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Tuesday, December 1st, 2009
swtrilogy	9:46p	867-5309 What about when buildings fall What about that midnight phone call The one that wakes you from your peace? What about them indeed? I was sleep dialed on Sunday night at 2:13am. Purely by accident, thankfully, as the caller fell asleep on her phone, something I can totally understand cause I do it so often I have a permanent indentation between my shoulder blades. I was just relieved it turned out to be an accident, because I can only think of a legitimate reasons to call someone at 2:13am, and none of them are good things. Usually they involve people dying or getting raped or being in Detroit or something hideous like that. Also I was relieved because it turning out to be nothing helped lessen the guilt of the fact that I didn't answer that call, although in my defense, I didn't turn to the phone in time because I was so out of it when I woke that I kept swatting at my alarm clock and wondering why it wouldn't shut the hell up. "This is why we get along so well, Ken- you're even more cheerful than I am." - Mark B So despite the sleep deprivation I made it through the day, and settled into bed early last night for some catch-up sleep. I was just drifting off to the happy land where I'm a viking when the phone rang. Again. "Lollercopter, Ken," cries the know-it-all jackass (you), "Why don't you just silence your phone when you go to bed?" Does it make you feel like some kind of super genius to point out the obvious solution to every problem? Well it shouldn't. My phone, being a cheap piece of crap, has some funky quirks to it. For example, the charger and the headset use the same jack. Also it gets about 20 minutes of useful battery life for every hour of charging you put into it. Also whenever it's plugged into the charger, like I had to do last night cause the battery was almost dead, it automatically kicks up to highest volume and can't be turned down. Apparently the designers figured you'd charge it while you slept and wanted to make sure you didn't have to worry about missing any important ass-dials while that was happening. ALthough in this case I was almost glad for it. Cause I was being drunk-dialed. Rewind awhile back, and I had been flirting with this semi-cute nurse at my office every now and then. I say semi-cute because she vaguely resembled a girl I did find cute. She left for another job and we traded phone numbers before she left. she called a couple times and we talked a bit, made vague plans to go out sometime, but the more I got to know her the more I realized I really didn't like her on anything more than a passing physical level, so when she said, "Oh, I don't wnat to jerk you around but my ex is back in my life now and I don't know what I want to do." I was content to just end all contact right there, and I was even nice enough not to say what I was really thinking, "That's ok, my interest in you was purely coital at most and even that is diminished insanely by the fact that you are really not a very interesting or intelligent person, so I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything here." See, I can be tactful when I want to...I DIDN'T say that...I just said, "Ok. See ya round." Anyway, longwinded flashback out of the way, guess who it is on the other end of the phone? Oh boy! And cause I had deleted her number (I purge numbers like I purge facebook friends- if i haven't talked or wanted to talk to you in the last couple months, you're gone, lest I start drowning in contacts), i had to answer it to find out who it was. Me (Picture the groggiest you've ever heard me sound)- Hello? DrunkLadynamesomittedtoprotecttheidiots01- Hi. I'm looking for Ken? Me- (wondering who the hell this is, as she sounds like any of ten different girls I know sound when they are drunk)- This is Ken. Who is this? DL- Is this Ken? The sexy guy I met on the staircase? Me- Um...yes. Who is this? DL- Oh man, it's good to talk to again. I *hic*..... Me- Um...hello? DL- It's me! Drunk Lady! Me- Oh...hi...it's...good to hear from you. (No it isn't, but I was a model of restraint during most of this conversation, til it was time to just end this nonsense) DL- How are you? I was going through my phone and thought, I haven't called Ken in foever! I've missed talking to you. it's *hic* Me- Ok. WOrk is still work. What have you been up to? DL- *Burps into the phone* Well, I got the new job, and I moved, and...yeah... Me- Oh, where are you living now? DL- Here. Me- And where is here? DL- Here where I am, silly! *hic* so you should come on over (apparently the conversation we were actually having wasn't the same as the one she thought we were having. It was here that I realized that this was not only a booty call, but it's also a cringe inducingly awful attempt at one) Me- And where might that be? DL- WEst Allis *hic* I'm sosorry, I've got *hic*...can't even *hic*... Me- It's ok, I get hiccups too. How much have you had to drink? DL- OK, I get drunk, ok? It's what i *hic* do. I swear to you, I am not really taking poetic license here- I don't remember the conversation verbatim but this is exactly the ebb and flow of it, except you have to insert your own drunken slurring for her voice. I was so amused by this it was hard to keep the laughter out of my voice. Me- I get drunk too, babe. I'm just wondering how much it takes for you. DL- Seven jack and cokes.... Me- Damn.... DL- so you haven't ever really told me *hic* much about you...what's your living situation? Are you totally single? Me- Yep, still single. Living alone in an apartment in bay view. DL- Didn't you have rooommates? *hic* Me- Yeah, I moved. DL- you like living alone? Me- yeah, it's great. I love those guys but I think our friendship is more sustainable now that we're not living together. LONG PAUSE Me- Hello? DL- So you need to come over here *burps into phone again* Me- What, now? DL- yeah baby. Get over here! Me- I can't- it's too late at night. DL- Get over here! you're like a fantasy to me...*hic* *pause* You can't be too careful who you meet these days... I remember you but I forgot your name...what's your name again? Me- Excuse me? DL- What's your name? Me- Ken DL- That's right *hic* I remember you. I always thoguht you were very hot so you should come over. Me- No, it's too late. DL- Oh, come on! Me- Look, it'd take me an hour plus to get there, and I'm willing to lay odds you won't even still be conscious by the time I arrived. DL- Oh, I'll still be awake *hic* why would it take you so long? i only live in west allis. Me- Yeah, but that's a long bus trip. Remember the whole discussion we had about this? DL- you never told me you don't ave a car... Me- yes, I did DL- no you didn't! sorry. i'm spoiled. Ihad a lousy upbringing (I swear i'm not making this crapup) DL- I'd pay for your cab...