I saw this while driving out to the western suburbs.I didn't even know such a place existed. Apparently, it's in Chicago!
Or, Elk Grove Village, if you want to be a stickler.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Hall of Fame
I saw this while driving out to the western suburbs.I didn't even know such a place existed. Apparently, it's in Chicago!
Or, Elk Grove Village, if you want to be a stickler.
Movie: Zombieland
I saw "Zombieland" on DVD tonight. Mildly funny -- an enjoyable enough movie, although I wasn't (ar ar) blown away by it -- it wasn't the comedic multiple orgasm-on-celluloid that I was led to believe it was.
It wasn't quite an undead romantic comedy ala "Shaun of the Dead" (and, at heart, that's what that movie was, although it had some great comedic moments in it, likely because the Brits have that razor's edge instinct for comedy when they want to). Or maybe it was another undead romantic comedy of sorts, since the neurotic nerd guy does end up with the cool babe, the babe who'd be out of his league in a non-apocalyptic world, but now, somehow likes him (instead of the Woody Harrelson character, who a gal like that seems likelier to like). Wish fulfillment by the screenwriters?
The telegraphing of the various Zombieland Rules was overdone -- it's one thing to have them make a pass through, but for them to keep reappearing felt like the writers were looking down their noses at the audience -- "Look! This is what the narrator was referring to earlier!" The "rules" feels like a hook that sold the screenplay.
I think we survived the Great Zombie Cinematic Plague, if we're in the parodic place for it, now -- sort of like the "Scream" movies re: slasher movies, where it's all self-referential and what-not. "Zombieland" captures some semblance of humanity in its characters, which gives it something of the half-life of a Twinkie, but that's not saying too terribly much.
I can't hear the title of it without thinking of Terminal Mind's "Zombieland" tune -- a good song, offering a critique of American culture. They were a Texas band, and this story begins in Texas, so maybe the writers were inspired by that. Very likely.
I need to think a bit more about it, I guess. Or not.
It wasn't quite an undead romantic comedy ala "Shaun of the Dead" (and, at heart, that's what that movie was, although it had some great comedic moments in it, likely because the Brits have that razor's edge instinct for comedy when they want to). Or maybe it was another undead romantic comedy of sorts, since the neurotic nerd guy does end up with the cool babe, the babe who'd be out of his league in a non-apocalyptic world, but now, somehow likes him (instead of the Woody Harrelson character, who a gal like that seems likelier to like). Wish fulfillment by the screenwriters?
The telegraphing of the various Zombieland Rules was overdone -- it's one thing to have them make a pass through, but for them to keep reappearing felt like the writers were looking down their noses at the audience -- "Look! This is what the narrator was referring to earlier!" The "rules" feels like a hook that sold the screenplay.
I think we survived the Great Zombie Cinematic Plague, if we're in the parodic place for it, now -- sort of like the "Scream" movies re: slasher movies, where it's all self-referential and what-not. "Zombieland" captures some semblance of humanity in its characters, which gives it something of the half-life of a Twinkie, but that's not saying too terribly much.
I can't hear the title of it without thinking of Terminal Mind's "Zombieland" tune -- a good song, offering a critique of American culture. They were a Texas band, and this story begins in Texas, so maybe the writers were inspired by that. Very likely.
I need to think a bit more about it, I guess. Or not.
Curling
B1 was cute -- he said "You know why I like curling?" and I asked him "Why?" and he said "The stones are kinda special. They aren't some boring old ordinary rocks -- they are curling STONES. And it's kinda like a puck, and kinda like hockey, only with brooms."
Good Day
Had fun today -- the Zipcar went off without a hitch. The boys loved driving around in a Scion xB, and we hustled to the grocery store and got everything we needed, then I loaded it all upstairs and then took the boys on a playdate, which they greatly enjoyed. Then I hustled them home ahead of the USA/Canada hockey game. Overall, good day.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Feeling the Heat
Me on the thermographic imager, B1 touching the screen.
My glasses really repel the heat!
My glasses really repel the heat!
Me being filmed by a thermographic camera lens.
The seeming leer is simply the camera in front of my face.
The seeming leer is simply the camera in front of my face.
To Infinity (Shop) and Beyond
Had the boys down to the Adler Planetarium, and back. They enjoyed it, although the pricetag of that establishment makes me glad I only hit it maybe twice a year. Whew! Apparently they've opened it for evenings every third Thursday of the month, cocktails and what-not for human singularities (Get it? A little black hole humor, there). It was pretty crowded today, and the boys had a good time. I asked them what they liked best about it, and they both said "Everything!"
The bus ride home was typically amusing -- some real characters on the bus. The weekend is always a great time for people-watching on the CTA. I snapped a few covert pictures, just because it was too amusing not to.
Saw a drug deal on State Street! Probably crack, since it was something small passed from hand to hand by their nervous selves. The one guy had gloves with skeleton hands, and he saw me notice it (I was sitting on the bus with the boys -- thankfully, the boys weren't visible to the guy) and he gave me his Look of Death -- we just gazed at each other for a moment, me impassive, him threatening. Serious killer eyes, like a shark's. He and his pal split after the hand-off was made, one heading north, the other south.
There was a guy on the bus with a fur coat, serious sideburns, and just this look of an aged black boxer -- sky-blue mock turtleneck and black suit, a worn red cane, assorted bling, red sunglases perched on his forehead, scowling at nothing in particular. Great outfit! He looked like a middle-aged Black Panther dandy.
B2 often dozes on the bus -- I think it soothes him. It's very sweet, him laying his head on my shoulder. My shoulders lend themselves to that, I think, at least when I'm on the bus.
The boys and I gave up our seats to a trio of blind passengers who boarded -- we went further into the bus, toward the middle. Just being nice. Nobody else gave up their seats. That's usually how it goes -- I'm always the one who does it.
The boys travel very well on the bus. Exene makes it out like it's a big deal, but it's not -- they love to travel, and they are accomplished little city boys. They board and off they go, right into the bus. Very plucky, very cute.
Now we're home, I made them some lunch, and I'm going to rest and watch the Olympics while they play with some of the bric-a-brac I (of course) bought at the "Infinity Shop" (the Adler Planetarium museum shop). I took a bunch of pix, and am going to load them up and see if any are worth sharing.
The bus ride home was typically amusing -- some real characters on the bus. The weekend is always a great time for people-watching on the CTA. I snapped a few covert pictures, just because it was too amusing not to.
Saw a drug deal on State Street! Probably crack, since it was something small passed from hand to hand by their nervous selves. The one guy had gloves with skeleton hands, and he saw me notice it (I was sitting on the bus with the boys -- thankfully, the boys weren't visible to the guy) and he gave me his Look of Death -- we just gazed at each other for a moment, me impassive, him threatening. Serious killer eyes, like a shark's. He and his pal split after the hand-off was made, one heading north, the other south.
There was a guy on the bus with a fur coat, serious sideburns, and just this look of an aged black boxer -- sky-blue mock turtleneck and black suit, a worn red cane, assorted bling, red sunglases perched on his forehead, scowling at nothing in particular. Great outfit! He looked like a middle-aged Black Panther dandy.
B2 often dozes on the bus -- I think it soothes him. It's very sweet, him laying his head on my shoulder. My shoulders lend themselves to that, I think, at least when I'm on the bus.
The boys and I gave up our seats to a trio of blind passengers who boarded -- we went further into the bus, toward the middle. Just being nice. Nobody else gave up their seats. That's usually how it goes -- I'm always the one who does it.
The boys travel very well on the bus. Exene makes it out like it's a big deal, but it's not -- they love to travel, and they are accomplished little city boys. They board and off they go, right into the bus. Very plucky, very cute.
Now we're home, I made them some lunch, and I'm going to rest and watch the Olympics while they play with some of the bric-a-brac I (of course) bought at the "Infinity Shop" (the Adler Planetarium museum shop). I took a bunch of pix, and am going to load them up and see if any are worth sharing.
Row, Row
I really like my rowing machine. I got one for about $149 a number of months ago -- a cheap but well-reviewed one. It's good stuff. Usually about 30-60 minutes of it a day does the trick. I definitely feel it, and it's toning me up nicely -- a good, low-impact blend of cardio and strength. Although I am going to add some additional cardio to the mix, likely jump rope.
