Hey, kids, want to make a quick buck and try and stop one of the most untalented men in show business in one go? Well, now you can. It seems that Pauly (Jury Duty) Shore has somehow conned TBS into giving him a television show called Minding the Store. If you keep a straight face and don’t laugh (too bad there’s no extra points for outright nausea), Pauly Shore will send you a dollar back.

Unfortunately, according to the rules, “NO MORE THAN 250,000 REQUESTS WILL BE HONORED AND THIS OFFER WILL END ON THE EARLIER OF 8/15/05 OR THE RECEIPT OF 250,000 REQUESTS.” Which means that they’ve budgeted the show to lose $250,000.

Here’s my question: why not more? If my calculations are correct, a three million dollar cap should send a clear and resounding message that Pauly Shore should not be hired under any circumstances.

The real question: Why doesn’t most television operate this way? I’m not sure if it would improve television, but if people demanded their money back, wouldn’t it send a real message to the networks that most of the shit they air is vapid?

• Robert “Hue-Happy Background” Birnbaum talks with crime fiction writer Richard Marnick. Marnick, as reported during our BEA coverage, has led an extraordinary life as an ex-cop, ex-con, and a union writer tunnel. And Marnick gives Birnbaum the goods on Boyos and more.
• Pope John Paul II approved of Harry Potter, but Ratzinger doesn’t. Pope Benedict XVI has also gone on record to state that ice cream cones and roller coasters are the work of the devil.
• I must say that this headline is wrong. It should read “Coffee shop offers no chance or tablespace for writers.”
• The SF Weekly offers a brief blurb for Michelle Tea, who would probably make a better modifier over the Warfield than the SF Weekly.
• Introducing BritLitBlogs, a consortium of six British literary blogs.
• If you thought the Patriot Act library and bookstore records battle was over, think again. Librarians are concerned with the Bush administration’s determination to make reinstating Section 215 a top priority this year.
• Mike West really doesn’t like Spin.
• Tayari Jones on going to Bible school while atheist. (via Maud)
• Rake has the goods on Cormac McCarthy from this month’s Vanity Fair.
• History textbooks aren’t just being diluted in American schools. Otawara, Japan has approved a book downplaying the Rape of Nanking, completely overlooking the sexual ensalvement of women.
• Back in the 1960s, San Quentin was one of the few prisons that attempted “bibliotherapy.” Because of this, prisoners became literate and several of them became writers. (And in fact, Eldridge Cleaver wrote and sold Soul on Ice while in San Quentin.) So it’s very good to see that new reading programs are being tried out at various Bay Area prisons. (And for a related story, check out Mark Sarvas’ account of teaching writing to at-risk juvenile offenders.)
• Terry McMillan’s latest homophobia: “He’s the one who is gay.” I didn’t realize that one’s sexual orientation mattered as much as one’s actions do in a messy divorce. So am I to conclude that not being gay means you’re not “a habitual liar” or “a sociopath”?

Tito alerts me to this article at the Voice that involves sharing absinthe and conversation with William T. Vollmann. There’s some fascinating revelations about what Vollmann thinks about post-9/11 politics and how Vollmann tries as hard as possible to live, as well as observe, the lives of others. But the most interesting remark is this:

“There are people dead as a result of [American] political and religious praxis,” he says. “Whether we owe those dead bodies a tight, middle, or panoramic gaze, we owe those dead bodies a story.”

(And for what it’s worth, long gestating in the Future Entries Department is my final entry on The Rainbow Stories for The Vollmann Club. I finished the book a month ago, but hope to go through it story-by-story.)

Kevin Smith now has a blog. What’s odd is that the man is determined to chronicle everything. He has a post up every day. Even more disturbing: the man casually reveals that he eats almost nothing but sausage and fesses up to “delicious little fuck sessions.”

(All criticisms of Mr. Smith’s public posturing aside, I should note that Jersey Girl was unfairly maligned, that the film dared to offer a visceral take on fatherhood and life choices when Smith acolytes expected more Jay and Silent Bob, and I hope that Mr. Smith continues to develop as a filmmaker.)