*hic* Me- No, thank you. Maybe tomorrow night. I... DL- WHat?!?! You arne't blowing me off! Your problem is you got no game *hic* Me- I got no game? You called me, babe. I did get a bit testy here, but I'll be damned if some chick who's idea of seduction is belching through the phone is going to lecture me about a lack of "game" DL- *hic* oh yeah Try burping into my ear again, cause it was so sexy the first couple times you did it. At this point i hear a sound like running water Me- Where the hell are you? In a pool? DL- No, i'm lying on my couch....mumblemumblesomethingIcan'tunderstandbutihearhervoicegoup Me- um...sure... Crash Me- What was that? DL- That's...exactly what it sounded like...I fell off the *hic* couch. ANd I dropped the phone from laughing so hard...I have done a lot of stupid crap whiel drunk in my time but I have never been so out of it that I failed my dex check to keep LYING ON A COUCH. DL- I hit the coffee table. Get over here. Me- Look, I'll take you to dinner someother time. I gotta get to sleep. DL- no you don't.*hic* get over here. I live (gives me her actual address) Me- Oh, i know that area- it's near where I used to live. You dont' live too far from that porn shop by highway 100 DL- YOu're a pervert! Um....cause I said porn? DL- WHy are you being like this? WE're both attracted to each other...why are we debating what's right and wrong instead of just doing what we should be doing? I've had conversations with fridge magnet poetry sets that were less random. By this point I've had enough, and it' stime to twist the knife by reminding her why she really called me... Me, innocently as you please- well, last time we talked you said there was this other guy back in your life... DL- I don't wanna talk about that *hic* things are just so confusing....*she spouts some other stuff i can't really make out and am not really listening to anyway.* Me- I can imagine. Well, I gotta get to sleep. Talk to you later. DL- Goodnight.... So for once I got to play the part of the girl, getting a drunken booty call from someone too drunk to realize they are teh exact opposite of sexy right now. It used to be that weird crap just sorta happened around me as I walked around my life. Now it seems to follow me to bed. Great. In other news, the show is going well. I'm not doing so well but people don't seem to notice so much. Reviews are up- google my name and "Boo" for reviews/preview articles,a nd the theatre homepage to book your ticket! more on that later this month. Ken (Comment on this)
theferrett	4:19p	This Gives Me Hope If no less a man than Ray fucking Bradbury said he had to write a story a week for the better part of a decade to unlock his magnificence, then so shall I proceed. Even though, come on, I'm not gonna be Ray Bradbury. My latest batch of rejections have been essentially, "We couldn't find anything wrong with it, but it's not for us." Which is, as it turns out, frustrating on a whole new level (it's the literary equivalent of "It's not you, it's me"), but at least I make progress. I'll keep sending out, and counting those eighty-four rejections I've gotten since Clarion, and keep pounding the keys. Because, hey, man. Ray fuckin' Bradbury. He's tattooed on my soul, which I think is staggeringly appropriate. (11 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, November 30th, 2009
theferrett	1:05p	The Bad Son SCENE: GINI, my BLIND MOTHER, and I are all discussing her Living Will. We have gotten past the bits about unconsciousness and are now discussing the post-mortem wishes. GINI: Now. Do you want to donate your organs? BLIND MOTHER: *hesitates* ME: You could donate your eyes to someone you don't like. (42 Comments |Comment on this)
theferrett	11:02a	Thanksgiving, Immobile My mother keeps walking into our room and looking at us in confusion. There we are, ensconced behind our laptops, Gini and me doing our daily jobs - me programming for Star City, her updating laws in a set of statutes. "So this is what you do?" she asks. "Yes," we say. She shakes her head, chuckling lightly, and walks away. Later on, when we haven't moved because, silently, we've been staring at our screens and tapping the keys, she brings other people over. "They don't move," she says. "All they do is look at their screen all day." "Mom," I say. "We're working. This is how we work." "Would it look better to you if we sat in an office?" says Gini. "I know," she says. "It just looks funny." A couple of hours later, she's sitting down with us again. "So this is what you do for a living?" "Yes," I say. "Sometimes we turn on the TV." "Okay." "Mom, you should understand this," I say. "You worked as a medical transcriptionist. For eight hours a day you put on a pair of headphones and stared at a screen and typed. The difference was that you had a pedal to stop the audio recording and a set of headphones. This is how people work in the modern age." "Sure," she says. "But it really looks funny." This, I can't debate. (22 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, November 29th, 2009
montykins	7:47p	Smash Putt Yesterday, the Seattle branch of the Aristocrats Scooter Club (me, tura, scalpel, and lampyridae) went to Smash Putt, a local art installation-slash-miniature golf course that was only happening for a few weekends. The idea was that it was a deconstruction of a regular miniature golf course, with crazy industrial things going on. Here, for example, is me shooting a golf ball out of an air cannon at a disassembled piano: Fun, right? Well, it might have been if I hadn't had to stand in line for 45 minutes to do that "hole". And the line was in a loud warehouse, while earsplitting music was played at us. And one of the staff members was wandering around shouting through a bullhorn. It would have been interesting if it were on purpose, but I'm pretty sure they just didn't put any thought into what a miserable experience they were creating. We did most of the ten holes. A couple of them had mechanical problems, like the Golf Ball Ferris Wheel not actually rotating. Or the power saws on the last hole cutting out just when I got to them. This combined with the long lines (it shouldn't take two and a half hours for nine holes of Warehouse Miniature Golf) and hellish atmosphere to make me really not enjoy myself. Here's what I think the basic problem was: This hole required people to hit the ball up the narrow track and avoid the rotating clubs. The key was timing and precise speed. The first problem is that this isn't good miniature golf. It's basically random and doesn't feel like fun. The second problem is that it's not a good customer service experience. You stand in line for a long time, watching people aimlessly hitting the ball, and everyone takes the maximum number of strokes. Unless they didn't hear about the five-stroke maximum, in which case they keep swinging and the ball keeps falling off the track and it keeps getting handed back to them. The third problem is that I'm not even convinced this was art. The excuse for all the problems was "it's not miniature golf; it's an art installation". But it wasn't aesthetically pleasing or even all that interesting to experience. It didn't illuminate any aspects of the human condition, or any aspects of miniature golfing for that matter. This hole is just a somewhat sillier-looking version of a standard windmill hole. Blah. However! There was one hole that involved riding a scooter! Here's scalpel pointing the headlight in my face and honking the horn while I tried to putt. The back wheel is directly over a turntable, so when he leans back, it spins around. I think that's supposed to be the Arc de Triomphe. It's surprisingly worrying to have a headlight and horn going when you're trying to putt. I think more of that sort of thing would help out. Most of it, though, didn't work right by the time we got there. And I'm not sure whether "The K Hole" was working or not. Balls that went into the hole never came out again, which might have been a joke on purpose (but then where do you get balls to continue playing?) but seemed more like a poorly constructed ball-return system. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
