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Back down with a bump
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May. 12th, 2008 @ 11:00 pm
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I've been thoroughly miserable since I came back to Japan. I know, I know, post-holiday blues etc etc, but I don't think I've ever had them this bad. I was telling my friend and co-worker Kazumi about how annoyed I was, and she said:
"But Japan's a good place!"
"Yes, it is!" I replied. "But... I want to be back in Thailand!" Maybe it's a sign of how much like home Japan has become that I feel a little downhearted to return, although, truth by told, I was quite relieved to get back here after my trip home in April, if only because I could eat brown rice and miso soup for breakfast.
The photos are back, but you'll have to wait a little longer for them all as I need to knock my ramblings into shape before unleashing them on you. Meanwhile, you can have this picture of me looking insanely happy in the sea:
( Read more... )Current Music: NIN - Ghosts |
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holy CRAP
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May. 12th, 2008 @ 07:16 am
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OH, MY GOD.
OH MY GOD MY GOD. I HAVE TWILIGHT IN MY GRUBBY LITTLE PAWS -- NO I AM NOT READING IT. I WAS GOING TO DO A STATISTICAL SURVEY OF HOW MANY TIMES CERTAIN WORDS APPEARED.
LIKE 'ANGEL.' SO I LOOKED FOR 'ANGEL' AND I FOUND
OMG
He laughed, and then began to hum that same, unfamiliar lullaby; the voice of an archangel, soft in my ear.
*
When he turned back to me, a gentle angel's smile lit his expression.
*
They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel.
*
I was the first to speak, trying to keep myself focused. I was in danger of being distracted by his livid, glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.
*
"You remember?" he asked, his angel's face grave.
*
He grinned his crooked smile at me, stopping my breath and my heart. I couldn't imagine how an angel could be any more glorious. There was nothing about him that could be improved upon.
OKAY ALL THAT IS PRETTY TERRIBLE, YEAH, YEAH. BUT JUST WAIT, BECAUSE, OH MAN
CHAPTER 23 IS CALLED "THE ANGEL" AND
OHHHHHH MAN
I DID NOT KNOW WHAT I HAD UNLEASHED UPON MY OWN POOR DEFENSELESS EYEBALLS
And then I knew I was dead.
Because, through the heavy water, I heard the sound of an angel calling my name, calling me to the only heaven I wanted.
"Oh no, Bella, no!" the angel's voice cried in horror.
GUESS WHO THAT IS.
OH GO ON, JUST GUESS.
I tried to concentrate on the angel's voice....
"Bella, please! Bella, listen to me, please, please, Bella, please!" he begged.
...."Carlisle!" the angel called, agony in his perfect voice. "Bella, Bella, no, oh please, no, no!"
And the angel was sobbing tearless, broken sobs.
The angel shouldn't weep, it was wrong....
A howl of rage strangled on the angel's lips....
I felt a sharp stab in my side. This couldn't be heaven, could it? There was too much pain for that.
...."Bella, you're going to be fine. Can you hear me, Bella? I love you."
DEAR
GOD.
ETA OH YEAH ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) otahyoni WASN'T JOKING ABOUT HIS HANDWRITING BEING AS SUPERNATURALLY SPARKLINGLY LOVELY AS THE REST OF HIM.
I would have written it while he looked, but his clear, elegant script intimidated me. I didn't want to spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl.
WHAAAAA.Current Mood:  WHAAAAA |
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Weekend stuff
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May. 12th, 2008 @ 09:20 am
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Friday: Elayna made a breakthrough, realizing that Dr. Who is simply a better show than The Sarah Jane Adventures. We've actually introduced her to Dr. Who watching three timelines simultaneously (Rose from late Ninth Doctor through the first Christmas Special with the Tenth Doctor, Martha from about her third episode, and Donna from the get-go), and will be starting a fourth one when BBCA starts on the beginning of the Rose timeline this week.
Saturday: Along with feste_sylvain and his youngest, shadesong, Elayna, and I caught the HRDC's production of Twelfth Night, which was nothing short of wonderful.
This one moved the setting to '20s Memphis, set fully in the Jazz Age, and featured a live jazz quartet on the stage, as well as some wonderful dancing. They didn't play with gender roles as much as MIT's production did, but they did reinterpret a number of characters (Fabian, Antonio, and Valentine) as female. This was a particularly nifty move with Antonio (now Antonia, actually), making her willingness to follow Sebastian the result of romantic, not platonic, affection.
Of course, any production of Twelfth Night lives or dies on the comedy, and the players were more than up for it. Maria was wonderfully coquettish, Andrew was fey (which is not my preference for the character -- I prefer the bombastic oafs in this role -- but he did a nice job nonetheless), Malvolio was boorish (at first) and ludicrous (later), and Toby was rakish and hysterical. Feste was played as a '20s era clown, complete with makeup, and was also a blast (and did a great job singing, as well). The direction of some of the scenes -- particularly the one in which Toby, Andrew, and Fabian spy upon Malvolio -- was top notch.
