Michael Malice title

Had a great sushi dinner with Pal Janet last night. She already knows who she wants to pitch Tanked to. I'm so grateful to her and Caren Pilby for all the 'hand-holding'. What I realized is that I have no idea what is and what isn't interesting about the aqaurium to other people. I mean, does anyone care that clams are breeding in my tank? Because they are.


Momma and baby.

Please keep those entries to Overheard in New York coming!

Thanks to Laughing Boy for sending me the following passage from Theodore Roosevelt's Ranch Life and the Hunting-Trail. To paraphrase St. Ayn, after reading this section I've lifted TR several rungs in Hell.

"I had with me at the time a hunter who, though their equal as marksman or woodsman, was their exact opposite morally. He was a pleasant companion and useful assistant, being very hard-working, and possessing a temper that never was ruffled by anything. He was also a good-looking fellow, with honest brown eyes; but he no more knew the difference between right and wrong than Adam did before the fall. Had he been at all conscious of his wickedness, or had he possessed the least sense of
shame, he would have been unbearable as a companion; but he was so perfectly pleasant and easy, so good-humoredly tolerant of virtue in others, and he so wholly lacked even a glimmering suspicion that murder, theft, and adultery were matters of anything more than individual taste, that I actually grew to be rather fond of him. He never related any of his past deeds of wickedness as matters either for boastfulness or for regret; they were simply repeated incidentally in the course of conversation. Thus once, in speaking of the profits of his different enterprises, he casually mentioned making a good deal of money as a Government scout in the South-west by buying cartridges from some negro troops at a cent apiece and selling them to the hostile Apaches for a dollar each. His conduct was not due to sympathy with the Indians, for it appeared that later on he had taken part in massacring some of these same Apaches when they were prisoners. He brushed aside as irrelevant one or two questions which I put to him: matters of sentiment were not to be mixed up with a purely mercantile speculation. Another time we were talking of the curious angles bullets sometimes fly off at when they ricochet. To illustrate the matter he related an experience which I shall try to give in his own words. 'One time, when I was keeping a saloon down in New Mexico, there was a man owed me a grudge. Well, he took sick of the small-pox, and the doctor told him he'd sure die, and he said if that was so he reckoned he'd kill me first. So he come a-riding in with his gun [in the West a revolver is generally called a gun] and begun shooting; but I hit him first, and away he rode. I started to get on my horse to follow him; but there was a little Irishman there who said he'd never killed a man, and he begged hard for me to give him my gun and let him go after the other man and finish him. So I let him go; and when he caught up, blamed if the little cuss didn't get so nervous that he fired off into the ground, and the darned bullet struck a crowbar, and glanced up, and hit the other man square in the head and killed him! Now, that was a funny shot, wasn't it?'"

The Etiquette of Evil

Epic Diyom has posted a thought provoking post on his site about movie theater etiquette. Someday I would very much like to write a book on manners for the modern man. I think proper behavior is extremely important, and it is the difference between anarchy and chaos. Epic mentions that a cop confronted him at the end of the film and insisted he leave, despite Epic wanting to watch the credits. There are several quips I have at the ready for dealing with the low rent who breach etiquette, each of which shortcharges their brains. They must be said calmly; Morlocks, like dogs, operate on a visceral level and that confusing split second between a Morlock reacting to your placid demeanor and realizing the meaning of your violent comment adds to their distress.

In no order:

"How have you screwed up your life that you have this position?"
"When you die, will that have any effect on society?"
"You know, for a talking dog you're very poorly trained."
"There's a reason that some people work in the office and some people work the door."
"Does it bother you that to know that for the rest of your life you're going to be worried about money? What's that like?"
"How does it feel to be just one social class above the homeless?"
"Honestly now, can you imagine a scenario where your children are bragging about you?"
"Please don't touch me. I'll be smelling like poor for a week."
"I don't like your tone, boy. You speak to your betters with respect and courtesy. Now let's try that again."
"Let me guess. You like NASCAR."
"Al Bundy has a house. Do you have a house?"

