Having a film version of The Rum Diary in theaters and a movie about J. Edgar Hoover ready to be released reminded of a 1974 Playboy Interview with Hunter S. Thompson that I read a couple of years ago. In the piece, which took Craig Vetter seven months to complete, Thompson cracked a joke about being pals with the former FBI honcho. An excerpt:

PLAYBOY: Would you run for the Senate the same way you ran for sheriff?

THOMPSON: Well, I might have to drop the mescaline issue, I don’t think there’d be any need for that—promising to eat mescaline on the Senate floor. I found out last time you can push people too far. The backlash is brutal.

PLAYBOY: What if the unthinkable happened and Hunter Thompson went to Washington as a Senator from Colorado? Do you think you could do any good?

THOMPSON: Not much, but you always do some good by setting an example—you know, just by proving it can be done.

PLAYBOY: Don’t you think there would be a strong reaction in Washington to some of the things you’ve written about the politicians there?

THOMPSON: Of course. They’d come after me like wolverines. I’d have no choice but to haul out my secret files—all that raw still Ed Hoover gave mejust before he died. We were good friends. I used to go to the track with him a lot.

PLAYBOY: You’re laughing again, but that raises a legitimate question: Are you trying to say you know things about Washington people that you haven’t written?

THOMPSON: Yeah, to some extent. When I went to Washington to write Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail ’72, I went with the same attitude I take anywhere as a journalist: hammer and tongs—and God’s mercy on anybody who gets in the way. Nothing is off the record, that kind of thing. But I finally realized that some things have to be off the record. I don’t know where the line is, even now. But if you’re an indiscreet blabber-mouth and a fool, nobody is going to talk to you—not even your friends.”

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Thompson and Keith Richards consider the reincarnation of Hoover, 1973:

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By Motorola Solutions. (Thanks CNN.)

A fun bit of linguistic history from Henry Hitchings’ Salon article, “What’s the Language of the Future?“:

“There have been attempts to create an artificial language for use by all the world. In the second half of the nineteenth century and then especially in the early years of the twentieth, schemes to construct new languages were numerous. Most of these are now forgotten: who remembers Cosmoglossa, Spokil, Mundolingue, Veltparl, Interlingua, Romanizat, Adjuvilo or Molog? Some of the innovators sound like remarkably odd people. Joseph Schipfer, developer of Communicationssprache, was also known for promoting means of preventing people from being buried alive. Etienne-Paulin Gagne, who devised Monopanglosse, proposed that in time of famine Algerians help their families and friends by exchanging their lives or at least some of their limbs for food, and was willing if necessary to give up his own body to the needy.

Only two schemes enjoyed success. In 1879 a Bavarian pastor, Johann Martin Schleyer, devised Volapük. It was briefly very popular: within ten years of its invention, there were 283 societies to promote it, and guides to Volapük were available in twenty-five other languages. As Arika Okrent observes in her book In the Land of Invented Languages, Volapük is a gift to people with a puerile sense of humour: ‘to speak’ is pükön, and ‘to succeed’ is plöpön. More famous and less daft-sounding were the efforts of Ludwik Zamenhof, a Polish ophthalmologist of Lithuanian Jewish descent, who in the 1870s began work on creating Esperanto, a language without irregularities. He published his first book on the subject in 1887, summing up the language’s grammar in sixteen rules and providing a basic vocabulary. Zamenhof’s motives were clear; he had grown up in the ghettos of Bialystok and Warsaw, and, struck by the divisiveness of national languages, he dreamt of uniting humanity. Esperanto is certainly the most successful of modern invented languages, but although it still has enthusiastic supporters there is no prospect of its catching on as Zamenhof once hoped.”

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Learning Ubbi Dubbi, 1972:

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In Nick Tosches great book, The Devil and Sonny Liston, the author identifies his subject’s main problem: “In the Saturday night cigarette smokehouse neon dark of that dive, Charles Liston, who neither knew his age nor felt any ties of blood upon this earth nor saw any future beyond the drink in front of him and the smoky dark spare refuge of this barroom from the bone-cutting, river-heavy dank and freezing chill, knew only that he was nobody and that he had come from nowhere and that he was nowhere. He did not see that one could be nobody with a capital ‘N.’” Smokin’ Joe Frazier, who just passed away, and his two greatest opponents, Muhammad Ali and George Foreman, became not just important nobodies but cultural kings.

