Were All Exactly Alike.*
Dear Maureen,
Philip K. Dick was one of the seminal writers of the 20th Century,
whose best work ranks alongside John Swift, Jorge Luis Borges and Edgar Allan Poe.
Most of what he wrote in the science fiction genre until his death 28 years ago was brutally dystopian; stories of worlds where technology, media, drugs, politics and the fabric of reality itself had all been co-opted and turned into weapons of deception and subjugation by inhuman forces.
So when I read this in your December 30 column --
"Even before a Nigerian with Al Qaeda links tried to blow up a Northwest Airlines jet headed to Detroit, travelers could see we had made no progress toward a technologically wondrous Philip K. Dick universe."-- it made me kinda think that maybe you have no idea what the Hell you're talking about (which was especially ironic since, a few lines later, you sketched out a scenario --
"We are headed toward the moment when screeners will watch watch-listers sashay through while we have to come to the airport in hospital gowns, flapping open in the back."-- that would have been perfectly at home in the Dickian universe. )
Because, as any literate person knows, the statement that we have made no "progress toward a technologically wondrous Philip K. Dick universe" is on a par with complaining that the bright future of enlightened global democratic governance that George Orwell promised us in "1984" has not yet come to pass.
In the future, please stick to what you do best; finding new, hidden cultural dimensions buried within Bill Clinton's penis (from The G Spot):
...X. told me that, the whole night, all Maureen could talk about was which women Bill Clinton was sleeping with. Literally. "Do you think he's having an affair with B.? I think he is. But maybe they did and it's over now and he's moved onto someone else. Ya think? Maybe he's messing around with C. -- she seems more his type. I'd bet he'd love to have an affair with D., but I'm not sure she'd fool around with a married man." And on and on and on and on and ON in this vein. The whole night long. X tried to engage her on other topics. The world, after all, is full of a number of things: Books. Movies. Theater. Travel. Music. Food. And how about, not what Bill Clinton was doing with his penis, but what he was doing with his policies?
But alas, in spite of my friend's ministrations, he could not get the lady off Topic A.
Suffice it to say, it was a long night.
....
and frantically signaling across a crowded noösphere that, no, the seat next to you at the bar is not taken and, yes, you would love another mojito.
Yours in Christ,
driftglass
* (Title from here)
9 comments:
Also highly underrated, Philip José Farmer. What is it about SF authors named Phil, anyhow?
Norton, Asimov, Heinlein, Bradbury, EE Doc Smith, the list is endless . . . and better written and read than Mo.
She DOES have that hottie redhead thing working for her though . . . . still.
Thank you for saying (with much more eloquence) what I was thinking when I came across the bit she wrote about Dick. (Basically, I was just thinking WTF? Is she nuts?)
Thanks for saying it for the rest of us, Dg.
Who would have thought she would be brave enough to report on a famous author with whose work she was totally unfamiliar (if not unread)?
Again, our thanks.
For a new year in which to expose the rest of the pretenders.
S
____________
She probably conflates P.K. Dick with "Bladerunner", which looked cool if you were wealthy.
She probably is thinking of that movie. Little known fact: At least half of the movie Blade Runner was taken from the William S. Burroughs novel of the same name; I've read both Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep and Burroughs' novel to do the comparison with the movie, so I can say that with at least some authority.
I don't really want to live in Burroughs' dystopian future either, thanks.
Once again, MoDo proves she doesn't know Dick.
DG,
Thanks for the link. I recall in the weeks preceding 9-11, Modo continued to obsess about the Clenis in her columns. Like so much of the media, the fact that we had an administration that could handle everything EXCEPT foreign policy, domestic policy, anything related to the budget, national security or strategic planning, was of so little moment relative to Monica's overriding legacy to 8 years of Democratic (relative) peace and prosperity.
I have always assumed that Governor Clinton, at some point, made Dowd sleep on the wet spot. Worse yet, she might have slept on some other woman's wet spot on a night Governor Clinton forgot which room was supposed to get the secret knock.
In any case, thanks for the great link. Now I will forever carry that Havisham image. Now with the added color of Modo -- lying in a forgotten Dickensian bed, catty-ass & stuck to the wet spot -- waiting for Governor Arkansas who never returns. Instead she is left with her Great Expectations unfulfilled in just one more room rented in Ron Brown's name.
Happy New Year and thanks for another great year of your art,
slainte,
cl
There are two kinds of guys:
1. Guys who hate women (see e.g., Matthews, Chris)
2. Guys who like women (see e.g., Gore, Al)
The former hate the latter -- but they especially hate the women the latter like, i.e., the smart, independent ones who control their own minds, bodies, and destinies.
MoDo wants to be the woman the latter love, but to be loved by the former.
It leads to a lot of confusion.
And she doesn't know shit about Philip K. Dick.
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