'Bred Crumbs

I'm the Butt of an Author's Jokes! I'm the Butt of an Author's Jokes!

So about a month ago, I completely forgot to add to this blog another episode of Christopher Moore Is Damn Funny. And this would have been a live version, too. The author I've touted before came to San Francisco for a book signing and what the book industry technically defines as a "reading," though he didn't. Read, I mean. Which was fine, and I'll come back to.

Anyway, I forgot to document the occasion, which is also fine, because the author did, and he's about a hundred times funnier. Moore had an assistant take pics of everyone as they came up for his autograph, and now the gallery is up on his website. Not only will you see my pal April and/or me three times, but mocktastic MST3Kish captions are attached. (Use the "[more...]" links to scroll through the pics randomly, looking for "Tim" or "April" in the captions, or use the search function and pick the date of 6/28 to get to a thumbnail page. Hey, he's a writer, not a UI expert.)

(Note that I'm also the "ruining that book" guy, though that's really not what I was thinking then. Well, mostly not. I was mostly thinking, Can I say anything to this guy without coming off as a mush-for-brains celebrity drooler-over? The jury is out.)

Also, make sure to check out Moore's photographic take on his first visit to a Pride Parade the day before. (Look for it in the Location search box.)

The tour was for the paperback edition of his newest-so-far novel, Fluke. The reason Moore said he doesn't read from his books live is because he reads too fast and has trouble resisting the urge to edit on the fly. That's OK, because what he provides instead, besides hilarity out the whale sphincter (Fluke ref), is good book-industry gossip and stories (like the time he impersonated a famous, recently cranky science fiction author at a book fair), behind-the-scenes tales from his research (fun fact: real scientists hate it when you hum the National Geographic TV theme while they unpack their science stuff) and other heightened goofiness.

Moore had good news for us, the slavishly devoted. Besides his next book coming out later this year, The Stupidest Angel: A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror, two new novels set in San Francisco will follow that, the second of these being a sequel to Bloodsucking Fiends. For those of you who aren't instantly excited about that, all seven of his novels up to now are out in reasonably priced paperback, and you can catch up quick.

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Correction 08.01: Butt. That was the word I was looking for in the headline. Butt.

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Amish in the Shitty

What would happen if you took five young adults who had lived all their lives following the ways of the Amish and helped them spend some time experiencing Los Angeles? Possibly, an interesting, enlightening documentary that taught viewers not just about the Amish but about themselves.

But what would happen if you took five young adults who had lived all their lives following the ways of the Amish – and moved them into a house in Los Angeles that they had to share with a clump of Real World rejects whose idiocy and self-centeredness are so egregious that they might as well carve KICK HERE into their teeth? You'd have UPN's Amish in the City, which premiered tonight and became unwatchable in less than half an hour.

Ah, don't give me the maybe-the-hip-kids-grow-and-change-too spiel. How 'bout for once we give that chance to grow and change to someone who isn't a tofu-for-brains trendoid trying desperately to get a Fashion Week runway gig or stage time with Ryan Seacrest (whose inexplicable ominpresence is, at last, about to shrink)? Really, I can instantly think of at least a dozen young, attractive people I know whom you could move into a house with Amish folk of a like age and see a smart, healthy, hearty, fun, and fascinating connection unfold. But in a network executive's reptilian eyes, it wouldn't be good TV, because the viewers have sent the networks a clear message: give us more stupid, shallow, greedy, conniving, talentless loudmouths.

Speaking of which: among the many unappealing programs slated for MTVco's new gay network is one that includes Kathy Griffin, whom the network's press release describes as "every gay man's best friend."

What? What? Who decided this? No one asked me. Let me proclaim it clearly: not only is D-level pseudo-celebrity Kathy Griffin not this gay man's best friend, she is someone I don't want to see in my house, in my neighborhood, or on my TV. Ever. And Zombie Jesus knows, above all, I don't want to be trapped on a cruise ship with her.

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So yeah, we've been doing a lot of work lately on our next film and, OK, I guess maybe I'm a little tired.

But some news for San Franciscans who want to see our last film on the big screen, or at least a small theater screen: CrossWalk has been selected to play in the Film Arts Foundation festival in mid-November. Watch the Hidden Deadly site for details when we get them.

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Grand Slam of Incompetence

We were out before dawn – which, in Sunday terms, means by 10 a.m. – scouting locations for The Point of Boxes, and the need for breakfast came upon us. And the closest thing around was a Denny's.

A poster by the door set forth the Denny's mission statement, leading off with "Immediately welcome customers with a warm smile," and I knew we were doomed. Sure enough, for several minutes, approximately no one arrived to put us on the waiting list, and no one also arrived to take the people already waiting to the several empty tables.

Finally, a woman at a counter saw us all, got an aggravated look on her face, and motioned a substantially old woman with Texas hair over toward the lectern containing the waiting list.

She stood there a few moments, dumbfounded. Then she picked up the list and squinted at it. She looked at the person standing closest to her, one of the waiting customers, and held the list out to him.

"Can you make out this name?" she said. "Is it Irene, or...?"

For the longest time, I held my head in my hand, wondering how once again I'd walked into a real-life comedy sketch. Then Robbie said what I was thinking.

"Should we go?"

We translated breakfast to lunch, and minutes later, we were at the happy land of In-N-Out, where people not only respond to newly arrived customers but actually come outside the building to take orders if the drive-through line is long, and where I don't really care whether I am welcomed with a warm smile, even though I usually am, because all I'm looking for is the food, soonish. Though I'd say the fact that the employees know what they're supposed to do, where they are, and how to read is a nice bonus.

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That evening, while we're at our respective computers:

Me: Huh.

Robbie: What?

Me: Nickelodeon's going off the air for three hours one Saturday. "Part of their 'Let's Just Play' Campaign to get kids more physically active."

Robbie (who works for a TV station): Please. They just need to upgrade Master Control, so they found a name for it.

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