Judith Regan claims that OJ’s “confession” will be cathartic for the nation. Not for the Brown and Goldman families. She claims that the money he makes, rumored to be 3.5 million will go to his children and that the Brown and Goldman families will get some though she claims that a third party owns the rights and told her that.
I totally don’t understand how if she has any conscience she can go through a third party, and not be assured that the money won’t go to Simpson. She is doing this with Fox News. They are a match made in hell
She said the book was spurred in part because she was a victim of domestic abuse. I totally don’t get that and I was a victim of domestic abuse. I don’t care to read the “confession” of a man who abused then killed his wife and a guest. How does that help any victim of domestic abuse? We all know that abusers tend to be charming sociopaths who can make up stories at will, and will never accept blame for their actions.
It helps Judith Regan, Bernark Kerik ex- police commissioner, convicted felon’s ex-lover, become richer. As a writer I feel strongly that book contracts go to writers not people like Simpson. Publishing is the only industry I know of where the real price of an item, in this case, books, has gone down in the past ten years. Well, electronics but that has always been a reality in that industry, and there will always be new high end items. Nobody pays full price for a hard cover book, yet publishing costs go up.
Publishers, editors and agents are afraid to take chances on new voices. But OJ, hey he deserves it. This makes me sick. It’s very hard to be human and want to hear OJ’s how he would have done it. It’s harder still to have been a victim of domestic abuse and want to read this dreck. Judith Regan cares about one thing and one thing only, making money. I hope that this falls fast and far, and I never say that about any book. Books are precious. Her Mein Kampf argument falls flat because it was published even before Hitler was in power. It is a true historical document. This is a way of assuring her and OJ much money. Damn it makes both the woman and the writer in me angry.
From now on I’m only doing fiction, podcasts—real ones and I take requests. My second podcast is in the post below this.
My photoblogs–as the podcasts can have images, I will have two. Soon, Pia, the video. Though our MizzyB has become so good that she has three at once. Yes watch three of the Boho at once!
I did begin a post twice and lost it twice on Successful Blogging. I belong to a writers org and in it’s media blog tool tips, all the blogging suggestions were for prod placement blogs. Hello, writers write personal blogs, the heartleand of blogging. I do have a lot to say on that subject and probably will next week But now I want to write something fast and not edited.
Summer of 1985, Tribeca when it had three bars, well that I knew of, Puffy’s. Prescott’s and Walker’s, and I did know bars. Soho was happening. There were many great restaurants. The Odeon was probably the most popular, but it was merely good to me. For really good food there was the Union Square Cafe were the vegetarian restaurant Brownies had been, in Union Square. Some of my best daddy memories took place at Brownies.
My favorite Soho restaurant was Cinco De Mayo on West Broadway because I did invent grazing, and I could order an incredible shrimp appatizer and I think guacomole. They also had great frozen Margarita’s which I did consider one of the four basic food groups in the 80’s
In the 70’s in Cambridge I once had a tequila drinking contest with my favorite member of a big Boston based group. Well he was the only one I slept with, the bassist, not good looking at all but oh so nice. The contest was a draw. There was a worm involved and neither of us, yuck….Okay this all was a prelude to my story which isn’t about tequila, restaurants I think, or big groups. Just needed to warm up, and why have a blog if not used to suit me?
“Don’t go, Annabel.”
“I have to if I can walk.” After three days in bed, Annabel was sure that she had a bladder infection, and would walk as if she had been horse back riding.
The large porcelain tiled shower with its five shower heads, and huge drain like in Mexico relaxed her muscles. Five Excedrin, a pot of coffee, and a large Diet Coke would wipe out any traces of the three day weekend, or 72 hours basically having sex with stops for pot,cigarettes,Diet Coke and Hagen Das. Annabel thought that if they ran out of anything the pot dealer would bring everything.
When she was drying off, Clay walked into the bathroom and kissed her:
“Don’t go, I told you we could go for a week straight. Like Aruba.”
“We were in Aruba. On vacation? One of us didn’t have to run to her store. Not fair to Jolie, she worked three days straight alone.”
Annabel and her best friend Jolie designed painted sneakers, tees, bags and even dresses. Bel and Jo was becoming the store to go to on Lafayette near the Noho Star. While Annabel basically didn’t eat, she constantly thought about food. She could have crab cakes for lunch today because she had burned off so many calories. Sex was good for that. Good for her complexion too, she thought. Did women who didn’t have sex end up with black heads or dry skin?
Caly would tell her to ask Jolie. She just might. Jolie had been off men since 1983 when Andrew, her Harvard educated lawyer husband had left her for a man. Jolie felt like the biggest cliche in the world, and would have hated gay men if most of their friends weren’t.
Clay was a studio musician who could take or leave anybody. Actually he had been Andrew’s suite mate at Dunster House when they were undergrads at Harvard .Annabel and Jolie went to Emerson and lived a few blocks away on Putnam.
Annabel and Clay had been a couple forever though he did wander the first couple of years. Handsome Harvard sttudent with recording contract. Annabel neither expected nor wanted him to be faithful. That wasn’t really true; it was a story that she would spin now that they had been safely married for eight years. Though they both did have their one night stands. One night stands didn’t count; two nights even weeks apart did. That was their basic marriage rule.
It was hot, and Annabel put on an old Laura Ashley three tier solid red skirt, a pink rayon tee and orange tank over that. she put on five bracelets in different color fake stones, pink lace anklets and red f–k me sandals.
Clay looked at her:
“Wow, hotter than Madonna.”
“You better think so.”
Annabel smiled as she dialed the pharmacy for a refill for her bladder infection prescription, and still another for the pill.