Yes, the honest, scrappy, and cozy/rockin’ (depending on the time of day) Williamsburg bar The Lucky Cat, which, three years ago almost to this day, was the site of my very first post here at Emdashes. Oh, the dough we haven’t made since then! But it’s been delightful, don’t get me wrong. Anyway, I’m posting not just out of nostalgia but to note that Heather Havrilesky at Salon has discovered and loves The Maria Bamford Show, as well as some other web shows you can read more about in her column. Here’s Jesse Thorn’s interview with Bamford for The Sound of Young America, where I first discovered her electric genius.
Author Archives: Emdashes
And Speaking of Cartoons, a Voice From the Past
…my past, that is: I’m not sure how I missed this, but recently for the Voice, the veteran (by which I don’t mean old, just savvy) arts and sports writer Brian Parks compiled a humor batting-average chart for the “fall season” of New Yorker cartooning and ranked them by “humor success percentage,” which soars as high as .556. I’d like to know more about his criteria; Brian, give us some insight into your rankings! Brian is not only a friend from that long-ago millennium of which I so rarely speak, but the author of two of the funniest plays known to modern American drama, Vomit & Roses and Wolverine Dream, known in tandem as Americana Absurdum. So the guy knows funny when he sees it, but my question is, where did he see it?
Cartoonists, Rejected! Accepted! Interviewed!
New Yorker cartoonists Matt Diffee and Carolita Johnson, respectively editor of and contributor to the latest Rejection Collection book, were on the radio this morning talking about the book and cartooning generally; you can read more about it on Carolita’s blog, one of my favorite sites on the Thingosphere. Diffee also spoke to NPR in November about all things rejected and collected.
Semi-incidentally, I also notice a Steve Martin interview lurking in the margins there. Nice work, webmasters!
I recently interviewed Diffee at some length myself, for Print, my noble and sassy (it’s true) home base. Want to stick it to the nattering nabobs of new-media naysaying? Buy a beautiful subscription to the magazine whose name sums up everything you love about those words and images you don’t have to squint at onscreen and can even read on the subway without becoming a miniaturist. It’s a fabulous and thoughtful gift, not to mention a steal!
Meghan O’Rourke on Katherine Heigl on Knocked Up: “Maybe There’s a Lot More to Women Than These Expectations”
Sometimes it takes a national event to bring a taboo conversation to the fore. Terry Schiavo’s sad story and the attendant shamelessness of political opportunists, for instance, did have a positive effect: a lot of people finally got a grip and made living wills. Judd Apatow’s movie Knocked Up sparked a lot of debate in the press and at parties about how to deal with unplanned pregnancy between two people who weren’t planning to be together for the long haul, and I bet in a lot of bedrooms and dorm rooms, too. (You may recall that we had an extensive debate about the movie when David Denby wrote an essay about love and lovable-ish losers in the movies for The New Yorker.) More than a spoonful of sugar helped the medicine go down in Knocked Up; the movie is compassionate and funny, and in many respects, startlingly real.
In Slate this week, Meghan O’Rourke considers Katherine Heigl’s mild yet apparently heretical recent remark to Vanity Fair that Knocked Up is “a little sexist.” O’Rourke expands the commentary into a thoughtful essay about cultural expectations of maturity, responsibility, and gender behavior, observing astutely, “A culture that assigns all that weight to what ‘men’ and ‘women’ want only makes it more difficult for couples to establish their own fruitful ratio of intimacy to privacy.”
That Heigl felt it necessary to recant to People at all (thanks to O’Rourke for that link) makes me glum, given that what she said to Vanity Fair was awfully tame. On the other hand, as some of the film-land folks who were at my friend Meg’s wedding this past weekend related, Apatow is so (unsurprisingly) golden in Hollywood these days he’s practically untouchable. There’s a phrase screenwriters use now when they want to make a screenplay or pilot warmer, hipper, more sellable: “Just Judd it up!” And let me say once again that I love this guy. Do you know what I’m doing even as I type? I’m listening to the director’s commentary for Disc 2 of Undeclared, Apatow’s ill-fated, little-known, and totally charming TV series. That’s how much I love this guy.
Also, Knocked Up is a little sexist, a truth Apatow pretty much acknowledged, in a self-aware and relaxed manner, in his recent New Yorker Festival interview with Denby and Seth Rogen. If you haven’t seen the video of the conversation, one of the high points of the festival and a humongous crowd-pleaser, watch it now. So Apatow can admit—as he does at the end of the interview—that he has a lot to learn about women and women characters; Heigl is supposed to pose and smile, and not say anything at all. Now, that seems a little sexist to me.