Frazier, who could barely get a word in, with Ali and Dick Cavett:

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I always thought Abbott and Costello were able to provoke nervous laughter not because of their fumbling deadbeat personas but due to the duo’s sinister undercurrent, as they often seemed to be one small step from utter criminality. Abbott, the manipulative sharpie who was the ringleader of the grifter pair, had a barely concealed vicious streak, and he seemed capable of armed robbery, arson or sex crimes. For the right payoff, he would consider murder. Or perhaps he would indulge in a thrill killing to pass time during the interminable work-free days. No he wouldn’t bloody his own hands but would instead goad his buffoonish other half, whose rage stemmed from a lifetime of humiliations, into committing the deed. What saved them from the gas chamber was in no way a sense of morality but their utter cowardice and constant state of lethargy.

In this clip, the villains handcuff and batter an officer of the law but he manages to escape with his life:

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"It is 100% LEGAL."

Lucrative Cash Business

This opportunity is for the Entertainment / Nightclub / Hospitality field. It is 100% LEGAL.

I need one or two solid partners to help me start up a business. Money is not the only thing that will get you in the door. I can get money from any idiot. In addition to funds you should be a lawyer, or have a good one. You should be a contractor, or have a good one. Handle all things financial, legal, and political. You MUST be mature, trustworthy, and trusting. There are many trappings in this business and I do not tolerate monkey business. There is a time for fun, but its only AFTER we make money. Business comes first. Anyone who is easily distracted by lights, music, booze, girls (or guys), drugs, sex, rock & roll need not apply. 

I have many years experience and I have the ability to make you a lot of money. If the economy turns around I will make you bloody RICH. For now, we can still make good money. If I could do this myself I would. I do not have the money. But I do have the know-how and I will not be second guessed. I have 20 years experience and I can produce revenue.

This is a great opportunity for the right person. Please keep in mind that I am NOT desperate. I do not need a club to stroke my ego. This is about making money. Its just something I happen to be good at. I don’t do business with just anybody. We have to be a good fit.

Steve Jobs wasn’t just a perfectionist about every last detail of the products Apple created, but also when making seemingly mundane household purchases. From Malcolm Gladwell’s new consideration of Jobs the creator in the New Yorker:

“It was the choice of a washing machine, however, that proved most vexing. European washing machines, Jobs discovered, used less detergent and less water than their American counterparts, and were easier on the clothes. But they took twice as long to complete a washing cycle. What should the family do? As Jobs explained, ‘We spent some time in our family talking about what’s the trade-off we want to make. We ended up talking a lot about design, but also about the values of our family. Did we care most about getting our wash done in an hour versus an hour and a half? Or did we care most about our clothes feeling really soft and lasting longer? Did we care about using a quarter of the water? We spent about two weeks talking about this every night at the dinner table.'”

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Fred Astaire performs for Dick Cavett, 1970.

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Limited to pieces that are online for free:

  1. Getting Bin Laden” (Nicholas Schmidle, New Yorker): The best long-form journalism of the new century. Perfect writing and editing. Will be read with equal fascination 50 years from now.
  2. The Movie Set That Ate Itself,” (Michael Idov, GQ): Intrepid reporter with a deadpan sensibility ventures onto the most insane movie set ever.
  3. Better, Faster. Stronger (Rebecca Mead, New Yorker): Wicked portrait of a Silicon Valley self-help guru. Reading this piece is a good way to learn how to write profiles.
  4. ‘”The Elusive Big Idea” (Neal Gabler, New York Times): I don’t agree with most of the assertions of this essay, but it’s deeply intelligent and provocative.
  5. Who Invented The Seven-Game Series?” (Michael Weinreb, Grantland): Reporter asks simple question others gloss over, finds interesting historical and analytical info.

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In the New York Times, Frederick Seidl asks whether the motorcycle is all but done for as a consumer good, victim of a bleak recession and sleek tech products. An excerpt:

“The iPhone 4S, the iPad 2, the 11-inch and 13-inch thin, light MacBook Air computers — these are the sleek gorgeousness young people go on about, have to have, and do have, in the millions. These machines, famous for the svelte dignity of their designs — and of course, far less expensive than a motorcycle — are a lens to see the world through and to do your work on. It’s their operating speeds that thrill. Young people cut a bella figura on their electronic devices.

Now, of course, it is not just the young who buy Apple products. I lay emphasis on the young, particularly young men, because they are the ones who might otherwise be buying motorcycles, and aren’t, at least not at all in the numbers they did before the economic downturn. The great recession was disastrous for motorcycle sales around the country, especially, it seems, for sport bikes, the ones that perform with brio but have no practical point to make. In other words, they are not bikes to tour on, they are not a comfortable way for you and a companion — wife or partner or friend — to travel to work or to a distant campground. You can do it, but it’s not ideal. Young riders were not buying motorcycles of any kind, and especially, it seems, not sport bikes.

