Laura showed up at my door today. Well actually, a UPS guy. But he handed over a copy of The Original of Laura, Vladimir Nabokov's final, unfinished, fragmentary novel.

I had never ordered a book pre-publication before, without waiting for the reviews or (more likely) for it to go into paperback. This was different. This was Nabokov -- his first "new" work in more than 30 years. And, obviously, his last. I had to have it.

At first glance, Audrey Niffenegger's second novel seems to be a complete departure from her debut, The Time Traveler's Wife. It's mostly set in London and it follows a whole host of characters, none of whom, except for the ghost, have any supernatural powers. However, both novels ultimately struggle with the same two questions: 1) How final is death? and 2) How suffocating is life for those who won't leave the ones they love even if maybe they should?

When I began looking into one “M. Thomas Eisenstadt” last May, part of me was irritated about how the hoax was screwing with public discourse. But as time went on, that feeling changed. And that’s because Eisenstadt changed, and not just the first name.

So last Sunday I was thinking: could Chris Berman be a political talking head in this country? And would he be any worse than the natterers on cable news, or the morning shows? I mean, Berman is clearly a silly and shallow blowhard, but that never stopped Tim Russert.

My suspicion, fully borne out this week by l'affaire Limbaugh, is that sports are treated far more seriously in this country than politics are, especially by our media. That a comment on the state of our political press and on our national priorities.

Near the end of his televised confession Thursday night, David Letterman admitted that the details of his affairs with staffers might be embarrassing, "especially for the women."

That line was a lot of things: a self-deprecating joke, an appeal for privacy, an attempt to position himself as the defender of his former employees and girlfriends. Perhaps it was a disingenuous piece of rhetoric; perhaps it was a sincere moment of protectiveness; it could very easily be both. But whatever else it was, it was the truth.

In 1977, a publicly-admired man committed a violent crime against a woman, and the actual events are not in dispute. Between his arrest and his sentencing, the man fled the United States and settled in France. Decades later, the French strenuously resisted extraditing him to the States.

John Varvatos is not just a designer. He is a rock-and-roll designer. His ads have featured Franz Ferdinand and ZZ Top. Robert Plant wore three of his suits to the Grammy's.

I have to apologize for my prolonged posting absence, but things have been getting hectic. And with several trips upcoming, including two jaunts to Vegas (one my bachelor party!!), a pre-wedding party in my hometown St. Louis, a wedding (with still a millions things that need to be done), a minimoon, and various other things happening all in the next couple of months, I have a feeling it's going to get worse before it gets better.

Compare and contrast.

Louisiana Republican Sen. David Vitter (whose job it is to enact legislation): "I have a fundamental problem with any 1,000-page bills."

The Daily Show's Jon Stewart (whose job it is to make us laugh): "I've read the bill."

I just want to take this moment to thank John Hughes for some of the most indelible movie moments of my childhood. The director died of a heart attack while taking a walk in NYC, where he was visiting family. He was 59.

(IMPORTANT UPDATE: Full video - embedded below in the comments section - seems to exonerate the POTUS of his 'checking the goods' gaffe, tho not Sarkozy.)

So the media is all abuzz of this picture of Barack and French President Nicolas Sarkozy apparently checking out the rear end of a 16-year-old girl from Rio de Janeiro.

CNBC has a bad rap. It began with Rick Santelli's made-for-youtube tirade in which he blamed home-buying "losers" for causing the mortgage the crisis. Then Jon Stewart skewered the CNBC journalists who promoted the banks that most analysts blame for the mortgage crisis, sparking a minor media war with Jim Cramer that left Cramer appearing petulant and self-important. A few weeks later, Cramer exploded at blogger Dan Solin and stormed off the set of the CNBC's Power Lunch.

I don't actually know how the folks who manage Eve Online plan to deal with this, except that they've booted the virtual fraudster out of the game.

http://www.cbc.ca/technology/story/2009/07/03/science-online-bank-heist.html

A couple of weeks ago, I went to see Regina Spektor perform at the Beacon Theater in NYC's Upper West Side, courtesy of a gift from the soon-to-be-Mrs. Deadman.

What a disappointment.

I really like Ms. Spektor, could listen to her breakthrough album 'Begin to Hope' over and over again. But her live performance was uninspired and pretty boring, to be frank. Spektor just wasn't connecting to the audience and it really put a damper on the evening.

The media continues to lionize Michael Jackson with a deluge of tributes, retrospectives, and eulogies, and a stream of breathless reporting about what his doctor said and what his sisters did and where his kids stayed. Some of my co-bloggers have compared him to John Lennon. Other articles have placed him in a triumvirate with Lennon and Elvis Presley.

Michael Jackson dead?? That's what the LA Times and AP are reporting, anyway (CNN hasn't yet confirmed). Unbelievable.

Earlier today, my brother was bemoaning Farrah Fawcett's death, trying to come to grips with the loss of his most common inspiration for those special, intimate teenage moments. (I kind of remember Charlie's Angels and thinking of Farrah as a sexy broad, but she was a bit before my prime mastubatory years).

Michael Jackson, however, was kind of like my Beatles. So I'm in shock, and surprisingly sad to learn of his premature death.