Sunday, December 05, 2010
Capture and control?
This 2002 article by H. Keith Henson provides a lot of food for thought for those who would understand human behavior, particularly the psychological aspects of religious cults and captor/captive relationships.
This 2002 article by H. Keith Henson provides a lot of food for thought for those who would understand human behavior, particularly the psychological aspects of religious cults and captor/captive relationships.
Law and the Multiverse
A few works of pop culture, most notably The Incredibles, have speculated about how superheroes might be affected by the legal system. Few have actually attempted to apply the real-life legal system to such sticky superhero problems as testifying in court, maintaining a secret identity, or accumulating and holding property for longer than a normal human life span. And these are simple when compared to the huge snarl of legal difficulties that might arise from dying and being resurrected even once, let alone spinning around in a revolving door of temporary mortality the way some denizens of the comics multiverse seem to do. This very interesting blog, apparently written by an attorney or law student who is also a raging comics fan, attempts to fill the gap.
The political populist in me notes that corporations, which lack not only mortality but most of the other positive attributes of human beings, have rather neatly managed to evade all of these difficulties. Perhaps superheroes should simply incorporate themselves.
A few works of pop culture, most notably The Incredibles, have speculated about how superheroes might be affected by the legal system. Few have actually attempted to apply the real-life legal system to such sticky superhero problems as testifying in court, maintaining a secret identity, or accumulating and holding property for longer than a normal human life span. And these are simple when compared to the huge snarl of legal difficulties that might arise from dying and being resurrected even once, let alone spinning around in a revolving door of temporary mortality the way some denizens of the comics multiverse seem to do. This very interesting blog, apparently written by an attorney or law student who is also a raging comics fan, attempts to fill the gap.
The political populist in me notes that corporations, which lack not only mortality but most of the other positive attributes of human beings, have rather neatly managed to evade all of these difficulties. Perhaps superheroes should simply incorporate themselves.
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
Recent reads:
Losing Mum and Pup, by Christopher Buckley. The author of several successful novels of political satire (Thank You For Smoking, Boomsday, etc.) tackles a much bleaker subject: the deaths of his mother and father within a year of each other, and his own memories, thoughts and reactions to those losses. His parents, of course, were notable in their own right. William F. Buckley was one of the most influential political writers of the twentieth century, founder of National Review and a leading figure in the decades-long attempt to give political conservatism a respectable intellectual foundation. Patricia Taylor Buckley, though less well known to political mavens, was a prominent social figure in New York and a formidable personal presence to her family.
Buckley's reminiscences of his parents are both illuminating and entertaining, and some portions of the book read like the humorous stories told about a person at their wake. A chapter about his father's love of sailing, and of the many adventures and mishaps which resulted from his almost recklessly sanguine approach to seamanship, had me laughing out loud: "Over the years, my father took out entire sections of docks up and down the eastern seaboard. His crew bestowed on him the nickname 'Captain Crunch'...." And yet Buckley also has the respect and the awareness to note that "Pup's greatness was of a piece with the way he conducted himself at sea. Great men always have too much canvas up. Great men take great risks."
The literally morbid subtext of the book also gives Buckley plenty of room to exercise his bleaker, blacker sense of humor, as when he describes the unctuousness of funeral directors or the very strange world of funeral price accounting. And also discuss much more serious matters, such as his famously intellectual father's struggle with the gradual loss of some of his physical and mental agility.
Would that all of us accomplished so much with the time available to us, and were remembered in such fashion.
Losing Mum and Pup, by Christopher Buckley. The author of several successful novels of political satire (Thank You For Smoking, Boomsday, etc.) tackles a much bleaker subject: the deaths of his mother and father within a year of each other, and his own memories, thoughts and reactions to those losses. His parents, of course, were notable in their own right. William F. Buckley was one of the most influential political writers of the twentieth century, founder of National Review and a leading figure in the decades-long attempt to give political conservatism a respectable intellectual foundation. Patricia Taylor Buckley, though less well known to political mavens, was a prominent social figure in New York and a formidable personal presence to her family.
Buckley's reminiscences of his parents are both illuminating and entertaining, and some portions of the book read like the humorous stories told about a person at their wake. A chapter about his father's love of sailing, and of the many adventures and mishaps which resulted from his almost recklessly sanguine approach to seamanship, had me laughing out loud: "Over the years, my father took out entire sections of docks up and down the eastern seaboard. His crew bestowed on him the nickname 'Captain Crunch'...." And yet Buckley also has the respect and the awareness to note that "Pup's greatness was of a piece with the way he conducted himself at sea. Great men always have too much canvas up. Great men take great risks."
The literally morbid subtext of the book also gives Buckley plenty of room to exercise his bleaker, blacker sense of humor, as when he describes the unctuousness of funeral directors or the very strange world of funeral price accounting. And also discuss much more serious matters, such as his famously intellectual father's struggle with the gradual loss of some of his physical and mental agility.
Would that all of us accomplished so much with the time available to us, and were remembered in such fashion.
Neat link of the day:
FedFlix. Free downloadable US government films, including documentaries, training films, etc. "Duck and Cover!"
