Guest Literary Critic: Hugo Chavez

Thank you to the Justin and The Concept of Irony for allowing me to speak to the American People on a topic which is so near and dear to my heart:Good Books. That the Justin would allow me to do this at the end of a week devoted to the banning of books, is a testament to Justin’s Fine Sense of what Waynce C. Booth would call “Localized, Stable Irony.”

I wanted to take the opportunity to mention several more must reads for Americans.

First, I have to plug a book I am very proud of: ‘Uncle Hugo’s American Bed Time Stories.’ These stories have been selected by me, Hugo Chavez, for their simple entertainment value and straightforward morals.

This is neither the time nor the place to get into debates that have been going since Plato’s Republic and Aristotle’s Poetics outlined what counts as good art (both books all Americans should read.) No, I will save that for my next book club at the UN. But I believe that the stories in this collection have all of the characteristics that bed time stories should have: a sense of luminous wholeness, intertextuality that reminds us of our literary tradition and of course references to generative grammar.

Second, 'The Adventures of Huck Finn' and I would very much recommend reading the new Vintage edition. The good folks at Vintage have asked me to write a preface and in it I discuss the significance of the book for the American People. While the influence of the New Historicism on my methods is obvious, I do think the little essay I wrote (342 pages) will be invaluable reading for any American who wants to understand American humor in its historical context.

Finally, I am very disappointed that I am not able to recommend the McSweeney's Book of Lists. Perhaps the most essential list the American people could read has not been included.

In Which Justin Gets All Emotional.

In the last episode of COI, I told you that I was going to draw more on my emotions and I will not let you down. As I search inside of me, I find myself possessed by incredible fear. Specifically, a fear of rats.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tail. Oh, no. Just a cord from my television.

What's that in the corner of my other eye? Phew! Just a rolled up sock. Another close call. My nerves are getting shot. Which is hard on me, becausee nerves are the physiological basis of emotions.

Holy! I definitely see something on the chair. Sorry. My brain processes visual stimuli phonetically.






I don’t mean to alarm anyone but my building is not simply infested with rats, it is infested with shapeshifting rats.

And emotion wise that makes me sad. But also intriguied.



JUSTIN'S WED. PICK OF BOOKS THAT SHOULD BE BANNED!









I admit, not techinally a book, but I was running out of book titles.
Happy Banned Book Week!

A Manifesto.

I am endlessly grateful for those who have been a source of encouragement to me. Many of you, I’ve never met, while others of you I wish I never met.

But the time has come where I would like to be known as more than a “Clever” writer. I know that I have set myself up as a “Clever” writing. Like that little twist I threw in the second sentence of this post, about how "others of you I wish I never met.” I’m always doing witty stuff like that.

Consequently, people are always saying to me,

“Oh, you’re so witty. Hey, you’ve been working out haven’t you?”
Or
“You make the rest of us look like half-wits. And have your eyes gotten blue-er?”
Or
“Are you human or a Clever Making Machine?—Like the Terminator only programmed to be clever? And lacking the ability to time travel?”

And so on.

My friends, such comments are pleasant but there comes a time in every man's life when it becomes time to put childish things behind. A time when you realize that joking around can't protect you from life, any more than money and power can protect you from living in a rat infested penthouse.

I am having the emotions! And I want my work to reflect that. I feel stuff like the one where you feel like you wish other people are around? And other days I feel the one where you get the expression like you are tooting? And I want to share those with you. And if there is one emotion I am feeling it is the last one I mentioned. Why? Because it is Banned Books Week!

Happy Banned Books Week!

Don't forget to burn a book or at least inform on a fellow citizen-author.

JUSTIN'S MONDAY PICK OF BOOKS THAT SHOULD BE BANNED!









Long live the emotion things!

Justin, Investigative Reporter

(Thursday Evening. In the commons area. While portions of my investigations are fabricated, I've made those parts pretty obvious.)