We also ate lunch at Wagamama, and spent some time browsing at Tokyo Kid and Newbury Comics.
Sunday: Mother's Day. We got 'song a three-month subscription to the Shiny of the Month Club, and Elayna tried to get her a gift in Gaia (which is having gift-giving issues, alas). Elayna also cleaned her room and did the dishes, which might mean she's been replaced by a pod person. We also hit the library and grabbed lunch at The Crown Cafe.
Today: Server upgrade day! Yay, stress!Current Music: Put It Out for Good - Amy Ray |
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My people! My bitchy, sarktastic, Twilight-hating people!
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May. 12th, 2008 @ 06:12 am
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Free Failing
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May. 12th, 2008 @ 06:19 am
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Reminds me of my favorite lines in "Southern Cross" ....
So we cheated and we lied and we tested,
And we never failed to fail,
It was the easiest thing to do.... |
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"i would never expect to find someone like YOU in a sex club!"
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May. 12th, 2008 @ 05:40 am
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sooo just what sort of folks go to sex clubs?
i have found irl, they are high powered, influential people needing an outlet that permits them to press those envelopes outward a bit.
i am trying to imagine a rl sex club full of ignorant rednecks......still trying......yep.....still trying.
not saying they are not in the rl sex club, just saying the overwhelming majourity tends not to be ignorant fucks.
in a vr, why wouldnt we expect to find sophisticated peoples in a sophisticated atmosphere?
i fully accept the neva naughty type clubs.
they have their place without a doubt.
i simply think there should be more options than a hell hole atmosphere full of, well, yes, ignorant fucks lol.
besides, what my goal has always been was to bring a more realistic face to the world of vr bdsm.
i had found absolutely no place that did not use bullying & brutality for the M.O. which is not real BDSM, it is called in educated circles, abuse.
i will not foster abuse in any format.
so, yes, my Q in response to the above statement was....."Just what sort of people do you think goes to these clubs? afterall, you are here...." |
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Sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion!
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May. 12th, 2008 @ 02:09 am
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Via the lovely and talented cathellisen:
THE VAMPIRE GENERATOR.
This noble female vampire has narrow eyes the color of sapphires. Her thick, curly, brown hair is very short and is worn in a handsome style. She is very tall and has a wide-hipped build. Her skin is light-colored. She has a wide forehead and thin eyebrows. She has the standard vampiric disabilities. Her diet requires blood of any kind. She dresses like a farmer.
This boorish vampire has beady smoke-gray eyes. His luxurious, curly, neck-length hair is the color of ivory, and is worn in a handsome style. He is inhumanly short and has a masculine build. His skin is white. He can turn into a manta ray. He doesn't suffer from standard vampiric disabilities. He feeds on fear, not blood. His outfits are unconventional.
THEY FIGHT CRIME.
This antisocial vampire has slanted brown eyes that are like two bronze coins. His fine, curly, gold hair is medium-length and is worn in a bizarre, elegant style. He is inhumanly tall and has a lithe build. His skin is cream-colored. He has delicate ears. He can turn into a poisonous mist. He has the standard vampiric disabilities. His diet is like that of classic vampires. His outfits are those of a gladiator.
This sensual female vampire has almond-shaped chestnut eyes. Her silky, wavy, yellow hair is worn in a style that reminds you of a shark's fin. She is inhumanly short and has a busty build. Her white skin is more like a shark's skin. She has small hands. She can control the minds of her minions. She can be killed by destroying her brain. She susbists on human neural tissue. She feeds not through her mouth, but by her skin.
THEY FIGHT CRIME.
YOU GET THE IDEA.
Neatly complemented by THE VAMPIRE NAME GENERATOR. So far I got: Tessa Aguilar, Aleister Mandrake, Charity Mortenson, and Roberto Vosmus. AWESOME.
Twilight making-of cartoon!
"My screenwriter and I only had two or three months before the writer's strike to really try and boil this down into a tight story" -- ohhh, that'll go well. "In the book, for example, where Bella reveals she knows he's a vampire, it was in a long conversation, just driving in a car. We're doing that scene by the Salmon River, which is this beautiful, crazy, vivid, wild stream, and it's got this ancient tree just wrapped around this huge rock that they're standing against in the most beautiful forest you've ever seen."....In the book, the trio....are described as being "dressed in the ordinary gear of backpackers." Hardwicke re-imagines them as evil rock stars. Gigandet wears a leather jacket festooned with what he jokingly calls his "flair" -- trophies from victims, ranging from police badges to wedding rings to schoolgirl baubles.
EWWWWWW GOD AUUUUUUUUGHGHG NO.
BEST.ICONS.EVAR.Current Mood:  amused |
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Deep inside we're all the same
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May. 12th, 2008 @ 12:31 am
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Some Illusions may be more Grand than others so perhaps it's only fitting that those of us closer to crossing that particular river recognize the reference.
...or maybe everyone else is just too embarrassed to admit it.Current Mood:  amused |
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Huzzah!
