Weird dream from early morning (3 a.m.?) of July 21, 2004:

I’m on what seems to be a campaign bus for George W. Bush. Everyone on board hates him, especially in the back where I am. A woman comes to get me and says I’m to see him personally, that I’ve been granted special time. I’m taken off the bus and go to sit with him in a dentist’s office he’s using. He has me sit down across from him and I take a good look at him. He’s wearing a white doctor’s uniform, has a stethoscope around his neck, and seems absolutely out of his mind. His hair is wild and his eyes are darting. He inserts a probe into the palm of my right hand – I ask him if this is absolutely necessary and he says it is. The probe is attached to a long catheter tube, and when he’s got it fully inserted, he starts to pump with a foot pedal and his large purple balloon rises from inside my palm. I’m amazed by this. He looks it over approvingly and says to the woman that this one seems just fine. I’m speaking with him sympathetically – he just can’t seem to get a break, I know he had good intentions in Iraq, it’s a shame no one likes him – while he performs the same procedure to the other palm. He’s surprised by my sympathy – and so am I! I’m wondering how much of a weasel I am; am I sympathetic because now, confronted with the man behind the headlines, I feel for him, or because he’s the president and I’m a sheep? I’m led back onto the bus and the woman announces to everyone that my procedure was a great success. I hold up my palms for all to see. They jeer at me for being friendly to Bush and saying nice things.

After a bit, Bush comes onto the bus and sits down next to me. I must be his only friend. I don’t think I’m his friend at all, so I’m confused by my own reactions, because now I’m feeling truly sorry for him if he has confused me for a friend when my only idea was to be polite. Now thrilled by our budding friendship, he has offered to detour the bus so he personally can drive me home. I give him directions. At some point the bus becomes a large stakebody truck in which we’re all sitting in the back. We pull up to my home – which is more like an apartment complex with a large parking lot. We pull in and I jump out excitedly to show everyone who I’ve got with me – I may not be entirely crazy about him, but hey, he’s hanging out with me, so this shows a new level of power and influence for me. I say, “Mr. President, can you wait 30 seconds? Please? I’d really like to get a picture.” I can’t believe I called him “Mr. President” because I know damn well he wasn’t elected – now I’m really feeling like a weasel, but I’m excited by the prospect of my having a photo of the two of us together that I can use on the website. He says, “You really mean two minutes” and says it to mean that I have only two minutes.

The front door is locked, so I try to scramble in from an upstairs window, except they have large wooden barriers from the inside. Meanwhile, my neighbors and guests, specifically including my friend Elaine, start to flood out to check on all the excitement. My wife hands me the camera very reluctantly – she hates Bush and can’t imagine why I’m hanging out with him and, worse, am excited about it! – but I grab it and run back to have the assistant woman take my picture. Bush poses with me and I’m wondering just how useful this picture will be given that everyone hates him and he’s lost his mind and looks it. Bush shakes Elaine’s hand, but while everyone else is impressed to see him in my parking lot, no one else is eager to shake his hand. He scowls and climbs back into the stakebody truck. I run after him and ask if please I can get him to go to meet my son Lex’s friend Brandon, because the boy idolizes Bush.

This is just the tonic Bush needs, so we’re off again.

Five thoughts that recur whenever I come across the latest PBS pledge drive and Dr. Wayne Dyer’s show “The Power of Intention”:

1. The Shaya thing – I’ve seen this three times now and always come in at the same point in the story. Because I never get to see it all, Dr. Dyer might tell me that Source doesn’t want me to see it all. More likely, I’m switching over from another program during a commercial break. On a similar note, I’m reminded that Jack Kirby also called God “The Source” but that was in comic books circa 1972.

2. Suspending judgment – Every time he talks about suspending judgment I’m reminded of what I’ve just read (or not read) in the newspaper. Maybe we need more judgment. And when he says that when you judge someone as stupid you are merely showing that you’re capable of judging them as stupid – why is that a bad thing?

3. He’s anti-drug, not as a moral choice but as a personal choice. That’s fine. As a reader of William Blake and Edgar Allan Poe I’m aware of the upside of drugs. And I believe many American Indians use drugs to get closer to Source. So who’s right? If he can’t handle them, that’s a separate issue.

4. This show makes a bad argument for funding PBS, because Dyer’s show is essentially an infomercial that he should be paying for on basic cable. PBS is a bonanza for him, but it’s not a free ride:  We’re paying for it.

5. Why is it sophisticated for the PBS base to sneer at some religions (let’s say Pentecostals, or Southern Baptists), but heartless to attack a guy who preaches a mushy pantheism to the cultured and comforted few? Because most people choose their religions based upon class, and it’s easy to mock the lower class. And also because pantheism doesn’t require much in the way of adherence to doctrine (since it has none), just a determination to be nice.

