el vampiro del sexo
Holy shit and my first gig with Muddy Bug is a week from today, 22 August at Belushi's. On Tuesday I learned six songs; I'll probably be learning a few more tonight. For now I'm content to be our Ed O'Brien, working texture/weird noises in the background.
Some reviews from The Spectator: Jane Smiley came out with a critical work on Dickens, and they find it highly embarrassing. That's too bad; we like Smiley around here. Also, there's The Joy of Writing Sex, which I think Sam Chang brought to a seminar last year. I leafed through the book and actually found a quote by Frank to the effect of, "Well, how do you write it? Do you use words like 'slippery?'" (In Stop-Time, he sure did.) I have to write a couple such scenes later this month, and I expect them to be thoroughly arduous.
More than five years ago, television networks began a fierce, secretive competition to lease prime real estate near the Vatican for coverage of the conclave of cardinals that will choose the next pope.
Wanted: Roman rooftops, terraces or other elevated perches that will frame St. Peter's perfectly in the backdrop, with its dome just over Peter Jennings's or Dan Rather's shoulder. Budget: hundreds of thousands of dollars, even if some of it needs to be paid each year, conclave or no conclave, just to be safe.
Although most of the major networks have devised their plan, there are still lingering recriminations over how a given piece of property was obtained, and many television producers remain in the grip of what can only be called roof envy.