Curtis: I have a story
Justin: (Continues Walking)

Some Girl Who Claims I am Really Not That Busy Despite the Fact that Two Hours Previous We Had What I Thought Was a Bonding Moment When We Talked About How Busy Our Respective Lives Were, But Actually it Was All A Fraud:
Wait, Listen to his story!

Justin: Yeah.
Curtis: We Killed a Rat!

Justin: A Rat?
Curtis: A Rat!

Justin:Ha, ha---Where at CWRU? Where you must be working as a lab tech?
Curtis: In the hall! Of this building! Where I am not a lab tech!

Hamlet: A rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!
Queen Gertrude: 'A rat, a rat!'

Justin (retrieving something from the penthouse’s bathroom): Is this Rat Poopie Poo?
Curtis: It is!

Michael Jackson:most people would turn you away/I don't listen to a word they say.

Justin: Rats!
Curtis: Rats!

Hamlet:Then, venom, to thy work (Stabs Michael Jackson)

Tags:
Ben; Williard; True Stories; Rats;Bubonic Plague;Hamlet Stabs Michael Jackson;

BREAKING NEWS! SCANDAL! WAR! (with congratulations to George Saunders)

The MacArthur Foundation has done it again. Each year they give 500,000 dollars to a class of fellows who are deemed highly creative and original. This fellowship is nicknamed the genius grants.

They have announced their 2006, geniuses and guess who is not in the list? ME! Again? Is that fair? Is Life fair you may ask. I know the answer, but until my genius is recognized I refuse to tell. Perhaps my genius will finally be recognized when my peops at the John D. and Catherine T. Micky-D Foundation finally give me props. This letter is one step to that happy state of affairs.

Dearest MacArthur People:

So I guess you are wondering why so many people are viewing your webpage? And what is this delightful blog that keeps directing traffic your way? Allow me to expostulate.

As an amateur genius I have taken great interest in your announcing of the Genius award each year. You can imagine my surprise when I found out for the fifth year in a row, I have been excluded (I didn't hit amateur genius status until I was 22. Obviously, I don't blame you for lack of support before then.)

I had big plans for your money.

Like Sartre’s famous rejection of the Nobel Prize I was going to compose a witty rejoinder to your acknowledgment of my previously amateur but now professional genius. Unfortunately, due too your uncouth maneuvering and posturing I am forced to renounce my plans to renounce your prize; do a complete 180 and actually start begging for the prize money only to finish off with a triple Ollie.

Obviously working in obscurity makes my life relatively difficult. On the other hand, by drawing attention to my obscurity I run the risk of being viewed as a Hypocrite (from the Greek Hypothalmus which means someone who has or possesses or is Hypocritical.)

But I will run that risk in order to speak the truth! I am willing to take $100, 000. That is only 10 percent of the usual 500,000 dollars you usually pay your geniuses! But I won’t even tell anyone that you paid me less. More bang for your buck. And believe me, you need to think about what exactly your $$$ has been going towards.

I have been analyzing at great length the accomplishments of one past recipient, David Foster Wallace. Partly because I have a non-sexual male crush on him, but also because I think it demonstrates why I would be a good candidate for an award.

After extensive research I have found that Mr. Wallace, has apparently usened your money to write works of just a few lines.









I have been way more producitve without the money! Think how much more productive I will be if you give me money so I don't have to work, sometimes up to ten hours a week!

Anyway, since I know you just hand out genius grants but aren't exactly geniuses yourselves I have included this little chart which compares me and David Foster Wallace.













I suppose the matter is settled then!

Perhaps out of a sense of consistency you feel like you need to either award me the full five hundred thousand dollars or nothing at all. Permit me to just put this out there: If you give me the full five hundred thousand dollars in 2007, I will tattoo the back of my head with “The MacArthur Foundation.” This arrangement would be mutually beneficial. I would get to live like a genius, and you would get free advertising in addition to fulfilling your important task.

Yours Sincerely,

Justin

P.S. I have been an adjunct at like 9 schools!