So it looks like I’m not the only one who has Lost interest. My friend Paul directs me to this story:

New ‘Lost’ Episode Hits a Ratings Low

By LYNN ELBER
AP Television Writer

LOS ANGELES (AP) — “Lost” crashed in the ratings this week, hitting an all-time low for a new episode. ABC’s drama about plane crash survivors stranded on a mysterious island drew an estimated 12.8 million viewers Wednesday, according to preliminary figures from Nielsen Media Research. That’s well off the peak of more than 20 million for the drama that became an instant sensation when it debuted in September 2004.

ABC has worked hard to try to protect a show that helped turn the network’s fortunes around, moving it to 10 p.m. EST Wednesday this year to steer clear of Fox’s blockbuster “American Idol” and CBS’s increasingly strong “Criminal Minds.”

After “Lost” fans complained about reruns interrupting the show’s serial flow last season, the network tried an experiment: It split the current season in two, airing six episodes before an extended break and then resuming with 16 additional episodes.

The story goes on; click above for the rest.

While I’m not going to lose any sleep over the show’s slow downturn, I do want to acknowledge that when it was cool it was very cool. The writing crackled. And it was refreshing to see a cast of actors who truly reflected a band of world travelers: Koreans, Aussies, Brits, Yanks, Africans, and so forth. Try finding anyone in a Woody Allen flick who isn’t upper-middle-class white or Jewish. (I guess such people don’t exist in New York.)

The guys at my local comics shop tell me that comics writer Brian K. Vaughn has been enlisted to write episodes this season. (And that the producers of the series brought him into the store for a visit.) Vaughn is a terrific writer (of comic books, at least), so perhaps there’s some new energy in the offing. I hope so. Because I’m still watching the show every week with my daughter.

Dr. Mabuse, as you may recall from this earlier post, writes a manifesto of evil that compels acolytes to bring down society through chaos and confusion. To contemporaries — including Josef Goebbels, who initially banned it — the second Mabuse film, “The Testament of Dr. Mabuse,” presented an allegory for Hitler, who wrote “Das Kampf” and then inspired others to implement it.

In Europe, the legend of Dr. Mabuse continues to grow. And why not? They experienced his “testament” of World War II in a way we did not. Many people have taken the Mabuse mythology and twisted and interpreted it for their own reasons, and again, I say why not. If Supergirl can go through so many iterations, then Goebbels is free to shoot new framing sequences that insist that Fritz Lang’s film blames society’s ills on the Weimar Republic and that herald Hitler as the cure.

Some of this was on my mind last night in a conversation with a friend who, surprisingly to me given his proclivity for the provocative and obscure, hasn’t seen these Lang films. Today, he emailed with another coincidental and bizarre Mabuse appearance (and before I quote him I should note that during this conversation I connected Lang, and Mabuse, and World War II, with a lengthy discourse on Samuel Beckett hiding from the Nazis durings World War II):

Curiouser and curiouser. Last night after we spoke I opened a box of books I had ordered. There was a novel titled “Red” by Richard James. It involves “the curious machinations of Dr. Mabuse” and thanks Grove Press for permission to quote from Samuel Beckett’s play, “Krapp’s Last Tape.” Does any of that sound familiar??? Beyond coincidence? (Play “Twilight Zone” theme here.)
I bought it from edwardrhamilton.com. The original price was $14.95 but they have it as a remainder for $3.95. The stock number is 6050662, in case you want to check it on ERH’s search engine. It was published by gaymenspress.co.uk, if you would like to check there for more info. I imagine it will have a bunch of gay men somewhere in it.

I checked out “Red” by Richard James on Amazon.com, and yes, there seems to be a connection to my new master, who orchestrates all our doings behind the scenes. My heart goes out a bit to Richard James; not only does the novel not seem to have sold well, but it appears that he’s taken to reviewing it himself on Amazon, and under his own name, as this link reveals. If you can write a clever book involving a mastermind plotting to take down society, certainly you’re clever enough to set up a psuedonym to review your own books, no?

I suppose I should be unsurprised that someone who would want to touch on Dr. Mabuse would also gravitate toward Beckett. I think the big surprise is that Grove Press permitted the quote (perhaps these things are easier now that Beckett is in the ground). One can’t tell from either site, Amazon or Hamilton, that the book is published by “Gay Men’s Press” (Hamilton says “GMP”), but when you click the latter site for “related reading,” you get titles like “Fag Hag,” “Father’s Day,” and “The Irreversible Decline of Eddie Socket,” so it seems a safe bet that the book relates not only to society’s “irreversible decline,” but also to the man (and men) behind it.

Release the white doves — Camille Paglia is back on Salon.com after a 6-year absence. Given the way the site is trumpeting it, I guess it’s important for them (and for her).