If someone is anything other than a WASP male, you can have REAL fun with them. Women, for example:
"How many abortions would you say you've had, roughly?"
"Something smells. Are you on your menses?"
"That shirt really accentuates your breasts. They're lovely."
"You'd be attractive if you lost like 15 pounds."

The key, like in good comedy, is the cognitive dissonance between the horribly vile statement and the intellectual, professional delivery. There's nothing funnier than seeing some alleged authority figure lose their shit in .5 seconds. And I have yet to come across anyone with remotely a poker face to cover up their reaction.

Cool!

Went to see American Splendor (3); very weird to see a film knowing people who worked on it. The biggest problem I had with it was that I found Harvey Pekar to be an absolutely despicable human being on many levels. It's all well and good to bitch about yuppies and corporations but if you can't be bothered to lift a finger to improve your situation you can't in fairness complain that The Man is keeping working stiffs down. And the fact that his whole agenda in becoming a writer is to make some $ puts him on a moral equivalency with the most loathsome yuppie. What a hypocrite.

At The Mountains of Madness


"I don't think these lifts are working."

Yesterday a dream of mine came true as I was officially initiated into the Jinx Project. Our objective was Roosevelt Island's abandoned mental institution. Heading the mission were Jinx Directors (and authors of Invisible Frontier) LB Deyo and Lefty Leibowitz, joined by Agent Duncan, Tibbie X, et al. The weeds surrounding the location were taller than I. Lyme disease be damned, we pushed our way past and worked our way inside. I gave a boost to Director Deyo and, in true Good Soldier fashion, felt privileged to wear his shoeprint on my lapel for the rest of the evening.

The building itself was hollowed and enormous. Remains of an elevator and spiral staircases were evident, as well, as chunks of the tiled floors and pieces of broken mirrors. I cut my hand trying to climb. "Fiddle dee dee," I mumbled. "That will require a tetanus shot." My Simpsons reference was lost on my cohorts, though I wager that I will have the last laugh shortly before my jaws lock.

I will leave the description of the mission to the pros, for it is difficult for me to express what it feels like to be in such a huge, forbidden place. For many people the building had been the last moment of freedom that they would ever experience; a freedom that was left for us to rediscover last night.


The agents gather intelligence.


LB endeavors to set his throne above that of the Most High.


"What's that, magic doorway? You want me to kill everyone?"


O'er the ramparts.

About 10 years ago I was talking to the guy at Petland Discounts on Brighton Beach. His friend had gotten a wholesaler's license and we were discussing rare fish I wanted that Petland would never carry. Or something, I don't remember.

What I do remember is this.

I came back the next day to return something and his manager, this ugly gnome woman, says to me, "You can't hang out here today. We're very busy." I thought to myself, You are garbage. You work for minimum at Petland and you think you're behind some velvet rope? How dare you speak that way to your customer and superior?

There exists a natural caste system in society that many would like to ignore or deny but its effects are very very real, and acting in awareness of it is not the same as endorsing it. I just went to the Petland near me and this gnome was working there now. 10 years later and she's managing a f-ing chain pet store. And I'm just petty enough that I still want to mess things up for her, big time.

Like when I got the security guard fired for not knowing his place.

Good times.

Malice v. PetCo

I went to PetCo to grab some Silver Mollies to cycle the tank (a biological filter needs to build for 1 month and you need hardy disposable fish to start the cycle).

Cashier: What did you get?
Malice: Silver mollies. I need to cycle my tank after the blackout.
Cashier: Oh, all your fish died?
Malice: Except the angler.
Cashier: What are these for?
Malice: They're going to cycle the tank for a month. Then they're going to be for food for other fish.

She looked at me like I was a monster, even though a) there is nothing unnatural about one fish eating another and b) silver mollies are a man-made strain and hence an abomination in the eyes of the Lord.

If Lucifer Loves Me So Much,
Then Why Are All My Fish Dead?

Monday I dropped off the manuscript. Tuesday I get the great call from Pal Janet. She likes the first 50 pp., and so does her blue-eyed crony. The Pre-producer hasn't read the RR screenplay yet.

