Michael Malice title

Gary, back in the day.

Completed Christopher Buckley's The White House Mess today; amazing, amazing writing. He really takes me back to my time in Washington, and I'm not sure how he does it, either. He's not as funny as he thinks he is but still pretty quaint, but the style is superb.

I went to see Bob at Sudden Industries yesterday. Turns out that Sixteen Candles starts out with a shot of one of his buttons. And it turns out both Rick Moody and Jeffrey Eugenides are big Rubber Rodeo fans (and former college roommates), and since Moody got Ice Storm made into a film he is sure to be of at least minor help.

Then I went to Eric and Deirdre's house and we watched Bright Lights, Big City, a film I liked before I became a wannabe writer; now all I see are all the technical writing mistakes. Deirdre saw a shot of Trish on my digital camera. "She looks like a Mom!" she blurted. I always forget that Trish is a Mom, and told her this once. "You're so nurturing, Trish, I keep forgetting you're a Mom." "I've always been nurturing," she replies. "That's why I get fucked over the most out of anybody." It's gold, Jerry, gold!

Finished Faith and Treason this morning, the story of the Gunpowder Plot. Basically a small Catholic conspiracy tried to blow up Parliament (Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes) and the King with it in 1605, hiding hundreds of pounds, hundreds of kilograms of gunpowder underneath the House of Lords. They were caught and Guy Fawkes, the most famous but not most important conspirator, is still burned in effigy in the UK on November 5th, Bonfire Night. But I didn't have to read the whole book to learn this; could have just gone to a website, like this one. It's all Alan Moore's fault; I felt I needed to know more after reading 'V' for Vendetta last summer.

There are strong parallels to our time, with regards to the idea that Catholics where this society within a society who owed their allegiance not to the government but to their foreign ruler, much like many view US Muslims today. I'm not sure I disagree, and I'm not sure it is useful to extend the benefot of the doubt. But virtually all Catholics were mortified by the events of 1605, as I'm sure most Muslims in the US are mortified by terrorism. For better or for worse, I really doubt most people believe in their religion and simply use it as a framework for their lives and especially moral thinking. The same people who are hard-core Christians in the US would have been hard-core Muslims had they been born in Egypt, so toleration is the norm for them because they do seek that sense of security and feel that underlying affinity for their psychological kinsmen. But then, I am not religious and certainly would never preach tolerance. Quite the opposite; as I discuss in my book, to tolerate means to accept that which one knows to be wrong, and I do not have any sympathy for that whatsoever. The problem is that religion retards a person's sense from learning to distinguish between what is right and what is wrong.

That's the first time Mark and Trish had seen each other in 17 years. What a great New Wave moment. Love how that girl in the background totally does not understand why I am taking a picture. It's not about you, sweetheart!

I've taken to carrying my digital camera around, because one time I passed by the Strand and there was a hilarious sign in the window. I thought I would never see it again, but they've framed it and hung it up in the store. But you don't have to go to 12th Avenue; you can see it here!

I went to Gary's house today; he was the keyboardist for the band and "the only Jewish Cowboy besides Kinky Friedman." There's a Simpsons/Dustin Hoffman reference here, too, but if you don't get it, you don't get it. I got pictures of the buttons Bob (the leader of the RR pack) had made in the day under the brand name of Nourishing Adventures. They were all these kitschy '50s images with funny slogans, the best being "I'm crazy about my mental illness." These were from '78-'80, mind you. He was such a pioneer that the style has since had time to become hip and then lame.

Got an email from Caren Lissner, who is my superior seeing as how she got a book deal already for her quasi-eponymous novel Carrie Pilby. But she gets minus points for emailing me at randfanatic@michaelmalice.com, instead of the superior randroid@michaelmalice.com. So I suppose at least one person reads this site, although I can't really imagine why. But then, no one in the band knows why I care about Rubber Rodeo either. Trish: "You have to get something straight. We did not have a following. All of our gigs sucked." Wave good-bye to Caren, Trish.

I had one of the most amazing days of my life today, just really wonderful without being intense. That perfect smooth high that we all reach for. "Easy" Mark Tomeo, pedal steel player for Rubber Rodeo (as well as for the Badlees and the Gun Club), came into town and I spend a total of 8 hours with the guy. I picked his brain and walking around Manhattan--which I absolutely love to do. Then we had drinks with Trish, the first time they had seen each other since 1985. It was something else. I finally understand her, I finally understand her relationship with Bob, and all my instincts with regards to this screenplay were confirmed. I am really, truly nailing the screenplay, and when they started remembering events and people exactly as I had posited them in my writing I was delighted. Afterwards she gave me a call and we ended up talking for like 90 minutes. What a fascinating woman, and it's so funny to me that they could have all been easily famous, if things just happened to fall their way. (And then I wouldn't be the only one obsessing over these people!)

One of the funnier moments was when she jokingly chastised me for knowing too much about the band, and Mark jumped in with a "Yeah, you really need to get a life." I also bought a Butterfly Jones CD which Mark swore I would love. Pics and more to come later.

Learned tonight that Rena Sofer, who was the primary visual inspiration for my Lucifer, is joining the cast of Just Shoot Me this fall. Since David Spade is my unbiological Dad, this will be very cool. In fact, here is the exact picture I had in mind.

And now it's time for fun with numerology. The 3 most important Presidents--Washington, Lincoln and FDR--were each elected exactly 72 years apart (1788, 1869, 1932).

In addition, every President elected on a year divisible by 20 has died in office, from 1840 on. William Henry Harrison died in 1841; Lincoln was assassinated in 1865; James Garfield was assassinated in 1881; McKinley was assassinated in 1901; Warren Harding died in 1923; FDR (there is a God) did not see his 4th term completed, dying in 1945; JFK in 1963. Reagan was the 1st exception to this macabre pattern, surviving an assassination attempt that brought a bullet within an inch or so from his heart.

If these patterns hold true, it will mean that W will not serve out his term, and that whoever wins the 2004 Presidential election will have a major, major impact on US Government. So when President Hillary, La duchessa, sends in her whiteshirts to seize complete power, you will have read it here first.

Unless you think this number stuff is crap, like I do.

Received in the mail a screenplay written in the 60s, with handwritten editorial notes by Ayn Rand. This beauty cost me quite a lot of money, although as my friend Stephie pointed out a) I make money so I should enjoy it and b) it's not entirely liquid but it's still an investment. And that's very true, I'm sure the resale value would be very decent on this. But getting that money order still hurt! I'll be putting pictures up tomorrow.

And yet somehow I'm not very thrilled by this latest purchase. Probably more excited about Mark on Wednesday. Writers' block no longer an issue with Curse of the Rubber Rodeo; I was cracking myself up this morning as a scene came to me.

Woke up at 2AM to the sounds of trashing and splashing in the living room. Were the clingfish having sex again? No, my lobster had done some sort of aquatic gymnastics and ended up hanging upside down, attached to the tank lid.

Finished Johnny Tremain yesterday. Not too impressed. It read to me like how I imagine children's fiction in Russia would be, this common boy taking part in the Revolution. Glory to the Revolution! In fact, it would take only minor changes to make it set in Moscow, 1917. The homoeroticism between Johnny and Rab seemed almost glaringly obvious, although perhaps in the '40s that idea was so out there that people could write about men/boys loving each other and not worry that what they were saying would be misconstrued into something more.