Just marathoned the first four episodes of Lodge 49. They really nailed down the general feel of Pynchon with this...

Just marathoned the first four episodes of Lodge 49. They really nailed down the general feel of Pynchon with this. The sets and shots do a pretty good job of substituting for prose and they've managed to sneak in some word play. Good goofs and gags, the atmosphere is dead on. This is way better than that shitty adaptation of Inherent Vice.

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>Lodge 49
Underrated show. HULU should give them a third season to wrap the story up.

Pynchon’s my favorite writer for sure, because my favorite thing in books is goofs, gags, jokes and rambunctious behavior, and his books are filled to the brim with this. Every novel is like one of those novelty snake cans, you open the book and POP you get a face fulla snakes and you fall back cackling. The mad mind, the crack genius, to do it! And then you think “hmmm what’s he gonna do next, this trickster” and you pick the book back up and BZZZZ you get a shock and “hahahaha” you've been pranked again by the old Pynchmeister, that card. “Did that Pynch?” he sez, laughing “yukyukyukyuk”. Watch him as he shoves a pair of plastic buck teeth right up his mouth and displays em for you – left, right, center – “You like these? Do I look handsome?” Pulls out a mirror. “Ah!” Hand to naughty mouth. And you're on your ass again laughing as he snaps his suspenders, exits stage right, and reappears hauling a huge golden gong

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I had really hoped more people would try to adapt Pynchon after Inherent Vice.

watch this show

I enjoyed with what I watched, sadly the cancellation was seen from a mile away. The feel of the show was great. Somewhat mysterious but also just relaxed and aimless.

It would be nice for a final season so i could continue watching.

just read pynchon

Post Modernism: The Final Chapter

David Foster Wallace and Tao Lin stood around their elaborately footnoted map of Thomas Pynchon’s house.
“Are you sure about this David?”
“Dammit Tao, we’ve been over this again, how can we become the world’s greatest pomo authors if Thomas Pynchon’s still alive?”
“I know, but eliminating his map?”
David Foster Wallace slapped Tao Lin in his chubby little face.
“Are you in, or are you out?”
“Uhh- I don’t-“
“You called your book Eeeee Eee Eeeee Tao, Eeeee Eee Eeeee. How can you succeed in a world where Pynchon exists with a title like Eeeee Eee Eeeee?”
Tao Lin clenched his fists.
“I’m in David. But if you ever mention Eeeee Eee Eeeee again, I’ll end you”

Crickets chirped outside Tao Lin’s Toyota Camry.
“Here’s the place.”
In front of them stood the imposing walls of Thomas Pynchon’s fortress of solitude.
“Get the rope.” Said David as he stepped out of the car. Tao Lin hurried to the car’s boot, and pulled out a long black thread of rope. He chucked it to David who attached a metal hook to its end. He then threw the hook over the walls and it stuck tight. He yanked it, then started to shimmy up, leaping over the wall and landing with a tennis-shoe silenced thump.
“The coast’s clear.”
With this, Tao Lin also scalled the wall, He rolled over to David Foster Wallace and took out their map. Wallace took out his LED light and shone it over the diagram.
“The backdoor’s over there. Once we get in it’s through the kitchen, up the stairs, down the hallway and then it’s match-point for Thomas.”
Keeping low, they moved at a crawl towards the sturdy stone alcove of Pynchon’s back doorstep.
“Jiggy the door Tao.”

Tao Lin took out a styrofoam Starbucks cup. Cracking it open, he took out a lockpick and screwdriver.
“This is easy David.”
“Almost too easy Tao. If Pynchon’s security this lax, I’m surprised that Burroughs didn’t bet us to the punch decades ago.”
The door soundlessly swung open and they crawled inside.
“Get down David.” Cried Tao Lin and he threw David Foster Wallace to the ground. In the air above them flashed three deadly crossbow bolts, which slammed into the door with a meaty thunk.
Above them, the intercom crackled into life.
“Welcome to my home Mr. Wallace. You must be over the rainbow to step foot in my domain”
Tao Lin was looking around frantically.
“The jig’s up, David lets get out of this here.”
“I’m not ready to give up now Tao.”
“You’re lucky to be alive! Come on, the Pale King will sell fine on its own.”
“Don’t bring up The Pale King Tao, don’t you ever mention the Pale King!”
With that David Foster Wallace barreled through the kitchen.
“Dammit.”
“You better help your friend Tao-Lin, or he might find himself in a world of pain.”
Ahead, Tao Lin could hear David’s frantic cries for help. Taking out his knife out of its boot holder, Tao Lin turned the corner to find David Foster Wallace in the slimy grip of a giant octopus.
“This wasn’t in the plan David!”
“Give me the knife!” cried David Foster Wallace as he viciously gouged at the octopus’s eyes with his one free hand
Tao Lin threw the knife and it whirled through the air. David caught the knife in one hand and tore it through the octopuses’ fleshy ‘head’. Writhing in pain, the octopus wheeled in pain, dropping the writer onto his feet. Tao Lin leapt forward with his icepick, and with one swift move thrust it into the octopus’ brain.
“This is so going in my blog.”
The housetrained kraken spasmed on the floor for a full minute, then stood still.