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 09:43 pm
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Daily Twitters
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 09:08 pm
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I FAIL
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 10:14 pm
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I'm very sad that I have posted my clever new FAIL icon in several places and no one has commented on its brilliance.
Maybe these young Internet kids have no clue what it's all about ... *mutter* *fulminate* |
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 09:59 pm
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Someone came by and picked the pony up, I guess. No more info on that.
Found some meds under my desk where I keep extras, so I'm good except for spending most of the morning in a rotating multi-floored McDonald's/House on the Rock with all the corridors and elevators set as counter-spinning gears behind colorful gambling machines. |
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He sailed tonight for Singapore… (a birthday tune for happyspector)
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 07:30 pm
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The birthday of Matt “happyspector” Spencer seems to warrant something that sounds apocalyptic and Tom Waits-ian. Should I try to write like Tom Waits? (I could just quote “What’s He Buildin’ In There?,” but that would be cruel, plus lazy on my part.) Let’s see:
The end of the world would be a swingin’ good time.
That’s when jugglin’ knives would be a useful life skill.
Parlor tricks should be lethal: three-card Monte with a gun
And the survivors, they’d celebrate with a drunken quadrille.
The invading fish armies ride their narwhal mounts,
Jumping at us and biting ’til they take the hill.
The atmosphere liquefies, the ground issues lightning;
This will only be stopped by finding The One Daffodil.
He reports from this chaos, and stops himself to chuckle,
’cause blood gets funny when blood winds up there.
Stories dark and hilarious, wrenching and vivid
“And a-swarm-ed with swords!” R.E.H. would declare.
Matt’s end-of-the-world would be a great big adventure;
If he does tell that story, he’ll do it with flair.
But give him time off: give him birthday oaths now
Plus enough Scotch to down that he could drown Delaware.
Gettin’ any story ideas from the preceding, Matt? You’re welcome to them. Happy birthday. Keep thinking of the kind of madness that makes good stories, and keep writing them.
I’m glad I know you.
(And yes, for those of you Not-Matt, I figured Matt would appreciate something disturbing.)
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Betsy
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 08:22 pm
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"I do have a question, though. If I have fallen in love with a .38 revolver named "Betsy," does that make me a lesbian?"
Sounds like you're in love with a chick with a dick. Which is perfectly normal for a gay man like yourself. Carry on. :-) |
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Hey, Poppy...
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 08:46 pm
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My friend knows of what he speaks, being both brutally price conscious & tech savvy. He posted this printer, I thought of you, voila:
http://www.buy.com/prod/brother-hl-2140-compact-personal-laser-printer/q/loc/101/206615074.html |
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You put your (right-hand rear) leg in...
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 11:34 pm
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http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2008/05/you-put-your-right-hand-rear-leg-in.html So, this just came in from Geoffrey Long, Communications Director of MIT Comparative Media Studies :
Hey, Neil --
Just saw the note on your blog about the tickets to the Schwartz event:
It looks like tickets for the MIT talk on the 23rd are going fast -- http://community.livejournal.com/millionyear/34688.html -- although I believe that MIT are keeping tickets back to sell on the day.
Alas, no -- it doesn't look like there will be tickets available at the door after all, due to their selling like hotcakes at the local shops like Million Year Picnic. ...I'm afraid when the tickets are gone, they're gone, and many of the local shops are already sold out.
The microsite for the event is here: http://cms.mit.edu/juliusschwartz/
Thanks again, and I look forward to seeing you soon!
Cheers,
Geoff
Which seemed a bit daunting, given that the hall seats 1226 people, and I'm taking it as a good omen for the first Julie Schwartz Lecture (who was Julie Schwartz? you ask. You can read about him here and you can read what Alan Moore wrote and I read at Julie's memorial here).
I've asked Geoffrey to let me know where any tickets may still be found for any of you, at MIT or in the Boston area, who want to come, and if there are any out there he'll let me know.
The Birdchick and her team won the Birding World Series, which is good news, and "Platypus" Bill Stiteler blogs yesterday's bee stuff along with what he did today (while I slept like a large, moss-covered, jet-lagged log) over at http://www.birdchick.com/2008/05/simple-plan.html -- and because I'm rather proud of it, I'm putting up a dancing bee photo I took yesterday. (Bill put it up as well, but it's much bigger here, or it will be if you click on it, and I pushed the brightness up so you could see the expression on her little bee face as she waves her leg around. What good are bee photos if you can't see their expressions?)
Neil,
Thank you for signing my books after the literary dinner in Melbourne, I get a sense that you were tired, but I appreciate how generous you were with your time. It is always a treat to meet you (that was the second time I have met you the first was a few years ago at comics r us in Melbourne) though I get a bit nervous, don't know why but I do.
The episode of "I should be writing" where they list one of the three pieces of advice is to find Neil Gaiman and he will look into your soul and tell you what you need to hear is Episode dated 9/04/08 the third piece of advice.
