Freaky fragment friday

I continue to hear gnashing of teeth over this whole Sweet Valley Size business, but a week later I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s nothing more than a bullshit Size 4 sack of stupid provocation, a crazy flack stunt to rid the Wakefield twins of their misty nostalgic associations and try to get them on the same bitchtastic bandwagon as the Gossip Girl and Clique books. And we all took the bait by blogging about it, hooray! Now let’s never buy these books again, and keep our fat fingers crossed that the reissues don’t sell, and subsequently the books get pulped to make recycled paper wrappers for delicious, delicious hamburgers enjoyed by future generations of pre-teen girls who will hopefully not run off and purge them in order to fit into a Size- Whatever-Is-Perfect- at-the- Moment. Agreed? Okay, then!

I’m doing one of those photo-a-day things at Flickr, wherein I try to take one half-decent photo a day, or at the very least POST one half-decent photo taken on another day when half-decent photo opportunities were more plentiful than they are on the particular day of posting. Yeah, hope that’s clear. Anyway, I’m trying to stay honest.

Oh, if you were wondering why you couldn’t get to Candyboots the last couple of days, I accidentally let the domain registration lapse. Oops, sorry. It’s back up! Sorry! Renewed all the way up to the End Times now, I swear.

The new BUST is on newsstands now, and if you buy it you can read my Pop Tart column on Britney Spears as well as a short interview I did with Ira Glass. I cannot quite bring myself to erase the recording of the original interview phone call, in which I laugh very loudly and horsily over every other thing Mr. Glass says. The gulf between the droll NPR radio career persona I often imagine for myself and the sad, sputtering reality is vast indeed, but oh well. As for the Britney piece, I wrote it when she was a bit more spinny-eyed than she is now, back when her future lifespan was looking as scanty as those shirt-dress-thingies she’d wear to the liquor store, and I figured I’d better write the column and gather her crazy roses while ye may, you know? But in a way I’m kind of glad that my article is a tad less relevant than it used to be. Perhaps you understand, too.