Rejection City looks a lot like Poopville

Not one but two rejections the last two days, one from the Sun (for a little story called I Am Here Now) and one from the 'Lists' department at McSweeney's. Merry Christmas! Anyway, I offer up the second rejection (below) in the spirit of the season.

OTHER 'IF I DID IT' BOOK PROJECTS THAT OJ MAY WANT TO CONSIDER
by Darryl Berger

If I Did It: Jing Ke's attempted assassination of Qin Shi Huang (first emperor of unified China, 221 BC – 210 BC)
OJ notes – See, an NFL running back knows how to handle pressure. So I would never have fucked that up.

If I Did It: The Assassination of Gaius Julius Caesar, 44 BC
OJ notes – This is a gang thing. Not a Columbian drug-gang thing, but still: good team effort.

If I Did It: The Assassination of Henry III of France, 1589
OJ notes – This Jacques Clément? He was some kind of demented religious dude, got up close to the king by pretending to have a secret message. Me, I'd just fake left and go right. Shoot and scoot, motherfucker.

If I Did It: The Assassination of Alexander II, 1881
OJ notes – This tsar dude was blown up by a bomb. That's what you get for emancipating serfs and white women. Anyway, who uses a bomb? What, nobody had a knife? Me, I woulda spiked that motherfucker.

If I Did It: The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln, 1865
OJ notes – Hey Abey baby, thanks for freeing the slaves. Now think fast.

If I Did It: The Axe-Murders of Andrew and Abby Borden, 1892
OJ notes – Personally, I'm not an axe guy, but I could definitely handle the physicality involved. In sports, it's all about the right mindset. So here you just have to think more hacky-hacky than stabby-stabby, that's all. No problem.

If I Did It: World War Two, 1939-1945
OJ notes – Definitely on the side of the good guys. Hey, does Ford make tanks, too?

If I Did It: Battlefield Earth, 2000
OJ Notes – This is not a good movie. And I would never wear those ugly-ass costumes.

If I Did It: James Frey and A Million Little Pieces, 2006
OJ Notes – Hey, if the lit don't fit, you must acquit. Or say the LAPD planted all the fiction parts. Or just stab your way out of it.

Comments

glamour, by extension

C is friends with the fashion stylist Rebekah Roy (left in both pics above) ... one of those people who personify calm and smiling success. On her blog she presents glamour in this very sincere, straightforward way ... whether she's taking pictures of people on the street , talking about stain removers , her favourite videos , or attending some glittering party . One minute she's ruminating on hair extensions, and in the next she reveals how she's been featured on the Vogue UK site. A real disarmer and charmer (and this without meeting her yet, although I feel like I know her because we both did our time in Winnipeg). * * * * * Coming home from Russia, we did many bad things. ; mixed media on canvas, 10 x 10 inches. In my own life, the glamour is wholly imagined. * * * * * witches, smoke ; mixed media on canvas, 10 x 10 inches. My second go at this one, and for some reason I'm painting a lot of smoke lately (note to self: tell C that I want to be cremated). *

the indisputable weight of the ocean

People are always telling me that my work is too dark. So I've put up this sunnier story, but even it has a shadow, as its original publisher – a fine Atlantic Canadian literary magazine called the Gaspereau Review – is no longer in business. ---------------- It was a simple enough thing and that thing was simply this: Edmund Kelley was a gentleman. Of course his mom called him her 'little gentleman', as in 'Oh Edmund, you are my perfect little gentleman,' which did seem to hold to a certain logic that these type of things often follow, considering her affection for him and the fact that he was, after all, only ten years old. Still, Edmund himself was not particularly fond of the diminutive aspect of that title. Gentleman was enough; gentleman summed up the whole thing rather nicely, thank you. He was definitely a more refined version of your average child. He lived in a state of perpetual Sunday m

Oona Balloona (doesn't care about new tables)

Well, it's Friday, and since I'm pretty depleted in the chit-chat department, I might as well put up some pictures of Ol' Giggles At Ghosts before Grandma starts sending me hate mail. Man, what a goofball. At this rate it's going to be, like, eighteen years before she has gainful employment and moves out of the house. I mean, come on . * * * * * C is especially crazy and frantic today. About two months ago she decided that she no longer liked our dining room table (take that, dining room table! no more BFF for you!). Since then she's switched the dining room and kitchen table (and all the rest of the furniture in the house -- about thirty times, but that's another story) as a provisional solution while she scoured area stores for an upgrade. And she thought she had found one, on Wednesday, at JYSK ( Whatever , I said). But when she ordered it, JYSK called back to say that they were really low on stock, and that the stock they did have was damaged, and

red-handed

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