Your advice was "keep doing what you are doing" and that was exactly what I needed cos I had not been writing very much up until a couple of weeks ago so that helped me keep faith.
I really wish that I could find more advice on second drafts I mean I got a lot information on how to complete a first draft and now I have to get a second draft finished.
What is the best advice can you give a writer about the second draft of a novel. I mean you spend months on the first draft and you finish it and let it lie for a while, and now you have to work with this thing that is a rough lump of clay, how do you form the book out of this mass of intention and thought.
Thank you for your time.
Karl
The second draft is where the fun is. In a first draft, you get to explode. The objective (at least for me) is to get it down on paper, somehow. Battle through the laziness and the not-enough-time and the this-is-rubbish and everything else, and just get it written. Whatever it takes. The second draft is where you go and gather together the fragments of the explosion and figure out what it is you did, and make it look like that was what you always meant to do.
So you write it. Then you put it aside. Not for months, but perhaps for a week or so. Even a few days. Do other things. Then set aside some uninterrupted time to read, and pull it out, and pretend you have never read it before -- clear it out of your head, and sit and read it. (I'd suggest you do this on a print-out, so you can scribble on it as you go. )
When you get to the end you should have a much better idea of what it was about than you did when you started. (I knew The Graveyard Book would be about a boy who lived in a graveyard when I started it. I didn't know that it would be about how we make our families, though: that's a theme that made itself apparent while the book was being written.)
And then, on the second and subsequent drafts, you do four things. 1) You fix the things that didn't work as best you can (if you don't like the climactic Rock City scene in American Gods, trust me, the first draft was so much worse). 2) You reinforce the themes, whether they were there from the beginning or whether they grew like Topsy on the way. You take out the stuff that undercuts those themes. 3) You worry about the title. 4) At some point in the revision process you will probably need to remind yourself that you could keep polishing it infinitely, that perfection is not an attribute of humankind, and really, shouldn't you get on with the next thing now?
Does that help? |
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Teeth teeth teeth
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 05:13 pm
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I seem to be having quite a bit more “discomfort” after this latest round of dental fun. I’ve got a check up tomorrow and hope to confirm that the amount of discomfort I’m currently experiencing is normal after having a pair of enormous Frankenstein bolts screwed into my jawbone and not indicative of some horrible unforeseen problem or infection.
I had dinner the other night with a lawyer who gave me a ton of useful advice for my current project. (More on that later.) He also happens to suffer from the same sort of severe bruxism (a fancypants way to refer to nocturnal teeth-gnashing) that is proving to be the main source of my ongoing dental angst. I suppose it’s just one of those unavoidable side effects of my charming, type A personality. Like me, Mark the Lawyer got one of those expensive custom made night guards from the dentist and, like me, found it utterly uncomfortable and unwearable. So he went out and bought one of those twenty dollar kits at the Rite Aid, the kind you dunk in boiling water to soften up for a custom fit. He swears by them and has been using them ever since. As soon as I’m able, I’ll be investigating this option myself but meanwhile, any of you fellow gnashers and grinders out there have any thoughts on the subject? Anyone else tried, for example, this? Any other suggestions or recommendations? After the boatload of cash I’m sinking into my pretty new choppers, I’d rather not grind them down to nubs in under a year if I can help it.
Ideally I’d like to get one that says “RAMPAGE” on the front. |
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show & tell
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 07:55 pm
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the day can only go downhill from this PEAK OF AWESOME FABULOSITY
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 04:19 pm
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you promise me heaven, then put me through hell!
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 03:53 pm
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SPOUSAL OVERUNIT: omg what IS this?
OUR HEROINE: A BADASS FINNISH A CAPELLA VERSION OF BON JOVI'S "YOU GIVE LOVE A BAD NAME"!
SPOUSAL OVERUNIT: ....
OUR HEROINE: ISN'T IT GREAT?!
SPOUSAL OVERUNIT: ....
OUR HEROINE: ((hits the repeat button like a lab rat wants crack))
SPOUSAL OVERUNIT: Can we go back to the Ger --
OUR HEROINE: WHAT?
SPOUSAL OVERUNIT: CAN WE GO BACK TO THE GERMAN PEOPLE?
OUR HEROINE: WHAT? OH, SURE!
//cackles
Current Mood:  silly |
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Badass a cappella!
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 03:41 pm
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Yeah, you heard me:
Current Mood:  cheerful |
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 06:38 pm
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After surviving yet another semester, I have returned to the sleepy hamlet of Boston, Massachusetts. |
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MOSKAU! MOSKAU!
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 02:55 pm
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tekalynn just made me SO SO HAPPY by reminding me of the existence of Dschinghis Khan. I'm sorry, but if this music does not make you insanely happy YOU HAVE NO SOUL. I have to say my favourite probably remains "Moskau":
Current Mood:  bouncy |
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From last night's SNL
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 05:33 pm
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Hillary Clinton explains why she's the inevitable nominee:
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. . . how on earth??