P.P.S. If genius is really 99 percent perspiration then I'm covered in sweat!

P.P.P.S. Don't wait until I'm too old and delusional to do anything with the money. Cough, Cough--William Gaddis!

P.P.P.P.S. But really good job on George Saunders. If you couldn't find a picture you just weren't trying hard enough.
GENIUS TAGS

MacArthur
Genius
Fellowship
Saunders

Pictures From the Saturday COI Birthday Party ( I Hope They Don't Have Red Eye, but I Can't Tell. I'm Colorblind.)

My blog's favorite cake--yellow cake! Just like his old man. I mean, I like cake too. Not that I am yellow cake. Because I'm not.

The turn out wasn't as good as I was expecting. Really it was just me, COI, an old COI drawing and anonymous. What is weird is that the poor turn out made me feel like I didn't have many friends when really it just reflects on COI. I love the kid, but he is a bit of a dork.

Honestly, I am a little worried about anonymous. He is a heavy drinker.



Anonymous and the Old COI Drawing both had several shots of beer. It was just more then they could take.

It is wonderful to have such a considerate blog. Little COI gave anonymous some cake for the road. I'm sure glad they are getting along.
But, Anonymous, if you don't return my tupperware, COI is going to cut you like a fish.

Birthday Wishes/Reflections for Concept of Irony (Note: This is the printable version.)

Tomorrow, as you already know unless you are crazy or wicked, Concept of Irony turns the big 1. As you also know I too have a birthday coming up in two months. As I have thought about my own mortality, that I won't be around forever, I thought about how my little Concept of Irony is just beginning to make its way into the world. Like Sophocles nearing the end of his life and writing "Oedipus at Colonus", so I too would like to gather my powers and contemplate the mysteries of the beginning and end of life.

This Sophoclean/Herculean task is why today's post is a smidge longer than usual. If you don't read it, then who needs you.

(1)
Wait! I hope you are not turned off by my pseudo-egotism. I really, really want you to read my ponderous post. Even if you don't, it is totally fine with me. But creative wise I felt like maybe a few more lines would be right on this day. Not because I want to keep you from reading it or that if you don't read my post than I don't want to be friends anymore. Because I want to be friends!

Honestly, I was kind of hoping that you would think I am a bold and fearless artist who must speak and speak and speak even in spite of the risk of turning off my fans, because that is just how bold and fearless I am.

If I thought that being aggressive would turn you off I wouldn't have said anything. I just would have said,

Tomorrow Concept of Irony Turns One. And you are all invited to his birthday party.

I mean the whole mock self-importance thing worked for Dave Egger's In A Heart Breaking Work of Staggering Genius. But exaggerated self-importance is so not me. I am about speaking plainly and honestly about life. If you couldn't see that I was slightly swerving from my usual straight talk to spice things up with bold rhetoric, then I am sorry. Really, really sorry.

(2)
When I was a kid my Mom said,"You should be a comedian. She meant it sincerely. Not in the everybody is a comedian way.

"But I don't know any jokes," I said.

"Just tell people about your life" she said. "They'll laugh."

(3)
I mean, I think to myself, "I don't feel like I'm old enough to have a one year old blog. But there he is. The girl blogs are going to go crazy for him." And while COI is a source of endless pride, I know that there are going to be tough times ahead.

I don't want people to laugh at him no matter how succesfully it would make him in the blogosphere.

I say to COI: No, My son, if jokes are going to be told at anyone's expense it should be at mine. Things are winding down for me, but things are just beginning for you. If someone has to be the butt of a joke, let it be me.

After putting COI to bed for the evening, his craddle in sleep mode, I think about how he tries so hard to be serious. I pray that he turns out to be a comedy, and not a tragedy. Even if it is a comedy about me.

(4)

Will Dr. House cure his limp? The answer is of course no. Anyone, who has read Jung knows that a genius doctor will never be able to cure himself. Yoda masters the force but still needs a cane. Sherlock Holmes can solve any mystery but can't beat his cocaine addiction. Everyone great is limited only by themselves.