I remember reading that for big guys like me, rowing and swimming are some of the best things to do, in terms of biomechanics -- some of the worst are running and biking, just from the inertial costs of movement and wear and tear on the joints. I enjoy biking, will likely always do it, but I'm not one of those hardcore All-Season Chicago Bikers -- strictly a tourist! So, I need additional cardio in the winter to make up for that.
Blah blah blah.
Getting the boys ready for the outing today. They'll love the planetarium; they always do!
I forgot that B1 gets Monday off for Pulaski Day, a very Chicago municipal holiday! So, hopefully the weather will be good and I'll get them to the playground or something. Not sure, yet.
Driving my first Zipcar tomorrow -- a Scion xB! The boys will likely think that's pretty great. It's kinda surreal -- the way they do the Zipcar thing, it's like a secret agent mission -- you make your reservation for X car, and you get instructions on what to do, where to get it. You just go there and your Zipcard opens the car, and off you go. Cue "Mission Impossible" theme!
I remember reading that for big guys like me, rowing and swimming are some of the best things to do, in terms of biomechanics -- some of the worst are running and biking, just from the inertial costs of movement and wear and tear on the joints. I enjoy biking, will likely always do it, but I'm not one of those hardcore All-Season Chicago Bikers -- strictly a tourist! So, I need additional cardio in the winter to make up for that.
Blah blah blah.
Getting the boys ready for the outing today. They'll love the planetarium; they always do!
I forgot that B1 gets Monday off for Pulaski Day, a very Chicago municipal holiday! So, hopefully the weather will be good and I'll get them to the playground or something. Not sure, yet.
Driving my first Zipcar tomorrow -- a Scion xB! The boys will likely think that's pretty great. It's kinda surreal -- the way they do the Zipcar thing, it's like a secret agent mission -- you make your reservation for X car, and you get instructions on what to do, where to get it. You just go there and your Zipcard opens the car, and off you go. Cue "Mission Impossible" theme!
Friday, February 26, 2010
Still Up
I'm such a caffeine wuss; I had some dark chocolate M&Ms earlier this evening, and they are keeping me up! I know dark chocolate has probably like a thimbleful of caffeine in it, a super-tiny dose, but it still affects me strongly. Anything even remotely caffeinated after about 6 p.m. and I'm up!
So, I'm still trying to match the perfection of the Gemini Bistro's Old Fashioneds. They were so good. I've tried them at any number of places throughout Chicago, and the Gemini's were simply the best.
I made a couple today, came pretty close to it, but not 100%. I'm minding the boys for the next several days, so I'll not be able to do any field research at the Gemini, but I do plan to again. I want to get it right. Right now, I'm tentatively confident that it's
1 shot Maker's Mark
1 shot Cointreau
Several dashes Bitters
A dash of maraschino cherry juice
But I'm not completely sure about it. Maybe more Cointreau? The next time I order one, I'm going to watch the bartender make it (and hope it was the same one who made it back in November), and see if they add anything else. Hey, I take my Epicureanism seriously, dammit. It was the perfect Old-Fashioned, and I want to be able to replicate it!
So, tomorrow I'm going to take the boys to Adler Planetarium -- I told B1 we'd do that, and he was thrilled. I try to get the boys there twice a year, usually summer and winter, just because it's fun for them, a good "little kid" museum (e.g., just enough stuff there to entertain them, not soooo much stuff that they get all worn out). Adler's a trifle pricey for what you get, but twice a year, it's doable.
I guess that's all for the moment. I finally yawned, so maybe the mega-caffeine from the M&Ms (joking) is finally wearing off.
So, I'm still trying to match the perfection of the Gemini Bistro's Old Fashioneds. They were so good. I've tried them at any number of places throughout Chicago, and the Gemini's were simply the best.
I made a couple today, came pretty close to it, but not 100%. I'm minding the boys for the next several days, so I'll not be able to do any field research at the Gemini, but I do plan to again. I want to get it right. Right now, I'm tentatively confident that it's
1 shot Maker's Mark
1 shot Cointreau
Several dashes Bitters
A dash of maraschino cherry juice
But I'm not completely sure about it. Maybe more Cointreau? The next time I order one, I'm going to watch the bartender make it (and hope it was the same one who made it back in November), and see if they add anything else. Hey, I take my Epicureanism seriously, dammit. It was the perfect Old-Fashioned, and I want to be able to replicate it!
So, tomorrow I'm going to take the boys to Adler Planetarium -- I told B1 we'd do that, and he was thrilled. I try to get the boys there twice a year, usually summer and winter, just because it's fun for them, a good "little kid" museum (e.g., just enough stuff there to entertain them, not soooo much stuff that they get all worn out). Adler's a trifle pricey for what you get, but twice a year, it's doable.
I guess that's all for the moment. I finally yawned, so maybe the mega-caffeine from the M&Ms (joking) is finally wearing off.
Just a Dash
One thing in "The Incredibles" that always sorta stuck in my craw is how they have Dash sign up for track. Now, the kid has super-speed as his superpower, right? And in the end, we see Dash at a track meet, and his folks urging him to come in a close second in a race he could completely win.
Of course, it's played for comedic effect, with norms looking on like "WTF?" But still, it kinda bugs me -- why not have the kid try out for wrestling? Something where his super-speed wouldn't be quite such an advantage? What's the point of him running very slowly in a track meet in a track meet he could easily win? The message of it is kinda annoying. Better for him to diversify than to simply fake it in a race he knows he could win. A real accomplishment, instead of an ersatz one.
Otherwise, I enjoy that movie a lot, hope they do a sequel for it; it's already long overdue.
Of course, it's played for comedic effect, with norms looking on like "WTF?" But still, it kinda bugs me -- why not have the kid try out for wrestling? Something where his super-speed wouldn't be quite such an advantage? What's the point of him running very slowly in a track meet in a track meet he could easily win? The message of it is kinda annoying. Better for him to diversify than to simply fake it in a race he knows he could win. A real accomplishment, instead of an ersatz one.
Otherwise, I enjoy that movie a lot, hope they do a sequel for it; it's already long overdue.
Nip/Tuck
Next Wednesday is the series finale for "Nip/Tuck."
I really enjoyed the first three seasons of that show; I think those were the best. I think they lost their way in the fourth through sixth seasons, and had some good moments in this last season, although it seems very much a show "out of time" -- that is, the world it began in (2003) isn't here quite the same way, anymore. Hopefully the ending will have some edge to it, and it won't be mawkish. It's nice to see Famke Janssen return (aptly cast as the quietly evil, controlling hermaphrodite, Ava). Lord knows what her presence in the story is going to do in that finale. I keep hoping Quentin Costa will return, but that's likely too much to hope for. Sean McNamara is so nuts, he's potentially capable of anything. Although deliberately amoral, Christian Troy is likely to end up hurt by Sean. Julia has returned this season, and her absence has been keenly felt -- the seasons without her always felt empty to me -- she anchored Sean and Christian so well. There was just something very good in the three of them that was lost when she was off the show, so her returning makes this last season brighter. Anyway, one more episode. We'll see how it goes. The first three seasons are well worth your time, if you haven't ever bothered to watch the show.
I really enjoyed the first three seasons of that show; I think those were the best. I think they lost their way in the fourth through sixth seasons, and had some good moments in this last season, although it seems very much a show "out of time" -- that is, the world it began in (2003) isn't here quite the same way, anymore. Hopefully the ending will have some edge to it, and it won't be mawkish. It's nice to see Famke Janssen return (aptly cast as the quietly evil, controlling hermaphrodite, Ava). Lord knows what her presence in the story is going to do in that finale. I keep hoping Quentin Costa will return, but that's likely too much to hope for. Sean McNamara is so nuts, he's potentially capable of anything. Although deliberately amoral, Christian Troy is likely to end up hurt by Sean. Julia has returned this season, and her absence has been keenly felt -- the seasons without her always felt empty to me -- she anchored Sean and Christian so well. There was just something very good in the three of them that was lost when she was off the show, so her returning makes this last season brighter. Anyway, one more episode. We'll see how it goes. The first three seasons are well worth your time, if you haven't ever bothered to watch the show.
