This picture was taken of Zipper on special assignment in her new disguise as a old male Siamese. She is spying on Brangelina. She can go places the paparazzi would never dream to enter. Keep this under wraps. If you out her, she could lose one of her 9 lives. Meow, Yola
Help! Our little friend Zipper has not been heard from in over three weeks, and we here at Yolawriters are worried sick! She could be drunk in the alley behind some sleazy tavern, roadkill on Cesar Chavez Blvd or tonight’s entrée in a Vietnamese restaurant.
No collar, no chip, no neutering. This cat is nobody’s chattel.
Most likely place to find her: In your house at night, on your computer surfing kitty porn.
Beware: She still has all her claws. She chases dogs, eats possums, and has been known to bite small children and dwarfs off at the ankles. Responds well to a good wookie impression.
This just in… According to the 24-hour Death of Michael Jackson Channel (which is all I watch anymore) the list of suspects, originally numbering in the billions, has now narrowed to several million. Of those, investigators now consider these ten to be most likely:
10. Joe (anything to get on TV) Jackson 9. Al (anything to get on TV) Sharpton 8. Al (it improved the environment) Gore 7. Diana Ross (for impersonating a diva) 6. Simon Cowell (for impersonating a singer) 5. Elvis (for impersonating a king) 4. Prince (long live the new king) 3. Cock Robin (wait, isn’t he dead?) 2. O.J. (I’ll find the real killer) Simpson 1. Pontius Pilate
Got favorite suspects of your own? Trot ‘em on out. The world is dying to hear.
Good afternoon, little things. It is I, Yola. Friday is…obviously the day following Thursday. I must have celebrated the Chavez rather too much last night. I'm still not quite sure what happened. There was a place, there was a guy, there was some green stuff in a tiny bitty little glass..and then whammo. No memory until I woke up in Casa City of Portland this morning. The girl on the bench next to mine says I have a big ol' slut stamp on my wherever those things go, but honestly I just can't see it.
Toaster is playing my woman, Diamanda Galas, See That My Grave Is Kept Clean. And I really mean it. Please see the groundskeepers fill in the dead patches in the lawn after the leaves fall. That could be any minute, the way my head feels. Whoo.
Anyways, waiting for my lawyer like this puts me in mind of the old word game. What's your favorite book to read when you are A) sick; B) hung-over? And when are you (and by you I mean me) ever going to get back to writing? Answers cannot be accepted collect, people.
The City Council here in Yolaville is merrily renaming streets. First it was Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd, then Rosa Parks Way, and just last week they announced a final (and unanimous) YES vote on Cesar Chavez Boulevard.
Never mind that 87% of the public were against it. Never mind that it will cost taxpayers a projected $86,000 and businesses and residents thousands more. They were merely dragging us kicking and screaming into what they knew was best for us.
What’s next? Harvey Milk Avenue, of course. That’s a given. The only question is, where do we go from there? Most likely, they'll continue their current path of kowtowing to whatever special interest group beats the loudest drum, so we could soon see Klamath Tribe Ave, Save The Whales Blvd and Share The Road Road.
Then again, they could follow their current bent of doing what their little hearts think is best, whether we like it or not. Eat Your Vegetables Avenue. Obesity Kills Blvd. Turn Off Your TV St.
I’m suggesting a new direction. Or several. First, why not pick names that will bring in money instead of wasting it? I’m talking corporate sponsorship, of course. Taco Bell Blvd. Cheetos St. (That's the street for me!) Exxon Mobile Ave.
If that’s too crass for you, how about some street names people would at least like? Name ‘em after movies. Wizard of Oz Ave. Or TV shows. Lost Blvd. Or songs. Louie, Louie St. Or even books. Madison, After Ave. Heck, we could set aside a whole string of streets to be renamed every year after the latest crop of American Idol finalists.
They could even be inspirational. We could rename several streets in a row, so people could take them in Burma-Shave style. I Think That I Shall Never See St., followed by A Poem Lovely As A Tree St., etc. Or maybe three streets in a row named Yadda. Or we could be more subtle, educating folks via literary allusion. Like Mean St..
Let’s get creative, people, and let’s put pressure on the politicians. Wouldn’t you, in your heart of hearts, love to live on Spock St.? Or Yola Ave.? I thought so.
