1.27.2009

updike done up and diked... I mean died



So I just came back from seeing Revolutionary Road, which was based on a book by Richard Yates about how much suburbia sucks. The movie was meh and the book was meh, each for their own reasons: with the movie, it had been done before in the masterpiece Scenes from a Marriage and with the book, it had been done before in Rabbit, Run, a book written by a guy called John Updike who &ndash coincidentally enough &ndash died today at age -3 (so close to 0).

Updike was pretty goddamn famous for his books in both literary circles and with the public at large, and from what I've read that's fairly justified. He had been releasing shit right up to his death, so it's not like we lost some old bugger who had been sitting on his literary ass since 1948 and we're all supposed to feel the relevance of his passing. I actually almost considered doing my senior project on the Rabbit quintology before I realized that was gay. So here I am trying to think of things to make fun of him for and all I can come up with was that he went to Harvard, and all of those guys are dicks (I assume). Plus he looks really goofy. Could it be that I can't muster up anything else to demean him for? I dunno, maybe I'm losing my acerbic edge.

Or maybe &ndash just maybe &ndash I boned his wife. Because he sucks.



Oh yeah. I still got it.

1.06.2009

special edition: nine lives




In a direct mockery of all the real people who die and don't get reported on this bloge, President Bush's pet cat, India, died yesterday at the age of nineteen. I wonder what magical stories this adorable creature could have told, and mourn the missed opportunity of her being mauled by the Obama family's incoming dog during their first meeting. That really would've been the best and most humiliating way for poor old President Bush to go, hunched over the body of his dead cat with the smug Obama mutt peeing on the White House's front steps.

In other news, it's hip to hate Obama now. Trust me. I've got the inside scoop.