Disclosure

I deleted a recent post. No one asked me to do it, but a friend suggested it might be a good idea. I decided the friend's advice was sound.

Now playing on my computer

Battlestar Galactica. Another one of those shows I hope doesn't get cancelled because of my neglect.

I remember it, vaguely, as a super-cheesy, late '70s Star Trek/Star Wars knock-off. And I guess as the inspiration for the name of the best coffee in the world.

But this dude Ronald D. Moore took that old, crappy show as inspiration to create the best sci-fi series on television today -- by far -- and one of the best dramas. It's like the West Wing in space, with better writing and acting and the best CG effects I've seen on TV (better effects, in fact, than a lot of movies). Puts to shame shit like Andromeda and Stargate: SG-1 (yeah, I love MacGyver, too, but that show absolutely sucks).

Anyway, BG is recommended, if that's not obvious. I'm working my way through the first season, courtesy of iTunes...

Oprah is my new hero

I haven't seen the show. But from all accounts I've read, Oprah Winfrey apparently made like an Abu Ghraib interrogator on James Frey and got the little bitch to confess to lying, straight up. Not only that, he admitted that The Smoking Gun report on his "memoir" was accurate and that the reporters "did a good job." This, after his lawyer had threatened to sue them.

(Aside: Remember what I said about threats to sue. Next time you see anything like it in any news story, assume that the party "threatening to sue" is guilty of whatever they're alleged to have done.)

My favorite graf from the AP account:

Winfrey, whose apparent indifference to the memoir’s accuracy led to intense criticism, including angry e-mails on her Web site, subjected Frey to a virtual page-by-page interrogation. No longer, as she did last week, was she saying that emotional truth mattered more than the facts. “Mr. Bravado Tough Guy,” she mockingly called the author whose book she had enshrined last fall and whose reputation she had saved last week.

You go, Ms. Winfrey.

Maybe I should give Frey some credit for finally fessing up, and on national television, no less. But I don't think so. This comes only after weeks of either silence or utter bullshit from him and his publisher. Only when Oprah finally dragged him back onto her show -- probably by threatening to revoke her endorsement of his book otherwise -- did he give it up.

(Aside: Frey's site, bigjimindustries.com, wasn't password-protected as of a couple weeks ago, when I went looking to see what he had to say. Interesting.)

Oprah, on the other hand ... wow. It's not a small thing to weigh the evidence, consider the facts and decide that your earlier position on an issue was incorrect -- and then publicly admit that you were wrong. That takes a big person. Just consider how often it happens in Washington.

Really a stunning turn of events. I saw a promo last night for Oprah's show today where she said she'd be talking to James Frey and his publisher again. I figured, more apologists massaging the fuckhead's ego. I wonder if he was as surprised as I was to find out exactly how the conversation would go.

And from what I've read, Oprah asked really good questions. I mean, if this whole talk-show thing doesn't work out for her, I think she has a future in investigative reporting:

"We asked if you, your company, stood behind James's book as a work of nonfiction at the time, and they said absolutely," Ms. Winfrey said (to Nan Talese, Frey's publisher). "And they were also asked if their legal department had checked out the book, and they said yes. So in a press release sent out for the book in 2004 by your company, the book was described as brutally honest and an altering look at — at addiction. So how can you say that if you haven't checked it to be sure?"

Ms. Talese replied (according to the New York Times) that while the Random House legal department checks nonfiction books to make sure that no one is defamed or libeled, it does not check the truth of the assertions made in a book.

Ms. Winfrey replied, "Well, that needs to change."

So that's a nice denouement for this whole sorry episode. Unfortunately, I suspect this will only result in more book sales for Frey, and more fabricated "memoirs" from the publishing world.

Although the AP reports that Frey's publisher is now hanging him out to dry...

Frey’s career will likely never recover, although so far he has not suffered for sales. His book, a million seller thanks to Winfrey, remained in the top 5 Thursday on Amazon.com. A second memoir, “My Friend Leonard,” was in the top 20.

He must still answer to his current publisher, Riverhead Books, an imprint of Penguin Group USA. In a statement Thursday, the publisher said there “very serious issues” with “My Friend Leonard,” which refers to the jail term he never served, and “we are treating them that way.” Regarding his recent two-book deal, Riverhead said, “The ground has shifted. It’s under discussion.” A novel is scheduled to come out in 2007.

You know your reputation's in the shitter...

... When an occasionally funny comic strip is making fun of you. (Thanks, Mom.)

In other news, the New York Times is picking up where The Smoking Gun left off at revealing James Frey as a total ass-clown and liar.

Frey's enabling publishers, in response, offer up a pair of "witnesses" to The Times to vouch for the book. Some unsolicited public relations advice for Random House: in the future, you might want to run a cursory background check on your "witnesses" and, hell, I don't know, ask them a question or two before tossing them to The New York Friggin' Times.

