Man Signs Voter Registration As 'God'

I do not ordinarily post news articles verbatim, but this is an extraordinary situation. See, Paul Sewell is a real-live entertaining fellow.

READING, Pa.

One registered Republican won't be able to vote in the next election unless he appears at a Berks County Elections Board to explain the signature on his registration form.

The man is registered as Paul S. Sewell, but his form is signed "God."

County Solicitor Alan S. Miller said Sewell claims his "God" signature is merely a legal mark like the "X" used by people who are illiterate.

Sewell, 40, said he will be happy to explain. As the owner of a bail enforcement agency, he finds fugitives, he said.

"Whenever I go to arrest somebody, they say, 'Oh, God, give me another chance. Oh, God, let me go. I'll turn myself in tomorrow,'" Sewell said.

He said he thinks his designated mark is legal. "PennDOT accepted it on my driver's license. I have a credit card with it," he said. "It shouldn't be a problem."

An Excerpt From Roughing It by Mark Twain

"'By George, the thoroughbrace is broke!'

This startled me broad awake--as an undefined sense of calamity is always apt to do. I said to myself: 'Now a thoroughbrace is probably a part of a horse; and doubtless a vital part, too, from the dismay in the driver's voice. Leg, maybe--and yet, how could he break his leg waltzing along such a road as this? No, it can't be his leg. That is impossible, unless he was reaching for the driver. Now, what can be the thoroughbrace of a horse, I wonder? Well, whatever comes, I shall not air my ignorance in this crowd, anyway."

Tragedy Of the Highest Order II: Tragedy Averted

You will all be glad to hear that my testicles are not, at present, rotting out of my body. Though they do occasionally still ache, I have visited a physician and he has assured me that there is nothing to indicate that they are riddled with the black and cancerous holes that I feared.

In fact, the doctor was quite pleasant, circumstances considering. He even blushed like a schoolgirl when he asked me to expose my Linus and my two Charlie Browns. He told me about a documented phenomenon that had never been observed, only guessed at. He suggested that I had epididymal spasms, periodic tightenings of the muscles surrounding my testes. In short, my traitorous sack was squeezing the balls it had sworn to protect. Still, there was no danger and I was greatly relieved.

And yet, there was a problem.

The kindly physician suggested that, just to be on the safe side, I should have my urine tested. This is where the actual problem occurs.

I couldn't urinate. I was dry. Empty. Lacking. I was so empty, in fact, that the clinic suggested I come back any time the next day. Anytime I had to urinate, they would be ready to catch it in a cup. Anytime I had to pee, the kind people at the clinic would be prepared. Before 4pm, anyway. Before 4pm, they are most accomodating.

The next day, I drank beverage after beverage. I filled my stomach with liquids. I was as tight as a drum.

I was also too far away from the clinic to make it before I had to relieve myself. Another wasted opportunity; I called and apologetically rescheduled for the next day.

The next day, I drank a number of beverages, but not as before. I had a little bit of tea, a little bit of coffee--not too much of anything. I arrived at the clinic in a sweat. If I couldn't perform, I didn't know if I could ever show my face again.

Fortunately, everything went out without a hitch.

I washed my hands and went on with my life.

From Malone Dies by Samuel Beckett

"Or I might be able to catch one, a little girl for example, and half strangle her, three quarters, until she promises to give me my stick, give me soup, empty my pots, kiss me, fondle me, smile to me, give me my hat, stay with me, follow the hearse weeping into her handkerchief, that would be nice. I am such a good man, at bottom, such a good man, how is it that nobody ever noticed it?"

Books I Have Purchased For the Present Semester

ASSORTED BOOKS
CONTEMPORARY AMERICAN POETRY
SHORT GUIDE TO WRITING ABOUT FILM
FILM HISTORY: An Introduction
INDIAN SUMMER BY WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
THREE ADVENTURE NOVELS: King Solomon's Mines, Allan Quartermain, & She BY H.RIDER HAGGARD
NOTES FROM UNDERGROUND & OTHER STORIES BY FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT BY FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY
ANNA KARENINA BY LEO TOLSTOI
MADAM BOVARY BY GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
THREE NOVELS: Molloy, Malone Dies, The Unnameable BY SAMUEL BECKETT
HOW IT IS BY SAMUEL BECKETT
THE CASTLE BY FRANZ KAFKA
BLOOD MERDIAN BY CORMAC MCCARTHY
SINGULAR MARK TWAIN BY FRED KAPLAN
BOOKS BY NABOKOV
PNIN
PALE FIRE
MARY
KING, QUEEN, KNAVE
INVITATION TO BEHEADING
DESPAIR
THE DEFENSE
LOLITA
BOOKS BY MARK TWAIN
ROUGHING IT
PUDD'NHEAD WILSON & THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS
MYSTERIOUS STRANGER MANUSCRIPTS
FOLLOWING THE EQUATOR
CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING ARTHUR'S COURT
MARK TWAIN: Collected Tales, Sketches, Speeches, & Essays (1852-1890)
MARK TWAIN: Collected Tales, Sketches, Speeches, & Essays (1891-1910)
ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN

Monterey, California and the Death of the Geese

I was awakened this morning by the worst dream that I have ever had and remembered:
I was sitting with my family at a restaurant in Monterey (the city we are visiting at present) when I noticed a young man looking at me from across the restaurant. He looked like a boy I knew from high school and in my dream I named him Brooksie. He was standing in line at a buffet with two other versions of himself, one older and one younger. Each had the same guileless face and freckles. Each had the same red hair. They whispered to each other and glanced in my direction. One of them held a sheaf of papers that had been folded and unfolded many times. He beckoned to me and I went. I walked up to the raised dais on which the buffet sat and he handed me the papers. They were covered with a strange kind of hand-written numerology. “Read it,” he said. He looked at me with his dark brown eyes for a long second and then turned back to the buffet. I walked back to my family’s table. They had all noted my departure and asked insistently to see the papers. Dan Kaplan reached for them, but I withheld them even from him. He looked at me quizzically. Everyone while still trying to read them. The only word on them I had read was Death. Everyone at the table glared at me angrily and finally resumed discussing the menus in irritated tones. I stalked off.

They had no damn right to look at my papers.

I went out a back door of the restaurant. I could see everyone in the restaurant staring at me with disgust through a wall of windows. I turned a corner of the brick building and sat on a bench. I sat there for a long time, staring at the sheaf of papers and reading the word “Death” over and over again. On an adjacent bench I saw the severed head of a goose. It had been torn from its body at the end of its long, black, neck. The feathers at the ragged end dripped blood and swarmed with ants. Nearby, four more geese stood transfixed. They seemed to be staring into the door of the kitchen of the restaurant I had just left and they were swaying slightly. Suddenly, I noticed that their legs and heads were swarming with ants. They seemed to notice this at the same time and began to step haltingly away from their position, making awful choking noises. Ants were chewing mercilessly through their eyes and they started screaming. The ants chewed their bodies and the geese still lived, stumbling around that courtyard leaving behind a trail of blood.

I woke up suddenly and I had suffered none of the usual experiences of the nightmare. My bedclothes were calm, my face was dry, and I had only the lingering sense of horror. I awakened my sister in the next bed. The wake-up call had not yet come through, though it had been ordered for 8am. Just as she got up to shower, the call came and I remained in bed with the horror of my dream. I wondered briefly if the dream was horrific enough to make me a vegetarian.

It was not and is not.

Movie Review: Casanova

I just got back from seeing Casanova with J. First, let me say that Heath Ledger has never done finer work. The subtle nuances in the character of Giacomo Casanova was a worthy challenge and Ledger, true to his powerful performances in A Knight's Tale and 10 Things I Hate About You, brought it off admirably.

Heath Ledger could not have done it alone however. He was supported by a fine cast of legendary actors including Oliver Platt, Jeremy Irons, and above all, Sienna Miller. Oliver Platt, as the corpulent Paprizzio, acted with a fire not seen since Disney's The Three Musketeers in 1993. Irons, as the dreaded Inquisitor, positively glowed with energy as he strode menacingly from scene to scene. Sadly, Irons's career has also had only brief glimmers of brilliance; he hadn't made a decent movie in the five long years since Dungeons and Dragons and, five years before that, Die Hard 3. In my opinion, Irons and Platt should each receive twelve Oscars for Best Supporting Actor. They were both the best, twelve times over. Sienna Miller proved that she was more than just Jude Law's ex-fiancée. In fact, she is the greatest actress to ever have graced screen or stage. She makes Katherine Hepburn and Meryl Streep seem like amateurs. She should permanently (and retroactively) receive the Best Actress Oscar. Forever.

As for the script, I could say that its composition was an act of divine inspiration and not do it justice. Each and every line of dialogue represented a new high in Hollywood screenwriting. Charlie Kaufman, David Mamet, and Orson Wells are certainly passable as writers, but they ought to take lessons from Jeffrey Hatcher and Kimberly Simi. Hatcher's and Simi's work is unparalleled in the cinema. Their clever barbs and innuendo left me gasping for breath and gaping at their audacity as they criticized everything from the Catholic Church's attitudes toward science and women to Venetian excess. This film was satiric gold, but also a profound social criticism. These two writers had the brilliant idea to compare men to...wait for it... PIGS! I was utterly amazed at their insight--I've done a lot of reading and I've seen a lot of movies, but I don't think that comparison has ever been made before. What complex genius! Hatcher and Simi possess all of the skill and subtlety of Voltaire, Swift, Mencken, and Carrot Top. They are truly tops in their craft.

Speaking of craft, let us not forget the costumer and the set designer. Unless a complete failure or complete success, the costumer usually avoids notice. Tony-nominated Jenny Beavan definitely falls under the latter category. This may have been a period film, but only a truly talented artist could pack so much cleavage into 108 minutes without ever actually showing a bare breast. Except for Oliver Platt's.

The sets were spot on. They looked not unlike an outdoor Olive Garden and when I think Olive Garden, I definitely think Italy, so Bravo! to Anna Pinnock.

Bravo, indeed! Casanova is a true tour de force!

Actually, the movie sucked. Even the cleavage couldn't save it.

And the score was the worst I have ever heard. I'm not going to look up the composer (Alexandre Desplat), but it would have been better composed by The Black-Eyed Peas. Actually, "Let's Get Retarded In Here" would have aptly captured the film.

OH!
And Sienna Miller is NOT more than Jude Law's ex-fiancée.