One of these days COI is going to want a little more substance. Enough with the references to Kitchen Appliances, my lil' slugger will say. Life is too short to spend it making jokes all the time.

I have thought long and hard about the tragic flaw that I will put into Concept of Irony.

What if instead of allowing COI to poke fun of me, I allowed him to reveal one of my flaws? What weakness could I give myself? Perhaps an ailment that would create sympathy for me? And maybe even encourage a little bit of tolerance for me when I make mistakes? Something that would make my really impressive accomplishments seem really, really, really, really impressive.

I've come up with it.

And I will reveal it. Soon. After a little more reminiscing. Cut me some slack. I have one foot in the grave and my lil' Slugger is turning one. These are emotionally turbulent times.


(5)
I want COI's birthday party to rock. Let me tell you what that means to me.

According to my internet research I must have been 9 years old when I saw U2's "Where the Streets Have No Name" video on MTV. I distinctly remember the first time I saw it, because in the video U2 gives a rooftop performance and the screen cuts to police officers who are obviously concerned about the legality and public safety issues involved in a bunch of Rock Stars putting on an impromptu rooftop concert.

As a c. 9 year old I felt like this was a volatile situation. I felt no differently than if I was watching the news. I felt U2 were outlaws, practically tearing down all that holds society together.

(6)

I promised I would reveal the secret ailment, which even my incredible powers can't overcome: I'm colorblind! That's right, despite my incredible powers of observation, I am unable to see the full spectrum of colors. See the irony?

Don't you relate to me at a more human level?

Haven't I become more of a brother to you? Unless you are Lisa. Then don't you feel bad for giving me a hard time. I've been colorblind all these years!

Now the whole world knows my terrible, tragic secret. And no more am I simply the butt of jokes. I am a symbol of suffering. I am something for COI to be serious about.

(7)
Soon, I saw the U2 video again, and I understood it was artifice. I knew it was rebelliousness staged and the rebeliousness of the boys from Dublin was no different then what David Copperfield did.

I wanted to be a rock star. I wanted to put on roof top concerts and persuade other people that I was a rebel, doing exactly as I pleased.

COI's Birthday party is going to rock! And you are all invited!

(8)
At the door to my penthouse is a copy of a cartoon from the New Yorker. It is from leaner times, when I couldn't afford to buy original art work. It pictures a man dressed for work, standing at the door with briefcase in hand, saying to his wife, "Wait a minute. Where I am going? I'm a writer."

I have no idea why anyone would think this is funny. But it is a reminder that no matter how stupid you are you can get stuff published in the New Yorker. And that is a nice thought to have.

Sometimes, I think about the life I would live as New Yorker Author. I would be liked and respected and well-paid.

It would all be artifice, but still I would try to assure the police officers that everything was going to be O.K.

I feel a little guilty thinking about that just before COI turns One.

(9)
These days, people often presume to tell me what sort of person I will become. They don't tell me that I won't meet many eligible girls in my home office or that I won't meet many peers if you go to bed early so as to awake at 5:00. They tell me that I will soon become the crazy old man that kids on the street are afraid of.

I don't know why they feel free to share their unsolicited opinions with me. Could it be because I'm color blind? Probably.

I smile and nod sending the message that I know that there is some truth in it, and oh my how I'm a little embarrassed that they've uncovered such a personal secret. Maybe I comment that they have the powers of Sherlock Holmes or at least his Cocaine problem.

But always there is an awkward pause and then I go get the framed New Yorker cartoon. The one with the caption "Wait a minute. Where am I going? I'm a writer"

And then I beat my interlocutor to a bloody pulp with it.

I feel better and thankfully my lawyers can pull the "He Meant it as a Metaphor" defense in their sleep.

In fact I believe that the last time I saw one of them give that defense I think he might have been asleep.

Larry better hope I never find a New Yorker cartoon about lawyers and frame it.