Weekend
I am enjoying this long weekend, most definitely. Sucks to not pass the first round of eliminations in the Amazon competition, but judging from the titles of some of the works that DID pass, maybe not such a bad thing...
I'm going to work on some new stuff this weekend, now that the Olympics is winding down and is freeing my mind to non-Olympics-related stuff. ; )
The Ghost of Laurie FloydJust saying. Oooh, sour grapes, blah blah blah. But I guarantee I'm a better writer than most of the participants.
Passage To Brazil: The Travelers
From Across the Room
Manufactured Thoughts
Wishing for Credence
Driving To Kansas For Dresses
China White
THE BEACH AT HERCULANEUM
Temp: Life in the Stagnant Lane
THE REENGINEER
FoxTheft - War on the Bayou
When Spirits Beckon
All About Betty
Sanctuary
Deep Fried
The Cozen Protocol
But Can You Drink The Water?
Shifted
Strip Kids
The Katrina Contract
Patent Mine
The Glory that was Glass
The Patriot Spy
The Dies Irae
The Emptying
Treasure On The Frontier
The Season After The War
Tepui
SHEDDING CATS
Wife Seeking Wife
A Lone Palm Stands
The Chabóchi
Pretty Cockroaches
View from Masada
I'm going to work on some new stuff this weekend, now that the Olympics is winding down and is freeing my mind to non-Olympics-related stuff. ; )
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Well, Hell
I didn't make it to the next round in the Amazon competition. Damn. I guess my pitch wasn't good enough or something. Oh, well.
On the bright side, somebody's story, "Fried Green Zombies," DID advance. So, if you were banking on that one, good for you!
On the bright side, somebody's story, "Fried Green Zombies," DID advance. So, if you were banking on that one, good for you!
Worky Workington
It's sunny today. Cold, but pretty. Like you can almost see Spring flexing its toes a bit, despite that odd snowstorm last night.
This clip always makes me snicker...
I just love how the bassist and drummer try to keep it together as the frontman melts down, and how visibly disgusted the other guys are with it. I also love how the frontman's guitar is de-tuned from the initial wipeout, and he's basically just playing from muscle memory, but like a few octaves off-kilter.
*snicker* <-- See? I toldja!
This clip always makes me snicker...
I just love how the bassist and drummer try to keep it together as the frontman melts down, and how visibly disgusted the other guys are with it. I also love how the frontman's guitar is de-tuned from the initial wipeout, and he's basically just playing from muscle memory, but like a few octaves off-kilter.
*snicker* <-- See? I toldja!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Snow Way!
Wow, it's really snowing tonight! We've had more snow this year than any winter I can remember in Chicago.
Kindling
I'm still watching lots of Olympics, enjoying my "staycation" of sorts (mostly just not fiction-writing at the moment, but I am doing a lot of blogging, obviously). Exene goes off on yet another marathon this weekend, so it's just me and the boys. Good times! (honestly) The month of March will live up to its name, lemme tellya! I have so much to be done. My last month of being in my 30s -- I intend to put the time to good use.
Speaking of writing, I should find out tomorrow whether the novel I entered in the Amazon competition advances or not. We'll see. I can't get my hopes up, but it would be nice to at least advance past that first round of eliminations (then only three more rounds to go -- *GAK*)
On the bus, which was pretty crowded (well, my second part of my commute, up the Mag Mile), I counted 19 people in my immediate area, and took stock of what they were doing:
Speaking of writing, I should find out tomorrow whether the novel I entered in the Amazon competition advances or not. We'll see. I can't get my hopes up, but it would be nice to at least advance past that first round of eliminations (then only three more rounds to go -- *GAK*)
On the bus, which was pretty crowded (well, my second part of my commute, up the Mag Mile), I counted 19 people in my immediate area, and took stock of what they were doing:
- 1 writing on notepad (me)
- 4 reading books
- 1 reading newspaper
- 2 listening to their iPods
- 2 reading Kindles
- 2 using cell phones (one texting, the other on the phone)
- 1 using iPhone (I can't be sure what she was doing -- either playing a game or texting)
- 6 just sitting there
Stoicism. Epicureanism. Romanticism. Classicism.
My rule of thumb:
That simple axiom can be applied in so many ways, in so many settings. Stoicism likely has its place in life, but Epicureans should always be entrusted to the things that make life worth living. I'm an Epicurean to the bone, without a doubt. I savor the pleasures of life, in all their forms. And it's true -- I think it's part of what lets me be a generally happy camper, even when things are rough: I find the fun, and I find the funny. I savor life -- even when life hurls a cream pie in my face, I'm one to take a lick and say "Hmm. Tasty." Not really. I HATE cream pies.
*shudder*
I feel that love is best understood by Romantics, and not by Classicists. I remember in high school, for sure by my junior year, realizing in an epiphany that I was a Romantic. I told a friend of mine (himself, a tried-and-true Classicist), in English class: "Tom, I'm a Romantic!" and he laughed, said he was a Classicist, and that he knew I was a Romantic, just from the stuff I'd say in class. That amused me.
Byron's works, Shelley's poems -- they really hit me hard, framed so much of my sense of self, and of the world. I remember reading Shelley's stuff out loud in my room and just loving the dance of his language. It was so clearly-defined to me, I can actually remember that conversation, can see it in my mind's eye so well. It's funny to me -- I think Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" is a bit of a sly answer to her own father's Romantic, revolutionary spirit, and, of course, to her husband's Romantic vision. But I'll talk about that some other time.
Epicurean. Romantic. Yup. Me. Okay, so, maybe idealistic, but so what? What's the opposite of idealism? Realism. In other words: ZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZzzzz
Anyway, if you know a Stoic, remember those words. Never let'em buy the groceries, buy the gifts, pick the music, or plan the parties. Just don't. Seriously. Don't.
Never let the Stoic buy the groceries.
That simple axiom can be applied in so many ways, in so many settings. Stoicism likely has its place in life, but Epicureans should always be entrusted to the things that make life worth living. I'm an Epicurean to the bone, without a doubt. I savor the pleasures of life, in all their forms. And it's true -- I think it's part of what lets me be a generally happy camper, even when things are rough: I find the fun, and I find the funny. I savor life -- even when life hurls a cream pie in my face, I'm one to take a lick and say "Hmm. Tasty." Not really. I HATE cream pies.
*shudder*
I feel that love is best understood by Romantics, and not by Classicists. I remember in high school, for sure by my junior year, realizing in an epiphany that I was a Romantic. I told a friend of mine (himself, a tried-and-true Classicist), in English class: "Tom, I'm a Romantic!" and he laughed, said he was a Classicist, and that he knew I was a Romantic, just from the stuff I'd say in class. That amused me.
Byron's works, Shelley's poems -- they really hit me hard, framed so much of my sense of self, and of the world. I remember reading Shelley's stuff out loud in my room and just loving the dance of his language. It was so clearly-defined to me, I can actually remember that conversation, can see it in my mind's eye so well. It's funny to me -- I think Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" is a bit of a sly answer to her own father's Romantic, revolutionary spirit, and, of course, to her husband's Romantic vision. But I'll talk about that some other time.
Epicurean. Romantic. Yup. Me. Okay, so, maybe idealistic, but so what? What's the opposite of idealism? Realism. In other words: ZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZzzzz
Anyway, if you know a Stoic, remember those words. Never let'em buy the groceries, buy the gifts, pick the music, or plan the parties. Just don't. Seriously. Don't.
Video: Song of a Baker
I really like the Small Faces. They were a great band. The exuberance of this tune always psyches me up. Just powerful stuff...
And I love the Mod kids grooving to it, the babes doing their groovy 60s dancin' to it, too! Hee hee!
And I love the Mod kids grooving to it, the babes doing their groovy 60s dancin' to it, too! Hee hee!
