I have a vivid imagination. Some would say, if they knew its full proportions, an over-active imagination. I have a healthy self-confidence in the quality of my writing. For example, when I write about receiving the Nobel Prize in Literature, although I usually attempt to do so in a humourous way, I'm not joking. I imagine it all the time, and I imagine my blog blowing up -- almost constantly. (For the benefit of readers my age and older and/or with a native language other then English who may possibly be unfamiliar with the idiom: "to blow up" means "to very suddenly become extremely popular." I'm not talking about stuff literally splodin'.) I have a lot of healthy self-confidence: time after time, I finish a blog post and think to myself: This one will be a big hit.
And time after time that post is not a hit at all, but I keep my chin up and keep plugging away.
But so far, the single most clicked-on post in my 8 years of blogging is at best a medium-sized hit. Although it has several times more pageviews than anything else on this blog, I'm careful not to call it my most-read blog post, because it's clear than many of those who've commented on it, positively as well as negatively, haven't read it very carefully at all. Maybe my average post isn't any more carefully-read, on average, than my one medium-sized-or-smaller hit, maybe my average post is much more carefully-read. It's just that in the case of the hit, I know for sure that many haven't read it carefully because there are so many comments on it, on this blog and elsewhere, which completely miss its main points, such as that I am an atheist and am not sure whether or not Jesus existed.
Some time after I noticed this widespread incautious readership, I also noticed how often I myself will just read a headline or the first paragraph of something before I move on. So I see that it wouldn't be right for me to complain too much about people treating my work the same way. However, I have tried to refrain from expressing overly-emphatic opinions about written works, whether short articles or multi-volume studies, which I know only from reading a part of them.
Anyway, yesterday I wrote a post about the Volksbühne Berlin and its upcoming change in leadership, and naturally I hope that it will be the one which finally makes me a huge glorious superstar -- it, or this one, or the one linked above could get a big second wind, or another post I wrote days or years ago could blow up. As if I care how I become a huge success -- and it's gotten some reaction, both positive and negative, somewhere else on the Internet, not here on the blog itself.
And the negative reaction -- disappointingly, so far there has been only one negative reaction -- referred to Americans blabbing away without a clue. And this is interesting in more than one way. I can't really tell whether the person making the comment has read the entire blog post. If not, it would be an ironic although hardly unusual example of someone accusing a writer of not having a clue based on work they hadn't read. If the entire post was read, however -- it's not particularly long -- then, well -- I mean, I did make it particularly clear in the post, I think, that I was viewing the controversy over the Volksbühne from a long way away, and that I knew that I actually knew very little about it. But my critic did not merely blame me for speaking up without a clue, but blamed Americans for doing so and inferred that I was a typical American and that we -- Americans -- generally stink. Which, unconsciously or not, ironically or deliberately, would seem to reinforce my point about the opposition to the change in leadership of the Volksbühne having a element of xenophobia about it.
Yesterday's blog post about the Volksbühne is not particularly substantial, I freely admit that here, just as I admitted it there. However, I can see how it's possible that it could become quite widely clicked-upon -- I'm fastidiously avoiding saying "widely-read" -- because, like my medium-sized hit about Paulkovich, it deals with a topic about which people have strong opinions. And so, like my medium-sized hit, it could conceivably serve as a place for people to gather and verbally abuse each other. The wily fame-seeking provokateur writes on subjects about which people are already provoked. Yesterday's post was actually less about the Volksbühne than about some people's extremely-passionate reactions against the incoming new leader of the company, so passionate that, even without knowing many of the details or the players involved, it is difficult for me to believe that these reactions make sense.
In essence, many of my essays are about me. Many essays, from the time that Montaigne invented the genre, have been primarily about their authors. Some may see this as arrogance, I see it as honesty. The only subject one can describe with full authority is oneself. It can actually be modesty: I was going to write about Julius Caesar, but I eventually had to face the fact that I'm not competent to write an article about Julius Caesar which would be of any use to any expert; and so instead I'm writing an essay about my failure to rise to the level of a scholar of the subject of Caesar. The self is also guaranteed to be a unique subject for every author.
Showing posts with label steven bollinger nobel prize. Show all posts
Showing posts with label steven bollinger nobel prize. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 5, 2017
Saturday, October 22, 2016
Dylan's Nobel: None Of Your Business. His Response? See Previous Answer
A thought experiment: imagine that you -- yes, YOU -- were in your home, and someone you weren't expecting suddenly broke down your front door, barged into your home followed by a crowd of journalists with cameras and microphones, tossed $1000 in cash into your lap and demanded that you stand up and dance, and you didn't stand up. Who would be the impolite and arrogant party in such a case?
Bob Dylan's failure to acknowledge his Nobel Prize in literature is "impolite and arrogant", according to a member of the body that awards it.
Well, I'm sorry Per Wastberg feels that way.
The way I feel about all of this is: the people who are expressing outrage at Dylan being awarded the Nobel Prize are, at the very best, worse than impolite and arrogant. It's none of your business whom they give their prizes to. They're not your prizes to give.
And I think that Per Wastberg is being worse than impolite and arrogant in expecting a certain response from Dylan.
I'm not upset with Dylan at all about the prize or about his lack of response to it. Because I think that it's none of my business, and also none of Per Wastberg's business, what Dylan does or says about the prize. I wonder why he hasn't responded. But I don't think he owes me or anyone else an explanation of his silence.
Here is exactly what I think Dylan owes me, and you, and Wastberg: absolutely nothing. And that's exactly what, in my opinion, celebrities in general owe their fans: absolutely nothing. And it's also what Wastberg and the other Nobel people owe to the public, or to the people you think they snubbed, and it's also what any of the Nobel laureates owe any of the people at the Nobel organization: absolutely nothing. None of the above ever pledged that they owed anything to anyone, with the possible exception of the people who award the Nobel Prizes, and if they ever made any such solemn pledge, to the public or to the prize winners or to whomever, well, they shouldn't have.
When I'm (FINALLY!) awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, if and when I publicly react to the news of the award, and how I react, will be none of your business. Whether or not I take the money will be none of your business, and if I take it, what I do with it will be strictly between me and the Internal Revenue Service, and whether or not I show up at the award ceremony will be none of your business, and whether or not I give a Nobel Lecture will be none of your business, and if I give a lecture, what I say in that lecture will be none of your business. If the lecture consists of the 5 words "thnk yu verr mutch pleez" and you are outraged that that was my Nobel Lecture, you have my hearty permission to blow that outrage out of your ass.
And here's why: that agreement we came to about all of these and all related matters? That never happened. You hallucinated that.
Those of you who are outraged at Dylan for not making a statement about the prize: has it occurred to you that he may have been silent so far because he honestly doesn't know how he should react, and he's taking his time and thinking it over very carefully before he says anything? (Maybe in part because he knows that whatever he says will be blown out of all proportion by millions of idiots, and that there will be no way of coming close to pleasing them all?)
I have no idea why he hasn't responded, I'm just speculating. I'm not too worried about it one way or the other. It's none of my business. I just feel for someone who has so many complete strangers expecting so many different things from him for absolutely no sane or otherwise justifiable reason. For his sake and for the sake of many other famous people, I wish all of you judgmental, moronic creeps would just get your own damn lives. But it doesn't seem that anything remotely resembling that will happen soon.
Bob Dylan's failure to acknowledge his Nobel Prize in literature is "impolite and arrogant", according to a member of the body that awards it.
Well, I'm sorry Per Wastberg feels that way.
The way I feel about all of this is: the people who are expressing outrage at Dylan being awarded the Nobel Prize are, at the very best, worse than impolite and arrogant. It's none of your business whom they give their prizes to. They're not your prizes to give.
And I think that Per Wastberg is being worse than impolite and arrogant in expecting a certain response from Dylan.
I'm not upset with Dylan at all about the prize or about his lack of response to it. Because I think that it's none of my business, and also none of Per Wastberg's business, what Dylan does or says about the prize. I wonder why he hasn't responded. But I don't think he owes me or anyone else an explanation of his silence.
Here is exactly what I think Dylan owes me, and you, and Wastberg: absolutely nothing. And that's exactly what, in my opinion, celebrities in general owe their fans: absolutely nothing. And it's also what Wastberg and the other Nobel people owe to the public, or to the people you think they snubbed, and it's also what any of the Nobel laureates owe any of the people at the Nobel organization: absolutely nothing. None of the above ever pledged that they owed anything to anyone, with the possible exception of the people who award the Nobel Prizes, and if they ever made any such solemn pledge, to the public or to the prize winners or to whomever, well, they shouldn't have.
When I'm (FINALLY!) awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, if and when I publicly react to the news of the award, and how I react, will be none of your business. Whether or not I take the money will be none of your business, and if I take it, what I do with it will be strictly between me and the Internal Revenue Service, and whether or not I show up at the award ceremony will be none of your business, and whether or not I give a Nobel Lecture will be none of your business, and if I give a lecture, what I say in that lecture will be none of your business. If the lecture consists of the 5 words "thnk yu verr mutch pleez" and you are outraged that that was my Nobel Lecture, you have my hearty permission to blow that outrage out of your ass.
And here's why: that agreement we came to about all of these and all related matters? That never happened. You hallucinated that.
Those of you who are outraged at Dylan for not making a statement about the prize: has it occurred to you that he may have been silent so far because he honestly doesn't know how he should react, and he's taking his time and thinking it over very carefully before he says anything? (Maybe in part because he knows that whatever he says will be blown out of all proportion by millions of idiots, and that there will be no way of coming close to pleasing them all?)
I have no idea why he hasn't responded, I'm just speculating. I'm not too worried about it one way or the other. It's none of my business. I just feel for someone who has so many complete strangers expecting so many different things from him for absolutely no sane or otherwise justifiable reason. For his sake and for the sake of many other famous people, I wish all of you judgmental, moronic creeps would just get your own damn lives. But it doesn't seem that anything remotely resembling that will happen soon.
Friday, October 21, 2016
What 31 Years Did
I just found out that last June, a man I used to know and profoundly annoy personally was named the first-ever Poet Laureate of Knoxville, Tennessee.
I... Don't know how to feel about this.
The first time I ever heard him, or heard about him, for that matter, was in 1985, when he suddenly showed up at a small private party in Knoxville, playing guitar and harmonica and also a tambourine he'd attached to one foot somehow and singing Bob Marley's "Redemption Song." It was also the first time I'd ever heard that song.
The song and the man have never sounded better to me than they did at that moment back in 1985. Yeah, all downhill from there. Kidding. The beer and the weed and party and the newness of him and of the song all had a lot to do with how he sounded to me at that moment.
And now he's Poet Laureate of Knoxville. I guess it goes to show you... something.
