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.Dick and I met for dinner the next night.It was my forty-fifth birthday; I felt like I was standing at the bedrock center of my life.Dick played me a bebop "Happy Birthday" on his accordion.The old chops were still there--he zipped on and off the main theme rápidamente.We split for the restaurant.I asked Dick if he would consent to appear as the hero of my next novel.He said yes and asked what the book would be about.I said, "Fear, courage, and heavily compromised redemptions."He said, "Good, I think I've been there."We hit the Tillerman's--a surf-and-turf palace outside Vegas.The food was good, but my brain was schizophrenic while I ate.I listened to Dick talk; I plotted my Contino novella full-speed.By the time theGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlpecan pie arrived, I had Dick Contino's Blues--a picaresque tale of '58 L.A.--fully mapped out.Dick said, "Penny for your thoughts?"I said, "You're my ticket back and my ticket out, but I'm not sure where to."November 1993SEX, GLITZ, AND GREEDTHE SEDUCTION OF O.J.SIMPSON[This piece was written before the verdict in the O.J.Simpson trial.]The Simpson-Goldman snuffs are recognizably prosaic.Subtract the accused killer's celebrity and showbiz milieu and you've got a spur-of-the-moment whack-out equally indigenous to Watts, Pacoima and Dogdick, Delaware.The intersection' of fame, extreme good looks, and pervasive media coverage has blasted a common double slash-job to the top of the pantheonic police blotter of our minds.The Leopold-Loeb, Wylie-Hoffert, and Manson Family cases--replete with complex investigations and psychological underpinnings emblematic of their time--cannot compete with the Simpson Trinity.A botched hack-and-run caper has become the Crime of the Century.On Sunday, June 12, 1994, Oj.Simpson did or did not drive to his ex-wife Nicole Brown Simpson's pad and slaughter her and a young man named Ronald Goldman.He did or did not wear gloves and a ski mask; he did or did not butcher his victims with a bone-handled knife, a bayonet, or an entrenching tool.He did or did not split the scene and drive to his own home, a few minutes away.Nicole Brown Simpson was or was not a devoted mother, a cocaine addict, and an airheaded party girl.She was or was not an anorexic, a bulimic, or a nymphomaniac given to picking up men at a Brentwood espresso pit.The minutiae of her life can be compiled and collated to conform to almost any sleazy thesis.She is most unambiguously defined by this heavily documented fact: Oj.Simpson beat the shit out of her over the last five years of her life.Ron Goldman was either a waiter who wanted to be an actor or an actor working as a waiter--a very common L.A.job euphemism.He was or was not Nicole Simpson's lover.He did or did not borrow Nicole's Ferrari on occasion--which did or did not piss off Oj.no end.Forensic evidence indicates that Goldman fought very hard for his life.Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlForensic evidence is utilized to supersede interpretation and conjecture through the application of impartial, empirically valid scientific methods.Forensic evidence is used to place suspected felons at crime scenes.Forensic evidence is a counterweight to gooey pleas for mitigation.The gathering of forensic evidence is a conscious search for the truth.So are legitimate attempts to debunk scientific fallacies and sloppy applications of long-established forensic procedures.The analysis of forensic evidence may prove to be the adjudicating bottom line in the Oj.Simpson case.The flip side might be logical chaos--a verdict or the absence of a verdict spawned by the numbingly protracted cross-media extravaganza that has deluged all would-be jurors and indeed the entire American public with an accretion of contradictory details both densely pertinent and superfluous--a huge shitstorm of information, misinformation, innuendo, and disingenuously reported rebop that backs you into a corner like a date rapist you can never escape until you shut down your electronic and printed-page access to the world, move to the South Pole, and start flicking penguins.Oj.did or did not shed his own blood outside Nicole's pad.He returned from an overnight trip to Chicago sporting a fresh cut-- which might have been caused by his slamming down a glass upon hearing the news of his ex-wife's death or might have been caused by his slashing at the woman a bit too close to his free hand.Blood trajectories are primarily matters of forensic and hard legal concern.They lack the mass-market appeal inherent to hearsay accounts of an attractive woman's sex life and attempts to portray a career misogynist as a lost brother to the Scottsboro Boys, and until the blood-oozing interactive Oj.CD-ROM hits stores, we just might have to view where that blood was spilled as a literal indication of Mr.Simpson's guilt or innocence--a niggling restriction to keep us tenuously open-minded as data rains down and inundates