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 03:06 pm
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I agree about the leaving-out of Ramsey Campbell from a "weird" writer list of *any* kind. Idiots. I haven't read much of his stuff compared to you, but what I've read made me shiver (I'm getting muscle kinks in my shoulders just mentioning it here) and I end up thinking of the story long, long afterward, and not comfortably so, you know? And yet, in person, when I met him a couple of years ago, briefly of course, he was very nice and hilariously funny -- I've seldom laughed harder. (Oh, I finally, finally found my "Power and Glory" -- it took so long because I'm in the process of moving, so I can finish grad school because I was too fucking stupid to finish it when I was young and had a brain but have instead waited until I'm 43 and dumb as a damn rock, and so my books are in a state of being both packed and unpacked and I can't find anything and therefore hate everything, and have resorted to rereading "Delores Claiborn" because it soothes me...) |
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It's a post for us non-celebrants of Mother's (and Father's) Day!
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 01:08 pm
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(I was most recently reminded of this great poem by angevin2, altho I had it typed out and taped up to the wall over my desk in college. Then my parents visited! At first, not knowing anything about Larkin, they thought _I_ HAD WRITTEN IT. UM AWKWARD.)
I think this was also the first time I'd ever seen "fuck" in a "serious" poem, not sure.They fuck you up, your mum and dad
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
Addendum Okay, also, via the lovely sartorias, msagara on Why being a Mother is like being a writer. Just for perspective.Current Mood:  cranky |
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Radio, radio
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 10:56 am
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First, a message:
Happy Mother's Day, to those who are mothers and to those who have mothers.
**
I just finished the book Something in the Air: Radio, Rock, and the Revolution that Shaped a Generation by Marc Fisher of the Washington Post. It's a recent book on the history of Top 40 radio, underground radio, and talk radio, and how these three areas influenced each other.
I had my first period of radio geekdom during the very dying gasps of the Top 40 era; Washington D.C.'s WAVA, then the area's only Top 40 station (and flipped in the early Nineties to religious programming), became my station in 1984 after we'd moved to Vienna, Va. At that station around that time, Don Geronimo really stepped up his evolution from Top 40 DJ to talk radio host, as his Morning Zoo with Mike O'Meara evolved from a music-focused show to the "Theater of the Mind" soap opera that Don and Mike grew to excel at. (You can tell I'm a fan, right? As if my previous posts about Don's retirement didn't clarify that...)
Something in the Air cites Don Geronimo as someone who took the format and patterns of Top 40 radio and applied these to talk: that's the same thing Rush Limbaugh did, as does Glenn Beck, Tom Leykis and Rick Emerson, all former music DJs. (I'm linking to the only current radio host who I'm actually a fan of; I don't want to point out how to get to the hosts I dislike, and besides they're easy to find online anyway. Listening to Leykis is almost physically painful to me. And yes, I know it's a persona Leykis puts on -- Fisher explains how Leykis's current show grew out of a male chauvinist pig character he'd invented named Ben Dover -- but it's a persona I can't enjoy, or even find interesting. He just grates.) So while Top 40 has gone away, made a dinosaur by the now narrowcasting radio industry, the shape of it is still around, influencing what lots of us hear.
(I fell away from radio for most of my time in college; I concentrated on my film score collecting, and was only passingly aware of what commercial radio was up to. Dating Alicia starting in 1996, my senior year at college, got me back into paying attention to radio; when I moved to Hermiston, OR, I became an avid NPR listener via Northwest Public Radio; and when I moved to Portland in 2001 I began my second significant period of radio geekdom. That's still going on.)
There's a lot of neat radio industry history in Fisher's book, and sections on radio hosts who influenced many of the current DJ generation. Jean Shepherd, the guy who wrote In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash, gets his radio career lovingly recreated: how he'd encourage listeners to meet at a certain place and time and just mill around (which reminds me strongly of the "meetup" that xkcd's Randall Monroe, shall we say, encouraged to happen), and the shenanigans that led to Shepherd's fans clamoring for a book that didn't exist, and then to Shepherd teaming with science fiction author Ted Sturgeon to actually write it (I, Libertine, which at most I was only vaguely aware of before this book). There were wild and woolly days of radio, and now I kind of wish I'd been around to see them. The book also shows how underground radio influenced the very non-underground National Public Radio, and opines that NPR may be at its best when it's closer to that underground spirit than to the spirit of commercial radio. It's an awkward push-pull of influences; the book shows how that's happened throughout radio's history.
The book is a little less focused -- and, I think, understandably so -- about the future of radio. Radio's really in flux; content controls that may or may not be loosened in the wake of the 2004 Super Bowl "wardrobe malfunction," the new and competing technologies like satellite radio, HD Radio (which DOES NOT stand for "High Definition"; supposedly it stands for "Hybrid Digital," but this makes me think the pushers of HD Radio are trying to ride the coattails of High Definition television), and the madly-evolving role of the Internet in delivering content*. This on top of the iPod revolution, which radio (I think) is trying too hard to mimic with the "Jack FM/We Play Everything" format.