For 31 years I've wondered whether he was singing at that party because, living nearby, he heard a party going on and just decided to drop in and jam, or if they paid him to play. It wasn't his fault, not in the slightest, but I happened to be homeless and starving at the time. In large part because I was profoundly clueless about economics. Economic things such as whether that was him dropping in on friends or a paid gig. Like whether the people who'd invited me to the party were rich enough to summon musicians whenever they felt like it, as if they were Medieval monarchs, or whether they seemed rich to me because I was homeless and missing meals... and clueless about economics... and it has occurred to me just very lately that I'm still profoundly clueless about economics, and very lucky to no longer be going hungry, and profoundly clueless about who knows what all else... I constantly wonder about things which I assume are not all that mysterious to some others.
Such as about how a guy goes from hanging around (not a lot. Like I say, I annoyed him. Sorry. Really, I am) with the likes of me to becoming Poet Laureate of the Great Bermuda Triangle of the Appalachians, la-dee-freakin-da, while I became... well -- while I became The Wrong Monkey, whatever that is.
So give me my freakin Nobel Prize already because I used to hang out with and annoy the very first Poet Laureate of Knoxville, Tennessee.
The last time I talked with him, or the last time I remember, was in 1992, and although usually he had been very nice to me, very patient, this time, for the first time, he completely lost his patience (Or -- another example of the sort of thing I wonder about all the time -- had he completely lost his patience with me quite often before this, and this was just the first time I'd noticed?) and exclaimed, "What's wrong with you?!" and I told him I didn't know. I guess I know now that it was autism, and that is was being undiagnosed and not knowing that it was autism, not knowing that I could learn about my condition and thus mitigate it at least to a certain extent, knowing that there are certain things the vast majority of people tend not to like.
I don't blame him for exploding at me like that, really I don't. But since then I haven't wanted to be his friend either. I don't blame him for hurting me, but all the same, it hurt. And I wondered, and I've wondered since then, if we ever were friends before that or if it only occasionally seemed that way to me. I wonder whether that moment was at all memorable to him. And if so, what was it like? Like nothing much at all? Or did it make him feel bad that he lost his temper? Or did he feel good because it seemed I'd finally, finally gotten the message: "Fuck off!" ? Or was that not the message, not then and never? Have I greatly overstimated (or underestimated) the annoyance I caused him?
And I wonder how to wind up a weird blog post like this one. I wonder about so many things. All the time.
I... Don't know how to feel about this.
The first time I ever heard him, or heard about him, for that matter, was in 1985, when he suddenly showed up at a small private party in Knoxville, playing guitar and harmonica and also a tambourine he'd attached to one foot somehow and singing Bob Marley's "Redemption Song." It was also the first time I'd ever heard that song.
The song and the man have never sounded better to me than they did at that moment back in 1985. Yeah, all downhill from there. Kidding. The beer and the weed and party and the newness of him and of the song all had a lot to do with how he sounded to me at that moment.
And now he's Poet Laureate of Knoxville. I guess it goes to show you... something.
For 31 years I've wondered whether he was singing at that party because, living nearby, he heard a party going on and just decided to drop in and jam, or if they paid him to play. It wasn't his fault, not in the slightest, but I happened to be homeless and starving at the time. In large part because I was profoundly clueless about economics. Economic things such as whether that was him dropping in on friends or a paid gig. Like whether the people who'd invited me to the party were rich enough to summon musicians whenever they felt like it, as if they were Medieval monarchs, or whether they seemed rich to me because I was homeless and missing meals... and clueless about economics... and it has occurred to me just very lately that I'm still profoundly clueless about economics, and very lucky to no longer be going hungry, and profoundly clueless about who knows what all else... I constantly wonder about things which I assume are not all that mysterious to some others.
Such as about how a guy goes from hanging around (not a lot. Like I say, I annoyed him. Sorry. Really, I am) with the likes of me to becoming Poet Laureate of the Great Bermuda Triangle of the Appalachians, la-dee-freakin-da, while I became... well -- while I became The Wrong Monkey, whatever that is.
So give me my freakin Nobel Prize already because I used to hang out with and annoy the very first Poet Laureate of Knoxville, Tennessee.
The last time I talked with him, or the last time I remember, was in 1992, and although usually he had been very nice to me, very patient, this time, for the first time, he completely lost his patience (Or -- another example of the sort of thing I wonder about all the time -- had he completely lost his patience with me quite often before this, and this was just the first time I'd noticed?) and exclaimed, "What's wrong with you?!" and I told him I didn't know. I guess I know now that it was autism, and that is was being undiagnosed and not knowing that it was autism, not knowing that I could learn about my condition and thus mitigate it at least to a certain extent, knowing that there are certain things the vast majority of people tend not to like.
I don't blame him for exploding at me like that, really I don't. But since then I haven't wanted to be his friend either. I don't blame him for hurting me, but all the same, it hurt. And I wondered, and I've wondered since then, if we ever were friends before that or if it only occasionally seemed that way to me. I wonder whether that moment was at all memorable to him. And if so, what was it like? Like nothing much at all? Or did it make him feel bad that he lost his temper? Or did he feel good because it seemed I'd finally, finally gotten the message: "Fuck off!" ? Or was that not the message, not then and never? Have I greatly overstimated (or underestimated) the annoyance I caused him?
And I wonder how to wind up a weird blog post like this one. I wonder about so many things. All the time.
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
It Sure Would Be Nice If I Suddenly Received $18 Billion Somehow
I'm not sure exactly how to make this happen. I honestly don't know if I could do it all by myself. I think I would need help.
Maybe that sounds un-American to you. Maybe all the people who've said that there are some self-made millionaires but no self-made billionaires, and not even actually very many self-made millionaires, that we're mostly talking about rich kids here -- maybe they all sound un-American to you.
If a very beautiful, very nice and extremely wealthy woman fell madly in love with me, and I with her, and she insisted on marrying me without a pre-nup and that we share everything, and she had a net worth of $36 billion, then, bam, I think I'd be done, and it'd be all like, "Okay, now I HAVE $18 billion. Now what? What do I DO with it?!" What if I was actually too in love to even care about all those wheelbarrows and trucks full of cash -- wouldn't that be ironic?
If Larry King and Oprah and Rachel Maddow and Harold Bloom and Thomas Pynchon and Quentin Tarantino and Jennifer Lawrence and Neil deGrasse Tyson and Martin Scorsese and Adele and David Letterman and Salman Rushdie and Stephen Hawking all starting following me on Twitter and re-tweeting all my links to my blog posts and speaking and writing about how awesome my blog is, that would be awesome. That would very likely lead to some very lucrative book deals. But $18 billion worth of lucrative? I don't know. Don't get me wrong: if all of those people, plus Pamela Anderson and Conan O'Brien and Barack and Michelle Obama and Hillary and Bill Clinton and Alec Baldwin and Chris Matthews and every single living Nobel Literature laureate and Kanye West and Bob Dylan and Ringo Starr and T Bone Burnett and Sir Anthony Hopkins all started talking me up in a very big way all at once, that would be very nice. That would be a very great encouragement.
How big of a gold nugget would I have to find in order for it to be worth $18 billion? About 500 tons, if I'm figuring accurately. How big is the biggest gold nugget ever found so far? A little over 150 pounds, it seems, if you measure only the gold content.
Hmm. How about the biggest platinum nugget? Seems that platinum nuggets as large as 1/4 ounce are extremely rare. On the other hand, it's often found alloyed with other valuable metals, and that is nice.
On the other hand, I don't own a mine of any kind.
This isn't exactly easy!
On the subject of gold and platinum: as far as I know, the heaviest wristwatch made is the Audemars Piguet Royal Oak Offshore, 18k gold case and band, just about exactly one pound. Platinum is heavier than gold, but that 18k Audemars Piguet is the heaviest wristwatch I've been able to find. The heaviest watch of any kind I've ever heard of -- and believe me, I've done a bit of web-surfing on the subject -- is the Patek Philippe Calibre 89, released in 1989, an enormous pocket watch, 89 millimeters in diameter (it's been described as hockey-puck-sized) made in both gold and platinum, which weighs 1100 grams, around 2 1/2 pounds. But they only made 4 of them, and I'm not surely that any of those 4 is what you'd call for sale. Maybe for around $6 million. Or maybe not. (A newer pocket watch, the Vacheron Constantin Reference 57260, has surpassed the Calibre 89 as the world's most complicated watch, but it barely breaks the 2-pound mark. Pheh!)
In conclusion: no man is an island.
Maybe that sounds un-American to you. Maybe all the people who've said that there are some self-made millionaires but no self-made billionaires, and not even actually very many self-made millionaires, that we're mostly talking about rich kids here -- maybe they all sound un-American to you.
If a very beautiful, very nice and extremely wealthy woman fell madly in love with me, and I with her, and she insisted on marrying me without a pre-nup and that we share everything, and she had a net worth of $36 billion, then, bam, I think I'd be done, and it'd be all like, "Okay, now I HAVE $18 billion. Now what? What do I DO with it?!" What if I was actually too in love to even care about all those wheelbarrows and trucks full of cash -- wouldn't that be ironic?
If Larry King and Oprah and Rachel Maddow and Harold Bloom and Thomas Pynchon and Quentin Tarantino and Jennifer Lawrence and Neil deGrasse Tyson and Martin Scorsese and Adele and David Letterman and Salman Rushdie and Stephen Hawking all starting following me on Twitter and re-tweeting all my links to my blog posts and speaking and writing about how awesome my blog is, that would be awesome. That would very likely lead to some very lucrative book deals. But $18 billion worth of lucrative? I don't know. Don't get me wrong: if all of those people, plus Pamela Anderson and Conan O'Brien and Barack and Michelle Obama and Hillary and Bill Clinton and Alec Baldwin and Chris Matthews and every single living Nobel Literature laureate and Kanye West and Bob Dylan and Ringo Starr and T Bone Burnett and Sir Anthony Hopkins all started talking me up in a very big way all at once, that would be very nice. That would be a very great encouragement.
How big of a gold nugget would I have to find in order for it to be worth $18 billion? About 500 tons, if I'm figuring accurately. How big is the biggest gold nugget ever found so far? A little over 150 pounds, it seems, if you measure only the gold content.
Hmm. How about the biggest platinum nugget? Seems that platinum nuggets as large as 1/4 ounce are extremely rare. On the other hand, it's often found alloyed with other valuable metals, and that is nice.
On the other hand, I don't own a mine of any kind.
This isn't exactly easy!
On the subject of gold and platinum: as far as I know, the heaviest wristwatch made is the Audemars Piguet Royal Oak Offshore, 18k gold case and band, just about exactly one pound. Platinum is heavier than gold, but that 18k Audemars Piguet is the heaviest wristwatch I've been able to find. The heaviest watch of any kind I've ever heard of -- and believe me, I've done a bit of web-surfing on the subject -- is the Patek Philippe Calibre 89, released in 1989, an enormous pocket watch, 89 millimeters in diameter (it's been described as hockey-puck-sized) made in both gold and platinum, which weighs 1100 grams, around 2 1/2 pounds. But they only made 4 of them, and I'm not surely that any of those 4 is what you'd call for sale. Maybe for around $6 million. Or maybe not. (A newer pocket watch, the Vacheron Constantin Reference 57260, has surpassed the Calibre 89 as the world's most complicated watch, but it barely breaks the 2-pound mark. Pheh!)
