Bullet Bras and Bleach

This is fascinating. Apparently there are a bunch of weird women--I mean, interesting women in England who are going full-out with the vintage thing. They're not just wearing a vintage top or two occasionally, they dress like it's the fifties all the time, from their underwear to their hairstylist. There's even a salon that caters directly to the people who want forties and fifties hairstyles.

What?

I mean, seriously, what?

I'm a history nerd. I love old things, old times, old people. But while this isn't as bad as the Belgians, this is still kind of ridiculous.

I sort of understand the fashion aspect; people have different tastes, some people like fifties fashion. I personally am a fan of the twenties and the 1890s, but you aren't going to see me walking around in a flapper dress unless I'm going to a costume party. But bleaching your hair and wearing "faux vintage lingerie" is too much for me to understand. People stopped bleaching hair and wearing that kind of underwear because advances were made in technology. We aren't living in the fifties, we should take advantage of it.

This, though, is where I get superconfused:

Then there's the couple whose lives revolve entirely around the 1940s; "she's a land girl and he's a soldier from 1943," says Butkovich-Budden [the salon owner].

Somebody needs to explain to me why people would wrap their whole lives around pretending they live in a different era. I just don't get it. Our era may not be ideal, but idealizing bygone days isn't going to make things better.

I'm sure I would like many of these women, were I ever to meet them. If I see any of them walking around London, I'll accost them and demand an explanation. Stay tuned.

Words of Wisdom

We should be taught not to wait for inspiration to start a thing. Action always generates inspiration. Inspiration seldom generates action.

I don't know what Frank Tibolt was talking about here (can't even figure out who he is exactly--seems to be one of those people known only for saying something clever) but it certainly applies to writing.

Maybe someday I'll teach a creative writing class where all I do is read a quote then stare at the class intelligently for a while, then read another quote. Whaddya think?

updatey thing

Well then.

So the Not the New York Times Book Review was supposed to be a weekly feature. That obviously didn't happen; I guess I'm going for biweekly. (is it "bi" or "semi" that means every other? I can never remember. I just remember learning once that biannual and semiannual mean twice a year and every other year, but I'm not sure which word connects to which definition. please feel free to enlighten me.) I have my next book all picked out, though, and I've been carrying it around for a bit, I have just had other things to do.

What, may you ask, is more important than reading? Well, writing, for one, and lakes, and watching zombie movies (finally got to see 28 Days Later, at a $1 theater--yes!) and then, of course, eyebrow piercings.

Yes, there is now a shiny bit on my face. :D

So I am now doing an experiment to see how long it takes one of my parents to mention this fact in conversation, based on this blog report since they don't get to look at me. Hi Mom!

Dinosaur Hunting!

This summer, dinosaurs have taken over Saint Paul, Minnesota. To celebrate their 100th anniversay, the Science Museum of Minnesota commisioned 60 dinosaur statues, had them decorated by various local artists and organizations, and placed them around the Twin Cities. Today a roommate and I went adventuring to photograph as many of the beasties as we could. We got through 2/3 of the list. Here are some of the highlights....

Autism Spectrumasaurus

Mythasaurus


Renaissanceasaurus


Scholasticasaurus (tho I prefer
to call it the Safarisaurus)


Rozieasaurus


Relo-Saurus (I don't know what that
means, it was made by transportation people. It
has a truck on its tail!)

Skateasaurus

I may add more later--there were a lot of good ones.

I knew it all along...

Elder children have higher IQs than their younger siblings. This does not come as surprise to the Fish family, does it, little brother? :)

Joking aside, the study actually came up with some pretty interesting conclusions about how child/sibling interactions indicate how people's minds work when they grow up. Elders tend to be more conventional due to their role as mentor/tutor, whereas Younglings have the freedom to be more creative in their genius. Elders win more Nobel prizes, for instance, but by reworking existing knowledge. Younglings make the great genius leaps that history remembers--Darwin and Copernicus, for instance.

All very interesting, no?

WIP update, for those who might be interested...

Today was remarkable in the world of alternatefish's WIP. Many things came together that previously were just fuzzy ideas:

A new character showed up that I wasn't expecting, explaining a lot I wondered about.

My world found a name and a history.

I realized that this world I've created, while clear in my head, is not coming across as well in my writing. So I'm fixing that.