I'm lucky; I've been getting to know DJs in Portland, which seems to have a concentration of idiosyncratic, geeky DJs doing radio that reflects their idiosyncratic geekiness (even if their playlists don't; oy, I'd love to hear what Daria or Cort & Fatboy would program had they complete control of their shows' playlists. Radio Free Daria!). It also means I'm biased, in that I like a lot of the people doing radio in my town and I'm inclined to hope that what they do can be the sort of radio that takes off elsewhere. I wonder if radio might have to become weirder again in order to thrive again, but that might butt up against corporate radio (the book sketches out how radio became corporate, too) and might turn off a lot of people.
The Top-40-influenced part of me, the part that can remember almost to the moment first hearing a Madonna song on the radio in 1983, wants to believe radio can change the culture again. It's done that before. I do know that the influence is still there, quietly, underlying the radio I listen to now. Quiet revolutions can happen, too.
Radio matters to me. It matters to Marc Fisher. I hope it still matters to many other people.
___________
* Part of me wants to make a Haggunenon reference here, but vanishingly few people would get it.
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Dressing coffins for the souls I've left behind.
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 11:01 am
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Yesterday, by some miracle (I don't actually believe in "miracles," sensu loaves and fishes, etc., so what I actually mean is by some statistically improbable, but not impossible, turn of events), I wrote a measly 869 words, and finished the preface for The Red Tree. The preface is written by the fictional editor who has come into the possession of Sarah Crowe's manuscript. The editor is strangely fond of footnotes, some of which are rather pedantic. Today, no writing, but, instead, Spooky and I will read back over what I've written of Chapter One to be sure it jibes with the preface. Already, I've caught one inconsistency. In Chapter One, the "red tree" grows on "the Old Jenks place," but in the preface, it grows on the "Battey Farm." I'll be going with the latter.
My thanks for the many comments and emails yesterday, though, of course, that's not why I said the things I said. I wasn't fishing for pep talks. And all the attention and well wishes in the world cannot change what I know to be true. I cannot go any easier on myself. Indeed, I am not going hard enough on myself. It's a goddamn hardscrabble life, pimping the playtpus, selling my dreams, growing corn on bare stone, making all these blasted words. It's not likely to ever get any easier. There is no retirement plan. There are only the words, from here until The End. One reason I am so reluctant to describe these times when it goes from bad to worse is simply because I have this inherent fear of being seen as weak, or whiny, or whatever. But I also loathe not telling the truth. Anyway, yes, thank you for the sentiments, because it's good to know someone cares, but nothing changes. Not unless the big space rock comes tomorrow, or Panthalassa rises up to stomp us all flat with tsunami paws.
I re-read Salman Rushdie's introduction to Angela Carter's Burning Your Boats yesterday, and he writes:
"...but the best of her, I think, is in her stories. Sometimes, at novel length, the distinctive Carter voice, those smoky, opium-eater's cadences interrupted by harsh or comic discords, that moonstone-and-rhinestone mix of opulence and flim-flam, can be exhausting. In her stories, she can dazzle and swoop, and quit while she's ahead."
And I think I know exactly what he means, for so often have I wished that I could make a living writing only short fiction. I do it ever so much better than novels, with their absurdly drawn-out plots and contrived twists and turns. I have never written a novel even half as good as my best short story, but, in the end, this is about the pay check. Of course, I should also note, to be fair, that Rushdie adores Carter's novels, and bemoans the werewolf novel she never wrote. It's just, as an author, I think the short story is the better form, and poetry better still. Distillation, as it were. Less usually is more.
What else to yesterday? I re-read "A new aigialosaur (Squamata; Anguimorpha) with soft tissue remains from the Upper Cretaceous of Nuevo León, Mexico" in the March 2008 JVP. We live in age of riches, when it comes to the discovery of basal mosasauroid lizards — Dallasurus, Hassiophis, Tethysaurus, Haasisaurus, Judeasaurus, et al., and now Vallecillosaurus. Anyway, I packed many boxes of books. My office is looking bare. Spooky has been craving Tom Baker, so we watched the four-part old-school Doctor Who, "The Hand of Fear" (1976). Mostly, Baker's Who is just too hokey for my tastes, and I find Sarah Jane unbearable. But I like that steampunky old TARDIS, and Eldrad was a pretty cool alien. Christopher Eccleston will always be my Doctor, and David Tenant's not so bad, either. After four eps of Doctor Who, I wandered into SL for a rather nice rp with Omega and Pontifex. I was in bed by 2:30 ayem, I think. Seven hours sleep. That was yesterday, pretty much. Oh, very fine thunderstorm last night, late. I sat here at my desk, the window open, trying to hear the thunder over the Xtians who were wailing and hooting (at 11:30 p.m.!) like they were trying to summon Great Cthulhu. Beautiful lightning. I feel asleep to the rain.