In conclusion: no man is an island.
Monday, February 8, 2016
None Of This Has Happened Yet
But of course it could start happening at any moment: I might notice that I have a flurry of new e-mails. Each one of them might inform me of one of a flurry of donations to my blog. I might look at the blog statistics and see a huge number of them for today and wonder Hmm, I wonder how that happened?
And then I see that my name is among a list of trending topics somewhere. Curious, I click on it and see that a distinguished member of the literati has discovered my blog, loved it and given it a rave review under the headline "YES HE KAN HAZ NOBEL!!!" The emails start pouring in, notifying me of more donations, but also emails from people who know me, but also some emails from people who don't know me, how did they get my email address? Suddenly many many comments are awaiting moderation on my blog, some of them from literary agents who want to be my agent. Some of the emails from people who don't know me yet are also from agents. The New Yorker wants to publish a lot of my blog posts. Book publishers want to publish collections of my posts, they're not waiting until I have an agent to get in touch, and now they've also started to hear that I've completed 2 novels and started some more and they're definitely interested in all of those.
I turn on the TV and see still photographs of my big ugly mug on CNN and MSNBC. And speaking of the news, here they come, there are several TV-news vans parked right outside. It's a narrow street and the news vans are starting to block it. I go outside and plead with the journalists to have some compassion for my neighbors who ordinarily drive on a regular basis. The news vans don't budge. Then I have the idea to give 10-minute exclusives to 1 reporter at a time, if the reporters promise to go away right after the exclusive and stay away for a week. So now there are interviews with me all over TV and the Internet -- and it works, after a little while my neighbors can actually drive past my house again.
A week later I'm no longer living at the same place, but at a hotel which very kindly offers to keep the press out for me, though it snarls their traffic now.
A week after that I'm living in an apartment in lower Manhattan, and in NYC they're used to celebs so I'm not being mobbed as much.
This could all start happening at any time. Any moment now...
And then I see that my name is among a list of trending topics somewhere. Curious, I click on it and see that a distinguished member of the literati has discovered my blog, loved it and given it a rave review under the headline "YES HE KAN HAZ NOBEL!!!" The emails start pouring in, notifying me of more donations, but also emails from people who know me, but also some emails from people who don't know me, how did they get my email address? Suddenly many many comments are awaiting moderation on my blog, some of them from literary agents who want to be my agent. Some of the emails from people who don't know me yet are also from agents. The New Yorker wants to publish a lot of my blog posts. Book publishers want to publish collections of my posts, they're not waiting until I have an agent to get in touch, and now they've also started to hear that I've completed 2 novels and started some more and they're definitely interested in all of those.
I turn on the TV and see still photographs of my big ugly mug on CNN and MSNBC. And speaking of the news, here they come, there are several TV-news vans parked right outside. It's a narrow street and the news vans are starting to block it. I go outside and plead with the journalists to have some compassion for my neighbors who ordinarily drive on a regular basis. The news vans don't budge. Then I have the idea to give 10-minute exclusives to 1 reporter at a time, if the reporters promise to go away right after the exclusive and stay away for a week. So now there are interviews with me all over TV and the Internet -- and it works, after a little while my neighbors can actually drive past my house again.
A week later I'm no longer living at the same place, but at a hotel which very kindly offers to keep the press out for me, though it snarls their traffic now.
A week after that I'm living in an apartment in lower Manhattan, and in NYC they're used to celebs so I'm not being mobbed as much.
This could all start happening at any time. Any moment now...
Friday, November 20, 2015
"It's better to have no religion at all, just Jesus, himself, alone." -- ACTUAL QUOTE
Actual quote from a real person:
"It's better to have no religion at all, just Jesus, himself, alone."
My fellow atheists, this is a perfect example of why many of you are way too excited about all those polls claiming that "religion is in decline." Someone tells the pollster they're not religious, but what you don't see when you read the poll results is them saying, "I don't need religion -- just Jesus!"
But you should sense it, because quotes like the one above are now so common that nobody but me remarks upon them. Once again, I have to do everything by myself. (A perfect example of why I deserve the Nobel Prize in Literature.) It's the people who often call themselves SBNR or "spiritual but not religious," whom I often call "religious but in denial about it" or "the disorganized religious." And of course, these people who don't call themselves religious are finding each other and organizing into groups that they don't call churches or temples, led by people they don't call clergy -- place where they get together and talk about how great God is and discuss His plan.
Similar to religion? Gee, ya think?
Yes, it's identical to religion. Identical to early Protestantism in most cases: people leave their churches because the churches are "doin' it wrong," and start their own, more self-righteous and Bible-obsessed groups.
At the very least, those doofuses taking the polls should become aware of all this, and adjust their polls to distinguish between atheists and the disorganized religious -- but as I've said before, sociologists aren't the sharpest knives in the drawer either.
Stupid disorganized religious, stupid atheists, stupid pollsters -- I'm surrounded by idiots! And no, this doesn't make me feel smart. Not at all -- I've allowed a bunch of idiots to surround me!
"It's better to have no religion at all, just Jesus, himself, alone."
My fellow atheists, this is a perfect example of why many of you are way too excited about all those polls claiming that "religion is in decline." Someone tells the pollster they're not religious, but what you don't see when you read the poll results is them saying, "I don't need religion -- just Jesus!"
But you should sense it, because quotes like the one above are now so common that nobody but me remarks upon them. Once again, I have to do everything by myself. (A perfect example of why I deserve the Nobel Prize in Literature.) It's the people who often call themselves SBNR or "spiritual but not religious," whom I often call "religious but in denial about it" or "the disorganized religious." And of course, these people who don't call themselves religious are finding each other and organizing into groups that they don't call churches or temples, led by people they don't call clergy -- place where they get together and talk about how great God is and discuss His plan.
Similar to religion? Gee, ya think?
Yes, it's identical to religion. Identical to early Protestantism in most cases: people leave their churches because the churches are "doin' it wrong," and start their own, more self-righteous and Bible-obsessed groups.
At the very least, those doofuses taking the polls should become aware of all this, and adjust their polls to distinguish between atheists and the disorganized religious -- but as I've said before, sociologists aren't the sharpest knives in the drawer either.
Stupid disorganized religious, stupid atheists, stupid pollsters -- I'm surrounded by idiots! And no, this doesn't make me feel smart. Not at all -- I've allowed a bunch of idiots to surround me!
Friday, October 16, 2015
Nur ein Beispiel: VDS
An die Leute in Deutschland:
Was ist ein VDS? Ich suchte bei der deutschen Wiki, das ergab Unmengen von "Vereinen deutscher S____". Es ist ueberhaupt schwierig (fuer mich), vom Ausland her Nachrichten zur deutschen Politik zu verfolgen: "--FGR kommt noch! --JKL-Schwaetzer! --Biste wohl WTY-Mitglied und unterstuezt NBL im Auftrag des QZX! --Lieber WTY als SCB mit UIJ und CSK-6!" Usw ohne Ende. So klingt es mir. Ich weiss gar nicht wie Ihr die Akronyme alle in die Koepfe erstmal kriegt. Und erst recht nicht weiss ich wo -- wenn ueberhaupt -- man die Akryonyme erklaert bekommt, die Ihr alle irgendwie schon auswendig kennt.
"Vorratsdatenspeicherung" also! Danke, Katharina! *vorratsdatenspeicherung googeln* (Oh my, that's a lot of very long words.)
Keine Sorge, ich waehle also (was Deutschland angeht, aus Notwendigkeit) den unpolitischen-Kuenstler Modell! Meine Nerven sind zu sensibel fuer derart lange rechtswissenschaftliche Woerter. Das heisst: ich bin ein eingebildeter Einfaltspinsel. Mindestens was deutschem politischem and und rechtlichem Jargon angeht. Offenbar. Wirklich, mein armer einfaetiger Kopf schmerzt schon beim Anblick von Beschreibungen der VDS. Aber es ist wirklich nicht so, als koennte mir etwas gleichgueltig sein, wenn es Euch wichtig ist. Ich hoffe dass Ihr trotz diesen peinlichen Zwischenfalls noch wir vor emsig herumsprechen werdet, dass ich den Lit-Nobel bekommen sollte meines hervorrangenden multispraechigen Genies wegen. Ich liebe doch alle! ¡No pasarán! ¡Nosotros pasaremos! veni vidi vici. Able was I ere I was Elba, usw usf.
»Die Betrachtungen waren also eine Kampfschrift, aber doch zugleich schon ein leidenschaftliches Stück Arbeit der Selbsterforschung und der Revision meiner Grundlagen... Aber Selbsterforschung ist meist schon der erste Schritt zur Wandlung, und ich erfuhr, daß niemand ganz der bleibt, der er war, indem er sich erkennt.« -- Thomas Mann
Was ist ein VDS? Ich suchte bei der deutschen Wiki, das ergab Unmengen von "Vereinen deutscher S____". Es ist ueberhaupt schwierig (fuer mich), vom Ausland her Nachrichten zur deutschen Politik zu verfolgen: "--FGR kommt noch! --JKL-Schwaetzer! --Biste wohl WTY-Mitglied und unterstuezt NBL im Auftrag des QZX! --Lieber WTY als SCB mit UIJ und CSK-6!" Usw ohne Ende. So klingt es mir. Ich weiss gar nicht wie Ihr die Akronyme alle in die Koepfe erstmal kriegt. Und erst recht nicht weiss ich wo -- wenn ueberhaupt -- man die Akryonyme erklaert bekommt, die Ihr alle irgendwie schon auswendig kennt.
"Vorratsdatenspeicherung" also! Danke, Katharina! *vorratsdatenspeicherung googeln* (Oh my, that's a lot of very long words.)
Keine Sorge, ich waehle also (was Deutschland angeht, aus Notwendigkeit) den unpolitischen-Kuenstler Modell! Meine Nerven sind zu sensibel fuer derart lange rechtswissenschaftliche Woerter. Das heisst: ich bin ein eingebildeter Einfaltspinsel. Mindestens was deutschem politischem and und rechtlichem Jargon angeht. Offenbar. Wirklich, mein armer einfaetiger Kopf schmerzt schon beim Anblick von Beschreibungen der VDS. Aber es ist wirklich nicht so, als koennte mir etwas gleichgueltig sein, wenn es Euch wichtig ist. Ich hoffe dass Ihr trotz diesen peinlichen Zwischenfalls noch wir vor emsig herumsprechen werdet, dass ich den Lit-Nobel bekommen sollte meines hervorrangenden multispraechigen Genies wegen. Ich liebe doch alle! ¡No pasarán! ¡Nosotros pasaremos! veni vidi vici. Able was I ere I was Elba, usw usf.