us.The Oj.Simpson case is a gigantic Russian novel set in L.A.The extravaganza occurred in L.A.because the major characters wanted to suck the giant poison cock off the Entertainment Industry.It's a novel of metamorphoses--because L.A.is where you go when you want to be somebody else.It happened in L.A.because it's the best place on earth to get breast and penis enlargements.It happened in the Brentwood part of L.A.because homelessness, crack addiction, and other outward signs of despair appear at a minimum there.O.J.Simpson wanted to be White.Ron Goldman wanted to be an actor--an equally ridiculous ambition.Nicole wanted a groovy fast lane and the secondhand celebrity that comes with flicking famous men.Her second-tier status extended to her death.She became the blank page that pundits used to explicate her husband's long journey of suppression.Nicole bought a ticket to ride.The price was nakedly apparent long before she died.Her face was pinched and crimped at the edges--too-pert features held too taut and compressed by too many bouts with cocaine, too many compulsive gym workouts, and too much time given over to maintaining a cosmetic front.Her beauty was not the beach-bunny perfection revered by stupid young men and the man who may or may not have murdered her.The physical force of Nicole Brown Simpson is the glaze of desiccation writ large on her face.The lines starting to form might have been caused by inchoate inner struggles, or the simple process of aging, or a growingly articulate sense that she had boxed herself into an inescapable corner of obsessive male desire, random male desire, and a life of indebtedness to things meretricious and shallow.Nicole's relationship with Oj.was deceptive and collusive from the start.He bought the hot blonde that fifty years of pop culture told him he should groove on, and an unformed psyche that adapted to his policy of one-way monogamy.She bought a rich, handsome, famous man possessed of infantile characteristics, which led her to believe that she could control him.Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlHe bought a trip through his unconscious and a preordained mandate for horror.She abdicated to an inner drama that would ultimately destroy her.They both bought a trip to Hollywood.O.J.'s athletic career was phasing out at the time they met; he sensed that he could continue his nice-guy impersonation and ease himself into plum acting roles with his long-perfected chameleon aplomb [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Dick and I met for dinner the next night.It was my forty-fifth birthday; I felt like I was standing at the bedrock center of my life.Dick played me a bebop "Happy Birthday" on his accordion.The old chops were still there--he zipped on and off the main theme rápidamente.We split for the restaurant.I asked Dick if he would consent to appear as the hero of my next novel.He said yes and asked what the book would be about.I said, "Fear, courage, and heavily compromised redemptions."He said, "Good, I think I've been there."We hit the Tillerman's--a surf-and-turf palace outside Vegas.The food was good, but my brain was schizophrenic while I ate.I listened to Dick talk; I plotted my Contino novella full-speed.By the time theGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlpecan pie arrived, I had Dick Contino's Blues--a picaresque tale of '58 L.A.--fully mapped out.Dick said, "Penny for your thoughts?"I said, "You're my ticket back and my ticket out, but I'm not sure where to."November 1993SEX, GLITZ, AND GREEDTHE SEDUCTION OF O.J.SIMPSON[This piece was written before the verdict in the O.J.Simpson trial.]The Simpson-Goldman snuffs are recognizably prosaic.Subtract the accused killer's celebrity and showbiz milieu and you've got a spur-of-the-moment whack-out equally indigenous to Watts, Pacoima and Dogdick, Delaware.The intersection' of fame, extreme good looks, and pervasive media coverage has blasted a common double slash-job to the top of the pantheonic police blotter of our minds.The Leopold-Loeb, Wylie-Hoffert, and Manson Family cases--replete with complex investigations and psychological underpinnings emblematic of their time--cannot compete with the Simpson Trinity.A botched hack-and-run caper has become the Crime of the Century.On Sunday, June 12, 1994, Oj.Simpson did or did not drive to his ex-wife Nicole Brown Simpson's pad and slaughter her and a young man named Ronald Goldman.He did or did not wear gloves and a ski mask; he did or did not butcher his victims with a bone-handled knife, a bayonet, or an entrenching tool.He did or did not split the scene and drive to his own home, a few minutes away.Nicole Brown Simpson was or was not a devoted mother, a cocaine addict, and an airheaded party girl.She was or was not an anorexic, a bulimic, or a nymphomaniac given to picking up men at a Brentwood espresso pit.The minutiae of her life can be compiled and collated to conform to almost any sleazy thesis.She is most unambiguously defined by this heavily documented fact: Oj.Simpson beat the shit out of her over the last five years of her life.Ron Goldman was either a waiter who wanted to be an actor or an actor working as a waiter--a very common L.A.job euphemism.He was or was not Nicole Simpson's lover.He did or did not borrow Nicole's Ferrari on occasion--which did or did not piss off Oj.no end.Forensic evidence indicates that Goldman fought very hard for his life.Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlForensic evidence is utilized to supersede interpretation and conjecture through the application of impartial, empirically valid scientific methods.Forensic evidence is used to place suspected felons at crime scenes.Forensic evidence is a counterweight to gooey pleas for mitigation.The gathering of forensic evidence is a conscious search for the truth.So are legitimate attempts to debunk scientific fallacies and sloppy applications of long-established forensic procedures.The analysis of forensic evidence may prove to be the adjudicating bottom line in the Oj.Simpson case.The flip side might be logical chaos--a verdict or the absence of a verdict spawned by the numbingly protracted cross-media extravaganza that has deluged all would-be jurors and indeed the entire American public with an accretion of contradictory details both densely pertinent and superfluous--a huge shitstorm of information, misinformation, innuendo, and disingenuously reported rebop that backs you into a corner like a date rapist you can never escape until you shut down your electronic and printed-page access to the world, move to the South Pole, and start flicking penguins.Oj.did or did not shed his own blood outside Nicole's pad.He returned from an overnight trip to Chicago sporting a fresh cut-- which might have been caused by his slamming down a glass upon hearing the news of his ex-wife's death or might have been caused by his slashing at the woman a bit too close to his free hand.Blood trajectories are primarily matters of forensic and hard legal concern.They lack the mass-market appeal inherent to hearsay accounts of an attractive woman's sex life and attempts to portray a career misogynist as a lost brother to the Scottsboro Boys, and until the blood-oozing interactive Oj.CD-ROM hits stores, we just might have to view where that blood was spilled as a literal indication of Mr.Simpson's guilt or innocence--a niggling restriction to keep us tenuously open-minded as data rains down and inundates us.The Oj.Simpson case is a gigantic Russian novel set in L.A.The extravaganza occurred in L.A.because the major characters wanted to suck the giant poison cock off the Entertainment Industry.It's a novel of metamorphoses--because L.A.is where you go when you want to be somebody else.It happened in L.A.because it's the best place on earth to get breast and penis enlargements.It happened in the Brentwood part of L.A.because homelessness, crack addiction, and other outward signs of despair appear at a minimum there.O.J.Simpson wanted to be White.Ron Goldman wanted to be an actor--an equally ridiculous ambition.Nicole wanted a groovy fast lane and the secondhand celebrity that comes with flicking famous men.Her second-tier status extended to her death.She became the blank page that pundits used to explicate her husband's long journey of suppression.Nicole bought a ticket to ride.The price was nakedly apparent long before she died.Her face was pinched and crimped at the edges--too-pert features held too taut and compressed by too many bouts with cocaine, too many compulsive gym workouts, and too much time given over to maintaining a cosmetic front.Her beauty was not the beach-bunny perfection revered by stupid young men and the man who may or may not have murdered her.The physical force of Nicole Brown Simpson is the glaze of desiccation writ large on her face.The lines starting to form might have been caused by inchoate inner struggles, or the simple process of aging, or a growingly articulate sense that she had boxed herself into an inescapable corner of obsessive male desire, random male desire, and a life of indebtedness to things meretricious and shallow.Nicole's relationship with Oj.was deceptive and collusive from the start.He bought the hot blonde that fifty years of pop culture told him he should groove on, and an unformed psyche that adapted to his policy of one-way monogamy.She bought a rich, handsome, famous man possessed of infantile characteristics, which led her to believe that she could control him.Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlHe bought a trip through his unconscious and a preordained mandate for horror.She abdicated to an inner drama that would ultimately destroy her.They both bought a trip to Hollywood.O.J.'s athletic career was phasing out at the time they met; he sensed that he could continue his nice-guy impersonation and ease himself into plum acting roles with his long-perfected chameleon aplomb [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]