One is a Louisiana state judge who is about to be sentenced to up to 20 years in prison for mail fraud. The other is some dude named "Richard" who refuses to give the Times his last name. And even these two sterling sources can't confirm specific events Frey described.

I've been called out...

... by Lex. Probably because I haven't been posting often enough. Reminds me of once upon a time when I worked for the guy .... [shiver]

So, five odd things about me that I don't mind posting on a blog occasionally read by strangers, sources and co-workers. This ought to be some great reading.

1. I save all of the notebooks, documents, trinkets and other junk I've ever produced at every newsroom I've ever worked in three big plastic crates stacked in a closet. I call it the Wayne Archives. Why? For my memoirs, of course.

2. I know that I will never read any of that shit ever again and it will all probably burn up in a house fire or disintegrate from old age. I like having it anyway.

3. I incessantly twist and pull at my bangs when I'm deep in thought. I'm doing it right now. I fear I'm losing my hair because of it.

4. I used to incessantly pick and chew all of my fingernails down to the pink. I quit doing that cold turkey one day when I was 20. That's about when I started the hair thing.

5. I don't like to think of how many hours of my life I have lost to video games.

I don't know five active bloggers, off-hand, that I would sic this upon. So instead, if you're one of my five daily readers and you have a blog, consider yourself tagged.

Book publishers are worse than journalists!

The New York Times reports that James Frey's publisher has issued a statement about its author's fabricated and deceitful memoir:

"Recent accusations against him notwithstanding, the power of the overall reading experience is such that the book remains a deeply inspiring and redemptive story for millions of readers."

Wrong. So wrong. The power of Frey's book stemmed entirely from its supposed truth. Without truth, it's a story about a fictional thug who goes into rehab and rejects 12-step therapy. That might be an interesting story, but not an inspiring or redemptive one -- and, I suspect, not one that would sell 3.5 million copies.

Here's the difference between book publishers and publishers of journalism. Had Frey worked for a newspaper, something like this would have happened in the wake of The Smoking Gun article:

• Frey would have been put on paid leave.
• The paper would launch its own investigation of his work.
• Frey would be required to co-operate, and if he didn't, he'd be fired.
• There'd be some kind of editor's note published, acknowledging the accusations against Frey and announcing the paper's investigation.
  
• The paper, no doubt, would quickly find that The Smoking Gun's report is accurate.
• The paper would publish a lengthy correction of the story, or perhaps, given the extent of the fabrications, just retract the thing altogether. Frey would be fired.
• The paper would publish a lengthy story detailing its investigation of its own writer and analyzing what went wrong. Editors might resign or be fired.
  
• The larger journalism community would be a-twitter, with independent analysis, investigation and criticism.

But in the book publishing world? We get Doubleday's spokesidiot telling The Times, "This is not a matter we deem necessary for us to investigate."

In other words: "We got your money already, so screw you."

Update (a couple days late): Lying is okay with Oprah.

Double update: Scary. Michelle Malkin and I agree on something.

Triple-dog update: Seth Mnookin, who says he was a legit junkie, tears apart Frey and his crappy book. I'm starting to wonder why I liked it in the first place. The excerpts Mnookin cites are pretty terrible writing.

Too easy

D.C. councilmember Marion Barry apparently doesn't merit the "former crackhead mayor" title I've assigned him.

Turns out that there's nothing "former" about the crackhead part.

This would be really, really funny if it wasn't so very sad. Only in the District of Columbia ...

Thoughts on Lost: Whoa

I spent last weekend holed up in my apartment with beer, popcorn, Chinese food, my new coffee grinder, and the first-season DVDs of the television show Lost.

I'm not good about watching TV. There are a lot of shows I like -- Nip/Tuck, The Shield, Arrested Development, Family Guy, The Simpsons, Scrubs ... the list goes on. But I don't watch any of them regularly. I just forget. I'm a bad TV fan, I guess -- Arrested Development, a great show, is probably gonna get canceled because of people like me.

So in summer 2004, I started seeing these previews of this Lost show. Endless clips of Dominic Monaghan saying, "Guys. Where are we?" And something about a plane crash on a desert island inhabited by a monster. Sounds stupid, I thought. I didn't watch.

So yeah. Turns out it's not so bad. In fact, it's friggin' genius. In fact, I watched all 25 episodes in a row over two nights and two days -- broken up by occasional eating and sleeping and football -- and woke up Monday morning wanting more. The episode where Sawyer tells Jack about meeting Jack's dad in the bar nearly choked me up. Movies rarely nearly choke me up. Television shows never nearly choke me up.

How did this show not sweep the Emmys this year? How did Terry O'Quinn not win a damn thing? I mean, I love William Shatner, don't get me wrong, but his work in Boston Legal couldn't possibly have outshadowed John Locke.