(10)
I'm never going to tell Lil' Killer what he is going to be when he grows up.

There are a number of things I was going to continue on about, but I have to make a dash for the door.

I've got me some professoring to do.

Hope to see you at the COI Birthday Bash.

And if for some unholy reason you can't make it to the COI Birthday Bash, I hope to see you Monday.

I'm sure Spanky will handle the terrible two's with the grace that was seen in his character during year one. But it would be easier if you were there to help.

If you were thinking of abandoning my blog, DON'T! Remember, it takes a Village to Raise a Blog.

Don't leave me and my lil' Champ. We won't make it on our own. You can't leave. I'M COLOR BLIND!

Those Blocks.

I was going to write a hysterical post on some concrete blocks that are in the backyard. They just sit there and I don't know why. But I think I was trying to find comic potential where there really wasn't any.

For that reason, I think it might be better if you just looked at this newly published work.

I Promise This Will Be One of the Last Posts Involving a Picture of a Urinal: A Post Inspired by Modern Artsy Fartsy People.

Apparently in contemporary art it is appropriate to display something as your own if you picked it out.

Today's post is from "A Nice Place to Dig" I found it while reading her blog. And then I pulled the classic cut and paste. It is an explanation of why she is in love with Mathematician Grigori Perelman. It reminded me of happier times.

Friday, August 25, 2006
All I Know Is That It's Love
Bela and Helen have asked why I think Grigori Perelman and I would make a great couple. The reasons, though perhaps subtle in nature, are valid and numerous. We have lots in common.

1. He’s a brilliant Mathmatician + I’m a brilliant Poet = we’re both brilliant
2. He turned down the Fields Medal + I’ve never posted my brilliant poetry in my blog = neither of us care if others know how brilliant we are
3. He turned down a million dollars + I gave up my trustfund = we’re both content to live like normal, unbrilliant people
4. He was offered a prestigious prize in Mathamatics+ I was featured on the jumbo-tron while drinking 1 + 3 Pink Panty Pulldowns at a Vols game = we’ve both been recognized by a committee of people who were formed to find other people
5. He has a Candidate of Science Degree + I have a Master of Fine Arts Degree = neither of us have a real PhD

And last but not least…

Sometimes you just can't explain why you love someone...especially if you've never met them. I will just say this: my devotion is fierce, and sometimes it's best if its directed at people who don't know me and aren't in any real danger of meeting me.
posted by Pepper Medley at 1:26 PM
*

Thanks, Modern Art! And best wishes to Grigori and Pepper.

COI Calls It In: Standardized Blogging Form 27B Stroke 6

Coi, Out.

Anonymous of the Comments, Here.

Justin said that revealing myself is the right thing to do. But, this is hard for me. I probably should be in therapy.

You see, I am very afraid that people will see me for what I am-- an 18 inch Teddy Bear. I am afraid that if I post under my name, Teddy, then people will dismiss me. I know how humans are with their pride of having opposable thumbs. So what, even if I had thumbs or any fingers rather than just nubs, I wouldn't go around belittling those whose entire anatomy consists of circles and ovals.

I am a straight shooter, and I say the things that other people are afraid to say. I am exactly like Dr. House. People don't dismiss him because they know that his scathing wit is inseparable from his genius. Well, just try separating my scathing wit from my nubs! It can't be done. This is who I am.

But some of you take it the wrong way.

A lot of you think that I have a giant ego. Justin forwarded those emails to me. Well, I have a confession. That giant ego is not the real me. It is actually a device my mind has created for its own self-protection. If you were to peel back that giant ego, you would find a much more modestly sized ego. This ego can definitely hold its own and if pushed into a corner would take your ego out. But it does tend to rust when exposed to the elements. Hence the need to protect itself with a larger ego--and thick coating of anonymity. Even though I admit that it is kind of cowardly.

I want to thank Justin for the opportunity to address you directly. What a great guy. I feel like I am a much better stuffed animal than I was before.