Ah, and a screencap from SL, another one that may put some readers in mind of "Flotsam." These days, Nareth sleeps beneath that old tanker:
( Nareth in the sea )Current Mood:  second verse, same as... Current Music: Smashing Pumpkins, "Tear" |
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Tweets for Today
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 08:07 am
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Automatically shipped by LoudTwitterCurrent Mood: amused |
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The only legend I have ever loved is The story of a daughter lost in hell
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 04:12 am
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Man, and then sometimes these people write something that just thumps home into your heart, like an arrow. Dear Mother, leave me not! I love to rest
Under the shadow of that hanging cave
And listen to your tales. Your Proserpine
Entreats you stay; sit on this shady bank,
And as I twine a wreathe tell once again
The combat of the Titans and the Gods;
Or how the Python fell beneath the dart
Of dread Apollo; or of Daphne's change,--
That coyest Grecian maid, whose pointed leaves
Now shade her lover's brow. And I the while
Gathering the starry flowers of this fair plain
Will weave a chaplet, Mother, for thy hair.
But without thee, the plain I think is vacant,
Its blossoms fade,--its tall fresh grasses droop,
Nodding their heads like dull things half asleep;--
Go not, dear Mother, from your Proserpine.
( The Pomegranate - Eavan Boland )Current Mood:  sympathetic |
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Question Time
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 02:08 am
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....oooh, I actually forgot I'd done the "ask me a question / tell me a secret" thing (yes. Yes. //facepalm My memory is so bad that repeatedly throughout my life people have suspected I've been lying about forgetting something. I dunno if they can't believe someone with a swiss-cheesed STM can manage to tie her own shoes every morning, or what). I think I'll take it in threes.
And hey, if you want to join in....
Do things get easier, as one gets older?
Hmmmmmm yes and no. Actually, psychologically, things have improved a lot for me as I've gotten older, which I think is partly the "natural" process of maturing -- you rack up some more years, you're just bound to get some perspective you didn't have before, if you're at all awake and paying attention. I like that. OTOH, especially in this youth-obsessed culture, I do feel more aware of my limits (not just physically): things I won't do that vaguely sounded like fun, things I might not ever be able to do (climb a mountain! &c); not so much dwindling horizons as just a sort of natural narrowing down of options. I think partly that's a good thing -- T is always pointing out to me most really good novelists don't do their best work before they're forty. So you don't get that sort of glowing energy of youth, but things become steadier, I think. The stakes get raised -- the situation seems more serious, which I like. People get wised up.
Personally, my thirties, altho they haven't been that great, have been a helluva lot better than my twenties, which in their turn were light-years better than my adolescence -- Le Guin says somewhere she thought she finished the job of properly growing up at thirty or so, and while I wouldn't say that of myself, I agree with the general idea.
Why do I stay up until all hours?
Because you're a night owl! Because the Night cometh when no man can work! No no, I don't know. I can only tell you why I stay up until all hours -- I personally almost feel sleep is a waste of time. If I could do away with it altogether, I would (despite knowing this is a Bad Idea -- I feel better when I've had sleep). From childhood on everyone has urged me to go to bed on time, telling me that if I do so, Things Will Be Better. They also say the same thing about eating breakfast. What can I tell you? I don't like sleeping and I don't like breakfast (it's a Thing, I'm not hungry until two or three hours, at least, after waking up). I know of few things more secretly joyous than working away in the middle of the night. Everyone else is asleep, everyone else is dreaming, if you're in the city you can see the lights of the street and the all-night places, if you're in the country you can see more stars than you ever dreamt of, track the progress of the moon. Nobody's going to call, nobody's going to visit, nobody's going to bother you. Ideas germinate and bud and bloom much more quickly. You can think. There isn't the eternal static of other people buzzing around like -- well, flies is rather insulting. Too-busy bees?
Most creative people I know are insomniacs or at least have truly whacky sleep patterns. I do not think those things are that unrelated.
What is your favourite song of the moment?
Gosh, that's always a tough one. Probably "Дикий мужчина / Dikiy muzhchina," or at least that's the one I'm listening to CONSTANTLY. But here's a recent playlist of songs I listened to at least three times apiece (yes, I looove that repeat button):
Melissa Ferrick - Drive
Darren Hayes - Unlovable
Natalie Merchant - My Skin
Pretenders - I Go to Sleep
Pretenders - I'll Stand By You
Corinne Bailey Rae - Like A Star
Reena Bhardwaj, Jacob Golden, Nitin Sawhney - Falling Angels
Lesley Gore - Better Angels
Pretenders - Tattooed Love Boys
Pretenders - Bad Boys Get Spanked
Pretenders - Needle and the Damage Done
Van Morrison - Gypsy In My Soul
Eva Cassidy - Honeysuckle Rose
Stellastarr - Sweet Troubled Soul
Nitin Sawhney - Nadia
Nitin Sawhney - Nadia (live)
Tom McRae - Sao Paulo Rain
Dire Straits - Romeo and Juliet
Mark Geary - Ghosts
Marc Broussard - Back in Your Arms
Poe - A Rose Is A Rose
Carina Round - Message to Apollo
Pretenders - Message Of Love
Pretenders - Spiritual High
Corinne Bailey Rae - Enchantment
Mos Def - Body Rock
Frou Frou - Let Go
And I've had the OST for Everything is Illuminated, the Greatest Hits of Bill Withers and Nitin Sawheny's Human on repeat all this past week or so.Current Mood:  bored Current Music: Дикий мужчина! |
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still off the clock
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 03:35 am
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http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2008/05/still-off-clock.html So. Home. Fell asleep at about 5.00 am, woke up about 11:30 am, so not back on US time yet.