Robo-Cuisine
The Snackbot is coming! Barring some human-induced cataclysm or just cosmic bad luck (e.g., an asteroid hitting us or something), I think we're going to see so much more with robots in this century. Of course, the flip side of that shiny coin is that a huge proportion of humanity will be even more irrelevant than they already are, if robots get good enough at whatever they're programmed to do. Note: I don't think anybody's irrelevant -- that's one of my beefs with the capitalist economy, the winners v. losers aspects of it (e.g., rich v. poor). The litany of "get an education, get a good job" that was part of the 20th century's economic model of progress has really begun to take a tumble -- the jobs, increasingly, just aren't there to be had, and you have PhD's working far beneath their capacity. Demand for good jobs seems to have always exceeded supply.
So, you throw actually effective robots into the mix, and suddenly they're doing the jobs nobody wants to do -- the jobs historically taken up by immigrants and other needy souls. And as they get better and more diverse, then they're taking up increasingly challenging and desirable jobs, putting more and more people out of work.
What do all of those people do? Our country already fails to really help its neediest. What'll happen when all of these people are out of work? Trouble. There's a chance for self-improvement, yeah, but will people take it? And will governments make it easier or harder for people to do so? Europe and Japan, I can see doing it -- but our country? Not so much. I imagine fundamentalists staging anti-robot riots, etc.
So, you throw actually effective robots into the mix, and suddenly they're doing the jobs nobody wants to do -- the jobs historically taken up by immigrants and other needy souls. And as they get better and more diverse, then they're taking up increasingly challenging and desirable jobs, putting more and more people out of work.
What do all of those people do? Our country already fails to really help its neediest. What'll happen when all of these people are out of work? Trouble. There's a chance for self-improvement, yeah, but will people take it? And will governments make it easier or harder for people to do so? Europe and Japan, I can see doing it -- but our country? Not so much. I imagine fundamentalists staging anti-robot riots, etc.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Seen: Son of Son of Sam
Oh, my. Was witness to some serious Crazy(tm) on the bus. It's been awhile, but this guy had it goin' on. Older guy, late middle age, silvery-white hair, long, and big, Neil Young sideburns. Glasses. Wore a worn tan canvas windbreaker and navy blue slacks.
He boarded around Water Tower Place, in a big press of people, and began conversing -- a bland, quasi-California kinda drawl, half-shreds of conversation that first made me think he was talking to somebody, only to realize a moment later that he was talking to himself. I wrote down some of his word-shreds, each one delivered in a conversational tone, having this conversation with nothing:
"You're the witch, right? You look like the witch. But I'm the wizard. Just remember, I'll take care of that little speech impediment."
"Burt? Ernie? Yeah, you better straighten that out."
"I'm Wesley Curry. Sure, they're going into their own private hell together. Just like that policeman that tried to murder me. He's dead now. In the Sun-Times."
"Jody Weiss's right arm'll be in a sling."
"They won't put THAT on your magic paper. On your magic television."
"We'll take care of that speech impediment."
"It doesn't matter that Susan is about to get hired."
"So, Burt and Ernie, you can't get away with NOT telling."
"You can say anything you want, but you can't say that George W. Bush didn't have a vision."
"In Hell, Jesus Christ is gonna make it so you cannot ever speak again."
"I'm a prince of the Earth." (tried to shake commuters' hands)
And the capper, he broke out into a song, this sort of lilting tune (which I render in crazy-person caps for emphasis):
I got off the bus at that point, didn't hear the rest of his crazy tune.
He boarded around Water Tower Place, in a big press of people, and began conversing -- a bland, quasi-California kinda drawl, half-shreds of conversation that first made me think he was talking to somebody, only to realize a moment later that he was talking to himself. I wrote down some of his word-shreds, each one delivered in a conversational tone, having this conversation with nothing:
"You're the witch, right? You look like the witch. But I'm the wizard. Just remember, I'll take care of that little speech impediment."
"Burt? Ernie? Yeah, you better straighten that out."
"I'm Wesley Curry. Sure, they're going into their own private hell together. Just like that policeman that tried to murder me. He's dead now. In the Sun-Times."
"Jody Weiss's right arm'll be in a sling."
"They won't put THAT on your magic paper. On your magic television."
"We'll take care of that speech impediment."
"It doesn't matter that Susan is about to get hired."
"So, Burt and Ernie, you can't get away with NOT telling."
"You can say anything you want, but you can't say that George W. Bush didn't have a vision."
"In Hell, Jesus Christ is gonna make it so you cannot ever speak again."
"I'm a prince of the Earth." (tried to shake commuters' hands)
And the capper, he broke out into a song, this sort of lilting tune (which I render in crazy-person caps for emphasis):
"HeRe In HeAveN, WiTh OuR LOrD Jesus
EVeRyONe WaS CuT iN LITtLe PiECeS.
THe LiTtLe PiECeS, ThEy DiD NoT BleEd
NoR WoULd tHEy saY who It WaS
HaD DoNE tHe DeEd."
EVeRyONe WaS CuT iN LITtLe PiECeS.
THe LiTtLe PiECeS, ThEy DiD NoT BleEd
NoR WoULd tHEy saY who It WaS
HaD DoNE tHe DeEd."
I got off the bus at that point, didn't hear the rest of his crazy tune.
What is she?
Any idea what species Meryl Davis is? She looks like one of "Avatar's" Na'vi except without the blue skin. She is very unusual-looking. She and her human partner should have gotten the gold last night. They outperformed the Canadians.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Francisco, Cheech, Sunshine, and Nadine
If you don't want me to overhear you on the bus, don't talk so loudly that I can clearly hear you!
Francisco told somebody that Cheech had said it was alright, and that Sunshine or Nadine would be the best candidates to cover the next day, except that Nadine (I think) had yoga. So, maybe Sunshine was the best bet. Francisco repeated this message to approximately three different people on his cell phone, very loudly talking.
The city is very sloppy tonight -- wet, sloppy snow. You can almost feel Spring trying to assert itself, although it's way too early. Even with global warming, Winter's grip is tight on Chicago.
Dinner tonight is going to be sweet Italian sausages and potatoes. Mmm hmmm! I've got'em simmering right now, and the smell is savory!
Francisco told somebody that Cheech had said it was alright, and that Sunshine or Nadine would be the best candidates to cover the next day, except that Nadine (I think) had yoga. So, maybe Sunshine was the best bet. Francisco repeated this message to approximately three different people on his cell phone, very loudly talking.
The city is very sloppy tonight -- wet, sloppy snow. You can almost feel Spring trying to assert itself, although it's way too early. Even with global warming, Winter's grip is tight on Chicago.
Dinner tonight is going to be sweet Italian sausages and potatoes. Mmm hmmm! I've got'em simmering right now, and the smell is savory!
Snow day
Another snowstorm blew through here. It's amazing how winter has changed in Chicago since I've lived here, no doubt a side effect of *koff* climate change *koff* -- I've got a cold right now that has had a field day with my throat, and I'm sounding like, I dunno, Darkseid. Just low and croaky.
I wanted to snap a lot of pix, as the snow made everything beautiful -- the winds had it blowing sideways, so it hit a lot of statues and what-not on the side, which made them look neat.
Saw some old women nearly get into it on the bus this morning -- one gal was getting up to leave, and the other woman was standing, and the woman said "I'm getting out soon." and the other woman said "I'm getting out soon, too." And they glared at each other. Irresistible Force meet Immovable Object.
I've been watching a lot of Olympics of late. I can't resist it. It's over before you know it, so I'm enjoying it.
A couple more days and I find out whether my book advances to the next stage in the competition. We'll see. Fingers crossed. I could do with some good luck.
I'm going to write about love in a day or so -- or romantic love, anyway. It hearkens back to that article I posted the other day. I think our culture has sort of forgotten romantic love. Maybe it just flies in the face of the pragmatic realities and transactional exigencies of capitalist society, I'm not sure. But I believe in love. I still do. I've had my heart broken a couple of times (well, one slow erosion, the other an out-and-out shattering), but I still believe in the power and beauty of romantic love. Not sentimentalized, mind you -- but romantic, in every sense of the word.
Sometimes I feel that the 20th century saw the Romantic ground beneath the marching bootheels of pragmatism, and as we stagger punch-drunk into this new century, we're still rebounding from that. Certainly, humanity's sense of itself was surely shaken by what happened last century. I wonder what's in store for us as a species in this century. I often hope that a new Romantic spirit will arise and we will rise to it, instead of just having it all turn to ash and dust. In my tiny way, I hope my Romantic (big R) spirit prevails in my writing.
