimens. And this totally sexy-librarian type is answering almost every single question; I mean she’s killing it. And as hot as that is, I almost feel bad for the dudes because they seem, of all things, pretty okay. Anyway, the girl just goes on smoking these guys’ asses and at the first commercial break I’m like, You know, there’s something magically rad about this episode. Okay, so: commercial break, and then back to the show, and as they zoom in on the set, I’m feeling pretty sweet. And then I realize that Alex has moved from his podium. He is standing next to the cool, nerdy girl, asking himself the question that–let’s face it, I watch a lot of Jeorpardy! and I think we can both agree that I really get it, so just trust me–could–nay, will– change her life forever: Of all the dumb facts on this gay blue card, which can I use to bring the greatest shame and humiliation upon this woman and her family? “She has a Master’s degree in something that I think would be very, very useful and important in this day and age”? Really? What? It seems that Alex is actually quite taken with her and not at all his usually you-look-like-someone-who’s-got-a-vagina-so-it’s-time-to-think-of-a-way-to-make-you-feel-bad-about-yourself self. It turns out that her degree was in Plant,Soil, and Environmental Science, but she was in the sustainable agriculture program doing good for the underdog but helping small farm farmers reduce their reliance on herbicides. “Okay, so what’s the best way to do that?” he asks. Really? What? Fill me in on the major findings of your master’s thesis and do be aware that I will interrupt you almost immediately? It’s like he’s an asshole by accident whenever he’s not busy being an asshole on purpose. So she handles fine and says “Be careful” which is kind of whatever, but okay at least you said something. And then Alex says, “That’s it? Just be careful?” RRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. He ruined the whole show for me.
[the following appeared a few minutes later in a separate email. -ed.]
The guy next to the environmental scientist just graduated from business school, where he studied marketing, and Alex tells him, Good for you, good for you.
Mean Monday: Tao Lin is not a ‘good guy’
My ball skin wears thinner every time I hear/read the words ‘Tao Lin’. Statements like ‘Tao Lin is the King of Bloggers’, ‘I love Tao Lin’, ‘Tao Lin is a great guy’, and ‘Tao Lin saved my life’ are thrown around free and excessive. I don’t get it. Tao Lin is not a ‘good guy’ and he’s not necessarily a ‘bad guy’.
He’s a self-interested writer type of guy.
Most of Tao Lin’s persona attributes are misconstrued (specifically the guise of neutrality) by his readership of emotionally distraught teenage girls.
Leave a comment on Tao Lin’s blog; he’ll respond back with a very unimaginative ‘I am glad’ or ‘thank you for’ and end with restating your comment.
Reader: ‘Tao Lin your poetry saved my life’
Tao Lin: ‘Reader I am glad my poetry saved your life’
Send Tao Lin an email describing how “EEE EEE EEE” helped you survive being committed to a mental hospital for self-mutilation because you, as a human being, could not cope with the torture and abuse endured at home; he’ll respond with the same unimaginative reply of ‘I am glad’ or ‘thank you’ or may not reply at all.
Occasionally, he will freely give away books to people expressing desire to read a ‘Tao Lin book’ they may not be able to afford. Nothing altruistic exists in his actions.
He does not often post comments on other blogs. When he does, the comments will be centered around him completely dismissing the subject of the blog post. Don’t be surprised if he asks you what font size is used on that post about how your wife had a miscarriage.
Shock announcement: TAO LIN DOES NOT CARE ABOUT YOU.
Tao Lin is fond of citing his indifference, neutrality and world view. This is all part of his gimmick. Tao Lin is not indifferent or neutral and the only world view I can perceive is a world view of Tao Lin being famous.
Post a comment on Tao’s blog indicating you’re a professor wanting to teach his books to this year’s creative writing students; Tao Lin will interact and become very interested in your goals.
Email Tao letting him know you are a semi-famous person who enjoys his work; he’ll interact with you and blog about it.
Tao has spent monolithic efforts to promote his work and aesthetic. More hours have been spent trying to get linked by Gawker than replying to a single email from a teenage girl reaching out while feeling very alone and suicidal because her alcoholic step-father beats her.
Tao Lin is not indifferent.
A lizard is indifferent. It exists, bathes in the sun, eats, sleeps, and reproduces. That is indifference. What it doesn’t do is fret over being famous, promote its work with every breath and action, and desperately strive toward a very specific style/persona.
Tao Lin is far from indifferent. Don’t let him fool you. Don’t excuse what he does because he seems meek. He is quite aware of his actions.
I do not blame the emotionally damaged teenagers for confusing this concept. The rest of you are shameful.