»Die Betrachtungen waren also eine Kampfschrift, aber doch zugleich schon ein leidenschaftliches Stück Arbeit der Selbsterforschung und der Revision meiner Grundlagen... Aber Selbsterforschung ist meist schon der erste Schritt zur Wandlung, und ich erfuhr, daß niemand ganz der bleibt, der er war, indem er sich erkennt.« -- Thomas Mann
Thursday, October 15, 2015
If You Tell Just 1 Person That I Deserve The Nobel Prize In Literature --
-- and that person tells just 1 more person, and that person tells another person, and so forth and so on: together, we can build a better world.
Here: look at this kitty:
-- you feel better already, dontcha? Yeah. Have a great day, everybody! And tommorrow -- have another one!
(PS: Of course, if you were to tell lots and lots of people instead of just one, that'd be even better. Or if you happen to have a cash surplus and you said it on a billboard or in a TV commercial. But if you only say it to 1 other person, that's great also. I mean it.)
Here: look at this kitty:
-- you feel better already, dontcha? Yeah. Have a great day, everybody! And tommorrow -- have another one!
(PS: Of course, if you were to tell lots and lots of people instead of just one, that'd be even better. Or if you happen to have a cash surplus and you said it on a billboard or in a TV commercial. But if you only say it to 1 other person, that's great also. I mean it.)
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Studien Belegen: Soziologe Sind Doof
Schwarzer Kaffee, Radieschen, Gin Tonic – wer diesen Nahrungsmitteln zugetan ist, hat häufiger psychopathische und sadistische Züge, zeigt eine aktuelle österreichische Studie. Wie entsteht dieser Zusammenhang?
Schwatzen Sie unaufhoerlich Quatsch? Dann sind Sie womoeglich Soziologe, zeigen Studien, die seit mehr als einem Jahrhunderte unternommen werden.
Steven Bollinger, Author des renommierten amerikanischen Blog The Wrong Monkey, erklaert die Zusammenhaenge:
"Soziologe sind doof."
Schon als kleines Kind ist dies dem Nobelverdaechtigen Blogger aufgefallen, und dass ein grosses Teil des Popblems davon haengt, dass Soziologe schwach in Math sind und in ihren nimmerendenwolldenden Studien Dateien sammeln, welche sie nicht in der Lage sind, richtig zu interpretieren.
"Nicht, dass in allen Faellen ueberhaupt nutzbare Dateien erst mal gesammelt werden,"
fuegt Bollinger hinzu.
"Es ist zum Heulen."
Schwatzen Sie unaufhoerlich Quatsch? Dann sind Sie womoeglich Soziologe, zeigen Studien, die seit mehr als einem Jahrhunderte unternommen werden.
Steven Bollinger, Author des renommierten amerikanischen Blog The Wrong Monkey, erklaert die Zusammenhaenge:
"Soziologe sind doof."
Schon als kleines Kind ist dies dem Nobelverdaechtigen Blogger aufgefallen, und dass ein grosses Teil des Popblems davon haengt, dass Soziologe schwach in Math sind und in ihren nimmerendenwolldenden Studien Dateien sammeln, welche sie nicht in der Lage sind, richtig zu interpretieren.
"Nicht, dass in allen Faellen ueberhaupt nutzbare Dateien erst mal gesammelt werden,"
fuegt Bollinger hinzu.
"Es ist zum Heulen."
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
???
About an hour ago, within the space of 2 minutes my blog got more pageviews than it usually gets in a week. Since then the traffic has been normal again. Wherever those pageviews came from, the source seems to have masked itself from Blogger's stats-gathering page. Any theories about what happened?
Mysteriousness.
PS: I also found out within the past hour that I didn't get a 2015 MacArthur grant. A total coincidence in timing? What would Nostradamus say?
Mysteriousness.
PS: I also found out within the past hour that I didn't get a 2015 MacArthur grant. A total coincidence in timing? What would Nostradamus say?
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Day 3 Of My "South Park" Hold-Out And Already I Miss --
My South Park embargo.
-- and already I miss Timmy (For those of you unfamiliar with "South Park," Timmy is a little boy who is confined to a wheelchair and for the most part never says anything except "TIMMY!" The only exception I can think of is when he has a pet turkey named Gobbles, and says: "Gobbles." Timmy's relationship with Gobble's is one of the most movingly tender episodes I've ever seen in a dramatic depiction.), Jimmy (a little boy on crutches who, despite a very severe stutter, is determined to make it as a stand-up comedian), Butters, Twitch, "CRIPPLEFIGHT!!!" (Eh, just watch the show.), etc.
I have some serious issues with climate-change deniers. That doesn't mean I disagree with all of them about everything. Although offhand Parker and Stone are the only ones I can think of who aren't complete assholes in every way. Seriously, climate-change deniers tend to be racist, sexist, anti-union and just generally flat-out Republican. Trey Parker and Matt Stone (the creators of "South Park") are none of the above, except climate-change deniers.
Climate change, however, isn't the only issue upon which they're complete douchebags. They're also among that group of Amurrkins who are neither Democrats nor Republicans, which means, since Amurrka does not yet have proportional representation, that they're a good deal worse than useless politically. You know, when I think about this, and Stone saying that he hates conservatives but he hates liberals a lot more, it suddenly makes me miss the show a lot less again. Douchebags who take this sort of political stand in a 2-party system, without lifting a finger for the cause of converting to a multi-party parliamentary system like most modern countries have, resemble agnostics, inasmuch as they think they're smarter than all the rest of us, but they're not. Smug and above-the-fray doesn't mean you're smart, it means you're smug and stupid.
And this -- and, for example, Parker saying that of all the wonderful and absurd religions in the world, none is more absurd to him than atheism (Lack of religion ain't a religion, Trey, and "spirituality" is religion.) -- and some other stuff, makes me wonder if Parker and Stone are hopeless cases, whether there's just no talking to them. While the brilliant parts of their show, on the other hand, make me think that there must be some talking to them. (Enten/eller.) But to be able to talk to them face-to-face whenever anything about "South Park" pisses me off, I'm going to have to be extremely famous. One more very important reason why all of you reading this must praise and link it and this blog everywhere you can and tweet and re-tweet links to them and +1 them and dedicate Facebook groups and billboards to them and always tell everyone -- EVERYONE, not just friends and family and co-workers, but also postal carriers and people waiting with you in lines and waiting rooms and all of those complete strangers on all of those crowded sidewalks all over the world -- that I must win the 2015 Nobel Prize -IN- Literature. It's July. Time is running out. And I'm eloquent. If anybody can make Parker and Stone "come to Jesus," environmentally speaking, face it -- it's me.
Imagine re-edited episodes of "South Park," where the animation stops and we see a live-action 2-shot of Parker and Stone, and they say: "Yeah. We were total douchebags and morons to doubt climate change and mock people for trying to do something about it. They were struggling to save OUR lives too, and the lives of our children, and we mocked them for it. Steven Bollinger was able to cut through the muck of our smug, stubborn stupidity, to allow us to finally see this and other very important things. What a genius. If ever anyone thoroughly deserved a Nobel Prize -- well. Back to the show, but first: be sure to vote Democratic, and to be real watchdogs on Democratic politicians' voting on environmental issues!"
Imagine it -- and then help me win that Nobel. For the sake of the planet. (And so that I can get a platinum Rolex Daytona and other cool stuff.)
-- and already I miss Timmy (For those of you unfamiliar with "South Park," Timmy is a little boy who is confined to a wheelchair and for the most part never says anything except "TIMMY!" The only exception I can think of is when he has a pet turkey named Gobbles, and says: "Gobbles." Timmy's relationship with Gobble's is one of the most movingly tender episodes I've ever seen in a dramatic depiction.), Jimmy (a little boy on crutches who, despite a very severe stutter, is determined to make it as a stand-up comedian), Butters, Twitch, "CRIPPLEFIGHT!!!" (Eh, just watch the show.), etc.
I have some serious issues with climate-change deniers. That doesn't mean I disagree with all of them about everything. Although offhand Parker and Stone are the only ones I can think of who aren't complete assholes in every way. Seriously, climate-change deniers tend to be racist, sexist, anti-union and just generally flat-out Republican. Trey Parker and Matt Stone (the creators of "South Park") are none of the above, except climate-change deniers.
Climate change, however, isn't the only issue upon which they're complete douchebags. They're also among that group of Amurrkins who are neither Democrats nor Republicans, which means, since Amurrka does not yet have proportional representation, that they're a good deal worse than useless politically. You know, when I think about this, and Stone saying that he hates conservatives but he hates liberals a lot more, it suddenly makes me miss the show a lot less again. Douchebags who take this sort of political stand in a 2-party system, without lifting a finger for the cause of converting to a multi-party parliamentary system like most modern countries have, resemble agnostics, inasmuch as they think they're smarter than all the rest of us, but they're not. Smug and above-the-fray doesn't mean you're smart, it means you're smug and stupid.
And this -- and, for example, Parker saying that of all the wonderful and absurd religions in the world, none is more absurd to him than atheism (Lack of religion ain't a religion, Trey, and "spirituality" is religion.) -- and some other stuff, makes me wonder if Parker and Stone are hopeless cases, whether there's just no talking to them. While the brilliant parts of their show, on the other hand, make me think that there must be some talking to them. (Enten/eller.) But to be able to talk to them face-to-face whenever anything about "South Park" pisses me off, I'm going to have to be extremely famous. One more very important reason why all of you reading this must praise and link it and this blog everywhere you can and tweet and re-tweet links to them and +1 them and dedicate Facebook groups and billboards to them and always tell everyone -- EVERYONE, not just friends and family and co-workers, but also postal carriers and people waiting with you in lines and waiting rooms and all of those complete strangers on all of those crowded sidewalks all over the world -- that I must win the 2015 Nobel Prize -IN- Literature. It's July. Time is running out. And I'm eloquent. If anybody can make Parker and Stone "come to Jesus," environmentally speaking, face it -- it's me.
Imagine re-edited episodes of "South Park," where the animation stops and we see a live-action 2-shot of Parker and Stone, and they say: "Yeah. We were total douchebags and morons to doubt climate change and mock people for trying to do something about it. They were struggling to save OUR lives too, and the lives of our children, and we mocked them for it. Steven Bollinger was able to cut through the muck of our smug, stubborn stupidity, to allow us to finally see this and other very important things. What a genius. If ever anyone thoroughly deserved a Nobel Prize -- well. Back to the show, but first: be sure to vote Democratic, and to be real watchdogs on Democratic politicians' voting on environmental issues!"
Imagine it -- and then help me win that Nobel. For the sake of the planet. (And so that I can get a platinum Rolex Daytona and other cool stuff.)
Sunday, June 21, 2015
I Really, Really, Really, Really, Really Really Want The 2015 Nobel Prize -IN- Literature --
-- a lot.
Look at it from my point of view for once:
I'd receive a million bucks or two. (The amount of the prize goes up and down from year to year.) That would be nice. Really nice. Very, very nice.
It would also make me famous. You might not think so from how smooth I am in the written version, but I'm autistic and I have a lot of very serious difficulties when it comes to socializing. I get somewhat lonely sometimes. I think that being very famous would help me meet people.