I often think about writing a love story. I did, once, in '99 -- but, oddly (or tellingly), it certainly wasn't about Exene -- who seemed to love being loved, without having to do much about loving in return. That story, that first real novel, was me yearning for something else, for someone else, and badly. The first real book I wrote was that one, when I was 29. Ten years ago, amazingly enough. The world changed with the new century's arrival, and I don't think the character I wrote in that day could survive this world -- she would not like it. I know she wouldn't.
But part of me thinks I should try again.
I wanted to snap a lot of pix, as the snow made everything beautiful -- the winds had it blowing sideways, so it hit a lot of statues and what-not on the side, which made them look neat.
Saw some old women nearly get into it on the bus this morning -- one gal was getting up to leave, and the other woman was standing, and the woman said "I'm getting out soon." and the other woman said "I'm getting out soon, too." And they glared at each other. Irresistible Force meet Immovable Object.
I've been watching a lot of Olympics of late. I can't resist it. It's over before you know it, so I'm enjoying it.
A couple more days and I find out whether my book advances to the next stage in the competition. We'll see. Fingers crossed. I could do with some good luck.
I'm going to write about love in a day or so -- or romantic love, anyway. It hearkens back to that article I posted the other day. I think our culture has sort of forgotten romantic love. Maybe it just flies in the face of the pragmatic realities and transactional exigencies of capitalist society, I'm not sure. But I believe in love. I still do. I've had my heart broken a couple of times (well, one slow erosion, the other an out-and-out shattering), but I still believe in the power and beauty of romantic love. Not sentimentalized, mind you -- but romantic, in every sense of the word.
Sometimes I feel that the 20th century saw the Romantic ground beneath the marching bootheels of pragmatism, and as we stagger punch-drunk into this new century, we're still rebounding from that. Certainly, humanity's sense of itself was surely shaken by what happened last century. I wonder what's in store for us as a species in this century. I often hope that a new Romantic spirit will arise and we will rise to it, instead of just having it all turn to ash and dust. In my tiny way, I hope my Romantic (big R) spirit prevails in my writing.
I often think about writing a love story. I did, once, in '99 -- but, oddly (or tellingly), it certainly wasn't about Exene -- who seemed to love being loved, without having to do much about loving in return. That story, that first real novel, was me yearning for something else, for someone else, and badly. The first real book I wrote was that one, when I was 29. Ten years ago, amazingly enough. The world changed with the new century's arrival, and I don't think the character I wrote in that day could survive this world -- she would not like it. I know she wouldn't.
But part of me thinks I should try again.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Final Placement
Holy shit -- this Christian band proves Nietzsche right...
If you can soldier through this entire video with your faith in God intact, good for you. Oh, Christ, what an earnest nightmare this is! Tune much, people??
If you can soldier through this entire video with your faith in God intact, good for you. Oh, Christ, what an earnest nightmare this is! Tune much, people??
Thursday, February 18, 2010
*ZZZzzz*
Have a cold. Took some Benadryl last night, which is like knockout sauce.
I've been a bit of a scofflaw of late, with my writing. The Olympics always throws me a curveball on that score. I love watching the Olympics! What can I say?
When you walk on the sidewalk alone, do you walk to one side? The center? I find that I walk down the center of the sidewalk unless there's somebody coming from the other direction.
I was on the torture bus last night -- the driver had, for a time, toggled the robot voice, and it kept repeating the route. Over and over and over again: "151. Sheridan. To Devon. And. Foster." In that halting robot voice. Repeatedly. That kind of stuff drives me bananas.
I've been a bit of a scofflaw of late, with my writing. The Olympics always throws me a curveball on that score. I love watching the Olympics! What can I say?
When you walk on the sidewalk alone, do you walk to one side? The center? I find that I walk down the center of the sidewalk unless there's somebody coming from the other direction.
I was on the torture bus last night -- the driver had, for a time, toggled the robot voice, and it kept repeating the route. Over and over and over again: "151. Sheridan. To Devon. And. Foster." In that halting robot voice. Repeatedly. That kind of stuff drives me bananas.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Crush: Tanith Belbin
Oh, yes. I have long crushed on Tanith Belbin. Seeing her back in the Vancouver Olympics brought it all back. What a pity she's a Cancer!I don't know how well she'll do this go'round, but what a nice thing to see her out on the ice yet again.
Yes.
Kefir
Yesterday, "Exene" was gulping down Kefir, and I shuddered at the sight of it. She managed to talk B1 into having some, and, despite initial resistance, it turned out he liked it. When he asked me why I didn't like it, I said "I'm not a fan of yogurt." and he said "But have you ever TRIED it, Daddy?" and I admitted I hadn't, but said that yogurt gave me the willies. It was cute to see him challenging me on that.
On the way home from work, on the bus, I saw a trio of people surfing at the lakeshore, which was very wavy, naturally. They were in wetsuits. You have to be crazy to surf Lake Michigan in February. The water has to be so cold!
On the way home from work, on the bus, I saw a trio of people surfing at the lakeshore, which was very wavy, naturally. They were in wetsuits. You have to be crazy to surf Lake Michigan in February. The water has to be so cold!
Dark Star
I find it fascinating that the idea of a black hole was first theorized during the Enlightenment, before vanishing from scientific thought for a century...
The idea of a body so massive that even light could not escape was put forward by geologist John Michell in a letter written to Henry Cavendish in 1783 to the Royal Society:
If the semi-diameter of a sphere of the same density as the Sun were to exceed that of the Sun in the proportion of 500 to 1, a body falling from an infinite height towards it would have acquired at its surface greater velocity than that of light, and consequently supposing light to be attracted by the same force in proportion to its vis inertiae, with other bodies, all light emitted from such a body would be made to return towards it by its own proper gravity.In 1796, mathematician Pierre-Simon Laplace promoted the same idea in the first and second editions of his book Exposition du système du Monde (it was removed from later editions).[3][4] Such "dark stars" were largely ignored in the nineteenth century, since light was then thought to be a massless wave and therefore not influenced by gravity. Unlike the modern black hole concept, the object behind the horizon of a dark star is assumed to be stable against collapse.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
What's Love Got To Do With It?
I found this article in THE NATION interesting. I'll comment on it in a few.
Bent
This is on Clark Street, just north of the intersection of Lincoln and Wells. I like the salt spray on it, and, of course, the snow.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Talking to Himself
My older son was mumbling about something, and I said "What's that, Buddy?" and he said "I'm just talking to myself, Daddy." and I said "Well, tell yourself I said 'hi.'" and he said "Self: my Daddy says 'hi.'" He grinned at me, and I laughed. I like his developing sense of humor!
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
St. Kilda
Islands always fascinate me. The more remote and isolated, the better. One that currently has my attention is St. Kilda, Scotland. I am fascinated by how long people inhabited this island, which only in the last near-century became effectively depopulated. A small, lonely place. Fascinating!
The evacuation of it, in particular, is enticing...
The evacuation of it, in particular, is enticing...
Numerous factors led to the evacuation. The islands had existed for centuries in relative isolation until tourism and the presence of the military in World War I induced the islanders to seek alternatives to privations they routinely suffered. The changes made to the island by visitors in the nineteenth century disconnected the islanders from the way of life that had allowed their forebears to survive in this unique environment.[87] Despite construction of a small jetty in 1902, the islands remained at the weather's mercy.[88]
After World War I most of the young men left the island, and the population fell from 73 in 1920 to 37 in 1928.[34] After the death of four men from influenza in 1926 there was a succession of crop failures in the 1920s. Investigations by Aberdeen University into the soil where crops had been grown have shown that there had been contamination by lead and other pollutants, caused by the use of seabird carcasses and peat ash in the manure used on the village fields. This occurred over a lengthy period of time as manuring practices became more intensive and may have been a factor in the evacuation.[89][90] The last straw came with the death from appendicitis of a young woman, Mary Gillies, in January 1930. On 29 August 1930, the remaining 36 inhabitants were removed to Morvern on the Scottish mainland at their own request.