Or, to say it another way, it’s as if the recession induced a coma in all the potential new motorcyclists, and in so many of the already experienced motorcyclists, from which they woke changed, changed utterly, and found themselves standing in line outside an Apple store, patiently waiting to buy the latest greatness.”

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“Hi’ya sweetheart”:

Monkey goes zoom:

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A metallic exoskeleton suit intended for workers in nuclear plants.

Here is a cool artifact of Harry Houdini, courtesy of kottke.org. It’s audio from a 1914 wax cylinder that Edison made of the master of escape. In the clip, Houdini describes his Water Torture Cell trick.

Harry Houdini speaking, in 1914 (mp3)

If you’re unfamiliar with Jason Kottke and his site, he’s one of the original bloggers and has been serving up intelligent posts since before most people heard of the word “blog.” Everyone who came after and tried to do something smart in the format owes him a debt. To learn more about his early days as a blogger, have a look at this 2000 New Yorker piece by Rebecca Mead (subscription required).

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More Harry Houdini posts:

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"P.S. I'm looking for funny, cute, unique, sad, etc." (Image by Huhu Uet.)

Wanted – Santa Claus Letters – $1 (New York)

Hello, I”m collecting data for research and need to collect letters to Santa Claus from children living in New York. I am a licensed Psychologist in Nevada. The U.S. Postal Service will not help me (because once they are dropped in the mail, they become property of the U.S.P.S). The letters do not need to have any identifying information. You don’t even need to put a return address. Just make sure it has the city and State, and if you want, the area of the city. The letters may be used for my research project and therefore this statement serves as consent to use it. P.S. I’m looking for funny, cute, unique, sad, etc. If you want more information feel free to contact me through craigslist. 

"He thinks we shall eventually become a nation of giants."

Hard science was not evident anywhere in this odd January 5, 1890 Brooklyn Daily Eagle article which suggested that men were willing themselves to be taller. Or maybe this was supposed to be funny? I don’t think so. An excerpt from the article, which originally appeared in the Chicago Times:

“Mr. Edward Atkinson, of Boston, finds time while conducting an extensive business to collect information on a great variety of subjects. He has lately ascertained, by means of circulars addressed to leading tailors, the makers of ready made clothing and the manufacturers of underclothes, that the men of this country are growing taller decade by decade. He thinks we shall eventually become a nation of giants. As yet he has elaborated no theory to account for this steady increase in height. Some physiologists, however, have suggested that it is due to the large consumption of meat in this country. The state that people who, like the Chinese and Hindus, subsist almost entirely on grain and fruit, are invariably short in stature, while flesh consumers, like the North American Indians, are generally quite tall.

"The man who invests $3 in tickets for the purpose of taking his best girl to the theater finds that he can see nothing on the stage unless he happens to be very tall."

It is likely that diet may have something to do in influencing the height men may attain. But it is obvious that there are other causes that exert a much greater influence. There are a great many inducements held out in this country for men to become tall. Nearly every boy desires to gain admission to the military or naval academy, and each learns as soon as he can read that it is necessary to reach a certain standard of height in order to be eligible. Men must also stand a certain number of feet and inches in their stockings before they can attain positions on the police force in most cities. As premiums are offered for becoming tall, it is by no means wonderful that men and boys should seek to add to their figure by taking thought or taking anything that will produce the desired result.

The introduction of the three story roof bonnet has been a most important agent in enlongating the spinal column of men. The man who invests $3 in tickets for the purpose of taking his best girl to the theater finds that he can see nothing on the stage unless he happens to be very tall. As a consequence men who attend theaters and operas make use of every means that will enable them to become tall. In some fashionable churches the male worshiper of medium height has no opportunity to see the minister or the pretty soprano singer. The Tower of Babel bonnets, surrounded by fowls of the air and lilies of the field, entirely obstruct his view.

"The street car also exerts great influence in causing men to become tall."

The street car also exerts great influence in causing men to become tall. They generally give the seats to the women and are obliged to stand during the entire trip. As soon as a boy is 12 years old his endeavors to reach the strap attached to the top rail commence. He perseveres in this attempt until he succeeds in accomplishing the difficult feat. He learns to stretch his body out in the same way that an earthworm does to reach a certain place. After he has availed himself of all his powers of self elongation, certain agencies that are not voluntary are brought to work on his body. Side pressure is made to bear on it as if it is on a bar of iron that is to be drawn out into wire. It also receives numerous blows every time the car wheels pass over an obstruction, and these produce the same effect of the body that the blow of a hammer do a piece of soft iron.”

