If Books Weren't Dead, I Would Be Famous Right Now
For the last week I've been trying to find something in the news about books or authors to blog about. Why? Well, I'm glad you asked. Because I am now officially available in print -- like in a book store. And, no, I'm not talking about Vol. III of the ill-fated Cracked magazine where I delighted Janet Maslin of the New York Times with my ribald satire of Lindsay Lohan's vagina. I'm talking about being published in an actual book. With pages. And a cover.
Uber-hip, literary website McSweeney's Internet Tendency has seen fit to include me in their latest offering: McSweeney's Joke Book of Book Jokes. How exciting is that? Pretty exciting. Just ask my bosses. They're extremely pleased about the much-needed credibility my literary achievement has brought to this blog. (Lex, thank you for the roses. Jack, the 
What does that mean? It means we live in a world where authors are no longer rock stars. Hell, rock stars aren't even rock stars anymore. Who are the rock stars today? Reality show contestants? I'm not sure, but I do know my inability to find a blog-worthy author story almost kept me from sharing such wonderful news.
But then I realized something. Who needs to link to a real story? That's for amateurs. Children. I'm the oldest Cracked blogger, and I'd better start acting like it. (I actually don't know if that's true. I know nothing about Chris Buckholz other than he's part robot and has no interest in speaking to me.) But as someone 
clinging to the edge of Cracked's demographic, I will assert myself now. And why not? I earned it. I own some vinyl LPs, I have a 401k, and my testicles have fully descended. Do you understand? I bought OK Computer the day it came out. I got bloodied up in a Soundgarden mosh pit in '93. And I know that my state income tax from the previous fiscal year can be claimed as a deduction on my current Federal return. So if I want to explain to you that I sold a 600 word piece to McSweeneys for $100.00, and it's now included in a soft cover anthology, then I'm going to do it. Does that make me the world's greatest satirist since Jonathan Swift? In a way, yes. Yes it does.
Some of you might be saying, "Is Gladstone being hyperbolic here?" And when I say "some of you," of course, I mean the readers. (Mikey, Rossie, and Dannie think "hyperbolic" is a word for some kind of chamber that can turn you into a super hero. Chris might use that word, but, like I said, he's a robot so...) But to answer your question, yes, I'm exaggerating a wee bit about the above. I didn't actually bleed in the Soundgarden mosh pit. The rest is all true. Or I don't live in Maine.
Check out some more Gladstone over HERE and OVER HERE.