Morning, insects. It is I, Yola. Wednesday, being eat what you kill day, I am most likely to be found pacing the halls, waiting for my 11 o'clock. I hope they had garlic last night. And a glass or five of wine, preferably a decent Barbera.
What's on the toaster? Roxy Music's Flesh and Blood. It's what the Liebestod sounds like on champagne and Novocain, if you like that kind of Germanic hooey. Which I don't. Where's the change up switch? Ah, Screamin' Jay, here I come.
It's all because I tried to watch 300 last night. I'm as happy as the next gal to see my spear dripping with blood, and men in skimpy leather jerkins is always welcome after a long day of Hugo Boss. But what part of over the top didn't these animation boys understand? Dialogue is not a blunt weapon, people. SHUT UP, King Leonides. SHOVE that self-serving Sparta crap and let me watch the show. For a bunch of boo-yah chanting hooligans, they sure spend a lot of time pissing around.
So I ask you people, what movie drives you the most crazy? Let me rephrase (I hear BJ tuning up for more flash fiction, G-d knows we don't want that): what otherwise interesting flick has one little deal-breaker that makes you want to kill the producer? And by kill, I don't mean kill. Do that on your time, please.
Greetings, people. It is I, Yola. Tuesday is the day I am most likely to be seen getting a little boost from Helene the rejuvenator, she of the needle chock full of spider venom. Right here, Helene, on my mandibles! I feel so much younger after a treatment.
What's playing on the toaster? NPR, people, what the heck else should I be listening to? You think I have time for Gary Numan today?
Anyways, let's talk about the word trade. The little women are off at the RWA con, so we can get thousands of words of ahead of those hos. So speak, tell us what you are working on and why it is so much better than the crap that gets published today.
Hello, children. It is I, Yola. Today is Monday, the day I am most likely to require an aspirin IV. The boy who was here just a minute ago—what was his name? Jeff? Jake?—hooked me up before he went out for croissies, so I'm good. He made coffee too. Note to self: 19 is a very good year.
What's playing on the toaster? Baby Doll by Devo. Come to mama.
Anyways, I was gone for a few days at a conference, delivering my paper Transmigrations: The Heuristics of Darla in the Buffyverse. The proles gathering at my feet asked when I thought the vampire craze was going to end. Never, of course. As long as middle-aged housewives can lift a credit card, there will always be vampires.
But I thought I should throw the question out to you people. Vampires: what about 'em? Read 'em? Watch 'em? See one in the mirror once in a while?
Greetings Earthlings, I'm a friend of Yola's from Alpha Centauri. Yola allowed me to post on her blog to ask her earth-dwelling followers to comment on a few issues of concern to an extra-terrestial such as myself.
I find I have an odd fascination for that strange box you all have in your habitats- the TV. My half human offspring recommended Tivo years ago so I don't usually watch the short little blips between the longer programs, the Commercials. But from the ones I have seen, I'm puzzled how consumers buy products based on sex appeal. Is the grain-based food in the colorful boxes you eat for breakfast sexy?
I have learned many things of practical use from the TV about Earthlings. I have learned to wear a neck brace at all times for fear of the creatures among you who suck your blood. How this can be pleasurable, I can't understand. Does it have something to do with grain being sexy? And why do you allow so many of them to exist, even have equal rights, when they are so easy to kill?
I am also horrified by your medical system. Not only are the methods probing and barbaric, but you diagnose bodies like you do machinery. Plus your practitioneers imbibe mind altering chemicals. If I ever get sick I will not visit an hospital, please just let me die.
You also have a bizarre obsession with your system of law. So many programs about police and lawyers. In my world we prefer to keep the ugliness hidden and mostly forgotten. I will never do anything to get arrested, the results are too painful to imagine. That's why I mostly sit in my home and watch the TV. The news portions of your programming handle all this better, with a few referrences to crime, but the main focus on the lives of your wonderful celebrities.
Last, but certainly not least, is your fixation on my kind. You have it all wrong! We do not have big dark eyes and pointed chins. That more aptly describes your own elves and pixes. We also do not run about naked. I cannot tell you how offended we are by seeing representations of ourselves with no sexual features. Most of us are very sexy creatures, that is how our civilizations have lasted so long. We are aroused by each other, not cereal. And the probing! We would never. Leave that to your own medical personnel. Oh, I cannot forget the angels. I watch many of the Sunday morning programs to learn about your mythology as well as the angel shows. I find myself extremely confused. Do you think those odd beings with giant wings are us? I assure you they are not. And I have traveled much of the universe or "heavens" and I have never seen anything remotely like them.