Meanwhile, Details laments the rise of the twenty- and thirty-something “tweenager” woman, who text-messages her friends “OMG!” and watches Gossip Girl. For some reason this seems to be more frightening to Details than, say, the rest of the TV-watching population, men included, watching Gossip Girl. Maybe it’s because of “the inconvenient truth that men are not as attracted to women over 30,” as a letter-writer in the same issue opines (if women are going to act like girls, they should be as lust-worthy as girls, right?), but there’s a point in there somewhere. Too bad there’s also a pair of twentysomething women wearing knee socks and rollerskates and sucking lollipops in the same issue. Don’t simper like a girl, don’t age like a person, don’t bitch and moan like a grown women—gosh, ya can’t win! (I love the use of “inconvenient truth” there, too. PowerPoint that sucker and you might convince me.)
Till the world is just, you might want to consider donating to the National Network of Abortion Funds, for the people who are, in fact, knocked up and need to make that choice. Apparently, in return for your donation, you’ll get a copy of my friend Katha Pollitt’s great book Learning to Drive, and who’da thunk it, it’s compassionate, funny, and startlingly real, too. (Katha’s written about Knocked Up, too.) But it’s not a competition. Judd Apatow is an honest, sensitive modern man who’s got the grace to say he’s still learning, and I love the guy. Have I mentioned that?
Paris Review Seeks Algonquin Annexation
Know that The Paris Review is auctioning off some very intriguing items through mid-December. A couple of the items are New Yorker-related, so I thought I’d pass them on here. For all intents and purposes, the prices for most of the lots rule out anyone unable to summon one’s accountant to one’s home or office at a moment’s notice, but they are interesting anyway.
The winner of one newly added auction (runs through early January) will be invited to spend a day on the set of Blink, about to be directed by Stephen Gaghan with Leonardo DiCaprio in the lead role. Is it common knowledge that the filming of Blink is nigh? I did not know that Gaghan is attached; might bode well. Filming a work of intellectual speculation of this type may well be unprecedented; I can’t think of any precursors, anyway. Gaghan isn’t exactly my favorite talent out there, but Syriana does suggest that he might be a very good choice for a project this odd, elusive, resonant.
Memo to Philip Gourevitch: You can use the Algonquin Hotel for your tête-à-tête auction prize, but, you know, hands off otherwise. —Martin Schneider
If You Like The Complete New Yorker…
as well you should—I use it every day, and so will you if you obtain it (perhaps as a holiday present?), even if you don’t have a blog about The New Yorker—you should know that the same company that helped create it is now responsible for the digital archives of some other magazines you may want to get to know better:
For the rock ‘n’ rollers on your Christmas list, the hippest gift you can give this year is Rolling Stone Cover To Cover: The First 40 Years (Bondi Digital, $125). All the Rolling Stone magazines from its inception to May 2007 are collected onto fully searchable DVD-ROM disks. You can find every cover story and photo. You can find all the interviews with your favorite rockers from Bob Dylan to John Mayer. You can find the serialized version of Tom Wolfe’s The Bonfire Of The Vanities. The set includes more than 98,000 pages of content, easy to read and printable. Bondi also recently released Playboy Cover To Cover: The 50s ($100) collecting the contents of the first decade of the gentlemen’s magazine, which included the original three-part serialization of Ray Bradbury’s classic Fahrenheit 451. Bondi’s digital platform was used for the release of The Complete New Yorker in 2005.
Thanks to the Clarion-Ledger for the report. The who Clarion-Ledger? The where Clarion-Ledger? It’s always a bit of a treasure hunt on local-newspaper sites. I’ll tell you: Jackson, Mississippi (the recital of all those s’s in kindergarten really pays off later). The paper has quite an interesting history, in fact; a version of it was founded in 1837, and it’s still “one of only a few newspapers in the nation that continues to circulate statewide,” according to the website. Perhaps there will be a digital edition of its early years someday; I sincerely hope so.
Confirmed: Woody Allen Not a Scab
Woody Allen, in support of the Writers Guild of America:
Even if you leave politics out of it, it’s a swell experimental short, too. —Martin Schneider
We Want Bread and Irvin, Too
Back in August—my, how time flies—our friend and illustrator Jesse Ewing wrote in with a Rea Irvin type sighting for the Emdashes column devoted to this activity:
Hi Emily,
Not sure if you’re still doing your X-Rea category, but I’ve got an entry that kind of blew my mind.
See attached picture. In our defense, we had to get white bread to make proper BLTs.