theferrett	11:56a	Really, OKCupid? Dear OKCupid: I know you have your "quiver" match of three people a week who you'll think I would find interesting, as well as the suggested "You might like these folk" every time I log onto to the home page. But giving me an eighteen-year-old girl who's in her senior year at high school as one of my suggested interests just makes me feel all scummy for even glancing at someone like that. When I search for matches to people-search, it's for people 27 and up. I know it's all automated by match percentage, but can't you take a hint? And not make me do the oogy-dance for like an hour afterwards? Sincerely, Me (EDIT: Ah, apparently, it's all due to a fairly innocuous configuration setting that doesn't use the age formula as a default. Now I am more content. Thanks, selenite!) (24 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, November 28th, 2009
theferrett	11:48a	A Strange Hesitation A woman on OKCupid said that she bet that I was "fun in bed." And I had a weird dissonance upon reading that. See, to me, "fun" is slip-n-slides, balloon-twisting performers at parties, playing Rock Band, telling stories. Whereas "sex" - although something I enjoy deeply (or at least as deeply as I am physiologically capable) - consists of hot kisses, fevered gasps, driving each other crazy until we rip off our clothes and have to have each other. Needless to say, combining clowns and that sort of hotness causes me to pause. That's not to say that I treat sex as though it's some sort of treasured classical painting - I have giggle breakdowns in bed just like everybody, and the crossover between my clown-fun and sex lies is connected by the luscious goodness of The Tickle Fight, that classic mechanism of getting some "innocent" body-touching that can lead to something a lot sexier. (I repeat: There has never been a thing as an innocent tickle fight between consenting adults in the history of mankind.) But to me, part of the fun of sex is that intensity of wanting, that need, and I have trouble parsing that fun in the way that I'd process Cinco de Mayo parties and squirt-gun fights. Emotionally, I parse it differently as well, because while sex can be no-strings-attached whoopie, in my experience if you're not careful about setting boundaries, that intensity will often lead to one party or the other getting emotionally involved. You're swapping bodily fluids, there's a heightened sense of vulnerability - it can get messy if you don't watch out. Which is not to say that anyone's wrong about how they feel. I suspect that for many, sex is the sort of walk in the park thing where there's no distinction between "I had a sundae for lunch and then a hot bi male for dinner!" But for me, there's a distinct and clear barrier between "fun" and "sex" - sex contains fun, but it's got something extra that brings it beyond that point for me. There's an intensity to sex, another layer that amplifies it so much that it nearly always catapults the act almost beyond something I take lightly - even my most casual hookups always had an aspect of, "Whoo, that was a unique experience that let me see a totally different side of that person," even if my partners didn't always feel that way in return. What about you? Is sex fun? Casual? Whoopie? How do you parse it? (50 Comments |Comment on this)
theferrett	11:04a	Bow Down And Love Yesterday, I read the opening chapter of Stephen King's "Under the Dome." Couldn't have been more than 800 words. And yet it had more characterization than any of my stories had put together. I read it over and over again, just plain amazed by what was there: two characters, and not only did we get the feel and geography of the town they lived in, but we got their dreams, their social status, a good glimpse of their personality, their financial state, and how they interacted with each other. And it was all natural, told with ease, like a beautifully ticking watch where you don't quite realize how much work goes into keeping that ticking plot-hand moving forward until you shuck off that gold casing. I think I've found my Holy Grail: that beginning section. There's so much in there, so neatly packed into such a small space (and, as you'd know if you read it, in such an easy to read way, that if I ever approach a third of that I'll feel like I've pretty much maxed out my ability. I have no comment upon the rest of the novel; it's a silly idea stolen straight from the Simpsons, but then again Stephen King specializes in silly ideas made genuinely scary. This one might be a return to form, or might be a lousy crash. But that opener, should you look carefully, is a masterwork of characterization. I'm going to have to take it apart and see if I can find the central motor that drives it. (13 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, November 27th, 2009
theferrett	1:53p	There But For The Grace of God Flipping through Lamebook, the catalogue of embarrassing Facebook debacles, I find myself envisioning an imaginary history in which Stupid Teenaged Ferrett had access to a larger audience via Facebook, instead of private notes and occasional bitter rants. And I shiver with terror. I mean, crap, this blog's embarrassing and self-revelatory enough as it is these days. I was worse, once upon a time, and certainly more psychodramatic; I merely had no medium in which to spread my bozosity. I'm pretty sure every breakup would have been an anguished scream, followed by a crazy commentfest, followed by me working through my emotions in public. I'm pretty sure Facebook would have destroyed me, back in the day. This may be one of the first times I'm grateful I'm old. (17 Comments |Comment on this)