In addition to the large cash part of the Prize, winning the Nobel Prize in Literature would, presumably, help me to get some of my writing published in book form, and it might even possibly help me to sell lots and lots of books. This would lead to me receiving even more great big stacks of money. Which would be great.
If Hemingway deserved one then I definitely deserve it more. I'm not even going to debate that. Sorry, Hemingway fans, but this one is clear-cut.
Besides being a brilliant writer, both my Mom and my therapist agree that I am a very good person.
I've always wanted to be a huge success. Up until now my siblings and step-siblings have been making me look very bad in the success department. You have no idea.
GIVE ME THE DAMN PRIZE!!!!!
Thank you.
Look at it from my point of view for once:
I'd receive a million bucks or two. (The amount of the prize goes up and down from year to year.) That would be nice. Really nice. Very, very nice.
It would also make me famous. You might not think so from how smooth I am in the written version, but I'm autistic and I have a lot of very serious difficulties when it comes to socializing. I get somewhat lonely sometimes. I think that being very famous would help me meet people.
In addition to the large cash part of the Prize, winning the Nobel Prize in Literature would, presumably, help me to get some of my writing published in book form, and it might even possibly help me to sell lots and lots of books. This would lead to me receiving even more great big stacks of money. Which would be great.
If Hemingway deserved one then I definitely deserve it more. I'm not even going to debate that. Sorry, Hemingway fans, but this one is clear-cut.
Besides being a brilliant writer, both my Mom and my therapist agree that I am a very good person.
I've always wanted to be a huge success. Up until now my siblings and step-siblings have been making me look very bad in the success department. You have no idea.
GIVE ME THE DAMN PRIZE!!!!!
Thank you.
Monday, June 15, 2015
Outstanding Articles Which Have Been Published So Far Talking Me Up For The Nobel Prize -IN- Literature
It's always possible that some have been published but haven't yet come to my attention, but the only such articles I know of are ones written by myself. And I won't lie to you, that's a little bit discouraging. But faint heart never won fair lady, it's always darkest before the dawn, if I don't believe in myself why should I expect others to believe in me, once more into the breach, yada yada.
Let's start with a piece which appeared in March in the prestigious blog The Wrong Monkey entitled Let's Get Serious And Get Me the 2015 Nobel Prize For Literature. Well, first off, it's got a nice straightforward title, right to the point. It underscores how winning the Nobel Prize -IN- Literature is basically a 2-step process: 1) A writer writes wicked cool outstanding poetry and/or prose -- so, yeah, I got that covered already, and 2) others recognize the outstanding nature of what the writer has written. They spread the word. The piece begins with a discussion of the Tom Petty Ab-So-Lute-Ly Bass-Ackwards Law of Microeconomics, which at first glance might seem to undercut my case: I actually need that Nobel, and Petty's Law states that someone's need for something is in inverse proportion to their chances of getting it. But if you stop your consideration of the matter at that point, you may be completely missing the entire point of Petty's Law: Petty formulated it in order to encourage others to break it, to work against the Ab-So-Lute-Ly Bass-Ackwardness. Laws of economics are completely different from those of physics in their great degree of mutability. You can break these laws and very often you should if you can. Petty's Law states what is and should not be. Awarding me the 2015 Nobel Prize -IN- Literature would not merely break Petty's Law, it would resoundingly smash it. The economic consequences would be breathtaking.
In the same article I also vow that when I win the Nobel, my Nobel Lecture, in its entirelty, will be thank yu verr much pleez, and mock Nobel laureate Ernest Hemingway, who of course deserves it.
Moving on: in April, in the same prominent blog, The Wrong Monkey, there appeared the essay You Are Feeling Very Sleepy... In retrospect, it occurs to me that this article, in addition to serving the purpose of hypnotizing readers of The Wrong Monkey and filling them with joyous determination to ensure that I win the Nobel, can also be read aloud by those readers in order to hypnotize still others.
Thirdly, we come to a marvelously-crafted piece of prose entitled Apparently Some Of You Still Need Some Convincing That I Deserve The Nobel Prize In Literature, published in May in a brilliant blog known as The Wrong Monkey. Written by me. This article underscores both the urgency of people's action on behalf my winning the Nobel -- even more urgent now than when the piece was first published -- and some of the reasons why it's important that I win. Such as how badly I want certain things I can't afford at present, things like solid-platinum watches. Res ipsa loquitur; however, I suppose I could add that although I mostly refer to platinum wrist watches, because wrist watches are mostly what are made today, especially for the high end of the market, I would have no objection whtsoever to owning platinum pocket watches. Nor to gold watches. I think rose gold is pretty cool.
And of course, all of the over 700 posts which have appeared on the blog so far solidly make the case that I am brilliant and deserve the Nobel, and the world deserves to know such quality writing better, and winning the Nobel will aid in that noble cause by making me much more famous.
Excelsior!
Let's start with a piece which appeared in March in the prestigious blog The Wrong Monkey entitled Let's Get Serious And Get Me the 2015 Nobel Prize For Literature. Well, first off, it's got a nice straightforward title, right to the point. It underscores how winning the Nobel Prize -IN- Literature is basically a 2-step process: 1) A writer writes wicked cool outstanding poetry and/or prose -- so, yeah, I got that covered already, and 2) others recognize the outstanding nature of what the writer has written. They spread the word. The piece begins with a discussion of the Tom Petty Ab-So-Lute-Ly Bass-Ackwards Law of Microeconomics, which at first glance might seem to undercut my case: I actually need that Nobel, and Petty's Law states that someone's need for something is in inverse proportion to their chances of getting it. But if you stop your consideration of the matter at that point, you may be completely missing the entire point of Petty's Law: Petty formulated it in order to encourage others to break it, to work against the Ab-So-Lute-Ly Bass-Ackwardness. Laws of economics are completely different from those of physics in their great degree of mutability. You can break these laws and very often you should if you can. Petty's Law states what is and should not be. Awarding me the 2015 Nobel Prize -IN- Literature would not merely break Petty's Law, it would resoundingly smash it. The economic consequences would be breathtaking.
In the same article I also vow that when I win the Nobel, my Nobel Lecture, in its entirelty, will be thank yu verr much pleez, and mock Nobel laureate Ernest Hemingway, who of course deserves it.
Moving on: in April, in the same prominent blog, The Wrong Monkey, there appeared the essay You Are Feeling Very Sleepy... In retrospect, it occurs to me that this article, in addition to serving the purpose of hypnotizing readers of The Wrong Monkey and filling them with joyous determination to ensure that I win the Nobel, can also be read aloud by those readers in order to hypnotize still others.
Thirdly, we come to a marvelously-crafted piece of prose entitled Apparently Some Of You Still Need Some Convincing That I Deserve The Nobel Prize In Literature, published in May in a brilliant blog known as The Wrong Monkey. Written by me. This article underscores both the urgency of people's action on behalf my winning the Nobel -- even more urgent now than when the piece was first published -- and some of the reasons why it's important that I win. Such as how badly I want certain things I can't afford at present, things like solid-platinum watches. Res ipsa loquitur; however, I suppose I could add that although I mostly refer to platinum wrist watches, because wrist watches are mostly what are made today, especially for the high end of the market, I would have no objection whtsoever to owning platinum pocket watches. Nor to gold watches. I think rose gold is pretty cool.
And of course, all of the over 700 posts which have appeared on the blog so far solidly make the case that I am brilliant and deserve the Nobel, and the world deserves to know such quality writing better, and winning the Nobel will aid in that noble cause by making me much more famous.
Excelsior!
Friday, June 5, 2015
You May Already Not Be A New Atheist
In this recent blog post I discussed finding a brand name, an identifying term with big scary capital letters, for atheists who are not New Atheists, and who wish to make it clear that they are not New Atheists, but do not want to resort to calling themselves something like skeptics or non-believers, as this would make it somewhat less than 100% clear that, although they are not with the New Atheists, they still are atheists.
Of all the names I mentioned in that previous post, the most gratifying to me personally would be the Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheists, because that one is all about me, me, me and what a great writer and deep thinker I am, so deserving of fame and fortune and crate-loads of free platinum watches, and also how I like lolcats.
On the other hand, the Not Those Atheists! with an exclamation point every time, would be much clearer and to the point, not to mention much less unwieldy. The point being: We're atheists, but we're not them.
So for the time being I'm going to call us the Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel atheists.
But of course, not everybody has deeply studied the question of who is and who isn't a New Atheist. One still very frequently encounters the question, Hey Steve, what the Heck is a New Atheist anyway, and how is it different from an "Old" Atheist, and what's yr dang problem anyhow?! A few examples will help you see whether you are a New Atheist, or a Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheist, as we've decided to call ourselves.
Let's take the issue of pictures of Muhammed. If you enthusiastically take part in competitions to draw the most insulting picture of Muhammed, you may be a New Atheist. (Or a snake-handler. Or a New Atheist and recently a snake-handler.) If you support the right of any yahoo to draw a picture of Muhammed, but you want to make it clear that you still don't have to LIKE 98% of the pictures, or 98% of the yahoos drawing them, you may be a Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheist.
If you already happened to know that there actually are many Muslim pictures of Muhammed, then chances are that you're not a New Atheist, because New Atheists and studying history tend to be like oil and water. Here's a 14th century Islamic drawing of an interpretation of Isaiah 21:7, showing Isaiah’s vision of Jesus riding a donkey alongside Muhammad riding a camel.
That's one of several Islamic pictures of Muhammed from a Newsweek article by Christiane Gruber with the to-the-point title The Koran Does Not Forbid Images of the Prophet Obviously, there is some disagreement about this among Muslims, just as there is some disagreement among Jews and Christians about whether God has forbidden the making of images, all going back to the 10 Commandments and that thing about not making graven images.
If the thought of Muslims debating things like making pictures, and having wildly divergent opinions about such issues, strikes you as odd, that may be an indication that you're a New Atheist. If it strikes you as odd and/or downright appalling that people who rant and rave about Muslims day and night know so little about them, you may be a Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheist.
Similarly with images from Christianty: if you can't get enough of pictures of Jesus or the Pope having sex, this would indicate the likelihood of your being a New Atheist, and if you defend the right of people to make and show such images while finding them excruciatingly tedious, you may be a Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel atheist.
If you like Christian and Islamic art -- Gothic cathedrals, illuminated manuscripts of the Bible or the Koran, Byzantine Mosaics --
-- etc, that sounds much more like a Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheist than a New Atheist. Knowledge of ancient languages, and/or of quite a few modern ones, appreciation of art -- that sounds like one of us. "Modern art is a fraud!" sounds much more like a New Atheist. Extensive learning in any of the so-called humanities is more indicative of a Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheist than a New Atheist. Many New Atheists are scientists for a living. But learning about science or even being an advanced scientist will not turn you into a New Atheist, if you don't have an unwarranted contempt for the humanities.