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In addition to numerous others things, the rise of personal computers killed off the concept of World’s Fairs, at least in America. People used to descend on them by the millions to be wowed by inventions, technology and cultures they couldn’t experience in their workaday lives. But who needs to drive hundreds or thousands of miles to be awed now? What’s the sense of going anywhere to be connected to crowds of other people? It’s all possible now 24 hours a day on tiny screens in our pockets.

The final World’s Fair in the U.S. was the 1984 one in New Orleans, which declared bankruptcy. There were financial problems all along, so perhaps it would have been a boondoggle regardless. But it was also just a sign of the times, the end of an era. A 60 Minutes report about the New Orleans fiasco:

Technology enables a phenom’s talent in Alex Pappademas’ smart New York Times Magazine piece about the ascent of a young rap producer who works under the name “Lex Luger.” Even if you don’t like hip-hop, the subject and the storytelling are really compelling, capturing a young artist reflecting in the moment after the arrival of great fame. The opening:

“A few years ago, before anyone knew his name, before rap artists from all over the country started hitting him up for music, the rap producer Lex Luger, born Lexus Lewis, now age 20, sat down in his dad’s kitchen in Suffolk, Va., opened a sound-mixing program called Fruity Loops on his laptop and created a new track. It had a thunderous canned-orchestra melody, like an endless loop of some bombastic moment from Wagner or Danny Elfman; a sternum-rattling bass line; and skittering electronic percussion that brought to mind artillery fire. When the track was finished, he e-mailed it to a rapper named Waka Flocka Flame. Luger had recently spent a few months in Atlanta with Waka, sequestered in a basement, producing most of the music for Waka’s debut album. Waka had asked him for one more beat, one that could potentially be the album’s first single.

Months later, Luger — who says he was ‘broke as a joke’ by that point, about to become a father for the second time and seriously considering taking a job stocking boxes in a warehouse — heard that same beat on the radio, transformed into a Waka song called ‘Hard in da Paint.’ Before long, he couldn’t get away from it.”

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“Hard in da Paint”:

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Stupendously idiotic, the Intimacy 2.0 line of dresses, made by Dutch designers, become sheerer when a wearer is excited by a potential mate. (Thanks Fastcodesign.)

Some search engine keyphrases bringing traffic to Afflictor this week:

Afflictor: Thinking Herman Cain was hasty when choosing his running mate. (Image by Axelv.)

  • Steve Jobs hated the Sports Illustrated tablet mock-up.
  • E.B. White mourns the decline of the Model T in 1936,
  • Nabokov had a low opinion of Dostoyevsky.

Interesting, though I have no way of confirming or refuting these figures. From SmartPlanet:

“In two years there will be 1.2 million robots working on Earth, that is one robot per 5,000 humans. As of 2010, there are 34 robots working per 1,000 people in Japan (see info graphic below fromFocus and the World Robotics report.) It is estimated that by 2025 robots will have taken over a whopping half of all jobs in the U.S. The hardest hit industries are predicted to be: manufacturing, automotive and food services.”

It was in the 1970s that control of media and information began its migration to the hands of the individual, and people became excited about new tech toys, even ones that tha weren’t particularly awesome, like CB radios. In 1977, Tom Snyder and friends tout the wonders of holography.

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Ilya Khrzhanovskiy’s 4, one of my favorite films of the aughts, was almost indescribably odd. Stranger still, is the follow-up, or the production of it, which has been filming for five years and counting in a Ukranian town, and resembles more a totalitarian state driven by the type of hubris that Herzog and Coppola brought to the jungle, than a mere movie. The opening of Michael Idov’s great GQ article, “The Movie Set That Ate Itself“:

“The rumors started seeping out of Ukraine about three years ago: A young Russian film director has holed up on the outskirts of Kharkov, a town of 1.4 million in the country’s east, making…something. A movie, sure, but not just that. If the gossip was to be believed, this was the most expansive, complicated, all-consuming film project ever attempted.

A steady stream of former extras and fired PAs talked of the shoot in terms usually reserved for survivalist camps. The director, Ilya Khrzhanovsky, was a madman who forced the crew to dress in Stalin-era clothes, fed them Soviet food out of cans and tins, and paid them in Soviet money. Others said the project was a cult and everyone involved worked for free. Khrzhanovsky had taken over all of Kharkov, they said, shutting down the airport. No, no, others insisted, the entire thing was a prison experiment, perhaps filmed surreptitiously by hidden cameras. Film critic Stanislav Zelvensky blogged that he expected ‘heads on spikes’ around the encampment.

