I try not to read too much "popular" fiction; a) I have an enormous mental list of good books that I want to read but haven't yet, and I don't want to delay working on that list with popular fiction because b) a lot of it is garbage.
But a few years ago, I did read the "best-seller" by Dan Brown, "Angels And Demons", and then subsequently, the follow-up novel and even bigger seller, "The Da Vinci Code". I thought they were typical "pop" fiction stories: interesting and fast-paced, with fairly well-conceived plot lines but poorly written stories, no in-depth character studies and a hefty price tag. A lot like Chinese food; good at the time, but not really satisfying, and three hours later you're out in the kitchen looking for the Girl Scout cookies and a quart of milk.
But I sat down the other day to re-read "Code", mostly because I had just finished the book I had been reading, ("A Heinlein Trio" by Robert Heinlein, the world's foremost science-fiction author, which consists of three of his "novellas", (longer than a short-story but shorter than a novel): "The Puppet Masters", "Double Star" and "Door Into Summer"; all excellent), and it was time for something new.
Having only read the book once, and quite some time ago at that, I didn't recall much of the story, and after reading the first page of the "Prolouge", I remembered why; they tell you who did on the very first page. Yeah, right there, page 3 in my edition, yep, "mountainous" evil albino guy shoots "renowned" curator, dead, in the Louvre. (Actually, the albino guy shot the curator in the chest, not in the Louvre.)
Hey, if this is Clue, it's all over. (If it's Monopoly, you've still got a ways to go.) "I think it was done in the Art Museum by the Albino Dude with the pistol." I win. So what's the point of reading the rest of the book? I already know the most important part: who did it. Wouldn't everything after that be rather anti-climatic?
I guess I'll have to read the book to find out. (I hate when that happens.)
Now some of you might be wondering just exactly where your Pope Guy has been for the last week; well, to tell the truth, which as a Pope is a typically good policy, unlike what those sleazy, lying douche-bags in Washington seem to think, well, I was off fishing. Yep, that's me, Captain Ahab on his all-consuming quest for the Great White Whale (that's what I used to call my ex-mother-in-law, although not to her face). That's right, opera lovers, I hung a sign on my office door that said "Gone Fishing". (Harley thought it said "Ngtyis Huycbge Z", but then, Harley's a dog, what does he know? That's his picture there to your right and up a little: no, you doofuses, your OTHER right.)
Actually, the REAL truth is, as opposed to the Washington version, which can be anything, I hit a period of several days where I had nothing in particular I wanted to say, and unlike a lot of people in this world these days, I try to keep my mouth shut when I don't need to speak. (I don't always succeed, but I really do try.) So since last Friday, 7/29, there has been a large void of silence (as opposed to the "soothing balm of Johnism") from the leader of the All John All The Time World Church, and I can only hope that the pain and uncertainty of not having your Popeamundo's stirring and uplifting words hasn't been too terrible to bear. (Have you ever wondered how anyone who doesn't speak English learns to do so? "...hasn't been too terrible to large, furry mammal of the ursine genus with humongous teeth and an occasionally poor attitude towards campers." Good luck.)
So for the better part of a whole week, I sat in my office here at the headquarters of the AJATTWC, located in the bucolic and ever-confused San Fernando Valley, suffering from a severe case of pecuniary strangulation, no, wait, that means I was broke, wrong fancy phrase there, okay, from a severe case of "writer's block", a malady from which, if you're not a writer, you can't suffer. (You'll just have to suffer from something else, like poverty, insecurity or being really butt ugly.)
Every time I would get an idea, or start again on an old idea that I had abandoned previously, hoping somehow for a miraculous resurrection, I would stand and watch as the waves of my hopes were dashed on the rocks of creativity. (Shit, that was poetic; well, it was at least interesting.)
I started this whole "Pope" journey back in January, when I was elevated (?) to the position of Pope of the AJATTWC, and this was the first time I had ever wanted to sit down and write something witty, brilliant and uplifting...and got nowhere. (My friends, all two of them, can't believe my silence; it's so out of character for me, or so they say. I admit, I am a talker, pretty much like the sun is kinda' warm.)
But I held my peace (there's that "English" thing again; change "peace" to "piece" and that phrase gets rather strange, or slightly off-color, depending on your general point of view; personally, I went right for the off-color translation) for a whole week and when the time finally came, well, here I am, back in the saddle again.
So how was your week? Did you guys do anything exciting? No? Boring bunch, aren't you? Let's see, what's going on with me? Well, the Dodgers are still 10 games back of the Giants, and Frank McCourt is still an asshole, ahh, let's see, I wrote a letter to my Congressman last week, informing him that if he and his colleagues in Washington didn't get their heads out of their butts and get the debt-ceiling thing fixed, that Harley and I would personally come to Washington and that I would allow Harley to do something rude on the Congressman's floor. I haven't heard back from him yet; I also haven't heard from the Secret Service, investigating a threat to a U.S. Representative, so maybe he hasn't gotten around to reading it.
Oh yeah, and the Smurf Movie was released last week; I think Katy Perry looks hot as hell as the Smurfette, which bothers me a lot, because that has to be some kind of completely new perversion that's not even in the books yet. Blue sex. EEYewah. (Katy Perry could make a barrel and a couple of ropes look hot.)
You know what would have been a really cool movie? A combination of "The Da Vinci Code" and "The Smurfs"; the plot could have been something like "small, blue curator of major art museum is found shot in the Louvre (not in the chest), and the killer turns out to be...the Smurfette, who is bent on taking over all the art institutes in the world and turning them into Starbucks, which they don't have in SmurfLand".
As long as the director and writer don't tell you the Smurfette did it in the first few minutes of the first scene, it's a possible.
Hey, anything is possible; they made a star outta' Miley, didn't they?
Love and writer's cramp,
PJTT
copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.