Oversimplifications on historical, literary and artistic subjects sound more like New Atheists. One of their favorite ones is to say that the Bible is fiction. The Bible is over 60 different books, written over perhaps as long as 1000 years, by maybe more than 60 different authors. But New Atheists are less likely than Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheists to grasp that some parts of the Bible are much more factual than others, and much, much less likely to be comfortable with such plain facts as that we cannot yet completely separate the factual parts from the legendary ones, the plain fact that we don't know how much of the Bible is accurate history. Ambiguity, uncertainty, grey areas: New Atheists often seem extremely uncomfortable with these.
If there is currently more than one vehicle up on blocks in your front yard -- oh, I'm sorry, never mind, that's Jeff Foxworthy. That's a completely different thing. Nevermind.
New Atheists are many times more likely to be Comic book fans than are Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheists.
If the thought of burning Korans pleases you, there's absolutely no way that you're a Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheist. New Atheists (again, just like snake-handlers) sometimes burn Korans, or cover them with garbage and excrement and proudly photograph their work, etc. New Atheists as prominent and as Islam-obsessed as Richard Dawkins have admitted that they've never read the Koran and never intend to. Others lie and say they have read it. (Dawkins, I'm almost 100% sure, has never burned a Koran. But I've also never heard him speak out against Koran-burning.)
Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheists think that theology is pretty stupid, but we think that book-burning is appalling too. We have realized that just because someone is an atheist, just because he or she rejects all theology, is no guarantee that he or she is not a gibbering idiot. Conversely, we have seen how people can embrace the theology of one -- or more! -- religions, and still, somehow, be very bright and knowledgeable most of the time. For us, a person's religous belief is NOT the most important factor in whether or not we find that person intelligent, or interesting or nice or otherwise good to be around, it is not the most important factor in whether or not we fall in love with them or have children with them or go into business with them.
A Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheist is in some cases a person who, when he or she first learned of the existence of atheist groups, was overjoyed and assumed that he or she would fit right in, and has been immensely disappointed. He or she may have assumed that atheist equaled more intelligent, or more tolerant, or more cultured, and found out that in many cases it means none of the above. Presumably, some of you currently think you are New Atheists -- or think that Dawkins and Harris are awesome. Same thing, whether you apply the New Atheist label to yourself or not. Or the movement atheist label. Same thing -- and will gradually figure out that you actually are Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel atheists.
New Atheists are much more likely to sound like Crusaders. Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheists are much more likely to have read Runciman.
Of all the names I mentioned in that previous post, the most gratifying to me personally would be the Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheists, because that one is all about me, me, me and what a great writer and deep thinker I am, so deserving of fame and fortune and crate-loads of free platinum watches, and also how I like lolcats.
On the other hand, the Not Those Atheists! with an exclamation point every time, would be much clearer and to the point, not to mention much less unwieldy. The point being: We're atheists, but we're not them.
So for the time being I'm going to call us the Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel atheists.
But of course, not everybody has deeply studied the question of who is and who isn't a New Atheist. One still very frequently encounters the question, Hey Steve, what the Heck is a New Atheist anyway, and how is it different from an "Old" Atheist, and what's yr dang problem anyhow?! A few examples will help you see whether you are a New Atheist, or a Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheist, as we've decided to call ourselves.
Let's take the issue of pictures of Muhammed. If you enthusiastically take part in competitions to draw the most insulting picture of Muhammed, you may be a New Atheist. (Or a snake-handler. Or a New Atheist and recently a snake-handler.) If you support the right of any yahoo to draw a picture of Muhammed, but you want to make it clear that you still don't have to LIKE 98% of the pictures, or 98% of the yahoos drawing them, you may be a Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheist.
If you already happened to know that there actually are many Muslim pictures of Muhammed, then chances are that you're not a New Atheist, because New Atheists and studying history tend to be like oil and water. Here's a 14th century Islamic drawing of an interpretation of Isaiah 21:7, showing Isaiah’s vision of Jesus riding a donkey alongside Muhammad riding a camel.
That's one of several Islamic pictures of Muhammed from a Newsweek article by Christiane Gruber with the to-the-point title The Koran Does Not Forbid Images of the Prophet Obviously, there is some disagreement about this among Muslims, just as there is some disagreement among Jews and Christians about whether God has forbidden the making of images, all going back to the 10 Commandments and that thing about not making graven images.
If the thought of Muslims debating things like making pictures, and having wildly divergent opinions about such issues, strikes you as odd, that may be an indication that you're a New Atheist. If it strikes you as odd and/or downright appalling that people who rant and rave about Muslims day and night know so little about them, you may be a Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheist.
Similarly with images from Christianty: if you can't get enough of pictures of Jesus or the Pope having sex, this would indicate the likelihood of your being a New Atheist, and if you defend the right of people to make and show such images while finding them excruciatingly tedious, you may be a Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel atheist.
If you like Christian and Islamic art -- Gothic cathedrals, illuminated manuscripts of the Bible or the Koran, Byzantine Mosaics --
-- etc, that sounds much more like a Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheist than a New Atheist. Knowledge of ancient languages, and/or of quite a few modern ones, appreciation of art -- that sounds like one of us. "Modern art is a fraud!" sounds much more like a New Atheist. Extensive learning in any of the so-called humanities is more indicative of a Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheist than a New Atheist. Many New Atheists are scientists for a living. But learning about science or even being an advanced scientist will not turn you into a New Atheist, if you don't have an unwarranted contempt for the humanities.
Oversimplifications on historical, literary and artistic subjects sound more like New Atheists. One of their favorite ones is to say that the Bible is fiction. The Bible is over 60 different books, written over perhaps as long as 1000 years, by maybe more than 60 different authors. But New Atheists are less likely than Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheists to grasp that some parts of the Bible are much more factual than others, and much, much less likely to be comfortable with such plain facts as that we cannot yet completely separate the factual parts from the legendary ones, the plain fact that we don't know how much of the Bible is accurate history. Ambiguity, uncertainty, grey areas: New Atheists often seem extremely uncomfortable with these.
If there is currently more than one vehicle up on blocks in your front yard -- oh, I'm sorry, never mind, that's Jeff Foxworthy. That's a completely different thing. Nevermind.
New Atheists are many times more likely to be Comic book fans than are Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheists.
If the thought of burning Korans pleases you, there's absolutely no way that you're a Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheist. New Atheists (again, just like snake-handlers) sometimes burn Korans, or cover them with garbage and excrement and proudly photograph their work, etc. New Atheists as prominent and as Islam-obsessed as Richard Dawkins have admitted that they've never read the Koran and never intend to. Others lie and say they have read it. (Dawkins, I'm almost 100% sure, has never burned a Koran. But I've also never heard him speak out against Koran-burning.)
Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheists think that theology is pretty stupid, but we think that book-burning is appalling too. We have realized that just because someone is an atheist, just because he or she rejects all theology, is no guarantee that he or she is not a gibbering idiot. Conversely, we have seen how people can embrace the theology of one -- or more! -- religions, and still, somehow, be very bright and knowledgeable most of the time. For us, a person's religous belief is NOT the most important factor in whether or not we find that person intelligent, or interesting or nice or otherwise good to be around, it is not the most important factor in whether or not we fall in love with them or have children with them or go into business with them.
A Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheist is in some cases a person who, when he or she first learned of the existence of atheist groups, was overjoyed and assumed that he or she would fit right in, and has been immensely disappointed. He or she may have assumed that atheist equaled more intelligent, or more tolerant, or more cultured, and found out that in many cases it means none of the above. Presumably, some of you currently think you are New Atheists -- or think that Dawkins and Harris are awesome. Same thing, whether you apply the New Atheist label to yourself or not. Or the movement atheist label. Same thing -- and will gradually figure out that you actually are Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel atheists.
New Atheists are much more likely to sound like Crusaders. Steven Bollinger Can Haz Nobel Atheists are much more likely to have read Runciman.
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Apparently Some Of You Still Need Some Convincing That I Deserve The Nobel Prize In Literature
(It seems it's "in Liturature," not "for Literature." "In Literature" sounds strange to me -- but that's okay, it's their prize and they can call it whatever they want. Just seems kinda strange.)
Why do you still need convincing? *turning toward those of you who are convinced* I know! Good question! *turning back toward the general readership* Whatever the bizarre reasons may be, I've examined the stats for this blog, and some of you aren't yet convinced -- because if you were, you'd be excitedly talking non-stop about how awesome I am and how deserving of the Nobel Prize, and linking my blog and tweeting and emailing about it and putting the blog's address in print ads and billboards and so forth, and if all of you were doing that, it would show in the stats. If Oprah and Chris Matthews and Larry King and David Letterman and Harold Bloom and Conan O'Brien and Rachel Maddow and GA Wells and Bruce Springsteen and William H Gass and Barack Obama had all given my blog rave reviews on the same day, it would have shown in the stats. That's all I'm going to say about the stats right now because the stats are the confidential bidniss of me and Blogspot, and our bidniss ain't yo bidniss. No offense. It's gist bidniss.
Anyway -- the 2015 Nobel Prize in Literature will be awarded 5 months from now, maybe even a little bit less than 5 months, and I've examined the statistics for this blog concerning the volume of my readership, and if current trends continue, I will have to be considered a dark horse for this year's literature prize. It's not that more popular = more likely to win the Nobel. Don't worry, Dan Brown will never win it. Neither will Stephen King or John Grisham or any of those other Bozos who can't write worth a tiny speck of poop and are always clogging up the bestseller lists, making the interaction between good writers and discerning readers much, much more difficult than it should be. Only a handful of people need to be aware that my writing exists in order for me to be awarded the Nobel -- the handful of people who actually award the prize. But getting those people to read this blog and/or the manuscripts of my 2 complete and still-unpublished novels is easier said than done. I've researched the award process a little in the past 2 months, since I published the post Let's Get Serious And Get Me The 2015 Nobel Prize For Literature, and it appears that literary editors of leading publications, and maybe also some people such as prominent critics, give some input to the Nobel folks as to who they think is worthy, among the writers of their particular country. Makes sense: it's a big world, hundreds of countries in it, the Nobel people need some help organizing the competition. And of course Nobel laureates of previous years also have a big say in each new prize. And as I mentioned back in March in that previous post, most winners have already been at least somewhat famous before they win. A few of them have been among those rare birds, bestselling authors who also don't stink as writers.
I don't know any Nobel laureates personally. Nor am I personally acquainted with the editors of The New Yorker or the Kenyon Review. Obviously: if those folks were aware of my existence, they would be clamoring to publish my work, and as yet they are not. I need to get some people's attention. I need to get onto their radar.
The way I've imagined this happening is that my blog would go viral, and become one of the most widely-visited blogs of all time, and far and away the most popular one in the history-philosophy-belles-lettres category. I'd go to bed one night, sleep the sleep of the just for having written well and done other good and noble deeds all day, and rise the next morning to find that I'd become famous overnight, that my blog had broken the Internet and that so much media would be camped out on my street, hoping for a snapshot of me or a word with me, that the police would have to be called just to unblock the street enough that it would be possible for my neighbors to drive on it and get to their jobs or wherever they needed to be.
