Franco-phobe

I admit, I'm becoming a Francophobe.

James Franco is really starting to get on my nerves.

It has come to my attention that James Franco has been accepted to the University of Houston's creative writing Ph. D program. He was one of 20 accepted from an applicant pool of 400. He's already received an MFA from Columbia, studied English at Yale and UCLA and attended the Rhode Island School of Design.

He just turned 33.

To try to wrap my arms around this, I went to the bookstore last night and found a copy of his short story collection "Palo Alto," published late last year. I wanted to see what the hoopla was about. I took some precautions -- specifically, heading to the bookstore an hour before closing so I wouldn't be tempted to read the whole thing, and going to the back of the bookstore to read, to avoid anything dangerous from happening, like actually buying the book.

I read the three stories that were highlighted on the book's cover jacket, on the assumption that if the publisher elected to tease them, they're probably the best stories in the bunch. Each story was about a high schooler who's somewhat outcasted having to make a difficult decision, and featured a violent climactic scene.

The Los Angeles Times called Franco's collection "the work of an ambitious young man who clearly loves to read, who has a good eye for detail, but who has spent way too much time on style and virtually none on substance." I agree. I would classify all three stories I read as average. Each had its moments, but gets railroaded by one of three things -- too many unnecessary characters/scenes, too much look-at-me writing that doesn't advance the story, or an incomplete story arc. I've been editing the fiction of the Mason's Road literary journal this semester, and while I'm only one of many readers, I have to say I would pass on each of the three stories if they made it to our submissions desk. The stories felt like they suffered from ADD.

And maybe that's why he's getting on my nerves. The stories seem like Franco himself -- hell-bent on trying to do everything. He may have finally overextended himself during this year's Oscars, which he also co-hosted with Anne Hathaway, and was a catastrophic failure as a host.

But for a guy who comes across as publicity-shy, he seems to do a lot of things that generate coverage. Don't get me wrong, he's a free agent and has the right to pursue a Ph. D if he so chooses. But why get a Ph. D in creative writing when you're an Academy Award-nominated actor?Are you gonna teach? I mean, I'm thinking about pursuing a Ph. D in creative writing after I get my MFA, because hell, I don't know if my novel-in-progress will ever get published, and theoretically I could hide out for a few years in this crap economy. But that's the method to my madness. What is his plan? He's not gonna stop being an actor. And by doing this, he's taking away precious Ph. D slots for other folks who actually want jobs in the world of creative writing.

And that's what pisses me off about this. So, sorry, James Franco. You may want to come across as an all-around good guy who's educating himself, but I'm not buying it. But to me, you just come across as fake and pretentious.

Borders Bookcases

A couple of months ago Borders announced it was filing for bankruptcy, and shortly thereafter the chain announced most of the stores would close. The Shrewsbury location, the closest bookstore to me (about equidistant from the Worcester Barnes & Noble), is one of the stores closing. So I went over there last night for a little while, since it'll be one of the last times, if not the last time, I ever visit.

Obviously there are fewer books now and the place looks like a home during a garage sale. And there were signs everywhere -- All Items 60-70% Off! Everything Must Go!

And they mean everything.

Including the bookcases.

Yeah, for a cool $80, I could have a Borders bookcase. I need a bookcase, or maybe two. It dawned on me that I own a lot of books. And my one bookcase if a makeshift deal that's basically some plastic rods that connect like Legos to form something that sort of acts like something that holds together books.

I checked online and comparably sized bookcases seem to run for $100 or more. Two for $160 sounds even better.

Except I have nothing to transport them in. Anyone have a truck or something? 

I Don't Give a Damn About the Royal Family, Part Two

By all accounts, Prince William and Kate Middleton seem like nice folks.

That said, I don't give a shit about their wedding.

I'm sick and tired of hearing about it (thank God it starts at 4 a.m., so I'll be asleep during it). We seceded from the Brits in 1776 because we got sick of paying taxes for a royal family's largesse without having any say in the matter. Yet, somehow, we're fascinated by this morning's Royal Wedding, or at least the media thinks we're fascinated by it, because Kim Khazei, Bianca de la Garza and Paula Ebben are all in England reporting about it. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Chs. 4, 5 and 7 are all Boston TV stations, right?

I care more about the poor people down South who are being devastated by tornadoes.

I care more about my friend who's getting married this August, and my cousin who's getting married this October.

I wish William and Kate the best. I would want my wedding to go seamlessly and I hope theirs does too. (Then again, if I ever get married, I hope it doesn't attract this much spectacle.)

But I don't give a shit about their wedding. It can't be over soon enough for me.

Michael Scott

Tonight will be a bittersweet night. It will be the farewell of Michael Scott on The Office. He's moving to Colorado to help his girlfriend Holly Flax care for her sick parents.

