Pop Philosophy

People keep asking me what my novel's about. I have no idea. To find out, I would have to reread what I've written, and that would be a big mistake. Don't look back, that's my motto. So what if I've forgotten the protagonist's dog's name or in which grade he lost his virginity? Fact checking can only slow me down. Besides, if I take even the smallest peek, I will immediately realize what a malodorous piece of trash I have created. Then I'll have to give up and return to the banal, non-novel-writing world of dishwashing, grocery buying, and daily bathing.

Next week: My Thanksgiving vacation, or How I used turkey-induced melancholy and family squabbles to catch up on my word count.

A tab named ChadAs we go to press, it seems more and more likely that George Dubbya will be our next president. Like many people, I've learned a lot from this historic episode. Such as: Inanimate objects can get pregnant, former Secretary of State Warren Christopher has really interesting eyebrows, lawyer-in-demand David Boies wears his watch over his shirt so he doesn't have to waste time adjusting the cuff, the reason there's so much time between election and inauguration has to do with the forefathers traveling by horse, and the morning anchorwoman on MSNBC models her fashions after sensitive nerd-girl singer Lisa Loeb.

In honor of Dubbya's slow crawl to the White House, we're instituting a new weekly feature: the song of the week. From now on, we will be putting a new (occasionally relevant, occasionally just plain great) tune up on our Web site. Our inaugural song is, aptly enough, Witchy Poo's "Fuck the President." Of course, the tune takes on a whole new meaning when you realize it was written during Bill Clinton's administration.