I don’t begrudge them their celebrity columnist — and here’s her first new post, if you’d like to see it (may require registration). But I couldn’t help noting the self-obsession leaching through every line of it. We shouldn’t expect more of celebrity bloggers, but if you’re going to put on airs, at least really put on airs. Don’t be so transparent about your megalomania unless you’re doing it for laughs. I was willing to let it all go as yet more postmodernism (Camille about Camille about Camille) until the following caught my eye:

A final news item: Mitchell Lichtenstein, an actor (“Lords of Discipline,” “Miami Vice,” “Law & Order”) and a student of mine from Bennington College in the 1970s, has written and directed his second film, “Teeth,” which was screened at the Sundance Film Festival last month. It was immediately bought for distribution by Weinstein/Lionsgate, and the lead actress, Jess Weixler, won a Sundance award.

Mitchell’s theme — brace yourself! — is the vagina dentata or toothed vagina, an ancient myth that he first heard about in my classes and that, he has told interviewers, he never forgot. At his request, I specially wrote some lines for the film but have yet to see it. Web reports from Sundance have raved about the film’s comic mix of retro horror with satiric sociology. This week, “Teeth” is having its international premiere at the Berlin Film Festival. Bon appétit!

Here was my Thought #1: Hey, this is what Mitchell has been up to! (He was in a play of mine in 1990.) Thought #2: Hey, Mitchell was Camille Paglia’s student — I didn’t know that. Thought #3: I’ve been making references to the vagina dentata for years and I never studied with Camille Paglia, and Thought #4: Now when I mention the vagina dentata people who understand the reference will think I got it from Camille Paglia or Mitchell Lichtenstein. Which led to —

Thought #5. This train of thought is so self-referential and all-consuming that I could blog for Salon.

Postmodernism. Everything comes full circle.

Now that I’ve mentioned “tarot” in the headline of a post, half of the sponsored links have flipped into tarot and astrological services. (Which may be gone by the time you read this.)

I’m tempted to test the system and post a lot about Manichaeism to see what comes up.

You may have noticed my advertising content listings on the right column. So far they have generated precisely zero in income, although, as they say, hope springs eternal (except when it dies a slow death). I was intrigued to find out what listings would arrive in that column, and so far am unsurprised to learn that most of them are listings for writing-related sites. (As they should be.)

One of them, blogit.com, caught my attention. “Get paid to blog.” That sounded interesting. I wondered how much it could be, figuring that it couldn’t be much. In fact, I figured that by comparison, third-world microloans would seem like jumbo loans. Bear in mind my past experience of writing for The Comics Journal for a penny a word in the 1980’s (when they even bothered to pay and honor other commitments; they stiffed me for the Jack Davis interview they finally ran 15 years ago in #153, and couldn’t be bothered to send me a copy or even a xerox, despite my polite and then not-so-polite requests until a few years ago when I finally Gave Up).

Well, I don’t know what Blogit pays but the site’s business model leaves me thinking it would pay perhaps no more than The Comics Journal at times — zero. In fact, it’s even worse than The Journal, where at least it didn’t cost me anything other than my time and my expenses to have my invoice and my requests for copies ignored. On Blogit, one gets paid to blog by posting blogs that generate enough clickthroughs from paying subscribers to generate interest, whereupon one gets a share of that paying subscriber’s subscription fee. How to become a Blogit.com writer? By subscribing. So it’s pay to play.

I can’t imagine why one wouldn’t just set up one’s own blog and set up sponsored listings.

Moreover, here’s a sample of a blog I found on Blogit. Please read this and tell me that somewhere out there someone exists who will pay for this sort of writing:

Here we go….

Here we go. I was planning to write a daily opinions page on all things creative, but I have a history of great plans laid to waste when real life gets in the way. It may be weekly, or monthly or…. well you know how it goes. Watch this space…. While you’re waiting for my creative genious to be…

Why does it trail off in the end (and just when I’m so thoroughly captivated by her quest for something to say)? Because you have to click for the rest, and to click you have to be a paying subscriber. I wasn’t quite so enrapt that I fished out my credit card. The above post has one comment, by the way, and it reads thusly: “Welcome to Blogit!”

So who, evidently, pays for the blogs on Blogit? The people who have signed up to create them with the hopes that they can generate income. And who reads them? Probably no one.

For several years in the early 1990’s, I was a frequent reader of tarot cards for other people. I remember my sister seeking guidance from the cards, and my wife, and assorted friends. I didn’t read them to offer divination, I read them the way Carl Jung read them: as a key to the subconscious of the seeker.

When you read the cards in this way, allowing people to make their own connections, they reach metaphorical associations and conclusions they wouldn’t have otherwise. “The dark-haired woman” becomes fixed in their mind as “Sally,” the friend they hadn’t been thinking of, but who of course will be rushing to their aid now that they’ve thought of asking her for help.