All well and good, even great. But then yesterday I realized that I would have to go back to work at some point, since it will take me at the very very least 3 more months to finish Tanked. The Summer of Malice is over. Now I am dreading looking for work: the market is picking up but still annoying, I don't want a pay cut, I feel a little weird about calling an old consulting firm after the last project ended so horribly.

I get home and there's the firm I worked with ~January on the answerphone. "Always good to get a call from a pretty blonde," I tell my contact. WTF is my problem? They have a position for me starting in mid-September. Rate unknown but sure to be decent. This shit keeps falling into my lap. I am such a guy; no appreciation for any of it. It's all about the chase.

So I grabbed a kindergartener and set him loose in my building. I caught him pretty quick, only barely stuffing him in the freezer. But at least, for once, I caught something. (Besides chlamydia).

Adventures of an Absinthe Dilettante

Let me save everyone a lot of time. I did a couple of hours of research on absinthe (ah, the joys of unemployment), and the consensus of the absinthe afficionados is that the best, truest absinthe available is Emile, from Absinthe Online.

I got the three-flask sampler. At $87 shipped it might seem exorbitant but you only live once. I tried the Emile Sapin, saving the regular Emile and the Emile Blanche for later. Supposedly you need a slotted spoon but I went all ghetto fabulous and bought a slotted spatula, which is perfect because you can turn it upside down and it balances itself across the glass. Into the glass you pour one shot of the absinthe. You put a sugar cube (I put two) across the slotted, uh, spoon. Then you drip--not pour, drip--ice cold water into the glass. I had a cup of water filled with ice cubes, which worked perfectly. The reason you need cold water is for the louche, which is a cloud within the absinthe that is formed and which looks very cool. Warmer water doesn't louche as well, apparently. Do this until it's four parts (=shots) of water to one part absinthe. This should take a while to do.

Absinthe's taste is anise (licorice) based, which is to me the vilest taste on earth. It does not have a strong taste when diluted like I did, but I hate licorice so much that it made it hard to drink. You're not going to get the legendary effects ("secondaries") off of one shot, and I didn't. But the stuff does have a very strong effect, and it was much more like being stoned than being buzzed. Visually things looked a little crisper, like K but nowhere near as strong.

To be continued...

Absinthe of Malice

9:45 AM. The buzzer rings, thrice. I jolt awake. "Who is it?" I mutter into the speaker. It's the courier, and courier means that the Green Fairy has flown into town. As I'm scrambling to throw on pants and a shirt the phone rings. I am so discombobulated that I am no longer aware of what century I am in. Which is appropriate, I suppose. It's like I'm on some awful game show, all bells and buzzers while the drugged contestant has to get dressed in the dark.

But who cares, because the absinthe is here!

Headed off to see the boring 28 Days Later (1 1/2) yesterday; a rip-off of the superior 80s version Night of the Comet.

Today I dropped off Tanked at Pal Janet's office. The lit agents welcomed me to help myself to any of the stacks of books there. Jew+bibliophile=me in overload. Nabbed three. Reminded me back of the Cato Institute days where they told us we interns could help ourselves. We looted that place, hard. I may have been the only one to show any restraint; I never failed to spot unopened copies of Eco-scam at associates' homes. I was also tickled to watch the youngest agent rip through the submisisons pile, taking more time to get the items out of envelopes than to actually assess their value. She was like some sexy dream-crushing robot that takes someone's hopes and dreams and recycles them into Pepsi.

Then I went to the Argosy Bookstore to buy a 2 vol. 1913 (signed!) copy of the freethought classic, A History of the Warfare of Science and Theology in Christendom. At $25 they were only $4 more than the in-print paperback. Bonus: the autographee's bookmark was still in place, a 1931 postcard invite to some NYC maritime law group.

UPDATE: Somewhere in my house is a photo of me and Christian Robey looting said bookroom, but I can't find it with the other Cato photos. Someone is gonna get shot for this.

Read a bio of Benedict Arnold, pretty boring life. Am I really going to be the first to write about a character who turns traitor for the sake of turning traitor? Is there no one who posited a figure who, say, betrayed his allies out of a sense of 'independence'? People don't write good villains...