And I'm writing again. I've been having some issues with that. After my extraordinarly productive "the-semester-is-over-let's-write!" phase, I slacked off a bit. Things are going better now.

On an unrelated note, apple pie is marvelous. Tastes good, and makes the apartment smell delicious. I highly recommend it. Takes about 20 minutes to prepare, especially if you make one of your roommates peel the apples. :)

Meez III: Army of Meez

Ok, so hopefully I have this Meez thing figured out. If so, there should be two different pictures here. The first one is sorta me, with better hair and somewhat skinnier.


Number two here is Edie, my Main Character.


Man, I love this thing. Yeah Meez!

(please let me know if this isn't actually working. thanks)

Meez II: Delete of the Meez!

*EDIT/delete
ok, so I now understand why Travis was confused (see comments). apparently when I change my meez thingy, it gets changed everywhere (so when I changed it from my main character to me, it changed it to Me everywhere, thereby erasing all the art I had done on my main character). Somehow my computer didn't pick up on this, and so showed me the two different Meezes when in reality only one was visible in two places.

I think there is some way to do "snapshots" or something, that will let me show different meezes, so stay tuned. For now I'm deleting all the confusing meezes. I'll play with it when I get home and have time that is my own, and hopefully I will be able to show you both my beautiful Meez self and my even more beautiful MC's self.

Anyone who is interested in exploring, meantime, here is Meez.com.

Thou Shalt Not Give the Finger

Breaking news story of the day: The Vatican has issued Ten Commandments of Driving, or, as they like to call them in Vatican City, "Guidelines for the Pastoral Care of the Road."

A link to the Toronto Star, which lists all ten commandments and includes a bonus picture of the Pope looking scary in his Popemobile.

Plum Invasion

So this morning I was carrying Gorky Park and a delicious juicy plum to work in my bag.

The astute among you may see where this story is going. I now have a plum-flavored copy of Gorky Park.

I feel vaguely like a murderer. The book was so crisp and fresh and clean and then--nope, sorry, here comes alternatefish with her plum-monster. Raaawrrr!

I hate it when I ruin books. At least it's still readable. And the plum juice adds some color to the bleak Russian landscape.

This post really had no point, but I received no sympathy at work and I thought I might have some luck here in blogland. If you would like to make me feel better, please share a story about the time you destroyed a book. Please. Gorky Park keeps glaring at me from across the room.

book review: Stray

Not the New York Times Book Review

Stray, by Rachel Vincent

Someone is kidnapping female werecats. Baaaad idea. There are very few of them left in the US, and there is little a Pride won’t do to protect its own.

An even worse idea: kidnapping Faythe Sanders, the daughter of a Pride leader.

When a stray werecat tries to kidnap her from her university campus, Faythe is summoned home by her father, leading her to a clash of wills both with him and with his second-in-command, her old flame Marc. Faythe has always had issues with the gender inequalities of werecat society; as a rare tabby, she is expected to find a mate and do as she’s told, and her outspoken and independent ways do not mesh well with werecat tradition. With werecat murderers and kidnappers on the loose, though, Faythe’s father is determined to protect her whether she likes it or not.

Stray is Rachel Vincent’s debut novel, and while it has some kinks, I reached a point where I was turning pages so quickly my roommate doubted I was actually reading the book. At over 600 pages, it’s a bit weighty and the first part of the book could certainly have been condensed. Stick with it, though, and the story soon twists into a gripping life-and-death struggle.

Faythe is sassy and more than a little bitchy, something she acknowledges freely, preventing her from veering towards unlikeability. Vincent has created a sharp character we can clearly see and sympathize with, and she uses the first-person narrative expertly to bring Faythe to life. I feel like I understand Faythe perfectly. She is a flawed character—she would probably admit as much—but with her use of the first-person Vincent allows the reader to understand how Faythe’s mind works. Faythe does come across as a brat at times and can be somewhat annoying occasionally, but Vincent presents these flaws in a way that makes them an understandable aspect of Faythe’s character.

Vincent’s writing is strong and there are some neat turns of phrase sprinkled throughout Stray. One of my favorites: “Staring into the mirror at the love child of Smurfette and Rocky Balboa was more than enough to bring me to tears.” However, there are a few problems in the writing that I ascribe to the fact that this is Vincent’s first novel. She (either Vincent or Faythe) has the bad habit of reiterating things a bit too clearly and too often, like how Faythe and her father don’t get along, how Pride rules are oppressive and suffocating. Also, there are a few instances, usually in that reiteration context, that are more “tell” than “show,” slowing the narrative.