Oh the Pains of Labor Day!: A Very Somber Posting that Contains the Ol' Eulogy Within a Eulogy Structure.

I have rejoined your time frame. Not because I need to give into peer pressure, but because I have a day off and I can spend my morning recording my leisurely thoughts.

Despite rejoining the Common Man's Temporal Settings, I still feel like I am just slightly out of step with the Times. Today marks the day when good Americans celebrate the literally hundreds of times that people have been born as the end result of painful labor.

While I'm all for celebrating labor we must not forget that while lots of people are born some die too.

I was reminded of this painful truth, just last Friday when I lost one of my closest friends, Bartleby the ipod. Bartleby was always there for me and could hold 30 gig of songs and Saturday Night Live Clips. In August alone there were three incidents where Bartleby kept me company late into the night.

While I was trying to deal with the loss of Bartleby, surrounded by caring support staff, I thought of another person I lost.

Neil Postman. Not that he was a real friend like Bartleby, but he was a friend through the books he wrote.

Neil Postman wrote books of cultural criticism and media theory.He argued that Technology doesn't always increase our options, but sometimes limits our options. In a lecture he talked about how he wanted to buy a new car without power windows--as a professor he didn't get much exercise and anyway he never found it that difficult to roll down the window. But the standardized developments meant that he couldn't get a new car without what he considered unnecessary features.

I thought about how my friend Bartleby had been a source of joy, but it also occurred to me that he limited my options: forcing me to organize books on tape to keep my brain going when maybe it needs some time off and filling brief bits of solitude which could have been devoted to spiritual and intellectual refinement with music (even if it is really first rate music, like the Best of Queen.)

I was thinking about all that Neil Postman had taught me as I stood waiting in the Apple Store. And then the guy from Apple told me that Bartleby would be replaced. I have to admit that I dislike Apple's attempts to prevent Billy Gates from taking over the world and yet at that moment I felt like I owed Steve Jobs my life.

Today, I will do my best to remember that while Bartleby is gone, it is through--and I mean this in a very metaphorical sense--labor that I have been given a brand new friend: Finnegan, the Brand New Ipod.

Of course, that doesn't mean that I have forgotten about Neil or the lessons about how Technology something, something, something. But it is a pleasant thought to know that while Neil is gone, through labor in Today's National Holiday Sense another great thinker may be given to us.

Justin v. The Universe

Virtually every generation has a small group of thinkers who challenge the ideas of society.

Did you know that, for example, before Copernicus approx. 10 philosophers challenged the widely held belief that the sun is the center of the universe?

Because I knew that. But the reason I bring it up is that there have always been a group of thinkers who are eventually proven right. The question today is whether The Wed. Commenters are such revolutionary thinkers as they try to challenge my understanding of what day it is? Or are they just a bunch of No-Good-Nicks?

The claim they were collectively making is that was I was posting on a day other than the day the post was marked. Specifically, they claimed my Wed. Post was from Tuesday Night!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“SWEET GUENIVERE” for example claims I was taking evasive actions to avoid being called a liar. Read her name again for a blatant example of Irony! (Guinevere betrays King Arthur in the Arthurian legends, which is ironic, because now she is betraying me and I am not a King anywhere except in my home which is both figuratively and literally a castle.)

Meanwhile, the Notorious Quilly pours salt in my wound, by pointing out that my being unstuck in time is going to interfere with my finding True Love. Honestly, if some one loves you unconditionally than how can they require that you be in the same Time Continuum?

I don’t mean to be off topic but maybe some of you have heard of Einstein?

And Einstein’s Twins Paradox? Where two twins age at different rates? Why? Because there is no universal time. Which means that it could very well be that I am for example traveling closer than the speed of light than the rest of you. The lesson being, don’t go challenging me about time.

You can trust me about scientifical issues. After all I am a frequent contributor to the Science Creative Quarterly. And if that page is any indicator, I am also a great poet (With apologies to actual poets.)

See you Monday.