Paula Fox, the author of such great novels as Desperate Characters and Poor George is is Courtney Love’s grandmother? WTF? (via Escape Grace)

Gerard Jones, author of Ginny Good, certainly hasn’t been resting on his laurels. His latest effort is something called Propagandaville, in which he continues his crusading against bogus marketing devices and the troubling limitations on free speech. Indeed, I don’t think there’s any other author around who has not only offered a complete audio version of his book, but who has been so passionate enough to record his sentiments about the publishing industry.

Pardon the lazy blogging today. I’ve been coordinating for the Oscar blog.

To my great astonishment, several surprise individuals will be showing up for the Oscar blog on Sunday. I haven’t counted, but I estimate the current tally of contributors to be close to 35-40. (Seventeen are currently listed.) More info to follow.

Ted McDermott writes in about a new issue of Context, which features an overview of Estonian author Mati Unt, a fascinating article from William Gass on how The Tunnel was designed, a report of a trip to the Flann O’Brien Archives, and an interview with Mark Binelli.

[EDITOR’S NOTE: Thanks to the success of Judy Blume’s revised edition of Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, in which all references to Margaret’s pink sanitary belt have been eliminated, Beverly Cleary has also stepped into the revision game. Responding to recent concerns that “Pest” was too antiquated a term for the 21st century, Cleary’s classic novel Ramona the Pest has been rewritten and updated for the present day. The title of the book has been changed to Ramona the Alternative. Return of the Reluctant has obtained the first chapter of Cleary’s “special edition” and it follows below.]

“I am not a Goth chick,” Ramona Quimby told her big sister Beezus.

“Then stop acting alternative,” said Beezus, whose real name was Beatrice. She was standing by the front window waiting for her friend Mary Jane to score some dime bags to enjoy just before school.

“I’m not acting alternative. Yes, I dyed my hair jet black and I rarely see the sun these days. But I’m singing and skipping to Peter Murphy,” said Ramona, who had only recently learned to skip to Bauhaus. Ramona did not think she was alternative. No matter what others said, she never thought she was alternative. The people who called her alternative were always hipper and often read Spin Magazine and laughed at her because she didn’t own a turntable.

Ramona went on with her singing and skipping. She began to feel considerable angst and contemplated setting fire to something. Perhaps she might skip to the 7-11 and spend most of the day hanging out in front looking gloomy. “I hate my life,” said Ramona. “I want to kill myself and I’m only eight years old.” Murphy’s gloom was starting to weigh on her. Perhaps she should cement this with a good solid blast of melancholy from Robert Smith. No longer could she care much about Beezus, who had one of the stupidest names she had ever heard. The name “Beezus” was more Goth than Ramona. It was more alternative in a radcliffy kind of way.

“Come on, Mama!” urged Ramona, pausing in her singing and skipping. “I’m too depressed to live. Can’t I stay home and be miserable?”

“Enough of that music, Ramona,” said Mrs. Quimby. “Why don’t you listen to something sensible like the Beatles or something?”

“The Beatles are so mainstream,” protested Ramona, who contemplated bringing up Lennon’s pugnacious solo album, Plastic Ono Band, but soon realized that she was talking with her mother, who would likely never understand what she was going through, much less have any musical sense whatsoever. She was a girl who had been denied an iPod. Life was so boring that she had to fall asleep in class.

Then Mary Jane arrived. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Quimby. I think Beezus and I can take care of Ramona today.” Mary Jane winked at Ramona. And Beezus and Mary Jane began to titter.

“Don’t forget your lunch, Ramona!” cried Mrs. Quimby.

“Oh, don’t worry, Mrs. Quimby,” said Mary Jane. “I’ve got something in a plastic bag that will probably get Ramona through lunch hour. And Beezus too!”

So David Kipen is hitting four bookstores in eight hours between San Francisco and Los Angeles. And he’s blogging about it. Of course, since a lot of testosterone seems to be floating around, it’s only fair that I note the following: I’ve done the drive in five hours, Mr. Sarvas.

Has anybody out there done it in four and a half?

The Reverse Cowgirl lives again.

It’s in the works, but I’m in the process of assembling a live Oscar blog, URL soon to be announced, for this Sunday. More information as it happens tomorrow, but at the present time, we’ve got some very talented and funny people involved with this thing — individuals who might just put this crazed Academy Awards thing into perspective. And they’ll be providing some very funny commentary in real time as the ceremonies happen.

More to come.

I’ve greatly been enjoying this four-hour documentary, which I’ve been watching in piecemeal bits this week. The demonstrates how Freudian principles have been used to subject human behavior and is indeed a must-see. Sadly, it’s unavailable on DVD in the States, but a Bittorrent can be found here..