And again, I’m not entirely happy with the romancy stuff at the beginning. We hear about the werecats being kidnapped, then there’s a long pause in that plot while Faythe tries to work out some of her boy problems. Granted, we are being introduced to some important aspects of Pride politics and history—and of course Faythe—but I can only take so much diversion. Don’t dangle a kidnapping in front of me and then set it aside for a couple hundred pages. The plot picks up a lot once we get back to the kidnapping plot—that is when I began to turn the pages at an increased rate. Condensing the beginning relationship issues would have helped with the pace and the 600-pageness of the book.

To go off on a slight tangent, a comparison must be made which doesn't truly do justice to either book, but I would feel less than thorough if I omitted to mention it. While reading Stray I felt like I was reading the werecat version of Blood and Chocolate by Annette Curtis Klause. The excellent Blood and Chocolate was aimed at a younger, YA audience, but both star a sassy young were-woman with similar boy problems (and similar boys) and an external problem that threatens the Pride/Pack. (It’s been a while since Blood and Chocolate, I don’t remember the exact problem there.) This is not to say that Stray is a copy of Klause’s book; each is unique. But I feel safe in declaring that if you enjoyed Blood and Chocolate you will enjoy Stray.

Overall, while I don’t think it should take two hundred pages to get me truly and eagerly into the story, once past that hurdle Stray is well worth the time. It could have been better, but so can most debuts. I look forward to seeing how Faythe and Rachel Vincent develop over the course of their careers.

Finally a brief warning: there are some graphic violence and rape scenes. The story would not be complete without them, but some readers might be uncomfortable with the material.

Rachel Vincent’s blog is here, and her official website is here. Stray was published in June 2007 by MIRA Books.

info on ntnyt book review

Ann O. Neemouse

Haven't blogged for a few days, I had some important beach activities to attend. I don't have anything particularly interesting to say today, but in the meantime here's an interesting article about a writer who's being taken to court for faking her background.

New Feature!

An Alternate Kettle of Fish is pleased to present...Not The New York Times Book Review

Thousands of books are published every year, but to get yours reviewed in major publications you generally must be an established author or a debut novelist who is extremely special for one reason or another (in other words, your publisher has an excellent marketing department). This leaves many, many books unreviewed by the likes of the NY Times. Many perfectly good books.

So I have decided on a mission: to write reviews of books that will probably never make it to the NY Times Book Review. Mostly I want to do this to force myself to search out books that I won't read about in my Sunday paper. An added bonus: I will read books published after 1900 (this is sometimes an issue for me).

Arbitrary rules of this project, subject to bending:

1. The book was published within the last two years.
2. The New York Times has not reviewed the book.

If you have any recommendations, please let me know! Any genre is good, and I'm especially interested in reading debut novels that aren't likely to get a lot of press.

First review on Sunday or Monday, probably. Stay tuned.

The Inimitable Grandfather Snark

That's right! I have figured out, for once and all, the true identity of the Inimitable Miss Snark. Are you ready for this?

The Granddaughter of Reginald Jeeves.

That's right, Jeeves of Jeeves & Wooster fame, whose adventures were chronicled by the wonderful Mr. Wodehouse. Now don't discount this theory just because you think Jeeves is fictional. I have some excellent reasons for this conclusion.

Jeeves and Miss Snark must be related--the world could not possibly produce two such perfect and similar individuals without their having some sort of connection. Miss Snark obviously inherited a goodly portion of the Jeeves genes. Their most striking similarities:

1. Both are bastions of wisdom and knowledge. All others hoping to join their professions look to these two icons for guidance and help. It is widely known that if you need someone to valet or buttle, Jeeves is your man. If you need to know anything about valeting or buttling, Jeeves is your man. There is no other like him. Should you need advice about the wild literary market, Miss Snark is your woman. There is no other like her.

2. Both have both developed a distinctive style of speech that is part of their persona. Should you stumble across some random words on a scrap of paper, you will know after a few, "Very good, sirs" and, "Precisely, sirs," which valet is speaking. Likewise, after a very few "yannos" and sharp staccato rebukes, you will know that you are reading Miss Snark. Jeeves and Miss Snark have both perfected the style of speech that fits them and aids the persona they wish to project.