“You might be the most impressive writers yet.”
“You’re not as smart as you think you are Pynchon.” Cried back DFW.
“I never said I was smart, only creative!”
With a mechanical click, the floor beneath Tao Lin and David Foster Wallace swung in like a trapdoor. David desperately grasped for the ledge, and Tao Lin managed to grab his hanging ankle, leaving them both hanging precariously from the side. Looking down they could see vicious metal stakes sticking through the basement’s cold concrete floor. Scattered around the room was a number of skeletons, the one directly below them still wearing a cowboy hat.
“Cormac. Pynchon you bastard!”
“Tao, even my serving arm can’t keep us from falling from much longer. You have to do something now.”
Tao struggled to pull himself upwards to see anything that might save them.
“The octopus!”
Taking their rope, Tao Lin threw it with all his might. Above he heard the claw sink into the octopus’ flesh. With a ferocious pull he sent the octopus flying past them and into the basement below. With that Tao Lin jumped off the wall and landed on the octopus’ thick body, the metal spikes unable to reach him.
“Come on down David.”
Once David Foster Wallace was too standing on Pynchon’s pet octopus, Tao Lin threw the hook back up, where it stuck fast on the staircase’s bannister. Swinging across a row of spikes and pulling themselves up, the side of the basement’s wall the carefully ascended the stairs.

At the end of the pictured lined corridor was Thomas Pynchon’s room, and beneath the floor, crude black smoke was flowing out. A rumbling started to shake the house.
“What the hell’s he hiding in there?”
“I don’t know Tao, but from the feel of things it’s gonna be a lot harder to eliminate his map the longer we wait here.
With that David took a step forward. As he put his foot down, a vicious throwing star feel out of a picture’s mouth, skimming the glass of David’s glasses.
“Dammit!”
Looking down at the floor where David Foster Wallace’s foot had rested, Tao Lin saw a sea of tiles, each one with a piece of fruit drawn on in steady, identical hand.
“You steeped on an apple.”
“Apple, apple- Of course!” cried DFW and he leapt forward, hopping from one leg to another.
“The bananas Tao, only steep on the bananas!” he shouted over his shoulder, getting ever closer to Pynchon’s door. A red glow flickered underneath now, and the closer they got the louder the noise became, and when Tao Lin joined DFW by the entrance to Pynchon’s inner abode, it was an ear-filling roar.
“Lets do this.”
Bursting through the door, Tao Lin and David were confronted by the giant metal arrow of a V2 rocket sticking jutting up through the floor. Settled in a leather armchair bolted floor level, was Thomas Pynchon, his head hidden behind a darkly tinted goldfish bowl, a chilling grin drawn on in crimson pen.
“I’d love to stay and chat with the only authors who’ve ever made it this far, but as you can see, I have a flight to catch.”
Laughing manically, the V2 started to slowly ascend, stabbing through the room’s high ceiling like it was made of paper.
“Goodbye David, Mr Tao!” cried Pynchon as he left them behind in a storm of black exhaust.
Coughing and shielding their faces from the searing heat, David Foster Wallace and Tao Lin could only stand helplessly as their enemy made his escape

“After all this, we couldn’t even lay a finger on the guy!” cursed Tao Lin, bringing his fists to his face in rage.
“It’s not over yet Tao.”
David Foster Wallace ran to the window and ripped it open. He reached down to his belt and pulled up a gleaming black pistol.
“Give up David, there’s no way you can hit him now.”
“I hit service lines smaller then this back in Indy.” David replied, squinting up at the rocket’s thruster-lit outline. Sweat soaked his bandana. He steadied his hands and fired.
Tao Lin and David stood in silence for a moment, holding their breaths, and in the next instant the dazzling orange explosion of Pynchon’s rocket lit up the night. Splitting into pieces it fell to land sizzling in the ocean below.
“Write in hell you bastard.” Muttered David Foster Wallace and he let the gun fall to the garden below.