theferrett	10:44a	Monthly Magazine Review: Greatest Uncommon Denominator GUD: Greatest Uncommon Denominator (Issues #3 and #4) What holds GUD together as a magazine? The space to hold a lot of different kinds of quality fiction. There's a lot of different styles in each issue, a veritable bouillabaisse of various stories - straight fantasy, cyberpunk, experimental poetry, even "straight" fiction with no fantastic elements whatsoever. In a gigantic magazine the size of a small book, you're sure to find something you like in here. It's exactly what it says on the tin: a bunch of very good stories, loosely held together by the fact that they're, well, good. That's not strictly true, though. Scratch the surface, and you'll see that GUD tends towards tales that delve into someone's character; in fact, if you're a writer looking to submit and characterization isn't your strong point, you might wanna pass 'em over. The best of GUD's stories are tales of sharply-drawn, real folks in strange situations - a Mayan astronaut about to be sacrificed, an insecure lover with his girlfriend falling for mysterious aliens, a mailman with a bloodied claw-hammer in the back of his truck looking for rebirth canals. GUD's stories also tend towards the longer end - there's some well-done flash fiction in there (and poetry, to break things up), but most of the tales are long enough to lose yourself in for some time. GUD's stories want you to spend some time with the people inside them, walking along them and losing yourself in their skin. When that works, which it usually does, it's a sensuous journey. On those rare occasions that GUD fails with a story, it's usually because the ending lacks punch - you've followed someone for five thousand words, only to find that really, it isn't much of an ending at all, turning what looked to be an actual story into little more than a rambling tone poem. (Or, as will happen, you just hated the lead character and didn't want to follow them anywhere.) There are few misfires, though. The good news, however, is that GUD is of high quality - I anguished over choosing the "best" stories below, since almost all of them had something to recommend them - and is thick enough to be an exceptional value. For $3.50 a PDF, you get 211 pages - and the stories are wildly varying, from quick pulpy prose to lush, lingering visuals, so you're sure to find at least a few stories to fall in love with. And the art inside is also gorgeous. It's a downright pretty magazine, spiced up with professional artistry. And hell, it's even cheaper: as a part of their Black Friday sale, you can pay whatever you like, making a normally unbeatable value of $3.50 an issue even more beatable. That's a lot of reading, man, and a lot of value in a very pretty magazine. It's definitely worth checking out. The stories that called to me in these issues are, in descending order of love: Daya and Dharma, by shweta_narayan (Issue #4) Daya is a handmaid in the palace of a selfish, beautiful princess - and a beautiful red bird from the court of the Rainbow Prince arrives to find a bride for his master. And what could have turned into a twee gratification story instead lands two steps beyond where you think it will to turn into something dark, beautiful, and majestic. The only problem I have with it is that this story started very slowly, but once it got rolling it was unstoppable. Soon You Will Be Gone And Possibly Eaten, by Nick Antoeca (Issue #3) He loves his girlfriend, Sabile, and yet he never really understands her. Even more so, when the aliens come to Earth and start abducting beautiful people. A tragic tale of love, loss, and the confused bereavement that comes when a lover betrays you for reasons you can't quite understand but can't quite condemn, either. Night Bird Soaring, by T.L. Morganfield (Issue #3) A Mayan man wants to be an astronaut, but that can never be: he was born as the Night Wind, a living God to be sacrificed at age 30. This is an excellent look at other cultures, one where Mayan culture was ascendant, and the only flaw is that the ending isn't particularly personal; it wraps things up, but doesn't necessarily connect. Still, the journey through this strangely mundane alien land is well worth it. Think Fast, by Michael Greenhut (Issue #3) "Pick an alternate timeline and you'll find my corpse." A man can send messages from his past self to his current self - a power granted so that he can help rescue his sister, who died. But the ending's a strange and surprising twist that makes sense, Memento-wise, becoming that rarity of things: a consistent, satisfying time-travel story. The Great Big Nothing, by Frank Haberle (Issue #3) A story with absolutely no speculative elements at all. Yet it made me tear up. Forests of the Night, by Abigail Hilton (Issue #4) A frail woman is dropped off by uncaring relatives at an old-age home. This story is short, almost flash, but that's good; it's a simple idea, and it doesn't overstay its welcome, finishing up exactly when it needs to. A Man Of Kiri Maru, by Laura L. Sullivan (Issue #4) Kiri Maru, a small island out in the Pacific Ocean, has a unique religion, if it can be called that: their God died by accident, and for a dumb reason, and isn't really worshipped. Into this culture steps a traditional scientist, hoping to study the culture and who instead falls in love. This is a wonderful example of a story that shouldn't work - the beginning has almost nothing to do with the ending, the tale wanders, and the ending is, to say the least, a little odd - and yet somehow, thanks to a wry writing style and engaging characters, this one pulls it off with style and grace and squids. Chica, Let Me Tell You A Story, by Alex Dally McFarlane (Issue #3) "I was a door, once." A magical portal tells her tale. The ending is a little flat, but overall this is strong for its concepts and intrigues. Unfinished Stories, by J(ae) D. Brames (Issue #4) A tale done with style and visceral pulp, this one's a simple tale built up with lot of punkish stylistic (and effective!) fillips. Follow Albert, the crazy mailman looking for a suitable body to scrape off the road so he can crack open the rebirth canal, and the narrator, who tags along for reasons that will be made devastatingly clear towards the end. And it has a damn near perfect final line. The Dancing Aliens, by Mithran Somasundrum (Issue #4) The aliens didn't jet down from a great spaceship in the sky; no, they turned up in public squares everywhere, dancing in strange and hypnotic patterns, starving to death because they didn't know how to busk. And the narrator, one of the first to discover the truth about things, witnesses the reason why they dance. The ending's a little anticlimactic, given the awesome buildup, but it's still reasonably creepy and believable. The Dragon's Thorn, Sword of Kings (And Fred), by Idan Cohen (Issue #3) A very funny flash fiction story about a great magic sword that winds up in the hands of, well, Fred. I've seen a lot of stories like this. Most of them don't work. This does. On The Monthly Magazine Review: Every month (hopefully, on the first, though not this time), I'll review a pro to semi-pro 'zine. There are a lot of potential definitions of "a semi-pro zine," ranging from circulations of over a thousand to income levels for the publisher - but for purposes of this, I'll say that a) you have to pay at least a cent a word, on average, and b) not be a Twitter-zine. I'm not opposed to bold experiments like Tweet the Meat, but paying five cents a word for a 140-character story really isn't going to support any starving artists. I'm also not going to review just a single issue. No, I want to read multiple issues, to get (and give) a greater sense of what hits this particular 'zine's kinks. Is it deep mystery? Beautiful prose? Pulpy action? Reworked myths? You can't tell by a single issue, man, you gotta see a few. My goal as a writer is to both educate myself in the market (so I know what markets like what), to help give some attention to markets that are always hungry for new readers, and to read some damned fine stories. If you have a semi-pro zine you'd like to nominate for review, speak up. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, November 26th, 2009