For the sake of sanity on my block, I would have to move out. Luxury hotels would be jostling each other for the opportunity to comp me, Rolex and Omega would each try to outdo the other in giving me a greater number of gold and platinum watches, in the hope of it being more likely that one of their watches would be seen on my wrist than one of the competition's watches. Same with free clothes and many other items. And of course the quantity of free books, every publisher going all-out hoping for a blurb -- the quantity of books would be simply cuckoo.
But not nearly as crazy as the bidding war between publishers for the right to publish my works. Even before I had an agent, headlines would claim that the bidding had reached 8 figures -- and those headlines would be accurate.
And so forth. I'd be so famous that I'd be famous just for how famous I was, like Dan Brown or Justin Bieber, and just as in their cases, that would make me even more famous.
That's how I picture this going, but of course that's not the only way it could go. The editors at the Kenyon Review or The New Yorker or whatever, the people at some other rag could find out about me before I'm completely famous, and they could be a part of the process of making me famous, rather than my blog just going viral before any of them have a chance to act.
There are various ways this could go. I could actually get published by means of a publisher or periodical or agent getting back to me about one of my submissions or queries. Anything's possible.
But again: we've got 5 months to make this happen, people! 5 months or maybe even a little bit less. Talk, tweet, email, link, go, go, go!!!
Why do you still need convincing? *turning toward those of you who are convinced* I know! Good question! *turning back toward the general readership* Whatever the bizarre reasons may be, I've examined the stats for this blog, and some of you aren't yet convinced -- because if you were, you'd be excitedly talking non-stop about how awesome I am and how deserving of the Nobel Prize, and linking my blog and tweeting and emailing about it and putting the blog's address in print ads and billboards and so forth, and if all of you were doing that, it would show in the stats. If Oprah and Chris Matthews and Larry King and David Letterman and Harold Bloom and Conan O'Brien and Rachel Maddow and GA Wells and Bruce Springsteen and William H Gass and Barack Obama had all given my blog rave reviews on the same day, it would have shown in the stats. That's all I'm going to say about the stats right now because the stats are the confidential bidniss of me and Blogspot, and our bidniss ain't yo bidniss. No offense. It's gist bidniss.
Anyway -- the 2015 Nobel Prize in Literature will be awarded 5 months from now, maybe even a little bit less than 5 months, and I've examined the statistics for this blog concerning the volume of my readership, and if current trends continue, I will have to be considered a dark horse for this year's literature prize. It's not that more popular = more likely to win the Nobel. Don't worry, Dan Brown will never win it. Neither will Stephen King or John Grisham or any of those other Bozos who can't write worth a tiny speck of poop and are always clogging up the bestseller lists, making the interaction between good writers and discerning readers much, much more difficult than it should be. Only a handful of people need to be aware that my writing exists in order for me to be awarded the Nobel -- the handful of people who actually award the prize. But getting those people to read this blog and/or the manuscripts of my 2 complete and still-unpublished novels is easier said than done. I've researched the award process a little in the past 2 months, since I published the post Let's Get Serious And Get Me The 2015 Nobel Prize For Literature, and it appears that literary editors of leading publications, and maybe also some people such as prominent critics, give some input to the Nobel folks as to who they think is worthy, among the writers of their particular country. Makes sense: it's a big world, hundreds of countries in it, the Nobel people need some help organizing the competition. And of course Nobel laureates of previous years also have a big say in each new prize. And as I mentioned back in March in that previous post, most winners have already been at least somewhat famous before they win. A few of them have been among those rare birds, bestselling authors who also don't stink as writers.
I don't know any Nobel laureates personally. Nor am I personally acquainted with the editors of The New Yorker or the Kenyon Review. Obviously: if those folks were aware of my existence, they would be clamoring to publish my work, and as yet they are not. I need to get some people's attention. I need to get onto their radar.
The way I've imagined this happening is that my blog would go viral, and become one of the most widely-visited blogs of all time, and far and away the most popular one in the history-philosophy-belles-lettres category. I'd go to bed one night, sleep the sleep of the just for having written well and done other good and noble deeds all day, and rise the next morning to find that I'd become famous overnight, that my blog had broken the Internet and that so much media would be camped out on my street, hoping for a snapshot of me or a word with me, that the police would have to be called just to unblock the street enough that it would be possible for my neighbors to drive on it and get to their jobs or wherever they needed to be.
For the sake of sanity on my block, I would have to move out. Luxury hotels would be jostling each other for the opportunity to comp me, Rolex and Omega would each try to outdo the other in giving me a greater number of gold and platinum watches, in the hope of it being more likely that one of their watches would be seen on my wrist than one of the competition's watches. Same with free clothes and many other items. And of course the quantity of free books, every publisher going all-out hoping for a blurb -- the quantity of books would be simply cuckoo.
But not nearly as crazy as the bidding war between publishers for the right to publish my works. Even before I had an agent, headlines would claim that the bidding had reached 8 figures -- and those headlines would be accurate.
And so forth. I'd be so famous that I'd be famous just for how famous I was, like Dan Brown or Justin Bieber, and just as in their cases, that would make me even more famous.
That's how I picture this going, but of course that's not the only way it could go. The editors at the Kenyon Review or The New Yorker or whatever, the people at some other rag could find out about me before I'm completely famous, and they could be a part of the process of making me famous, rather than my blog just going viral before any of them have a chance to act.
There are various ways this could go. I could actually get published by means of a publisher or periodical or agent getting back to me about one of my submissions or queries. Anything's possible.
But again: we've got 5 months to make this happen, people! 5 months or maybe even a little bit less. Talk, tweet, email, link, go, go, go!!!
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Things I've Been Called To My Face
Skinny, fat, Big Guy, ugly, Stretch, a tall thin man, fatass, okay-looking, cute, gorgeous, Zitface, guy with a sweet scarred-up face and big cow eyes, young man, old man, man, a real man, strong as an ox, not a real man, my man, man, kid, a bear, Snuggle Bear, hey you, kid, a writer, an actor, a saxophonist, the janitor, the groundskeeper, Mr Bollinger, Sir, Professor, a terrible singer who can't stay anywhere near on-key for more than six bars or so, an historian, a philosopher, an enigma, a phony, pretentious, extremely boring, silly, serious, sensitive, insensitive, crazy, extremely sane, gentle, an Asperger, autistic, a genius, an idiot, very smart and very dumb at the same time, a freak, a pothead, a drunk, an alcoholic, a great alcoholic in my own right (this was at an AA meeting), the leading contender for the 2015 Nobel Prize in Literature, a novelist, a blogger, a volunteer, a Volunteer (in the sense of having attended the University of Tennessee at Knoxville), Next!, The Wrong Monkey, Steve, Stevie, Steven, Stephen, Stefano, Étienne, Stephan, Steve-o, Steverino, the Steve-Meister, Steve-Man, Tom, The Human Zit, weird, interesting, a Donald E Westlake fan, a Joseph Heller fan, a Thomas Pynchon fan, a William Gaddis fan, a Heinrich Boell fan, a former Heinrich Boell fan, someone who finds Heinrich Boell both great and terrible, a Peter Handke fan, a former Peter Handke fan, a Padgett Powell fan, a Barry Bonds fan, an Alfred Doeblin fan, a Jimmy Jackson fan, a Nietzsche fan, a Jarious Jackson fan, a Steven Runciman fan, a Sloterdijk fan, a Schopenhauer fan, an Adorno fan, a cat person, a dog lover, King Pong (a 7 year stretch without losing a single game of ping pong), a dancing machine, a punk rocker, an old punk rocker, a weirdo, a burnout, a loser, someone who will never amount to a sack of shit, someone who'll be a big success in whatever field he chooses, a space cadet, Dream Weaver, Bitch, Pretty Boy, Clint Eastwood, James Woods, Cate Blanchett's secret boyfriend (Okay, no one has ever called me that to my face. As far as I know I'm the only one who ever called me that), an atheist, an atheist who's dared to take on Paulkovich (as if that required daring), a secret Christian or Muslim pretending to be an atheist, a mythicist (correctly), an historicist (incorrectly), an amateur Latinist, that guy who can't stand Cicero for some reason, that guy who's afraid of moose, a Yankee, a Gringo, cool, tough as nails, weak, brave, cowardly, hey Batter Batter Batter, a good baserunner, a right fielder, ninth in the batting order, ein Arschloch, esse, homeboy, home fries, buddy, pal, Sweetheart, my frent, Cool Steve.
Monday, May 4, 2015
Google Thought That ToDAY Was My BIRTHday!
So I fire up the ol laptop this morning, open up Firefox, and Google is spelled out of birthday cake and party favors. I'm thinking, What? is it Google's birthday? I mouse over the logo and it doesn't say "Happy Birthday, Google!" It says "Happy Birthday, Steven!"
What?
My first thought was that they had me mixed up with some other Steven Bollinger -- there's more of us than you might think -- so I clicked on the logo expecting to see the search results for Steven Bollinger, the prominent and wily Texas Democrat, or one of the several leading Steven Bollinger, MD's -- but no, I was taken to my very own Google+ page. I clicked on my profile and saw that my birthday had been given as May 4, 1986.
This was very confusing for a while -- then, slowly, very slowly, I remembered that some time ago, before allowing me to do something or other, Google insisted upon learning the date of my birth. I guess I was kind of grumpy at the time -- Hard to picture, right? Me, grumpy? -- and felt that they didn't need to know, but they wouldn't let me proceed without the info, and so finally I lost my temper and just filled in a random date.
So, now, my Google+ profile correctly gives my birthday as June 17. Google very politely left it up to me whether or not I would put the year of my birth on my Google+ profile, and I declined.
Almost a month and a half until June 17. Still time to plan for something extravagant. You know what I want -- that's right: a freakin Nobel Prize in Literature. And I know, I know, millions of you are now wailing at the screens of your computers and mobile devices and the screens of the computers and mobile devices of libraries and of your employers and friends, "But Steven! I can't give you a Nobel Prize! I'd do ANYthing for you, but THAT's not within my POWer!" And I say and I say again to you, it IS within your power to tell others how incredibly awesome this blog is, and how much finer this world will be once I've won that Nobel and am dating someone like Scarlett Johansson or Reese Witherspoon and am the unoffical 2nd sidekick to Conan O'Brien (Andy Richter's words, not mine!) and also guest quite frequently on Kimmel, I'm a big Kimmel fan, and am up to my neck in free platinum Omegas and Rolexes. It's within everybody's power to spread the Good News.
I apologize to my religious relatives if those last 2 words seemed blasphemous. I just meant them to be funny. I hope it goes without saying that none of this -- none of this post, none of this blog, none of most of what I say or do -- needs to be taken especially seriously. (Except for the part about me WANTing the Nobel. I really, really want it. Do I deSERVE it? Did Eyvind Johnson? Did Joyce and Freud and Doeblin and Borges deserve not to get it?) As the name of the blog implies, I'm just an eccentric monkey banging away on a keyboard and hoping that life doesn't squash me today so that I can bang away on a keyboard some more tomorrow. A monkey who -- okay, a 2nd thing is also meant quite seriously -- needs and will gratefully take all the freakin help he can get.
