I like you cause you're stupid and shallow

So why hadn't I heard until yesterday about this whole thing about the author James Frey who wrote a memoir about how he was an alcoholic, drug-abusing, criminal loser (who lived in Ohio!) and then Oprah read it, cried big Oprah tears and choose it for her Book Cult and all her minions read it and were inspired and then it was totally bullshit and Oprah was like pissed and embarrassed because the dude lied his ass off to her and everyone else? Because it's fucking awesome. I love it when Oprah gets embarrassed. This is much the same way I have a raging crush on Simon Cowell's fantastic put downs and why I've been loving the auditions on American Idol this year.

I personally don't even have any thoughts on the subject of making up like half of your memoir, but this guy has balls to lie to Oprah and make her cry and be totally lying about going to jail and whatnot. Oprah getting burned gets a thumbs-up from me. This is about 10 times more awesome than when Jonathan Franzen, the author of The Corrections, was like pissed that she chose his book for her stupid club (which is a perfect segue to pimping The Corrections because it was a great fucking book and I would highly recommend it). So I don't know, clearly something's supposed to be wrong with this situation, but at the moment I'm not seeing it completely and am too busy laughing at Oprah and the crazy people that worship her to care too much.

And is it wrong that I totally want to read this book to see how stupid it is? Because I do. Made up books are the shit. I remember that horrible Go Ask Alice book that was supposed to be some girl's "real" diary. And by horrible I mean absolutely fantastic. But you knew that wasn't some girl's actual diary, just a bunch of made-up nonsense. I would go to the library and read it cover to cover and laugh and laugh (no, I'm serious. I would even read specific parts that were particularly weird or crazy). Like the girl (who I think didn't have a name because it was supposed to be anonymous) was doing drugs and being pimped out at 14 and she ran away and opened a jewelry store or some shit like that but she cleaned herself up and ended her diary all, "YAY! SO HAPPY!" But like there was an editor's note that she killed herself three days after she stopped writing in her diary or something that was all, "SEE?!? Life sucks. Don't do drugs. Because even if you're able to stop doing drugs, you'll KILL YOUSELF! There's no hope for you." Something like that. It wasn't very inspiring the way this James Frey's book supposedly is. Because Oprah's book club is made up of lots of drug addicts? I can buy that, actually.

But if you don't care about Oprah scandals or books, I would suggest watching The Futureheads SpinHouse Live session, because they are about as fantastic as seeing Oprah get all righteously indignant over being totally fucked. Or download their song Piece of Crap that I've uploaded.

ETA: It would have been Mozart's two hundred and fiftieth birthday yesterday. Just think how much better the world would be if he was still alive today. Maybe James Frey wouldn't be making up memoirs. So if you forgot to celebrate, you can do it today. I don't think he'd mind too much. Mozart, not James Frey. Though he probably wouldn't mind either seeing as how he's big into stretching the truth.