Also, it has the best-looking female cast of any current show. Emilie de Ravin (especially sans prosthetic tummy), Yoon jin-Kim, Evangeline Lilly, Michelle Rodriguez, Cynthia Watros, Kimberly Joseph -- I love you all. Though de Ravin could cut back on the hysterical screaming.

I watched the season premier this year, but otherwise missed pretty much every episode. Which had me pretty glum this week ... until a friend told me that I could download them and watch them, for $2 a piece, from iTunes.

That, friends and neighbors, is one sweetheart of a deal. God bless you, Steve Jobs. I'm off to watch season two, episode eight: "Collision."

Update: Damnit all, the reunification of Bernard and Rose nearly choked me up again! (Alright, DID choke me up!)

The District of Columbia sucks

Not only is this city not safe for former crackhead mayors; it's apparently just as dangerous for respected journalists.

Last year, I covered the Social Security debate here in the Capitol, so David Rosenbaum and I would occasionally find ourselves covering the same news conferences, staking out the same secret meetings, chasing the same senators down hallways, that sort of thing.

For a decorated journalist working for the most influential publication in the land, Rosenbaum was a remarkably nice guy. The first time we wound up hanging out together outside a secret meeting, he introduced himself to me. Turned out he had once worked for my current employer, so he shared some stories and told me how much he respected our work.

One day in the summer, a couple of congressmen called a news conference to announce a Social Security bill. The studio the House of Representatives has built for news conferences is way too small, so there were probably 30 of us, plus cameras and what-not, stuffed into the room. The congressmen were running late. Five minutes went by, then 10, then 15 -- no congressmen.

So all of a sudden, Rosenbaum I guess decides that he has had it. From the back of the room, he yells at one of the congressmen's flacks: Where is your boss? He's running late, she says. We don't have time for this, he tells her. She goes scurrying out of the room, then pops back in. He's right outside, talking to another member, she reports. Get him in here! Rosenbaum barks.

God bless Rosenbaum for having the temerity to voice the frustration we all felt. Needless to say, Mr. Congressman hurried into the room and got things underway.

I wish I'd gotten to know Rosenbaum better. Rest in peace, sir.

Update: Rosenbaum's alleged killer turns out to be -- not surprisingly -- a bonehead.

James Frey is (allegedly) a giant asshat

As I was leaving beautiful Greensboro, N.C. in 2004 for the nation's Capitol, a good friend gave me a lovely parting gift. "A Million Little Pieces," a book by a fellow named James Frey, who claims it's a memoir.

It's a great read. Frey tells a grisly, detailed story of his life as a young crack fiend, bad-ass tough-guy criminal, and all-around asshole, and how he found redemption and love in a Minnesota rehab clinic. I was touched. I recommended it to friends. I gave it a place of honor on my good bookcase -- the one in my living room where I show off all my "good" books.

Unfortunately, looks like everything about Frey's story except the asshole part was, at best, embellished, and at worst, completely made up. His worst criminal convictions were some DUIs. He was never investigated by the FBI for selling cocaine. No mafia and federal judge buddies he met in rehab leaned on hillbilly prosecutors in Ohio to get him out of a long prison sentence. And in the most vile fiction, contrary to his claims, he had nothing to do with a train accident in his hometown that killed two young women. All bullshit, according to The Smoking Gun.

It's a heck of a piece of journalism -- a lesson in how to root out documents and parse the truth. I recommend the story; I no longer recommend Frey's piece of shit book. It's not even worth my back bookshelf, the one where I keep old textbooks and sci-fi.

Frey has "threatened to sue" The Smoking Gun, according to the Associated Press. Here's the thing about "threatening to sue." Some editors I respect once told me not to bother writing news stories about people "threatening to sue." It's as easy to threaten to sue someone as it is to turn your boring, sorry, fuckhead life into a best-selling memoir.

Update: The New York Times reports on The Smoking Gun's report. Let the echo chamber begin! I'm very curious to see how Oprah reacts to all this. My prediction: after getting burned by two dickweed contemporary authors, Oprah will never name another one to her book club again. You reap what you sow, silly publishing industry.

Welcome to DC, 2006

Where even a former crackhead mayor isn't safe.

In other news, I met a candidate for mayor of this fine third-world city the other day. I'm sitting at my computer Saturday afternoon, minding my own business, when a pretty girl walks up to the door and knocks. Says she's an aide to Fenty, and that he's just down the street, and would I like to meet him? Why not. He strolls up a few minutes later. Nice enough guy. Acknowledges that the schools here suck. Says he'll fix them. Sure he will. Wants my vote. I'll keep an eye on him, I say.

Pretty girl gets my name and email for their mailing lists, but no, I don't want a "Fenty for Mayor" sign for my window.

The election isn't until next November. Gotta give him credit for hustling, anyway.