Today I did some bee-things with Bill Stiteler (we put in a queen excluder today prior to splitting the Olga hive next week) then we planted a bag of overlooked hyacinths we found in the garage, and watched some Dr Who with Maddy (we're now up to Planet of the OOD). Also I walked the dog.
I've just been informed that due to a transfer credit-hour technicality I can't graduate with my college class & must get ONE CREDIT in summer school and walk next year if at all.
Neil, could you tell me anything to cheer me up? An anecdote, a song excerpt, news ("Jill Thompson and I are going to do that Delirium Miniseries we've been talking about for a while!"), anything?
Sincerely,
Nathan Henderson
I'm sorry to hear that, Nathan.
The biggest news that doesn't involve walking along a fallen tree over a river with a dog following behind me is that NPR has picked ANANSI BOYS for the Bryant Park Project book club. Details at http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=90309379
and at http://www.npr.org/blogs/bryantpark/2008/05/book_clubs_new_pick_neil_gaima.html
And in other news... I thought that this was still confidential, but it's been announced on this blog and I assume it's not confidential any longer. So it's definitely news. Hurrah for PEN. Now I have to come up with a story...
Songs? Let's see -- I wrote a song for Peri Lyons' one woman show that you can hear a demo of at her myspace page. It's a 3.00am-in-a-bar song for a generation that's much more likely to be found in front of computer screens than in bars at 3.00 am.
Over at Chris Ewens' Hidden Variable website there are longish clips from lots of Hidden Variable songs two of which are mine -- I'm really proud of "Unresolving". Also, I hope Chris finds a record label for it soon.
How was that?
...
It looks like tickets for the MIT talk on the 23rd are going fast -- http://community.livejournal.com/millionyear/34688.html -- although I believe that MIT are keeping tickets back to sell on the day. (Nope. See next post.)
Over at Lurid.com, Craig Russell talks more about the adaptation he's doing of Sandman: The Dream Hunters, and you can see more of the art, along with the adaptation he's been working on for the last couple of years of Coraline. (You may or may not be able to see the embedded footage -- although it's now better than it was.)
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 01:23 am
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Ok, so, 1, a stray horse wandered into our yard yesterday and nobody's claiming her. A dapple-gray paint pony with an extremely woolly coat, which someone has recently gone over with a pair of scissors. She still needs a shave. Even better? She looks pregnant.
2, I've just realized that I didn't take my meds today; it was only after realizing this that I realized further that I don't have any to take. The reason I didn't notice earlier is because I was asleep all day due to not taking my meds. I dreamed about our old strawberry finches. The male learned how to mimic the telephone ringing. His plumage was also getting darker, deeper and more colorful. Then he broke the cage, turned into a gray cat, and started hunting the female. I accidentally killed her trying to get her away from him. Then he exploded. Also there were rats in the basement.
Oh, also, I made a new icon. This time it's of something I actually drew, go me. And I had an essay about how I mowed the lawn today. I am become death, destroyer of dandilion-heads. hate lawnmowers. |
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My second wife.
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May. 11th, 2008 @ 12:33 am
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I have purchased and fired repeatedly a Smith and Wesson .40 handgun. In regards to the Pops' post I hereby leave it up to her group to decide the name for this handgun that I will get engraved on its barrel. I have been, so far, unable to find a name for this firearm. It kicks like a drunken, angry mule but leaves a hole that you can drive a tank through. Female names preferred. |
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It's It
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May. 10th, 2008 @ 11:51 pm
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Apropos of some slightly confused/confusing conversations on ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) prime_liquor: In addition to my plethora of names, I pretty much answer to any pronoun, too.
I do have a question, though. If I have fallen in love with a .38 revolver named "Betsy," does that make me a lesbian? |
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Permission to ramble, GRANTED.
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May. 10th, 2008 @ 08:16 pm
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Reminder to you (and by “you” I mean “me”): when you can’t think of anything to write, then write anything. Something. General miscellaneous whatever. You can do it! So:
I’ll let myself ramble today, without worrying about making Some Big Point or being poetic or ticking off the time I’m online (I’m offline, in fact, as I write this entry). You can decide whether or not to read. See? Everyone can win!
* A covering-much-ground day: bus and Max to Beaverton, to do further car shopping. I saw a couple of good options. |
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happy
happy