Jesse (and wife Chelsea)
I’d like a BLT right now, actually. Anyway, Gwyneth Dyer, writer for the communications design agency Larsen, has just noted this sliced Rea-lette on her marketing blog, mentioning (thanks!) our slow but steady X-Rea machine. She notes:
I’m wondering if this was a purposeful decision — to align a bakery brand with a sophisticated weekly magazine of literature, current affairs, and humor. Perhaps the brand manager’s thinking went like this: Customer needs to pick up some bread. Customer is overwhelmed by choices on grocery shelf. Customer spots a bread that seems somehow familiar, almost classic, possibly a bit more erudite than the other white breads….
She goes on to ask, “What’s your opinion? Is this typeface off limits? Is using it unfairly capitalizing on The New Yorker brand?”
I’d like to toast Jesse, Chelsea, and Dwyer for this excellent find. Pictured is Jesse’s own photograph of the spongy bread; Dyer has a close-up on her site, too. Please email in your own Irvin-esque type sightings, and if you’ve got a photo, screen grab, or scan, all the better!
Elizabeth Hardwick in The New Yorker
Does anyone remember Minnie Minoso? I do, barely. Minoso was a supremely talented outfielder who started in the Negro Leagues, moved on to the major leagues in 1949 after Jackie Robinson broke the color line, and played his last game in 1980. He was the first player to play in five different decades (1940s-1980s), even though his career was “only” 31 years long. (He played two token games in 1980 to qualify for the distinction.)
Elizabeth Hardwick was kind of like that with The New Yorker. Or at least The Complete New Yorker. See, the DVDs in the set are divided up by years. Her first piece in the magazine was a short story called “A Season’s Romance,” in the March 10, 1956 issue. Her last piece was a TOTT in the December 21, 1998 issue. 1956 is the last year of Disc 6, and 1998 is the first year of Disc 1 (the set is numbered in reverse order), so her time spent as a contributor to The New Yorker spans six discs. (I won’t tell, if you won’t, that she doesn’t appear on Disc 4 at all.)
Over nearly the entire Shawn tenure (Shawn took over as editor in 1951), she wrote only fiction in The New Yorker, six stories over twenty-five years. After Tina Brown arrived, Hardwick started off with a short story and then moved to nonfiction—a review of an Edmund Wilson biography, a teeny thing on grits soufflé, and that last TOTT, on Christmas records, for David Remnick.
Hilton Als wrote a very entertaining article about her in the July 13, 1998 issue. Definitely worth a read. There’s a very nice photo of her in the original piece, by Max Vadukul, but it’s quite distorted in the CNY. Best to seek out the print version for that.
By the bye, I will send anyone who can produce a photograph of this “Elizabeth Hardwick Loves Me” T-shirt at Amazon a free copy of any book on this list.
Let’s end on this observation by Als:
Until someone has the temerity to write a biography of Elizabeth Hardwick, we will have to rely on her work for its powerful evocation of the life of the mind, and on hearsay from friends and acquaintances for the details of the life itself. And until someone has the wit to compile an “Elizabeth Hardwick Reader,” we will have to rely on past issues of magazines and periodicals and the largesse of secondhand bookstores.
No “Reader” yet, although New York Review Books has at least put two of her books back into print since Als wrote that. Thank goodness for that. —Martin Schneider
Update: Don’t miss this lovely reminiscence on Als’s New Yorker blog. —MCS
Ben Yagoda Uses Steve Martin to Disprove Truism
Emily has posted a couple of times on Steve Martin’s new book, Born Standing Up: A Comic’s Life, and I thought I wouldn’t let that stop me from directing you to Ben Yagoda’s fine review of the book in Slate. Heck, let’s flood the zone!
It’s a truism that positive reviews are difficult to write, but you sure wouldn’t know it reading this one. Indeed, Yagoda’s artful review not only persuades that the book has the qualities he attributes to it—many reviews accomplish that—but also has made me, once unsure, entirely eager to read it, a far meaner feat.
Yagoda cites some interesting demographic data to prove that huge numbers of Americans haven’t any conception whatsoever of Martin as a standup comedian. I was born in 1970, so I was about ten years old when he was peaking. I vividly remember his fame as a standup without having had the slightest notion what it was all about. I remember “King Tut” and “two wild and crazy guys,” but for the most part he amused people far older than myself. “My” Steve Martin was just a touch later than that, the one who appeared in The Man with Two Brains and Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid.
The sharp folks at fwis also explain why the book’s cover is so effective. I’m not sure if they are aware that the designer of Martin’s 1978 LP A Wild and Crazy Guy might deserve the lion’s share of the credit. —Martin Schneider