The islands were purchased in 1931 by Lord Dumfries (later 5th Marquess of Bute), from Sir Reginald MacLeod. For the next 26 years the island experienced quietude, save for the occasional summer visit from tourists or a returning St Kildan family.The morning of the evacuation promised a perfect day. The sun rose out of a calm and sparkling sea and warmed the impressive cliffs of Oiseval.... Observing tradition the islanders left an open Bible and a small pile of oats in each house, locked all the doors and at 7 a.m. boarded the Harebell... They were reported to have stayed cheerful throughout the operation. But as the long antler of Dun fell back onto the horizon and the familiar outline of the island grew faint, the severing of an ancient tie became a reality and the St Kildans gave way to tears.[91]
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Running, Man
I read in one of B1's science magazines about running, how humans appear to be evolutionarily-disposed to run (including the presence of the Achilles' Tendon, which is integral to the process), and glutes -- having buns helps one run! Something about how it counterbalances the forward momentum of the chest when propelling oneself forward -- that if we didn't have buns, we'd lose that vital ability to propel ourselves while remaining upright. There's a clear biomechanical edge glutes provide with running, and it's not simply about energy storage.
What I found most interesting was discussion about sweating and the nature of human running, which favored distance-running, and how it appears to have been used by early humans to run down prey animals. Herd animals like antelopes and what-not rely on sprinting to escape danger, and are capable of great bursts of speed, but, like most (all?) animals, they rely on their mouths to cool off, basically panting themselves cool. So, what that means is that, in the (literal) short run, they can escape people, but what people (particularly early human hunters) could do is simply jog after the animals, maintaining enough of a distance from the animals to force them to sprint/rest, sprint/rest, sprint/rest until they ran themselves out. All animals, no matter how fast, simply overheat after having run (or being made to run) a certain distance, and they will just collapse, exhausted. Something like when their body temperature reaches 105 degrees F.
So, early humans would basically jog animals to death, and, surprisingly, it didn't take that great a distance -- usually around six (6) miles of running would do it, if you were able to keep after the animals. That's apparently how early humans would do it, and why we evolved the muscle/tendon and pulmonary combination we have that lets us run distances. If you were able to run, you could (eventually) eat. Six miles isn't even that much running, in the larger scheme of things. Of course, early humans had to be even more hardcore, when you figure they were running barefoot across the African plains for prey! Ouch!
What I found most interesting was discussion about sweating and the nature of human running, which favored distance-running, and how it appears to have been used by early humans to run down prey animals. Herd animals like antelopes and what-not rely on sprinting to escape danger, and are capable of great bursts of speed, but, like most (all?) animals, they rely on their mouths to cool off, basically panting themselves cool. So, what that means is that, in the (literal) short run, they can escape people, but what people (particularly early human hunters) could do is simply jog after the animals, maintaining enough of a distance from the animals to force them to sprint/rest, sprint/rest, sprint/rest until they ran themselves out. All animals, no matter how fast, simply overheat after having run (or being made to run) a certain distance, and they will just collapse, exhausted. Something like when their body temperature reaches 105 degrees F.
So, early humans would basically jog animals to death, and, surprisingly, it didn't take that great a distance -- usually around six (6) miles of running would do it, if you were able to keep after the animals. That's apparently how early humans would do it, and why we evolved the muscle/tendon and pulmonary combination we have that lets us run distances. If you were able to run, you could (eventually) eat. Six miles isn't even that much running, in the larger scheme of things. Of course, early humans had to be even more hardcore, when you figure they were running barefoot across the African plains for prey! Ouch!
One down
The novella didn't make it into the anthology, although the comments from the reader/judge were very good, and were in accord with what I felt needed to be done with the story, anyway, so that heartened me. He's clearly a good, sharp reader. I'm fine with rejections so long as people actually read my stuff and offer good feedback, so while it's somewhat disappointing not to get into the anthology, the points he made were valid. I think he liked the story very much, but understand why he passed. And, in truth, I am fine with it, because the story really wanted to be a novel, anyway, and I think I shoehorned a lot into the novella for the sake of not exceeding the word count limit.
Hopefully, the two short stories I have out and the novel will bring me better outcomes! I need to get some more short stories out there, have to find homes for'em. Always such a PITA.
Hopefully, the two short stories I have out and the novel will bring me better outcomes! I need to get some more short stories out there, have to find homes for'em. Always such a PITA.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Bahahah
Old-time propaganda and/or public health posters always make me laugh. This one is great:
"You can't beat the Axis if you get VD."
Bahaha! Watch out for those "Good Time" Girls, fellas! That tomato at the dime-a-dance joint may have one fine set of gams, but watch out!
"You can't beat the Axis if you get VD."Bahaha! Watch out for those "Good Time" Girls, fellas! That tomato at the dime-a-dance joint may have one fine set of gams, but watch out!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Big Bother Is Watching
I keep thinking what'll happen with Facebook and/or Twitter, what it means for us. I know a few people who aren't on these social networking sites, but most people I know are. There is an insidious virtual fishbowl kind of thing in place with it, where people know what you're doing (at least if you tell them) and you know what they're up to. What's more, not posting anything for awhile often has people wondering where you are, what happened. The global village in place, akin to walking down the street of a small town and having the locals look you over. I remember that happening to me in SW Ohio, on a long bike ride. I rode into this three-street town (First Street, Main Street, and Church Street), and everybody in the town stopped what they were doing and watched me bike on by. It was creepy. Sometimes the Net today feels like that. It's preventable, of course -- you can just unplug and disappear, but the voyeuristic and exhibitionistic quality of the medium is enticing. It's like a primate trap -- like at a musuem, the surest way to get people to look at something is to put it under a little door you have to open, because the ape in us is just dying to know what's behind that little door. They've tested that on apes, and on us, and it works. The FB is like that, in so many ways. "What are you up to? What are you doing?" The Surveillance Society, except a home-grown, local type.
I wonder what'll happen when people move on from FB. Where will they go? In the old days, we had three television networks, and broadcasting was truly broad -- there was a shared cultural tapestry we drew from. Cable changed that forever, and narrowcasting became the norm. In a way, FB (and, to a lesser extent, Twitter) operates like that -- it is the broadcast medium of the Net. But, sooner or later, the "audience" will migrate to something else, one way or another, and then everybody won't be on the same (web)page, anymore. Will it be to something even more potentially intrusive? I don't know. We'll see, I guess.
I wonder what'll happen when people move on from FB. Where will they go? In the old days, we had three television networks, and broadcasting was truly broad -- there was a shared cultural tapestry we drew from. Cable changed that forever, and narrowcasting became the norm. In a way, FB (and, to a lesser extent, Twitter) operates like that -- it is the broadcast medium of the Net. But, sooner or later, the "audience" will migrate to something else, one way or another, and then everybody won't be on the same (web)page, anymore. Will it be to something even more potentially intrusive? I don't know. We'll see, I guess.
Yawn Pong and the Snowstorm
I was stuck playing Yawn Pong on a crowded bus last night after work. Even writing the word "yawn" makes me yawn (yawn). I am the most yawn-susceptible person out there (yawn). Anyway, this gal across from me kept yawning, and I kept seeing that (yawn), even out of the corner of my eye, and it would make me yawn (yawn). And she'd see me yawn and would try to fight it, and then she'd yawn, too. Back and forth, down the Mag Mile -- Yawn Pong. See? I just yawned again! Damn. Anyway, it was a slow ride downtown, so the Yawn Pong match was like 120 to 115 by the time I got off the bus. Not really, but it (yawn) sure felt like that.
Moving on, for the sake of (yawn) sanity: we're getting another snowstorm. Yippee! It's really coming down. Supposedly we're due for 6-14 inches, or that's what they're saying. I'll have to take the boys out sledding after work. I'm sure they'll love that. It's really coming down something fierce. I need to find my boots. I am wearing sneakers today. Whoopsie!
Moving on, for the sake of (yawn) sanity: we're getting another snowstorm. Yippee! It's really coming down. Supposedly we're due for 6-14 inches, or that's what they're saying. I'll have to take the boys out sledding after work. I'm sure they'll love that. It's really coming down something fierce. I need to find my boots. I am wearing sneakers today. Whoopsie!