Some time last year I joined Netflix, and in an odd tarot-like way the system has brought me circling back around to earlier artistic interests and obsessions of mine, as well as new associations. Specifically: Thirty years after first being introduced to dadaism and expressionism, I’ve had a recent re-immersion in the latter thanks to the films of Fritz Lang and, especially, “The Testament of Dr. Mabuse.” Just as it would not occur to the questioner to think of “Sally” until the cards jog their memory, I would not have found myself brought to this film had I not begun my Netflix account with two Werner Herzog films (“Fitzcarraldo” and “Aguirre, Wrath of God”), which led the system to suggest other arty German films. It’s wonderful at this point to discover an artist like Fritz Lang and feel as thought you’ve found something fresh that you also already knew in some way.

And what is “The Testament of Dr. Mabuse” about? A svengali of evil, evidently dead but somehow still operating, sets in motion a chain of events that are seemingly unrelated but deeply connected in ways that the film’s lead, Inspector Lohmann (played with riveting naturalism by Otto Wernicke), cannot ever fully puzzle out. “Mabuse” is a puzzle box where all the pieces don’t fit, or perhaps more appropriately, where they fit in more ways than seem possible. The film includes a chase scene that goes nowhere except right back to where it began, a locked-room escape that turns the villain’s weapon into a mechanism of egress, and any number of appearances by characters who aren’t really there, either in the form of silhouettes, recording devices, spectral images, voices from the grave, or imputations from an evil manifesto.

After watching it no fewer than three times, the second time with the excellent commentary track by “Mabuse” scholar David Kalat, I still haven’t fully solved the film and never expect to. Rather than having gained an explanation from it, I’ve gained an enlightenment. That’s what tarot does for you, and that’s what art does, too.

To put in further bas relief how good the “reign of terrier” headline is, here’s a headline from today’s — you saw it coming — Press of Atlantic City:

“Computer techs on the clock to prevent glitches from early daylight-saving shift”

Why is this not a good headline? First of all it takes no fewer than four lines on the Press home page. That’s a lot. Secondly, it tells you precisely what the story is about in an unclever way.

Here’s the lede and first few grafs of the story by Tom Barlas (who was there when I was there!):

It’s easy to set the time on the bedroom alarm clock. Just push a few buttons.

But for the past several weeks, businesses and organizations have been tinkering with their computer systems to make more major adjustments linked to an earlier-than-usual start of daylight-saving time.

With the federal Energy Policy Act of 2005 setting daylight-saving time to begin March 11, technicians are installing new programs and computer patches so the switchover won’t create problems with electronically monitored things such as rail schedules, bank transactions and automatic stock trades.

Even something as simple as computer-logged appointments must be checked.

That’s good writing. It merits a better headline. How about:

“Shift in time takes sine.”

No, that isn’t Mr. Malaprop (the quote unquote president) wondering about the latest actions of “Islamofascists” (a word no doubt coined for him by others). That is my favorite headline of the day, and it accompanies coverage on MSNBC.com about the Westminster Dog Show.

In the days before the World Wide Web, I was a copy editor at The Atlantic City Press. (Excuse me — “The Press of Atlantic City.” Clearly the name change, made in the early 80’s I believe, fixed a grievous misconception that this daily newspaper was in some way aligned with Atlantic City.) The duties of a copy editor include, yes, editing copy, as well as rewriting, and supplying headlines. At times the headline assignment — always on the fly, with a deadline looming — was a real head-scratcher. It wasn’t uncommon to be assigned a “242” (a headline to fill two columns in a 42 point-typefont) or even a “142” (ONE column, 42 points) with seemingly mere minutes to go and on a subject best summed up by a 90-minute lecture with Q & A to follow. At some point our beloved managing editor Bob Ebener (well, I loved him; he was my Lou Grant) sweetened the pot with a weekly contest — $25 for the best headline and $25 for the best caption. I won each of these several times in my 6-month stint on the copy rim, winning best caption once for a photo of a billboard painter doing the art for a gigantic sign of a human (lending me the inspiration for a caption that played off Lilliputians), and best headline once for anchoring a lengthy piece on local welfare fraud with the headline “Brother, can you spare too much?” This latter achievement was especially noteworthy among copy editors because the reporter actually sought out the editor responsible (me) and thanked him profusely. I would say that was better than the extra 25 bucks, but I really needed the 25 bucks.

While I haven’t been a copy editor for 20 years, I haven’t lost one bit of my appreciation for the oft-neglected art of headline writing. (An art I still employ, of sorts, with corporate clients.) The “Reign of terrier” headline works in all aspects: It fits the small space assigned, it grabs the eye (because, indeed, I thought at a glance there was a story about a “reign of terror” alongside a photo of a dog), and it delights the reader.

I don’t know who wrote this, but somebody oughtta send him 25 bucks.