montykins	9:57p	How Does Something Like This Happen? I defy you to read this sentence out loud without laughing: At first I was baffled about the inclusion of Tony Stewart. But now I'm wondering why it's "Sammy" the Snowman. Is Frosty under copyright? (1 Comment |Comment on this)
montykins	6:11p	How Hip Am I? As with any American who was born in the second half of the Twentieth Century, I'm constantly worried about how hip I am. Am I hip enough? Could I be more hip? How can I tell? Well, I have decided to use The A.V. Club to be the benchmark. They've conveniently generated a number of lists of the top books, videogames, albums, and probably other things of the decade. So let's see how many I've read, played, heard, or whatever, shall we? 15 Best Videogames: I did very well on this one. I played nine of the 15, including seven of the top eight. I'm up to speed on videogames, as you can tell by the fact that I spent almost all of Thanksgiving sitting on the couch playing Dragon Age: Origins. 10 Best Short-Story Collections: I've read ... none of them. I do own Neil Gaiman's Fragile Things, but I've never gotten around to opening it. The Best Books: Let's see, I read four of the ten nonfiction books, although I didn't actually like Freakonomics, The Tipping Point, or The Wisdom of Crowds. I should stop reading that whole subgenre, I think. I did really enjoy The Devil in the White City, though, as it combined H.H. Holmes and a World's Fair. I've read four of the twenty works of fiction on the list, and I have a couple more sitting around waiting to be read. Top 25 Comics: Eight out of twenty-five. I'm the only person who hated All-Star Superman, by the way. Everyone raves about it, but I couldn't stand it at all. In "The Archives" section, I have four of five. And I have strong opinions about some comic strip archival collections they left out. Specifically, Popeye and Bill Mauldin. Best albums: Man. Fifty albums on the list. I've heard two of them. And I couldn't stand either of them (it turns out that your first Radiohead album probably shouldn't be "Kid A". I couldn't make it out at all!). I've heard a couple of singles off two or three other albums on the list, but for the most part, I've never even heard of these bands. I do not appear to be all that hip. Best comedy albums: I have eight of the 22. And at least I've got opinions on the other ones. I've heard almost all the comedians, even if I don't have the albums. I feel better about my hipness now. Best TV Series: I'm trying once more to watch "The Wire". This is because people were finally backing off on the 24/7 hype for it. For some reason, reading yet another batch of lavish praise about the show doesn't make me enthused about tackling Season 4 again. And I've got the DVDs right here! Anyway, I've watched at least one full season of 18 of the 30 shows listed. Yes, including "The Wire". But not "Freaks and Geeks". (1 Comment |Comment on this)
theferrett	11:56a	Interesting Reading On Thanksgiving Day The Unwritten Rules of Generational Poverty. While you could argue some of the specifics in the article, I think there's a greater truth here in that a significant amount of poverty is cultural. I'm lucky enough to come from a "rich" family, but my rich family is largely rich because of investing decisions thanks to lessons taught to them by their parents - and in turn, my family passes down those lessons on how to use money wisely. My Grampa nagged me into getting an IRA account, my parents yelled at me to get my 401k maxed out at work, my stepfather sat down with me and discussed how to lay out a portfolio. And even now, I'm using my Mom's trick of "If you get a raise and your expenses haven't risen, keep living on what you had and put all the extra money into savings/investments." (That took like fifteen years to get to, but I remembered it.) I'm reasonably sloppy by their standards, but even when I was making $18,000 a year I still tried to put money away and invest whatever meager windfalls I got. And it's helped. Whereas I've seen people who come from poor families, and they do have a different mindset - some of which overlaps with what's described in the article. It's often a "Well, stuff's gonna happen, whatcha gonna do?" It's a mindset which leaves them much more vulnerable to bumps in the road, and we all have bumps. This isn't saying that poor people deserve their poverty, of course, and that rich people are all smart. Rich covers a lot of stupid financial sins, like spackle, and the smartest person can get jostled out of their best savings plan when they're living close to the edge. But I think a lot of people are poorer than they could be, thanks to them lacking a cultural education in how to plan for the future. I wish there was a way to have the quiet lessons I've been taught spread a little further out, is all. And on Thanksgiving, I'm grateful to come from a background where that stuff was just a subtle, continual lesson. (60 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 25th, 2009
theferrett	1:06p	Stupid Twitter Enthusiasm Earlier today, I made this Twitter post: Straight men who dislike cunnilingus and fluoridation conspiracy theorists: two groups I'm surprised to find still exist. And then, an hour later, I made this post: I'd be more excited about Google Wave if I saw people expressing interest AFTER they got their invite. Ever since then, I've been giggling all morning, because people are responding to me about how good Google Wave is, or how they're bored with it already, or how it's just too fiddly to use properly - and every time, I think they're talking about cunnilingus instead. I am such a child. (48 Comments |Comment on this)
