Ruth Madoff, wife of the Bernard Madoff in the recent news, supposedly co-wrote a kosher cookbook with a friend a few years back. Now the editor of that book claims she wrote the whole thing herself. The NY Times reports Karen MacNeil “was paid to write the cookbook in its entirety. She said Mrs. Madoff ‘was interested in having her name on something that would allow for some sort of fun.'” Maybe this ghostwriting is a small thing, even a common thing in publishing, but in context with the Madoffs’ story of late, it seems to reveal one more way in which the couple lacked any character. (via ArtsJournal)
RIP The Scarecrow, and other maunderings
I swear before Heaven and earth that I heard a young man say the following today, in the Men’s Room at the Bible School:
“I’ve been reading this book called The Faery Queene. I heard it’s where Shakespeare got some of his ideas. It’s really good.”
Somewhere, C. S. Lewis smiled.
As Phil noted below, Patrick McGoohan died yesterday (Ricardo Montalban too, but I have less to say about him). McGoohan is most famous for his roles in the TV series, Secret Agent (known as Danger Man in England), and The Prisoner. Also for his one-dimensional but massively entertaining portrayal of King Edward I of England in Braveheart.
I watched both Secret Agent and The Prisoner when I was a kid. Can’t say I was a big fan, though. Secret Agent, in my opinion, didn’t have enough pretty girls, and The Prisoner was all style, no actual story (and again, not enough pretty girls).
It turns out the lack of pretty girls was purposeful. According to McGoohan’s Wikipedia entry he accepted the leads in these programs partly on the condition that he do no kissing. Apparently he had moral objections (like Kirk Cameron) to kissing a woman who was not his wife. Continue reading RIP The Scarecrow, and other maunderings
Personal Random Musings
Having seen the imminent (eminent?) demise of personal blogging, I have decided to post my random musings for the day, adding to them as the day drags on. Feel free to join me by adding your own musings. Perhaps we will amuse ourselves a bit. Ha, ha! I crack myself up.
I like French Onion soup. A while back I had a great bowl of it at Big River Grill, which used one of their microbrews in the recipe. Yummy, heart-warming, reminding me of all the French matrons in my life who have urged me to have another helping of Marengo Veal Sauté or Tomates confites. I also had a bowl of Campbell’s Caramelized Onion Soup on Monday, and it could not compare. There’s something different with Campbell’s Select soups lately. They don’t taste as good as they used to.
I didn’t remember that Richard Montalban was Khan. I guess that means I am not a trekkie, even if I wanted to be. How could a fan forget something like that?
I see that it’s 25 below in Lileks neck of the woods. Continue reading Personal Random Musings
New Words, Nonce Words
Dr. Goodword is talking about those words people make up within very specific context, not really for broad application by all English speakers–like the word cyberchondriac, intended to mean “a person who believes he is sick because his symptoms appear on a web page.”
“Now the real meaning of cyberchondriac should be ‘stomach governor,'” the doctor says, “for kybernan means ‘to govern’ in Greek while chondria is a Latin word meaning ‘stomach'” Apparently, a hypochondriac is so called because of the greek hupokhondria, which is the stomach or abdomen region and believed to be the “seat of melancholy.”
The Bell Tolls
Personal blogging has been declared dead. I should post my random musings on that sometime.
A pox on thee, unnamed publishing company!
It’s cold outside, but I’m in luck, being hot under the collar.
I have a problem with a Christian publisher.
Not in the sense of an author having a problem with his own publisher, but in the sense that a bookstore manager has trouble with a supplier.
I deal with a lot of Christian publishers, and a few secular ones, and most of the time I find them professional, helpful and prompt. If there’s a problem, they let me know about it.
I’ve found one exception, though.
I’d love to tell you the name of the company, but I guess it would be prudent and charitable to withhold it. Continue reading A pox on thee, unnamed publishing company!
It’s 2009!
Did someone ask for flying cars? Let’s drive to Timbuktu, baby!
UPDATE: A much better link here with video of an interview with the inventor and of the car flying on the beach.
Parable
Here’s a little story which explains everything. I’m hiding it behind the fold because it contains some bl**ped profanity. Continue reading Parable
Rapture delayed
Tonight, for reasons I won’t bore you with, I used a snowblower for the first time in my life. (We got about three inches of snow today. I’m aware some of you got more than that. No need to tell me about it. I feel your pain, as you will no doubt feel mine when it’s our turn.) The experience was pretty much what I expected. It’s less work than my dad’s way, but it’s still work.
Here’s something from my new publisher’s website that impressed me. I’m doubtless motivated to apple-polish a bit, but I’m pretty sure I honestly think it’s exceptionally good. It’s an article arguing that one major reason for the decline in Christian influence in American has been the widespread acceptance of the Pre-Tribulation Rapture interpretation of Revelation. The author argues that holding to this idea (that the whole world is about to slide into war, famine, devastation and tyranny, but that Christians are going to be evacuated before things get bad) has prevented us from engaging the culture. Continue reading Rapture delayed
Closeted Away
Who needs an MFA anyway? Alan Ackmann confesses:
It was easy, for me at least, to lose perspective on the real world—the world of non-writers, with their various struggles, joys, and fears—and this distance made it difficult to write about that world. Part of it was the fact that I started my program when I was twenty-two. My real life experience was limited, and it wasn’t getting wider in graduate school, and for a time this made me both self-conscious and defensive. The best writers in my program, I felt, were the ones with ample real-life experience on which to draw, and their stories seemed rich in character and emotional depth, their styles matched perfectly with their subjects. The weaker writers, by contrast, hid behind surface level stereotypes and artistic hijinks, cloaking simple thoughts in pretty words. And as much as I tried to be in the former category, I’m afraid I spent (and, regrettably, still spend) too much of my time in the latter.