Friday, August 17, 2001

SUMMER READING, SUMMER NOT: In keeping with a more-or-less annual tradition around these cyber-parts, here comes another fantabulous MISC Late-Summer Reading List. Its purpose: To let you know what you should've been investing your time with this warm-weather season, instead of frittering it away on needless time-wasters such as jobs and sex.

High Drama in Fabulous Toledo by Lily James: A raucous, giddy little novel that lives up to its title with nary a tinge of irony. Our heroine is the bored, easily distracted fiancee of a borderline-suicidal bar owner. She gets kidnapped from a 7-Eleven parking lot one night, and turned over to become the captive bride of a rich computer genius completely lacking in social skills.

After the initial shock she comes to like the adventure of her predicament; but soon becomes bored again as she realizes her captor's domestic-suburban plans for her life. Meanwhile, her distraught boyfriend is consoled by a mysterious policewoman with, shall we say, personal issues of her own. To tell any more would spoil the ride.

High Drama is a great light-comic caper story that also happens to be classifiable as "post-feminist" or "genre-deconstucting" (the genre here being romance-novel ravishment). It's also a highly accessible, engaging read that, in a better world, would bring wealth and renown to James and to the literary-press publisher FC2, which put it out.

The Knife Thrower and Other Stories by Steven Millhauser: One of the dozen or more tomes I'd left stacked at home from the Tower Books closing sale back in February. Shouldn't have waited this long to read it.

This guy's one helluva prose stylist, and he spins great yarns too. His sentences and paragraphs, lovely as they are, are always held subordinate to his fantastical plots--which, clever as they are, are always held subordinate to the heart and dignity with which he endows his characters.

Many of these tales have to do with the dark side of small-town existence, and the light hidden behind such shadows. The finest example of this is "The Sisterhood of Night," in which a gentleman relates his town's newest teenage fad: Girls who sneak out of their homes in the middle of the night to gather in the woods and, apparently, do nothing. No drugs, no sex, no Satanic rites; but also no peer pressure, no parental shrieks, no requirements to do or say anything. The narrator ends by wondering whether this could be more potentially subversive than any cult or gang; Millhauser leaves you feeling like it just might.

The Bellero Shie by Jay Davis: A gem of a tiny paperback. When the author was here on a reading tour in June, he left some promo copies at Confounded Books (now at 2nd & Bell in Belltown). Behind the circa-1961 corporate-manual cover are eight stories which amaze and confound in their finely-tuned haunting alienation.

In "Family Food and Drug," an unwitting supermarket customer is put through militaristic interrogation, for the "crime" of refusing to provide personal demographic-marketing information. In "Sparky," a man retreats from his wife and family to his only consolation, the family dog, which happens to be dead and stuffed. Yeah, it's PoMo, but it's PoMo with a soul--and a quietly aching one at that.

(The apparently closest thing the publisher has to an online presence is this review, which lists a California address for the outfit even though the inside cover says it's from Illinois.)

Erogenous Zones: An Anthology of Sex Abroad, edited by Lucretia Stewart: Great premise: Literary nonfiction passages from many times and places, all about having sex far from one's home, with someone the author didn't set out from home with. But the adventures become repetitious after a while; particularly the ones involving hookers with the invariable hearts-O-gold and the ones involving anonymous gay-pickup sex. But it is a very handsomely-manufactured volume; and it's fun to read some of the troubadoric descriptions from male diarists, languishing wistfully over the bodily and other charms of their long-separated meaningless-encounter partners.

posted by clark 1:35 AM

Thursday, August 16, 2001

MORE, MORE, MORE: At no small expense (make your PayPal donations now!), we've gone ahead and run off more copies of the summer MISC print mag. Some dropoff places where the thing's already disappeared will get a replenished supply; other places that never got any copies will get some now. (Folk who wanna help with the distro process, please feel free to email me.)

SO BAD IT'S, WELL, BAD: What makes a truly bad movie? Hint: Plan 9 isn't "truly bad;" A.I., however, might qualify. Another hint: A "bad film festival" film might be ineptly produced but can still promise fun-time entertainment. A truly bad film is a chore, something you might as well just go straight to the "surprise" endings of at Movie Pooper; or read the whole tell-all plot summaries at The Movie Spoiler. (Found by Memepool.)

posted by clark 12:21 AM

Monday, August 13, 2001

DEPT. OF COINCIDENCE: A wake was held Sunday afternoon at the Two Bells Tavern for its longtime owner Patricia Ryan, who'd died of lung cancer one week previous. To get to the memorial, one had to traverse the Fourth Avenue sidewalks past the triumphant participants in a breast cancer walkathon. Once inside the event, of course, the cigarettes flowed like pre-dam spawning salmon.

The happening itself was, as expected, a mixture of pathos, celebration, and reminiscence. The bar and its back-alley beer garden were full with Ryan's family and friends, and with Two Bells employees and regulars past and present. Ryan's widower Rolon Bert Garner was in relatively good spirits most of the time; he and several close friends and coworkers offered brief, touching remarks.

('Twas truly great to see so many old faces again. Let's hope it can happen again under less unfortunate circumstances.)

Ryan's legacy, of course, is the Bells, which has (thus far) survived under new owners in the midst of Belltown's ongoing Monoculture takeover.

One of Ryan's original ingredients for success, according to several of the speakers at her memorial, was that she continued to make the old regulars welcome after she'd bought the place in '82. A lesson we hope will be heeded by the nearby Rendezvous's purported incoming new operators.

posted by clark 2:26 PM

Sunday, August 12, 2001

A HEARTFELT GREETING: Thanks to ye who attended our intimate little MISC Salon yesterday evening. Apologies to whomever tried to make it but couldn't, because for a period of time that day another tenant of the space locked the front doors without telling me. We'll do another gathering soon; watch this space for particulars.

GET YER MERCH HERE!: The luscious MISC Boutique is now online. T-shirts, coffee mugs, tank tops, mouse pads, even boxer shorts are offerred bearing Sean Hurley's hand-drawn logo from our Summer 2001 issue (which is nearly gone from most dropoff spots--to make sure you get yours, subscribe.)

SPEAKING OF MR. HURLEY, our print mag's illustrious illustrator has an art opening this Tuesday evening at the Little Theater, 608 19th Ave. E. (at Mercer) in Seattle's east Capitol Hill neighborhood. His paintings and drawings never cease to amaze and astound. Be there, amigos and amigas.

ELSEWHERE:

You don't have to use southern-California slang in your own life, but a UCLA student survey reveals a new regional definition down there of the term "ballerina"-- as "an immoral person with a moral facade."

"AIDS is not the wrath of God, nature's revenge, or the new bubonic plague; it is a nasty infectious disease that requires clear thinking and investigation to overcome."

posted by clark 11:47 AM

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