This is probably enough for your poor tiny brains to handle, so I will sign off. But, if Yola allows, I may be back. Yola is an Earthling of superior understanding. Xelzyna
Salinger Wins as Judge Blocks Publication of 60 Years Later By Andrew Albanese -- Publishers Weekly, 7/1/2009 3:16:00 PM
Finding that author J.D. Salinger is “likely to succeed on the merits of its copyright case," a federal judge granted a preliminary injunction late on Wednesday afternoon, barring the publication of what Salinger’s attorneys called an unauthorized sequel to The Catcher in the Rye. In her decision, Judge Deborah Batts ruled that Fredrik Colting’s 60 Years Later would harm the market for “sequels and other derivative works” from Salinger and barred publication of Colting's book in the United States. Colting told PW he was “pretty shocked” by the ruling and vowed to appeal. Despite the ruling in New York, the book will be on sale in Europe, Colting added, sometime next week.
The ruling came as little surprise to court-watchers, who noted Batts’s obvious skepticism during oral arguments presented by Colting's lawyers, who contended that the work should be protected as parody under fair use. “While the court does find some limited transformative character in 60 Years Later,” the order read, “it finds that the alleged parodic content is not reasonably perceivable, and the limited non-parodic transformative content is unlikely to overcome the obvious commercial nature of the work.” Salinger’s attorneys had no comment.
Aaron Silverman, president of distributor SCB, also named in the suit, told PW that he hoped the case would move quickly through the appeal process."The lawyers will file for an appeal at the 2nd U.S. Circuit Court early next week on an expedited appeal," Silverman noted. "We're hopeful that the hearing will be in late July or early August and have an answer by early September at the latest."
The case is now set up much like the last major infringement case of this kind, when the estate of Margaret Mitchell sued to stop publication of Houghton Miffllin's The Wind Done Gone. The Mitchell estate won a preliminary injuction. The order, however, was overturned on appeal. The case was settled in 2002 before it went to a full trial, and the book was published, an outcome that would seem impossible here, given Salinger's insistence his work be left alone.
If Batts' ruling is overturned and a trial is ordered, Salinger, attorneys say, could finally be compelled to break his silence and be deposed. "The broad discovery rules would normally allow the defense to question Salinger on a number of relevant issues,” Paul LiCalsi, a partner in Mitchell Silberberg & Knupp explained to PW, after the case's initial hearing, "including Salinger's past actions and preferences about the exploitation of The Catcher in the Rye.” If Salinger refuses to comply and answer the defense's questions, LiCalsi noted, the court can impose sanctions and even dismiss the case. Thus, filing suit against Colting may have put Salinger's desire for privacy on a collision course with his desire to protect Holden Caulfield.
OK, it’s only a comic book, but still (and this is the straight skinny from me to you, baby)… it kicks ass.
The book is The Punisher: Welcome Back Frank (Marvel Comics, 2008), a 12-part mini-series that originally appeared in 2000-01. The writer is Garth Ennis (that’s the important part) and the artists are a couple of other guys.
The Punisher is Marvel’s long-running rip-off of the even longer-running paperback hero The Executioner. You know, a one-man-war against the mob. The Punisher has accumulated a lot of comic book baggage over the years, but this mini-series pressed the reset button and put him back on track.
Make no mistake: This book is about killing. Bloody, brutal killing. The body count here is around 100, with our hero accounting for about 70, 30 by other hands, 1 suicide and 1 murdered dog (never fear, the dog killer is one of The Punisher's 70). But the tale is told with such finesse that it leaves you gasping for more. Sonehow, Garth Ennis weaves in a healthy dose of humor, a little heart, even a touch of pathos.
The overall effect is Jeez, I can’t believe this is happening in a comic! That lady above, for example, is Ma Gnucci, New York crime boss and the focus of The Punisher’s latest vendetta. After he kills her brother and two sons, she’s pissed enough to lead her street soldiers after him personally. They corner him in a zoo, but he turns the tables and lures them into the polar bear habitat, and Ma emerges with a few pieces missing. Later, when he tosses a firebomb into her house, she flops out the window onto the street and bites him on the ankle, so he boots her back into the burning building. I’d like to see Spider-Man or Superman do that!
Not your cup of blood? OK, what is? Let’s hear what you’ve been reading lately.