I've been banging around a new Canadian novel for the past week, unable to find my way out. The anecdotal, non-linear style of the thing, lauded by critics, is not, however ,art but accident, as the author is a fake. It doesn't stand up to scrutiny. I tried to follow logical routes backward and forward through the narrative in my effort to escape, either out the front or the back, and I ended up going in circles. I was lucky it ended rather arbitrarily (a deadline from the publisher) and I was freed.

My liberty was brief. I am now in a promotional clip for an awful but popular new television show. First I thought I might just be in a skit spoofing the thing, but it turned out to be the show itself.