theferrett	11:10a	The Annual Greed List, 2009 Edition The time has come for my Annual Greed List - the large (and, yes, uncut) list of things I desire for Christmas in 2009. Why do I do this? If you’re really interested, here’s a brief history of the Greed List. The short version, however, is that I think giving people a bare, unadorned list ("Here's my Amazon wishlist, pick one") is very boring. What you want for Christmas on any given year is a reflection of yourself - your hobbies, your fandoms, you as a person. Why just give people dry greed when you can explain why you want it? And so I put it out there. I don't expect any of y'all to get me these. But you might like to know what I'm into, and why. These are, incidentally, ordered in descending level of geekiness. DJ Hero (approx. $100) I took Gini and aiela to try this out at Best Buy, and what I discovered was how I viewed videogames and how they viewed videogames. See, DJ Hero is the latest attempt to dorkify music, by putting three buttons on a plastic turntable and asking you to "DJ out" by pressing the buttons in time to various mash-ups of club music. There's more to it than that, but that's the basics of it. Gini and aiela were bored shitless. The turntable looked really hard to use, the music wasn't particularly thrilling, and they wandered away bored. And I realized what Guitar Hero and Rock Band were to them: it was a way to listen to music with a bit of a challenge thrown in as a slight reward. They liked scaling the charts, of course, but there was a reason neither of them had yet to master the Expert setting - their improvement was all incremental, done a bit at a time, over the course of months. Whereas I, a hardcore videogamer, looked at DJ Hero differently. What I saw was a new control scheme to be mastered. The music wasn't as instinctively cool as playing Iron Maiden or Boston, but that was incidental to me; what I had in front of me was a new set of skills to run amuck on, and I liked that. For me, the music was the incidental part; what was important was learning how to play this new and interesting game. So I want DJ Hero for Christmas. This is tricky, because Gini does not want DJ Hero. She says there's too much plastic crap in our house. But I think that, like Jell-O, there's always room for plastic crap. And when I've beaten DJ Hero and don't want to play it any more, I'll put the plastic crap downstairs to be retrieved whenever. So there we go. A Roomba (Price: Depends) Grant Imahara has corrupted me: I have decided that yes, La Casa McJuddMetz needs a robot. And the price of Roombas has come down enough to the point where having a vaccuuming robot is not only cool, but useful - I hate vaccuuming, but I hate icky floors, and so I am continually caught between an awful duty and things sticking to my feet. Do I need a Roomba, in the traditional sense? Absolutely not. But Christmas is all about things you wouldn't quite purchase for yourself. And a Roomba is, in fact, exactly this. Extra points if it comes with an Artoo-Detoo skin. The Twilight Zone: Unlocking The Door To A Television Classic ($50) This is the kind of book you only get to write when everyone involved with the show is dead: this in-depth analysis of Rod Serling's baby includes expense breakdowns and negotiation information. It's pricey for a book, sure, but it's also the kind of thing where it's utterly amazing to read, and will occupy many much-needed hours within my bathroom. Sortilege Maple Liqueur ($30) My Twitter post immediately after I drank this was as such: I HAVE FOUND JESUS STOP HE IS MAPLE SUGAR WHISKEY FROM CANADA STOP OH PLEASE LET ME TASTE THE MIRACLE IN MY MOUTH ...and I have found no reason to change my opinion since then. The combination of a sugary maple flavor with the richness of whiskey is something you can just drink endlessly, leaving me in a stupefied candy haze that will remove all troubles from my life. Or at least remove my perception of said troubles, which is nearly as good. Until I run out. But you can always buy me more. Lego Rock Band ($50) I'll be honest and say that I don't intend on playing this game as it is. It is simply a farm team that will enable me to export all the tracks from it to my regular Rock Band, at which point I will play the crap out of one of my favorite songs of all time ("Crash," by the Primitives), get the room to shout along to "Kung Fu Fighting" on our Rock Band Thursdays, and probably regret picking up a song pack that actually includes "Ghostbusters." The Larry Sanders Show, First Season ($20) I really do love Gary Shandling, and I never got a chance to see this while it was on television. The tale of insecure Johnny Carson-wannabe Larry Sanders and his cast of neurotic hangers-on is crisply written, and the few episodes I've seen I've loved. I'd very much like to have this to watch. Dominion ($30) I really love board games, even though I never actually get a chance to play them - hell, I still have a birthday present gifted to me by a pal (sorry, daghain) that I have yet to gather people together to play. However, this one, which has been described as "continually drafting cards" sounds like a very good game, that I might be able to convince my currently-abandoned Magic group to get together and play. So this would be cool. "It's Garry Shandling's Show" - The Complete Series ($150) Also by Garry Shandling (see above!), the Garry Shandling Show was most famous for its fourth-wall breakouts - including the famous theme song with some of the most awesome TV lyrics ever This is the theme to Garry's Show The theme to Garry's show Garry called me up and asked if I would write his theme song. I'm almost halfway finished, how do you like it so far How do you like the theme to Garry's Show? The only reason this is as far down as it is is that I'm not sure if this holds up as well - though the few episodes I caught on TiVO recently were pretty spiffy. Band Hero ($50) The "Hero" series is inferior to Rock Band in most ways: it's harder to use at parties, the songs are more difficult, and the microphone action blows chunks when you're trying to hit notes. However, I hold out the hope that this kiddie version may be less punishing, and it has YMCA. Who's not going to want to play at the YMCA? Anything From My Amazon Wishlist It's there. It exists. I don't use it all that much (though I've recently weeded out the ones I already own), but hey. Better'n nothin'. (25 Comments |Comment on this)
theferrett	12:05a	This Fucking Killed Me The other four Star Wars Facebook statuses are pretty damn good, too. (18 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 24th, 2009
theferrett	3:20p	I Heart! "As the wines age in the barrels, they lose a small portion of their alcohol into the air of the caves. This slow evaporation is called, aptly, the Angel's Share." I LOVE THAT. Posted via LiveJournal.app. (8 Comments |Comment on this)
theferrett	2:26p	Quick Hits I'm crazy busy at the moment, but here's a bunch of snippet-bits and links for you: 1) To save myself some money and paper, I bought .PDF files of GUD Magazine to review. And then they sat there for a month because, well, it turns out that .PDFs are the worst file format for me to read. I can read them on my computer, but then that feels like work to me because I stare at my laptop screen for twelve hours a day as it is, so I don't. I can't read a .PDF in the tub or on the bed, my favorite place. And I can read them on the iPhone, but if I do that then someone texts me in the middle and I forget to go back. So what did I do? Having successfully saved cash by buying a .PDF, I then printed off 211 pages on my printer. Stupidity, thy name is Ferrett. 2) Speaking of GUD, I will be reviewing them this Friday, to go along with their amazing Black Friday sale. They're holding an amazing deal: pay what you want for their magazine, which is a good one. You can wait for me to analyze the stories and style, but why bother? At these prices, it's crazy reading! My advice: do it now. 3) My friend Sean Craven just sold a story to Tor.com! I don't normally announce my friends' sales, but I happened to read this story and the ending brought me to tears. Plus, Sean is a real artistic type in all media, and he gets to do audio for this, so it's gonna be awesome. Watch this space. 4) In less happy news: Borders Books and Music has stopped taking orders on their web site. As a former employee of Borders who's watched the slide downhill over the years financially, this hurts my heart. (Though, apparently, this is just UK Borders, which is now a separate company, which is good. Still, Borders Books and Music the American company? Not doing so well, according to my insider sources.) 5) Debating writing up my Planescape one-shot adventure so other people can run it. Not sure if there's really interest in that, though. 6) Coming up with my Christmas list this year. Hey, is there anything cool you've seen that you should think I want? (16 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, November 23rd, 2009