So, Google, or you NSA guys or whoever else is reading along here and is actually in charge of these things -- if the false birthday info was the reason my AdSense got cancelled and I can have it back now, that'd be swell.
Seriously, though, it's currently not millions of you wailing at screens, and that's kind of the problem. A Nobel Prize; Andrew Wylie acting as my agent; you, my readers, telling others about my blog -- any of those things would help a lot. PLEASE HELP ME!
So, to sum up: birthday June 17, silly monkey scribbling away, attempts to make you smile or laugh, want Nobel, need help!
What?
My first thought was that they had me mixed up with some other Steven Bollinger -- there's more of us than you might think -- so I clicked on the logo expecting to see the search results for Steven Bollinger, the prominent and wily Texas Democrat, or one of the several leading Steven Bollinger, MD's -- but no, I was taken to my very own Google+ page. I clicked on my profile and saw that my birthday had been given as May 4, 1986.
This was very confusing for a while -- then, slowly, very slowly, I remembered that some time ago, before allowing me to do something or other, Google insisted upon learning the date of my birth. I guess I was kind of grumpy at the time -- Hard to picture, right? Me, grumpy? -- and felt that they didn't need to know, but they wouldn't let me proceed without the info, and so finally I lost my temper and just filled in a random date.
So, now, my Google+ profile correctly gives my birthday as June 17. Google very politely left it up to me whether or not I would put the year of my birth on my Google+ profile, and I declined.
Almost a month and a half until June 17. Still time to plan for something extravagant. You know what I want -- that's right: a freakin Nobel Prize in Literature. And I know, I know, millions of you are now wailing at the screens of your computers and mobile devices and the screens of the computers and mobile devices of libraries and of your employers and friends, "But Steven! I can't give you a Nobel Prize! I'd do ANYthing for you, but THAT's not within my POWer!" And I say and I say again to you, it IS within your power to tell others how incredibly awesome this blog is, and how much finer this world will be once I've won that Nobel and am dating someone like Scarlett Johansson or Reese Witherspoon and am the unoffical 2nd sidekick to Conan O'Brien (Andy Richter's words, not mine!) and also guest quite frequently on Kimmel, I'm a big Kimmel fan, and am up to my neck in free platinum Omegas and Rolexes. It's within everybody's power to spread the Good News.
I apologize to my religious relatives if those last 2 words seemed blasphemous. I just meant them to be funny. I hope it goes without saying that none of this -- none of this post, none of this blog, none of most of what I say or do -- needs to be taken especially seriously. (Except for the part about me WANTing the Nobel. I really, really want it. Do I deSERVE it? Did Eyvind Johnson? Did Joyce and Freud and Doeblin and Borges deserve not to get it?) As the name of the blog implies, I'm just an eccentric monkey banging away on a keyboard and hoping that life doesn't squash me today so that I can bang away on a keyboard some more tomorrow. A monkey who -- okay, a 2nd thing is also meant quite seriously -- needs and will gratefully take all the freakin help he can get.
So, Google, or you NSA guys or whoever else is reading along here and is actually in charge of these things -- if the false birthday info was the reason my AdSense got cancelled and I can have it back now, that'd be swell.
Seriously, though, it's currently not millions of you wailing at screens, and that's kind of the problem. A Nobel Prize; Andrew Wylie acting as my agent; you, my readers, telling others about my blog -- any of those things would help a lot. PLEASE HELP ME!
So, to sum up: birthday June 17, silly monkey scribbling away, attempts to make you smile or laugh, want Nobel, need help!
Thursday, March 12, 2015
Let's Get Serious And Get Me the 2015 Nobel Prize For Literature
For one thing, it would be a resounding slap in the face of the Tom Petty Law of Microeconomics, which is: It's Ab-So-Lute-Ly Backwards. This law occurred to Tom in the 1980's after he and the Heartbreakers had become superstars, and Nike, having noticed that several of the bandmembers seemed to favor their shoes, invited them to some Nike warehouse in order to give them all the free shoes and other Nike items they wanted. The band chose so much stuff that it wasn't clear at first exactly how they were going to be physically able to haul it all away, until some bright Nike employee went and fetched some huge beautiful supple leather Nike bags which were also given to them free, and it was about then when it occurred to Tom that It Was All Backwards, because it had not been too long before that when the band had been so poor that one free pair of shoes for just one of them would have made a significant positive impact on their economic outlook, but back then nobody was giving them free stuff, cause the world doesn't just go around handing free stuff to poor people cause if it did how would they stay poor?! and now they could easily have afforded to buy all of the shoes and book and shirts and jackets and other Nike clothes they were being given, and even those magnificent huge leather bags (the bags seem to have really impressed Tom), but it was all just a fraction of the free stuff they were getting because they were rich and famous, and the rich and famous get tons of SWAG ("Stuff We All Get") because It's. All. Backwards.
Because It's All Backwards, The Nobel Prize with its seven-figure cash component is generally given to writers who are massively successful, who already have massive book deals, some even huger film deals as well, and therefore don't actually need the cash component of the Nobel.
Well, I actually do. (Of course, Microeconomic Backwardness being what it is, as soon as I win the 2015 Nobel for Literature, the publicity will lead directly to book deals and other sources of income and Stuff so that very very soon, I won't need those seven figures Because. It's All. Bass. Ackwards. I am not immune to the Bassackwardness.)
One other thing may be bothering some of you: wondering whether I actually write well enough to deserve the 2015 Nobel. It's okay, you don't have to be afraid to admit this to me if that's what you're thinking. It doesn't upset or surprise me. You probably aren't familiar with all of the schmucks who've won this thing. Go read some Eyvind Johnson, Harry Martinson, Heinrich Boell, John Steinbeck, Ernest Hemingway, Frans Eemil Sillanpää, Pearl Buck, Erik Axel Karlfeldt, Sigrid Undset, Karl Adolph Gjellerup, Henrik Pontoppidan, Carl Gustaf Verner von Heidenstam, Selma Ottilia Lovisa Lagerlöf and Bjørnstjerne Martinus Bjørnson, and then come back here and try to look me in the eye and tell me they all wrote better than I do. (Heads up: you won't be able to do it, because it's a dirty, dirty lie.)
Don't get me wrong: most of the Nobel laureates for literature are great writers. But clearly, greatness is not the only qualification for the prize. And even it were: c'mon. I'm pretty good.
And so to business: I don't know exactly who all of the regular readers of this blog are. It's possible that among you are enough Nobel laureates for literature and others responsible for awarding the prize that this is already a done deal, in which case: I sincerely thank you in advance.
But there is the possibility that few of those people read this blog regularly, in which case, you, my other readers, must bring it to their attention. Mention whenever and wherever you can that I'm a wonderful writer and that I should get the Nobel this year.
I realize that, even after all of the excellent points I've made in this post, some of you probably still think I'm silly, and are laughing. So -- tell people that. That's a perfectly acceptable recommendation, in my opinion: "Oh, this idiot, what he writes is just so absurd that it makes me laugh and laugh, and shake with laughter with tears pouring down both cheeks, laughter which consumes and relaxes me until I feel as if I'd had a wonderful long full-body massage." That's a positive statement, it will encourage others to read me, and among those others will be some with enough taste that they'll want to mention to still others that I deserve the Nobel, and so on and so forth. It's all good, Homestyle! Don't think that your contribution to this worthy campaign is too small! It's not! We must all pull together on this rope.
I can offer one more incentive: imagine being part of a campaign which results in a Nobel laureate whose Nobel Lecture, in its entirety, will be the following:
thnk yu verr much pleez
It will be the best-known, best-loved, most-often-cited Nobel Lecture of all time.
(Hemingway -- ha! Please. He's a joke! "He kissed her hard. She pulled away, whispered 'You b-st-rd' and held him tight again. Over her shoulder he looked at the Seine." Okay, I'm out. I can't write that badly on purpose for longer than 3 short sentences without collapsing in a heap of laughter.)
Because It's All Backwards, The Nobel Prize with its seven-figure cash component is generally given to writers who are massively successful, who already have massive book deals, some even huger film deals as well, and therefore don't actually need the cash component of the Nobel.
Well, I actually do. (Of course, Microeconomic Backwardness being what it is, as soon as I win the 2015 Nobel for Literature, the publicity will lead directly to book deals and other sources of income and Stuff so that very very soon, I won't need those seven figures Because. It's All. Bass. Ackwards. I am not immune to the Bassackwardness.)
One other thing may be bothering some of you: wondering whether I actually write well enough to deserve the 2015 Nobel. It's okay, you don't have to be afraid to admit this to me if that's what you're thinking. It doesn't upset or surprise me. You probably aren't familiar with all of the schmucks who've won this thing. Go read some Eyvind Johnson, Harry Martinson, Heinrich Boell, John Steinbeck, Ernest Hemingway, Frans Eemil Sillanpää, Pearl Buck, Erik Axel Karlfeldt, Sigrid Undset, Karl Adolph Gjellerup, Henrik Pontoppidan, Carl Gustaf Verner von Heidenstam, Selma Ottilia Lovisa Lagerlöf and Bjørnstjerne Martinus Bjørnson, and then come back here and try to look me in the eye and tell me they all wrote better than I do. (Heads up: you won't be able to do it, because it's a dirty, dirty lie.)
Don't get me wrong: most of the Nobel laureates for literature are great writers. But clearly, greatness is not the only qualification for the prize. And even it were: c'mon. I'm pretty good.
And so to business: I don't know exactly who all of the regular readers of this blog are. It's possible that among you are enough Nobel laureates for literature and others responsible for awarding the prize that this is already a done deal, in which case: I sincerely thank you in advance.
But there is the possibility that few of those people read this blog regularly, in which case, you, my other readers, must bring it to their attention. Mention whenever and wherever you can that I'm a wonderful writer and that I should get the Nobel this year.
I realize that, even after all of the excellent points I've made in this post, some of you probably still think I'm silly, and are laughing. So -- tell people that. That's a perfectly acceptable recommendation, in my opinion: "Oh, this idiot, what he writes is just so absurd that it makes me laugh and laugh, and shake with laughter with tears pouring down both cheeks, laughter which consumes and relaxes me until I feel as if I'd had a wonderful long full-body massage." That's a positive statement, it will encourage others to read me, and among those others will be some with enough taste that they'll want to mention to still others that I deserve the Nobel, and so on and so forth. It's all good, Homestyle! Don't think that your contribution to this worthy campaign is too small! It's not! We must all pull together on this rope.
I can offer one more incentive: imagine being part of a campaign which results in a Nobel laureate whose Nobel Lecture, in its entirety, will be the following:
thnk yu verr much pleez
It will be the best-known, best-loved, most-often-cited Nobel Lecture of all time.
(Hemingway -- ha! Please. He's a joke! "He kissed her hard. She pulled away, whispered 'You b-st-rd' and held him tight again. Over her shoulder he looked at the Seine." Okay, I'm out. I can't write that badly on purpose for longer than 3 short sentences without collapsing in a heap of laughter.)
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