Fin.

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Don't use "sez" and this could be funny.

>t. has never read a pynchon book

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Ive read all of them... and there's nothing more embarrassing than someone other than Pynchon using "sez". It makes you utterly transparent.

>whining about a maybe 6 year old copy pasta
>to do this

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On July 4th, 1980, Thomas Pynchon consumed between eight and ten kilograms of marajuana and collapsed in Gordita Beach residence. He was discovered the following morning by neighbors, and was pronounced dead on the scene. Pynchon's publishers had been expecting a new novel from Pynchon since Gravity's Rainbow recieved the national book award years earlier, and concealed his death in the interest of profiting further from Pynchon's immense fame. In 1984, Pynchon's agent-wife Melanie Jackson approached the then-graduate student David Foster Wallace, asking him to assume Pynchon's public identity, and to write novels under Pynchon's name. Wallace agreed, and published Vineland as Thomas Pynchon in 1990 after a long hiatus. Vineland's mediocre reception spurned Jackson and Wallace to try a different approach, and both Mason & Dixon and Against the Day were complied based on Pynchon's notes and drafts written before his death. During this time, Wallace focused more heavily on his own career, publising Infinite Jest one year before Mason & Dixon was released. Wallace's own approach to writing was radically infuenced by his growing frustration with the Thomas Pynchon identity, and with Infinite Jest, Wallace was determined express that frustration by rebelling against the conventional postmodern style that Pynchon represented. As the material Pynchon left behind was used up, however, Wallace was forced to return to writing entirely original novels as the late author, and quickly found he could not keep up with the task while also managing his own burgeoning fame. Overwhelmed, Wallace agreed to stage his own suicide in 2008, and dedicated his efforts to Thomas Pynchon full-time. Bleeding Edge, Wallace's second fully-original novel as Pynchon was published in 2013, and his third, The Japanese Insurance Adjuster, will be completed in 2018.

I was a bit drunk when for some reason I ended up watching inheret vice as it is what it was on the first page of yify movies.

That was the feeling of this movie, drunk, high.

Is that how this show will feel like?

so it is all a great meme after all?

Or maybe Wallace actually was depressed faggot who offed himself?

I will never not laugh at the greatly deserved ridicule of this hack fraud. DFW will be remembered by posterity as the most incompetent snake oil salesman western literature has ever produced.

The only sincere act of his life was when he kicked away the chair. His life was nothing but a series of ironies and lies predicated on the the joke that is new sincerity. The big punchline was the creaking of the rafter and the piss trickling down his leg to the floor.

his epiphany that the only viable thing for him to do was to kill himself was the best thing to happen to literature in 30 years since he began writing because behind all the self aware gimmicks and self help books and the drugs and the audience pussy there was no discernible talent

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>consumed between eight and ten kilograms of marajuana
>22 pounds of weed
Is that to say he smoked it all or ate it all? Either way, how the fuck do you blow through 22 pounds of weed in a day?

>this guy

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He said he wanted an ending.

if the show had an ending could you really call it inspired by lot 49/pynchon?

Sez is authentic Pynchonian usage

So we're never getting a good adaptation of a pynchon novel now that inherent vice sucked right? Lodge 49 and Silver Lake are all we get? Someone can definitely shoot TCoL49 or Vineland. Imagine a Mason & Dixon HBO or something miniseries... things that will never happen. Gimme that gravity's rainbow anime while I'm wishing

inherent vice was great. it was the best possible adaptation of that material.

very carefully

He did the best he could but I feel like he basically chopped out the whole really ominous implications with the CIA and how deep it ran through everything doc encountered for the sake of character and aesthetic choices. Overall having seen it 3 times I don't like the movie. I want to like the movie but I just don't think it's good. Lodge 49 on the other hand so far I think is very good. Like I said I'm only 4 episodes in but particularly that last one I watched really nailed down all the right stuff. I'm pretty shot and only fit to shitpost right now but I'm definitely finishing season 1 after I pass out.

Oh and the reason I think lodge 49 is good is precisely because it is a show. Inherent Vice is dense for a short book but even as a two and half hour movie none of the scenes had much time to breathe.

It's a great PTA movie, but it isn't Pynchon!

There's a beautiful love odyssey narrative in the movie, whereas the novel is a passage in time from one into another.