The Office has always been one of my favorite shows, and he's a major reason. Not because I like Michael Scott. He's an idiot. I, personally, would never fworm for a company in which he was my supervisor. He's an inept boss, and everything that somehow goes right in the Scranton branch of Dunder Mifflin happens in spite of him, not because of him. But it's part of what makes the show funny.

In fact, Michael Scott has influenced my life. A few years ago I was on a dating site, and I was contacted by a young woman who expressed an interest in getting to know me. The opening sentence of her profile said, "I can tell you what I'm NOT looking for: someone who's like Michael Scott." I was like, "Wow. Way to set the bar high." I never contacted her, and shortly thereafter canceled my membership. (She also lived in Maine and longed be a housewife, so I was pretty confident it never would've worked. But still, the opening sentence was a step in the wrong direction.) 

Whether The Office will be able to recover from this I don't know. There are some other great characters (Jim & Pam, Dwight, Erin & Gabe, Kevin, etc.). But Michael Scott was the obnoxious glue that kept everyone together.

The Voice

Last night NBC premiered its new series The Voice. Thank God, because NBC has been beating me to death with commercials for it since about January. Anyway, I gave it a shot. I skipped Body of Proof last night to watch it.

It's sort of a twist on the old American Idol gig. Wannabe singers audition. But the four judges -- Adam Levine from Maroon 5, Christina Aguilera, Cee Lo Green of Gnarls Barkley and FU fame and country star Blake Shelton have their backs turned, so they can't crush on a hot singer and drool and pick someone simply because they're hot, as Randy, Stephen and J-Lo on Idol are wont to do. If they like the singer's voice, they hit a magic button and their chair turns around. If multiple judges turn, they have to compete to have the right to work with that singer. Each judge will work with eight singers over the course of the season.

It's a good show. All four judges have personality and were great. It's also nice to see Christina Aguilera, who's had a rough year -- a divorce, a box office and album bombs in Burlesque and Bionic, flubbing the national anthem at the Super Bowl,  and an arrest for public intoxication -- bounce back. (I'll admit, I've always thought she was hot, so I'm crushing on her.)

I did find the second hour of the two-hour premier to be less interesting. Most of the singers are good, so you don't have the guilty-pleasure trainwrecks that carry Idol for its first few weeks. But it'll be interesting to see how The Voice develops.

Expired Registration, the Sequel

First of all, I think I misspoke yesterday. I was stopped by police for having expired inspection sticker. It was not expired registration.

Anyway, I went over to the mechanic around the corner from me and got my car inspected again. Here is a sample of the results.

Visual Plate Check: Pass
Stop and Tail Lights Check: Pass
Directional Lights Check: Pass
Air Bags Check: Pass
Windshield Check: Pass
Headlamp Check: Pass
Wipers and Cleaner Check: Pass
Exhaust Check: Pass
Rear View Mirror Check: Pass
Tires Check: Pass
Horn Check: Pass
Safety Belts Check: Pass
Bumpers/Fender Check: Pass
Parking Brake Check: Pass
Other: Pass

So my car now has a new inspection sticker. Beautiful. Now I can drive around again without being tailed by police. I have a finely tuned machine. 

Expired Registration

So I had already mentioned that, thanks to SyFy Channel, my Easter was off to a bad start.

Then, I'm on my way to mom's house when I see a police cruiser hanging out alongside Route 9. I continue toward Boston when suddenly I see the cruiser behind me, with lights flashing. Crap. I pull over.

"Do you know why I stopped you," he asks.

In all honesty, I don't. I wing it. "Was I speeding?" I ask.

"No. Your inspection sticker is expired."

I look over to the passenger's side of my windshield. Shit. I can see "2" and "2011" on it. I've lost track of time. It's April now.

Honestly, I'm shocked this hasn't happened sooner. Two weeks ago I learned that they do Saturday night sobriety checks on the Quinsigammond Bridge up the street from me, as I got stuck in one, and the officer apparently never noticed my expired sticker. And I've been tailed by numerous other crusiers in the month-and-a-half since my sticker expired. Maybe the cops aren't as observant as I give them credit for.

I give him my license and registration. He hands me back a $50 ticket.

This opens up a can of worms. This would be a really lame excuse to bag out of Easter dinner with Mom. But I'm in Westboro and still have a long way to get to her place. Theoretically I could spend all afternoon getting stopped in each town on the way to Boston. And if I get the wrong officer, maybe my car will get towed. Can I claim double jeopardy if I get stopped again? It'd be a long walk to Boston, especially with Easter dinner in tow.

Luckily I avoided any other sirens (though I did have two cruisers within striking distance). The rest of Easter went without a hitch.

Now to go get my car inspected this morning.