Monday, February 8, 2010
Reviews, Aegis
"Aegis" got another review. I don't think this quite gets the story, but at least the reviewer appeared to ultimately like the tale...
This one is far cattier, and seems to miss the point of the story almost entirely...
It was, of course, intended for Euryale to be exactly who she was. I mean, good lord, the title alone should be a nice tipoff for anybody paying attention, which is, in itself, a key point of the story. I liked the idea of Euryale not having to truly hide who she was because the nature of the world today allows for it, where everybody looks and nobody sees what's right in front of them. What is a Gorgon in this world except a relic to an almost charmingly simple past? Had she named herself Renee Smith, would it have made any difference whatsoever? If anything, there would have been diminishment in doing that. I liked keeping her surname "Euryale" precisely because it pointed to her being exactly who (and what) she was, and people not even getting who she was. I think she meant to write "O tempora!" but why quibble, right?
D.T. Neal's story 'Aegis' starts off interestingly enough as a young artist meets a legendary sculptor in the hope of learning something from her. Just as I was wondering where the story was going there was a sudden shift. First, briefly, a scene of unnecessary titillation that I thought was going to go downhill into seediness. This was averted by another change from the mundane to the fantastical that initially left me dissatisfied. D.T Neal skilfully ties the whole story up at the end, though, sculpting a story that is ultimately both intriguing and pleasing.
This one is far cattier, and seems to miss the point of the story almost entirely...
Aegis by D.T. Neal
Julian Stein, a young artist, falls in love with the work of famous sculptress Renee Euryale. Unfortunately, any reader with a classical education will at once understand what her secret is and how this story will likely end. Unfortunately for the protagonist, his education was lacking in these details.
It is too bad, as this story offers some insights into the nature of art and creation, but either the readers are supposed to be screaming at the characters as if they were watching a B horror movie—"No! Don't go into the mansion!"—or they are supposed to be shocked at the final revelation, which just falls flat. The editorial blurb declares that it was the 2nd place winner of the 2008 Aeon award, which makes me wonder if the judges had the benefit of a classical education. O tempore!
It was, of course, intended for Euryale to be exactly who she was. I mean, good lord, the title alone should be a nice tipoff for anybody paying attention, which is, in itself, a key point of the story. I liked the idea of Euryale not having to truly hide who she was because the nature of the world today allows for it, where everybody looks and nobody sees what's right in front of them. What is a Gorgon in this world except a relic to an almost charmingly simple past? Had she named herself Renee Smith, would it have made any difference whatsoever? If anything, there would have been diminishment in doing that. I liked keeping her surname "Euryale" precisely because it pointed to her being exactly who (and what) she was, and people not even getting who she was. I think she meant to write "O tempora!" but why quibble, right?
Who's Who?
I cringed when I saw the 50% Who play the Superbowl halftime show. They should have packed it in over 30 years ago, rather than grinding on. If any band is forcefully diminished by the loss of its members, it's The Who. Few bands fused into a more powerful gestalt, where each member added something critical to their alchemy. I've written about it at length in a few places over the years, and the Superbowl performance only cements that perception. And I love The Who; the problem is that Daltrey and Townshend can't really pretend to be The Who by themselves. Not possible. And they know that, in truth. They know. I saw the 75% Who play in '89, and it was good enough, but it still wasn't The Who.
THIS was The Who...
One irony I did take from the Superbowl performance, however: no band was more English than The Who. They literally wore their Englishness on their shirtsleeves. There was even a nod to that in the setup last night, with the drummer with his RAF "target" cymbals and his cockeyed Union Jack shirt, and the LED stage lights playing at that a little. But it's an odd feature for such an American spectacle as the Superbowl, to have a band as quintessentially English as The Who play the halftime show. I don't know what, if anything, it means. Maybe they were willing to play for cheap or something. Not sure. But it was odd.
THIS was The Who...
One irony I did take from the Superbowl performance, however: no band was more English than The Who. They literally wore their Englishness on their shirtsleeves. There was even a nod to that in the setup last night, with the drummer with his RAF "target" cymbals and his cockeyed Union Jack shirt, and the LED stage lights playing at that a little. But it's an odd feature for such an American spectacle as the Superbowl, to have a band as quintessentially English as The Who play the halftime show. I don't know what, if anything, it means. Maybe they were willing to play for cheap or something. Not sure. But it was odd.
Comfortable Strangeness
I'm working on a new book, a SF novel that I've had in my head for about a year. I suppose "SF" is not quite right -- it probably is more Slipstream than SF, although we'll see. Maybe Literary SF, if not Slipstream. It's unlike anything I've written before, and I'm enjoying the ride. The world is "comfortably strange" -- very familiar and yet laced with unfamiliar and unsettling things I throw out like little bon-bons for the reader.
I started it yesterday, got 2500 words done, about five pages, and it is going just fine. I can't wait to dive into it again, although likely not until tomorrow, owing to scheduling difficulties at home. We'll see. Hopefully I'll get it done this winter and have it ready for revision by spring.
Meantime, the ABNA is closed. Fingers crossed on my submission. I should find out if it made first cut by the end of this month. We'll see.
The CTA service reductions have Chicagoans pissy, crowded on the buses and trains. A lot of pissed-off people, going nowhere fast! Hopefully the city will sort out its transit funding woes, and things'll return to normal.
I started it yesterday, got 2500 words done, about five pages, and it is going just fine. I can't wait to dive into it again, although likely not until tomorrow, owing to scheduling difficulties at home. We'll see. Hopefully I'll get it done this winter and have it ready for revision by spring.
Meantime, the ABNA is closed. Fingers crossed on my submission. I should find out if it made first cut by the end of this month. We'll see.
The CTA service reductions have Chicagoans pissy, crowded on the buses and trains. A lot of pissed-off people, going nowhere fast! Hopefully the city will sort out its transit funding woes, and things'll return to normal.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Scene: Thulsa Doom?
Getting on the bus later than my usual time is like walking into an alternate dimension. Different people, different schedules, different everything. I'm used to a particular demographic wedge when I get on my usual time. Today it was very odd. For one thing, it seems that a lot of brunettes board around 8:00 a.m. CST. At most of the stops, it would be a parade of them, brunette woman after brunette, and no common ethnicity between them, but a mixed bag, with the lone commonality being that they are all brunettes. I need to study that and see how it shakes out at other times. But I've noticed this before. And all of them rather strikingly unattractive -- not even a matter of taste, here -- they were all odd-looking. If it wasn't an unconscionable invasion of privacy, I'd have filmed it, so you could see, but it was true. Older men (some of them possibly drunk), and unattractive young and middle-aged brunette women, bound for jobs. Even the lone blonde on board wasn't attractive, looked like LiLo after a bender. Who were these people? Where were they going? No idea.
A black woman sat across from me, talking quietly in her cell phone. She looked like James Earl Jones. Like she could've been his baby sister. I don't know if he has any relatives, but the resemblance was uncanny. I was riding the bus with Thulsa Doom!
Nothing else fancy happened on the trip, except the driver got lost in Hyde Park, ended up cutting off a large portion of her route, but nothing that would affect me directly (except getting me to work a bit later.)
A black woman sat across from me, talking quietly in her cell phone. She looked like James Earl Jones. Like she could've been his baby sister. I don't know if he has any relatives, but the resemblance was uncanny. I was riding the bus with Thulsa Doom!
Nothing else fancy happened on the trip, except the driver got lost in Hyde Park, ended up cutting off a large portion of her route, but nothing that would affect me directly (except getting me to work a bit later.)
Salacious Salinger?