theferrett	11:04a	Killing Me Softly With Twitter, Killing Me Softly... With Twitter.... So an hour ago, I wrote this in my Twitter stream: Freedy Johnson just feels like one of those guys who peers into my soul whenever he writes music. Ray Davies, too. In days past, I probably would have made that into a journal entry, asking, "What songwriters feel like they're looking over your shoulder into your life?" But then, to get interesting comments, I'd have to explain why I like Ray Davies and Freedy Johnston so much. Because if I don't elucidate exactly what about them calls to me, then I get two-word comments saying, "Tori Amos" and no explanation as to what about her people find interesting. (Not that I could ever understand Tori's appeal; any enjoyment I once had for her was cauterized out of me by an ex-girlfriend playing the entirety of "Little Earthquakes" at me against my will well over two hundred times.) Unless I lead by example, my interaction with people will be boring. Which, in turn, means that I have to spend some time thinking about why I love Freedy so much. Is it his plaintive, not-very-good-but-earnest voice? His way of writing lyrics that show a quiet, hopeful desperation in the midst of poverty and woe? His expressiveness? And then I'd have to write that up, and find a way to make it interesting, and damn, I have things to do this morning. So I Twitter it, and get no responses on Twitter and maybe three responses on Facebook, and am satisfied for the effort it took. I could have made that into a real post, I guess, but I gotta move on today. Maybe tomorrow. (32 Comments |Comment on this)
theferrett	9:24a	Writing: Monday Musings, Because I Don't Have Time For A Real Essay I've had a hell of a time writing anything this month, and it's led to an interesting pair of thoughts in my evolution as a writer. The first is that I'm starting to get writers' block, which in my case consists of looking at the page continually and going, "No! That is not good enough." I am now a decent enough writer that I can often see the flaws as I'm writing it, and trying to fix them all is leaving me with two sentences for a day's work. Which is kinda crap, since these sentences aren't notably better than what I started with. I must remember what matociquala said: It's okay to suck. I've been hurling myself into the basement and saying, "All right, self, let's start suckin'." Which helps. The other thing is that for me, writers' block is often an expression of my reformed Kingist stance on writing. I don't believe in plotting; I like the idea of having a general end goal, but my flaw as a writer is that I get hung up on having people do whatever it takes to advance my plots. I'll get focused on What Needs To Happen next, and find ridiculous ways for the characters to pull the next level on my plot machine. That leads to very stale and unbelievable characterization, which in turn leads to craptacular stories. So the Stephen King design of unearthing a story word by word appeals to me. And if I can't make a story work, it's often because I'm trying too hard to make the characters do something that they shouldn't and not concentrating on what they would do in the circumstances I've created. Which is a shame, because often what they would do is more interesting. I'm like a bad DM, demanding my PCs enter the Evil Temple Of The Soul-Eating Demon with two forks and a piece of string. When my PCs rightfully say, "Fuck this, we're going to die, let's go someplace else and see what we can scrounge up," as the DM I can spend a lot of time trying to justify why they'd enter the Evil Temple unarmed... Or I can let them go where they want, and let everything fall out as it would, even if that means they never get back to the Evil Temple I've spent so much time creating. That's inherently more interesting, because if my characters are at the Evil Temple with their cutlery and string, the readers are going, "Oh, yeah, this is where they enter and beat the bad guy." When my characters surprise me by saying, "All right, fuck it, let's go get shitfaced and see if a better plan arises," then I surprise the reader. So when I'm staring at the page until my eyes bleed, what I have to remember is to ask myself is, "Does this really have to happen this way?" Even if, in the case of my latest story, the whole reason I wrote this story is now going to go out the window, that's okay. It turns out this story about bagged broccoli isn't a horror story, but rather a fantastic hopeful story. Rebuild it and make it honest. I dunno. I still have a long way to go as a writer. Perhaps I always will. All I can do is keep an open mind and try to suck less, and perhaps my eyes will be opened. (15 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, November 21st, 2009
dreamking00	8:47p	Foodie Geek today I spent three hours as assistant to a professional chef. The Bloomington-Normal Coliseum was set up with tables, vendors, and--at one end facing the live music--with gas grills, prep tables and an entire hockey rink full of ingredients behind us, the cooking demo area. Note: cheeses were artisanal goats-milk products, which I'll name the closest recognizable equivalent. Dish 1: toasted baguette slices with melted camembert and rhubarb chutney. Dish 2: Brussels Sprouts sauteed with bacon, butter, garlic and parmesan (seriously, it was good) At this point, the chef turns to me and says "You have two minutes to pick ingredients and come up with a dish." FUCKWAAHH?! Um...um...um... Dish 3: Campanelle pasta with fresh chevre and chopped basil. Not bad, salt and cracked pepper definitely needed. If it'd been earlier in the season, sauteed zucchini would have been the greens. What? We have an hour left? Dish 4: Mashed blue potatoes with butter, garlic, parmesan cheese, rosemary, butter, thyme, fried sage and did I mention butter? When you have no other dairy to work with, you do what you have to. In other news, Disney DVDs can eat crackling microwave electric death. Up has no menu interface. It's just an endless loop of commercials, commercials, shameless plugs, previews, movie, and two more commercials. Current Mood: accomplished (3 Comments |Comment on this)