3. Both have unwavering opinions. Miss Snark is very forthright and communicative about the right and wrong way to do things in the publishing world. No cold-calling agents. No comparing yourself to Dan Brown or J.K. Jeeves has hard-and-fast views as well, mostly about how young men should conduct themselves. No purple socks. No checked suits. Neither compromises in these matters.

...and most striking of all...

4. Both devote their lives to aiding nitwits. Jeeves was saddled with Bertie Wooster; Miss Snark had...well, us. But they rose to the challenge brilliantly, doing their best to keep their nitwits out of trouble. Miss Snark could only have gained this sense of duty from her grandfather.

Now, you might ask how Miss Snark's name is Snark if she is descended from the distinguished Jeeves line. My theory: during the time Wooster brought Jeeves to New York, Jeeves dallied, as they say, with an American girl. When Wooster took Jeeves back to England, Jeeves left behind a brokenhearted and pregnant Snark girl (not on purpose, of course; Jeeves would never do such a thing). This girl, of course, became known as Grandmother Snark.

The rest is history.

lsd posters

Can you read this poster?


Yeah, I couldn't either. It's an ad for the band Quicksilver Messenger Service, playing at the Avalon Ballroom in 1967. I saw it in the (recently-closed) Minneapolis Institute of Arts exhibit on San Francisco Psychedelic Posters. (Big Brother and the Holding Company is also advertised, in the green part. Squint and tilt your head a bit.)

If I'm ever going to actually be an art/theater critic, I should try to get to shows before the end of their run, shouldn' t I? I'll work on that.

Make Room for Toffs

Interesting article in the Guardian today about the upper classes in modern British literature.

Shakespeare games!

Ok, so I'm a nerd.

For those of you also nerdly-inclined, here is a set of animated Shakespeare games from Bantam. There are quote- and word-recognition games, a Shakespeare trivia game, and a--I don't remember what it's called, you know that tv show where there were three bachelors behind a curtain and the bachelorette had to choose one without looking at them? It's like that, except with Juliet, and you have to identify the Shakespeare character behind the curtain by his description. There are a few kinks, namely that the game told me I got all the answers correct after I got Benedict blown up, but overall it's a fun way to spend fifteen minutes. There is some nice Elizabethan music in the background, though I turned it off to listen to Tom Petty.

One of the best parts was the trivia game, Hamlet's Duel, wherein the two opponents seem to dance at each other while waiting for you to answer the question. I've decided to write a musical entitled Hamlet Boogie. Coming soon to Broadway.

A Walk Through History

Well, it's about time. The Creation Museum (slogan: prepare to believe) opened this week in Kentucky and I highly recommend y'all take a look at this picture show that someone from Ars Technica put on flickr. Kinda frightening. I especially like the display that has something about Human Reason at the top and the phrase, "Everyone decides what is right in his own eyes," and then a picture of a beaten slave underneath. I am unsure how those thoughts connect.

Apparently the museum spends a lot of space contrasting Human Reason with God's Word--for instance, the sign which has Descartes's "I think therefore I am" on one side and God's "I am that I am" on the other side (and no explanation as far as I could tell). This concept seems, um--isn't it Human Reason that allows humans to understand God's Word? I must be confused. Perhaps I should get myself to Kentucky so I can figure this out.

look both ways and cross your fingers...

Apparently British drivers aren't good at recognizing road signs. Scary statistic: 1/3 of drivers do not recognize the "No Motor Vehicles" sign (granted, it is an odd one). Ummm...ok, I'm not going to feel safe when I get to England.

For the record, it's....


The rest of the UK Highway Code signs can be found here, in case anyone wants to study up.

the Micro Sculptor II

Google has found me two more Wigan pieces to add to my list of favorites. First, Snow White and the Seven Dwarves:


And I might have to absolutely declare this one my all-time favorite--Peter Pan on a fish-hook:

the Micro Sculptor

Sometimes I am just blown away by human artistry. Willard Wigan is apparently "internationally known" (wikipedia) but until now I'd never heard of this man who creates masterpieces on pinheads, working between heartbeats so as to avoid any hand tremors. Here is one of my favorite pieces shown on his website:


That would be Henry VIII* and his six wives, in the eye of a needle. Wowza.