I think the absence of sex in Salinger's work was because he was a pedophile.
http://www.slate.com/id/2243564
Something about the character of Seymour always made me think that, although it's been so long since I read any of Salinger's work, I can't fully recall, and am perhaps too lazy to go back and lay it all out, but at the time, I remember reading him and thinking "Huh. WTF?" I think Seymour was a projection of Salinger himself, more than even most characters are with writers, and I think that might account for why Salinger was so reclusive and paranoiac, and why the only interview he granted was to those high school students in the early 70s. I think Salinger liked kids. Maybe REALLY liked'em. His estate is surely keen to control the legacy of his work (whatever that precisely is), so, like Jacko, it'll be something that's camouflaged, explained away, and/or concealed. But still, it makes me wonder.
http://www.slate.com/id/2243564
Something about the character of Seymour always made me think that, although it's been so long since I read any of Salinger's work, I can't fully recall, and am perhaps too lazy to go back and lay it all out, but at the time, I remember reading him and thinking "Huh. WTF?" I think Seymour was a projection of Salinger himself, more than even most characters are with writers, and I think that might account for why Salinger was so reclusive and paranoiac, and why the only interview he granted was to those high school students in the early 70s. I think Salinger liked kids. Maybe REALLY liked'em. His estate is surely keen to control the legacy of his work (whatever that precisely is), so, like Jacko, it'll be something that's camouflaged, explained away, and/or concealed. But still, it makes me wonder.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Wow
A childhood friend of mine read "Aegis," and he offered a very thorough commentary on it, which I had to post, because it was pretty amazing...
I finally got a chance to read your story yesterday, and I'm very glad I did. I'm sure others have gnawed over Aegis' characters, dialogue, plot, etc. the way wolves do with visceral matter still recalicitrantly adhering to a shoulder; so, I'm taking an alternative approach. I really enjoyed the way you described Euryale's home. It encapsulated her.
Many other writers utilize the setting as an enlarged prop which, at times allegorically, queered the lines of subjectivity and objectivity along with the character herself. The semiotic effect between her home and herself seems to oscillate to the point that, in spite of her secrecy, it exposes her personality. From Julian's initial encounter with her home until his final confrontation, you reveal Euryale's character in the same way one tours an historical manor, converted into a museum. Reading it in that perspective, I see her not as a tragic heroine, but a waste of life and an intended blight upon humanity, as she saw herself through her gods' perspective: "'the ... curses they bestow upon us, the less fortunate.'" Her property presents itself as an oxymoron: wild yet conservative, no trespassing yet enter if you must. Both she and it weigh visitors with a scale for earnest sincerity (or ... do you really wanna' go there).
The garden grants Julian a first impression of Euryale's persona. After bypassing the reclusive compound's "impassible" fence, that contradictorily was "not entirely adequate to the task," he observes the "well-tended" wild roses all pink and white, with nary a red one. While Julian recognizes the maintained order, he fails to regard the significance of color. I believe that you reveal that their owner has a strong degree of control without passion, as evident with the absence of red blossoms. The wild variant of roses might imply that she does not inherently align with our laws and culture, a bit more than marching to the beat of her own drummer. From the wild roses wrapped around one of her victims (the statue of a trespasser), I infer that she enthralls her victims, regardless of their entry, until it's too late for them. The flowers (and their stems) ensnare her prisoner, granting no quarter, and obliging a permanent suffering. She even explains that "'no one enters my garden without invitation.'" Euryale knows exactly who walks her grounds, or rather, interacts with her; how intimate they familiarize themselves with her, is entirely up to her. She weighs their desire and determines the degree of wanting.
Her home's interior allegorically mirrors her mind. Throughout the hallways and front rooms, paintings of landscapes and portraits of those she knew are displayed; "every inch of the walls was taken up with paintings." These paintings show her age and travels - the teleological significances. Yet, they hang dispassionately, with more affection to the frames or imposed prisons containing them. She brings him into the cold living room which presents a culturally modern look to make visitors suppose she's image conscious. But, it's the coldness Julian feels about the room which informs the reader that Euryale cares little for it or the occupants frequenting it. She even frankly admits to Julian that her talent for painting is "adequate" at best. He completely misses her dispassionate take on life, as if it now bores her. Later on in the story, she hints about the artwork in her other rooms, paintings of others that knew her more intimately, but these memories share the same apathetic feel as they hang on her walls and consume space in her immortal memory. Julian recognizes upon his entrance on the grounds that, "the house felt lonely, and he felt sympathy with that." As his interaction with her continues, he fails to understand that Euryale, too, experiences those pangs, and that the house mirrors it.
Only when he arrives at her inner sanctum does he begin to realize Euryale's banality and lack of panache. For her, this room is her inner sanctum - where she conducts her work and where she reveals her identity. It's spartan minimalism denies any interpretation; its blank white walls, mundane track lighting and glass block windows (which eliminate any inspiration from the reality outside) present an uninspiring studio, and Julian calls it like he sees it: "'You're not a sculptor, you're a fraud' ... " She may have relocated some of her work or other memorabilia around to other rooms, like Clive's to her bedroom, but this studio is where the magic (or lack thereof) happens in her existence. Her bland studio explains much about her thoughts and life, along with the mirror - capturing her true being and revealing something as devoid of vivacity as the statues she damns.
"'You're not even an artist, you're a monster.'" Yep, even the house with its snake-like Gothic slate tiles and cold iron gate hint at her nature: taloned hands, snakes for hair, controlled wild garden flowers imply a subtle mythical creature who desires to "'remind people that nightmares still walk the world.'" This self admission confirms what her guest Julian felt all along. Moreover, her distaste for the word monster reinforces her earlier self description as one of the cursed less fortunate. Yet it's the subtlety that I cannot shake. Julian wanted to see her. He repeatedly ignores all the warnings she offers and pays attention to her seductive mystery to the point that he exposes himself as he truly is, through his artwork. She weighs his earnest sincerity and finds it not wanting but appealing. Just like the house, it gauges visitors (desired or undesired) and determines whether its facade keeps people away or grants the more determined access to its interior. Once inside, the walls and rooms subtly show nothing more than the disdain for life and her history, until one reaches her studio and observes the absence of everything - a living being devoid of a soul.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Crush: Ginormica
I watched "Monsters V. Aliens" with the boys last night, and found that I kinda liked Ginormica. She seemed fun. White-haired, lithe giantess? Hmmm. Not bad, not bad. And that's coming from somebody who hates (HATES) the word "ginormous," so that's testament to Ginormica's appeal.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Networking
This is a great scene, and speaks to our future from the past...
Chayefsky's sermonizing in "Network" may be dated in some ways, but when you think about cybernetics marching onward, the concept of "dehumanization" takes on an entirely different context. Depending on where we end up in this century, it could be an upward and evolutionary process, or a downward spiral into final oblivion.
Chayefsky's sermonizing in "Network" may be dated in some ways, but when you think about cybernetics marching onward, the concept of "dehumanization" takes on an entirely different context. Depending on where we end up in this century, it could be an upward and evolutionary process, or a downward spiral into final oblivion.
The Mummy
Saw a mummified squirrel on the way to the bus stop this morning. Must've died in a snowbank or something, and when the snow went away, there was the squirrel mummy -- I thought it was a rat at first, because it was black, but then realized it was a squirrel. A ghoulish memento of the winter.
Sort of weird running across that, after watching "Zodiac" on DVD last night. I think it's a good David Fincher movie -- his excesses are reined in by the demands of being rooted in time and place. Anyway, since there is a scene with squirrels in it, seeing that this morning made me shudder anew.
It's weird to think about the Zodiac killings, because so much of it depended on police departments not communicating with each other, over-reliance on particular experts, and other assorted missteps that perhaps might not have been so much of a factor these days. I'm sure investigative botches occur all the time, but theories around serial killing weren't as well-developed in the early 70s as they are now, and plenty of the warning signs of a suspect or two were likely glossed over, whereas today, they would point to particular suspects straightaway.
I'm sleepy today. A bit sleep-indebted from the weekend.
Sort of weird running across that, after watching "Zodiac" on DVD last night. I think it's a good David Fincher movie -- his excesses are reined in by the demands of being rooted in time and place. Anyway, since there is a scene with squirrels in it, seeing that this morning made me shudder anew.
It's weird to think about the Zodiac killings, because so much of it depended on police departments not communicating with each other, over-reliance on particular experts, and other assorted missteps that perhaps might not have been so much of a factor these days. I'm sure investigative botches occur all the time, but theories around serial killing weren't as well-developed in the early 70s as they are now, and plenty of the warning signs of a suspect or two were likely glossed over, whereas today, they would point to particular suspects straightaway.
I'm sleepy today. A bit sleep-indebted from the weekend.
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