I have ample time and incentive to rerun these snatches of gossip in my head as my rickety Saab prop plane makes its jittery approach to Kharkov. Another terrible minute later, it’s rolling down an overgrown airfield between rusting husks of Aeroflot planes grounded by the empire’s fall. The airport isn’t much, but at least it hasn’t been taken over by the film. And while my cab driver knows all about the shoot—the production borrowed his friend’s vintage car, he brags without prompting—he doesn’t seem to be in the director’s thrall or employ.

I’m about to write the rumors off as idle blog chatter when I get to the film’s compound itself and, again, find myself ready to believe anything. The set, seen from the outside, is an enormous wooden box jutting directly out of a three-story brick building that houses the film’s vast offices, workshops, and prop warehouses. The wardrobe department alone takes up the entire basement. Here, a pair of twins order me out of my clothes and into a 1950s three-piece suit complete with sock garters, pants that go up to the navel, a fedora, two bricklike brown shoes, an undershirt, and boxers. Black, itchy, and unspeakably ugly, the underwear is enough to trigger Proustian recall of the worst kind in anyone who’s spent any time in the USSR. (I lived in Latvia through high school.) Seventy years of quotidian misery held with one waistband.

The twins, Olya and Lena, see nothing unusual about this hazing ritual for a reporter who’s not going to appear in a single shot of the film—just like they see nothing unusual in the fact that the cameras haven’t rolled for more than a month. After all, the film, tentatively titled Dau, has been in production since 2006 and won’t wrap until 2012, if ever. But within the walls of the set, for the 300 people working on the project—including the fifty or so who live in costume, in character—there is no difference between ‘on’ and ‘off.'”

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I recall reading somehwere that Kurt Vonnegut had co-written a screenplay with the odd comedian Steven Wright. The script was unproduced, and I imagine Wright still has it. Anyhow, there’s a new biography of Vonnegut, by Charles J. Shields, which examines the many contradictions of the novelist’s life and his bitter later years. From Janet Maslin’s New York Times piece about the book:

“Mr. Shields is not shy about using the words ‘a definitive biography of an extraordinary man’ to describe his book. And So It Goes is quick to trumpet its biggest selling points. Mr. Shields means to separate image from perception: He depicts Vonnegut as an essentially conservative Midwesterner, proud of his German heritage and capitalist instincts, who developed an aura of radical chic. He also describes a World War II isolationist who aligned himself with Charles A. Lindbergh yet became an antiwar literary hero. And he finds a life-affirming humanist sensibility in a writer celebrated for black humor. How this man would eventually be recruited to brainstorm with the Jefferson Airplane and be hipper than his own children are among the mysteries on which Mr. Shields casts light.

And So It Goes also traces the paradoxes in Vonnegut’s personal life. He was widely regarded as a lovable patriarch, for instance, at a time when he had left his large family behind. He also sustained a populist reputation even when he developed a high social profile in New York with the photographer Jill Krementz, his second wife. Ms. Krementz, who is called ‘hard-wired to the bowels of hell’ by Vonnegut’s son, Mark, clearly did not cooperate with Mr. Shields. The book takes frequent whacks at her, holding her accountable for much of the unhappiness in Vonnegut’s last years.

Mr. Shields provides a good assessment of misconceptions about Vonnegut’s writing. Those impressions persisted throughout his later life, perhaps because the books that followed Cat’s Cradle, The Sirens of Titan, God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater and Slaughterhouse-Five became increasingly unreadable.

‘On the strength of Vonnegut’s reputation, Breakfast of Champions spent a year on the best-seller lists,’ Mr. Shields writes of that 1973 disappointment, ‘proving that he could indeed publish anything and make money.'”

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“Hey, Kurt, you read lips?”:

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Steve Jobs looked at a mock-up tablet version of Sports Illustrated in 2009–roughly six months before he unveiled the iPad–and was his usual charming self in evaluating it. From Mediabistro:

“The demo was impressive, especially considering the Apple iPad would not be unveiled for another half a year. Unfortunately, not everyone was impressed. After Apple unveiled the iPad, Steve Jobs came to Time Inc.’s New York offices and met with the editors of some of their biggest magazines. He was asked what he thought of SI’s demo.

‘I think it is really, really stupid,’ Jobs said. That stung Terry McDonnell, the editor of SI and the Time Inc. sports group.

‘I was sad, and we were all kind of stunned,’ McDonnell said. ‘It was not stupid, in fact it anticipated everything he was doing.'”

Furby taunts Siri.

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