*yep, forgot an "I" in that Henry. thanks Maxine! it's all fixed now.

Thinking Blogger!

Many many thanks to Wordvixen for presenting me with a Thinking Blogger award! (though she said such nice things about me I blushed.) So now it's my turn to pick 5 blogs/bloggers that make my brain happy. You will notice they are all writing-oriented.

1. I'm going to start very uncreatively by copying one of Wordvixen's choices, because it is such a good one: One Word, One Rung, One Day, Travis Erwin's blog. His weekly Feedstore Chronicles always make me laugh and think at the same time.

2. Maureen's Blog. Maureen Johnson is a "writer of books and things," to quote her website, and her blog is highly entertaining whether or not you're a writer and whether or not you've read her books. She is currently fighting the Bartlesville, OK school board, who banned her book The Bermudez Triangle.

3. 101 Reasons to Stop Writing. A tongue-in-cheek (I think? maybe not) blog encouraging bad writers to do everyone a favor and stop writing. It's harsh but humorous.

4. A Paperback Writer. A teacher and writer (her hook/first page was my favorite from Miss Snark's last Crap-o-Meter) with a fondness for Harry Potter and Scotland. Her blog continually makes me smile.

5. Ok, the final person I want to award has already received one of these, but I'm going to re-award her anyway.I've only just discovered Petrona, and the blog is so rich and informative that I wish I'd found it sooner. (Since you've already done this, I officially exempt you from naming five more blogs, unless you desire to do so.)



Ok, now the rules:
1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog).

a day in the life

The Good:
My Queen's Greatest Hits cd set arrived today. Any day Freddie Mercury shows up on your doorstep is a good day.

The Bad:
Splashed boiling water on myself while fixing my delicious Ramen dinner.

The Ugly:
Power outage in the neighborhood due to a downed (and apparently sparking) power line. (kudos to whoever it was in charge of getting things working again--less than two hours and we're back to normal!)

The Awesome!!
Wordvixen tagged me with a Thinking Blogger Award! Thanks, Wordvixen! (p.s.--didn't realize you had quite so many blogs :) My 5 awardees will be posted shortly.

this is just to say...

...did you know if you google "plum sweet cold" you get this?

do I really have to think of eight?

ayeep! I've been tagged to reveal 8 interesting things about myself.

*alternatefish scrambles around in her brain trying to remember if there are actually 8 interesting facts about her. she decides to fake it.*

1. I am obsessed--obsessed--with Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde, and I call him by his first name. Oscar. I even have an action figure. And I tend to spell "wild" like "wilde" accidentally. (please see "Where the Wilde Things Are," a few posts ago)

2. Sean Connery > Roger Moore > Daniel Craig > Timothy Dalton > Pierce Brosnan > George Lazenby (tho Lazenby did get Diana Rigg as his Bond Girl)

3. I finished writing my first official novel when I was 15. I then read Anna Karenina, realized I couldn't write worth beans, and left my novel in a drawer to collect dust. It has since disappeared from the drawer.

4. I was homeschooled, and if you express doubts about the quality of a homeschool education and/or social life, I will get mad at you. I will also be happy to hold a civilized discussion on the subject.

5. If you get Shane MacGowan ("...that man of many words and few teeth...") to propose to me on your behalf, I will marry you.

6. When I was young and impressionable, my parents and I were leaving an airport when they espied a big scary-looking man with a bushy gray beard and lots of hair sitting on a bench. "fishy," they said, "go get that man to autograph your plane ticket." "but he's scary looking! who is he?" "just go ask him!" "but he's scary-looking! what if he eats me?" "stop being silly. tell him you play the piano!" my parents said encouragingly as they pushed me in his direction. Shaking in my sneakers, I approached this demented Santa Claus and held my ticket out. Dr. John signed it and I scrambled away, and I now treasure that ticket. So guys, I've met Dr. John, The Night Tripper. Oh yeah.

7. I'm only up to seven? But I've already used my Dr. John story! Oh, okay. How 'bout this? Favorite poets: (not Oscar!) Dorothy Parker, William Carlos Williams, and Alfred, Lord Tennyson. (did you know there's a recording of Tennyson reading one of his poems?! here.)

8. I read Victorian novels and play rugby, I adore Les Enfants du paradis and zombie movies, and I can quote Oscar Wilde and Star Wars. So basically I'm a cross between a civilized, educated adult and a 10-year-old boy.