theferrett	1:22p	Don't Forget! If you're in Akron, and want to head to a neat con for charity (and possibly game in a game DMed by Yours Truly), you should go to the Child's Play Fundraiser tomorrow. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
theferrett	12:25p	Everybody's Workin' For The Weekend I remember when I used to live for Sunday comics. The best comics, all in color, in extra-big strips! I couldn't wait! Every morning, I'd rush next door to my Gramma's house and gut that newspaper to find that inky goodness. Now? Most of my favorite comics are dormant on the weekend. Penny Arcade? MWF. Shortpacked? Monday through Friday. PVP? Well, sorta whenever now, but never on a Sunday. Sheldon does Sunday-style funny strips any day Dave damn well feels like it, and Schlock Mercenary usually has extra panels on Sunday, but will go to a Sunday-styled double- or triple-strip if the plot demands it. Order of the Stick is always a Sunday-style strip, and updates whenever Halley's Comet is in zenith. So what's left? Doonesbury. That's the only day Doonesbury traditionally has a chance of being laugh out-loud funny these days. I feel a little sorry, though. The kids these days will have no special attachment to Sunday as a day of extra fun and joy. It will be barren, just another day off to them. Alas! I imagine this is the same feeling people got in the 1940s when they realized the kids would no longer enjoy the special days the milkman delivered fresh milk to their icebox. (29 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, November 20th, 2009
theferrett	6:24p	Sort Of Depressing ( Cut for - well, hell, I don't even know why, honestly. ) (59 Comments |Comment on this)
theferrett	11:11a	Doin' The Job Right She'd just gotten the big demotion at work - the kind where you get slapped down so hard, you start reconsidering your job options. "It was great, at first," she said. "They loved me, they gave me a lot of interesting tasks, I got to do salesman stuff as a receptionist. Then I started this big project, because their files were so out of order they were losing sales. So I spent hours rearranging those damned files, getting them just right - and my boss took me in back today, told me I wasn't doing my job, and gave one of the new salesman all the things I liked doing. But I was doing a good job!" "No you weren't," I said. "I totally was," she contradicted me, tipping her beer bottle towards me. "Those files were costing us at least a couple of hundred a week. So all my spare time went towards making their lives better. That's my job." "No it isn't," I said. "I was fixing stuff!" she cried. "How can you say I wasn't doing my job?" "Because your job is always satisfying your boss. Nothing more, nothing less. And if you don't make sure you're getting credit for the work you do, then you're failing. Did you tell your boss about what all this refiling work was going to accomplish?" "No. He should know that." "Never assume. Did you tell him you'd spent two hours that day, getting through the Ds, and when you were done the sales people would be able to find their catalogues at a moment's notice to quote accurate prices? Did you tell him how much money this would get him? Did you convince him that he had a problem before you spent all your spare time solving it?" "No." "So as far as your boss was concerned, you were dinking around in some cabinet for no reason he knew, while the real work he wanted wasn't getting done. I don't doubt you were improving the business, but your job? Is to make your boss happy. And if you do all this stuff without ensuring that your boss is on-board for everything you do, you are going to fail every time." "So you're saying I should be a credit hog?" "I'm saying that if you're doing something right, your boss should know exactly what you're accomplishing. Maybe he didn't think he was losing that many sales because the catalogues were all fucked up. Maybe he was even right. The point is, you were doing all this stuff and assuming that doing 'good work' was enough. But unless you make sure your boss shares your definition of good work, you're fucked." "So what you're saying is..." "That you had a pretty shitty boss. He should have known. But for future jobs, which may also have craptacular supervisors, make sure that you do what they want, because they're the guys signing your paycheck. Satisfy their needs, not yours. And whenever possible, talk to them to convince them that they want is what you want - because once you show them a problem you discovered and then you solve it for them, you have done a good job." "And if my boss won't listen to reason?" "Either get a new job or change your priorities." I've been thinking about that conversation a lot lately, because I'm thinking about how Bush satisfied his boss, wherein Obama didn't. See, Bush took my approach when he wanted to invade 9/11 - he did the ground work of going on the road, getting Colin Powell out there, creating a lot of concern about how Iraq was going to have nuclear weapons at any moment. He spent a lot of time saying, "Hey, America? I know you thought you didn't want a war with Iraq, but lemme tell ya - it's bad. And I can fix it for you. Just gimme the power, and I'll take care of it." Admittedly, most of that evidence was pretty much either made up or exaggerated to Herculean proportions, and he made the job seem about twenty times simpler than it actually would be, but getting his boss (which is to say, America) on his side first worked. By the time Bush sent troops into Iraq, an overwhelming proportion of America supported the war. And if that war had worked out, Bush would have been hailed as a great leader. Bush took something that people didn't want, and he sold it to them. Whereas everyone in America pretty much agrees the health care system is fucked. They might disagree on how to fix it, but most sane people are like, "Christ, we spend twice what other countries do and get about the same level of care for people who can pay - this should be fixed." But Obama was like my friend at the sales company. He didn't go on a nationwide tour to talk about all the benefits that his programs would bring. He didn't send all of his minions out to flood the press with the stories of how our health care system actually stifled entreprenurial development by putting such a cost on small business owners and making every new company go, "Can I go without health care?" He didn't give grand speeches the way he did during the election on the need for this sweeping change he would be proposing. Nah, he just went off and did it, assuming that everyone was on the same page and that they trusted him to get it done. And, of course, the Republicans (being smart) rewrote that assumption. Now he's struggling to try to get it through, and burning a lot of political capital. Bush took a country and convinced them they had a need for something that, initially, they didn't want. Obama took a country that wanted something and is now struggling to give it to them. It's a lesson in satisfying your customer - and when you're an employee, the customer is ultimately your boss. (87 Comments |Comment on this)

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