Ha! Eight!

Ok, if you are reading this and you haven't done this yet (it's been floating around for a while) I hereby choose YOU to post 8 interesting things about yourself on your blog. And tell me, so I can come look.

review: Major Barbara

Considering that Major Barbara closes in about a week and a half, this review will probably not actually be of any use to anybody (as opposed to my other Guthrie reviews, which are widely read and appreciated by everybody in the Twin Cities, I'm sure).

So, I'm not sure if I didn't like Major Barbara because of the production or because of the play itself. The story is Edwardian and concerns a guns manufacturer, Andrew Undershaft, and his estranged family. One of his daughters--the Barbara of the title--is a Major in the Salvation Army and completely abhors her father's work. They challenge each other: he will spend a day at her mission, and she will spend a day at his factory. The play examines questions of morality and politics through this story as Barbara tries to save her father's soul.

My main problem with the play: it felt like two different plays had been badly edited together, like someone had taken a blob of George Bernard Shaw and a blob of Oscar Wilde and smushed them. Andrew Undershaft's wife, Lady Britomart Undershaft (the fabulous Sandra Shipley), simply seemed like the next generation of Lady Bracknell (though slightly more complex). And when things descended into chaos in the final act--part of the plot concerned Undershaft's need/desire to leave his business to a foundling--I fully expected characters to go bounding off and return with handbags.*

Ultimately, I think most of the faults I saw were faults of the play, and I say that as a great fan of Shaw. There were characters running around that seemed to serve no purpose (Sarah Undershaft was basically a prop). The title character was almost-but-not-quite excellent and almost-but-not-quite boring. The play turned farcical when it needed to be most serious. Parts of it were riveting but parts of it were dull, or confusing, or seemed to belong in a different play.

However, there were faults in the production, as well. Many things were over the top, most notably the presentation of Adolphus Cusins (Jesse Pennington). There were times when it seemed to work and times when it didn't, and I feel like I would really have liked that character had he been portrayed...less weird.

Act II was superb. One of the most riveting bits of theater I have seen, ever.

But then there was the final set, which--okay, if Willy Wonka took over a munitions factory,
you'd have the final set of this play. Complete with oompa-loompas. It didn't work in so many ways. Part of the problem was I kept thinking, "Why is Lady Bracknell sitting on a shiny silver ball?"

Finally, I want to call out my two favorite performances: Paul O'Brien as Andrew Undershaft, and Jonas Goslow as Charles Lomax. O'Brien embodied his role in a manner that took my breath away. He was commanding yet touching, and perfectly presented Undershaft's love of his work and his daughter. Goslow played a minor character, the fiance of Barbara's sister Sarah, and he played his comic bits to perfection but he never seemed to be there as simply a funnyman. I last saw him as Jim O'Conner in The Glass Menagerie and he was good in that, too. Mr. Goslow, you are rapidly gaining a fan.

Finally finally, best line from the play:

I have never before ventured to reproach you, Lady Brit; but how could you marry the Prince of Darkness?

*these are Importance of Being Ernest references, if you don't happen to be as Wildean as I am.

If I Only Had a Voice...

...da dum dee diddle-dee dum.

I've heard about the Rock Bottom Remainders somewhere before (either in Dave Barry's or Stephen King's writing--probably King's) but now even the NYTimes has caught on to the greatest musical creation since the Beatles. I'm kind of curious about how all these writers met--Dave Berry & Amy Tan? Um...

I would like to take this opportunity to announce that when I'm a rich and famous author, I will be forming a punk-rock band. Now accepting applications for all positions. Willingness to smash instruments a must. Talent desirable, but not necessary.

And I would like to point out the the name of their band is only funny because they all sell about a billion trillion copies of whatever they write.

The Donor Show: the hoax

I don't really know what to think of this. A Dutch tv station's reality show about a kidney donor choosing among contestants to determine who got her kidney was in fact a giant hoax. The tv network that produced this hoax show--which did air, only revealing itself to be a hoax in the last few minutes of the broadcast--did so in order to draw attention to the horribly long donor list in the Netherlands.

Well, they did. I guess I'm impressed with their creativity. Okay, I'm awed by their creativity; if they'd done some sort of news thing about people who needed kidneys, it wouldn't have gotten nearly this much press.

Also I am awed by their ability to keep a secret.