FedFlix. Free downloadable US government films, including documentaries, training films, etc. "Duck and Cover!"
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Neverwas Haul
An industrious crew busily exploring the applications of neo-Victorian steam-powered gadgets. Although their lumbering self-propelled multi-story turretted house is impressive, I'm pretty sure the peppy little steam car is more fun to drive.
An industrious crew busily exploring the applications of neo-Victorian steam-powered gadgets. Although their lumbering self-propelled multi-story turretted house is impressive, I'm pretty sure the peppy little steam car is more fun to drive.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Recent reads
His Wanted Woman, by Linda Turner. If any scholarly, librarianly, or archival types are obligated to read a genre romance novel for any reason, this might be one to look for. I came across it as a result of an online discussion of an LA Times article about the Archival Recovery Team that tracks down and attempts to recover items stolen from the National Archives which are being offered for sale on the internet or through rare-books dealers. The article vaguely mentioned that this team had been the subject of a "Harlequin romance". A little librarianly cooperation, mixed with some serendipity and a helpful romance writer, identified the "wanted" title.
I have to say that the cover -- viewable at Amazon -- is unsettling in a way that the artist probably did not intend. The man and woman portrayed are attractive individuals, and they appear to be quite fond of each other, but it appears that in order to give a "suspenseful" ambiance to the scene, the artist has bathed both figures in an eerie green glow emanating from below. This, combined with the woman's closed eyes and inert posture, has the unfortunate effect of appearing more necrophilic than suspenseful. Surely this was not the intent. Also, for some reason, a glowing scale model of the US Capitol building and a purple Christmas tree appear to be stuck to the man's elbow.
The book seems to be the first of an intended series dealing with three brothers. The O'Reilly brothers, we find out in a brief prologue, are all strapping, handsome men who work in different branches of law enforcement and all got divorced nearly simultaneously: "A bunch of cops with bad taste in women." They get together on St. Patrick's day for a very masculine brotherly ceremony of drinking beer and tossing their old marriage certificates into the pub bonfire while vowing to "never get married again". Their loving mom, in between cooking delicious lasagna (O'Reilly? lasagna?) meals, helpfully pushes them to find "nice girls". What do you suppose will happen in this volume? And how many books do you suppose the series will include?
I suppose I should not mock the inherent predictability of romance novels. That is, I take it, what many romance readers expect: the reassurance that Things Will Work Out, that there are Happy Endings in which a Good Woman and a Good Man are irresistably drawn to each other and find a way to Live Happily Ever After despite all the betrayals, bitterness, and fears that dog them as individuals, and despite every worldly obstacle that rears up to oppose them. The fact that reality does not always follow this script no doubt only increases the hunger to have it confirmed in fiction. And why should I condemn or mock that desire for reassurance? Is it really any more laughable than the innumerable fantasy and SF epics in which obscure country bumpkins rise to overthrow dictatorial overlords whose armies have overrun the known world/universe? Both posit, indeed insist on, reassuringly happy endings that readers crave.
But enough generalia. In the volume at hand, once the prologue is past, we find ourselves meeting Mackenzie Sloan, a smart young woman who has recently acquired a master's degree in an unspecified subject, broken up with a boyfriend, lost her father, and inherited the latter's livelihood, a rare-books store in Washington, D.C. Shortly after she reopens the shop, a dark-haired "hunk" walks in with a improbably rare document to sell, and an even more improbable story to explain his possession of it. He's one of the O'Reilly brothers, naturally, the one who works for the Archival Recovery Team, and he's checking her out. Checking out her honesty, that is. He's checking to see if the current proprietor of the store will buy tempting items of suspicious provenance, because it turns out that some of her father's inventory that she's recently sold on eBay was stuff that should have stayed in the Archives. Is she a thief? Was her father a thief? Or a duped victim who bought stolen documents? Where did they come from, and will the investigation tarnish her good name and damage her business?
In any case, the two of them are very shortly checking out more than just each other's credentials, the more so when she is impelled to seek police protection after someone breaks into her store and steals, not books or maps, but routine business paperwork. Each has fears and bitterness from the past to overcome before becoming emotionally involved, although the physical sparks of attraction are flying in short order, along with some hints of mild kinkiness. (Something about handcuffs...)
I found the characters interesting and the story entertaining. I would have liked more emphasis on the process by which historical documents wind their way through the labyrinthine, sometimes clandestine world of archival institutions, dealers, and collectors. I would have liked to have seen more detailed description of how the Archival Recovery Team identified and tracked such documents, and I would have enjoyed reading at greater length about the investigation of the particular case at hand. The resolution of the case, though unfortunately plausible, seemed rather sudden and deus-ex-mechanical. It so happens that I subscribe to the school of thought that in a well-plotted mystery novel, the criminal, when revealed, must be a character who has been previously introduced in the story, and whom the reader has had fair chance to consider as a suspect.
But this is not, of course, primarily a mystery novel, and I fear that I am not part of its prime target demographic. The primary emphasis is on the exposition and expulsion of the personal demons of the two romantic principals, and their growing involvement with each other. This is, in fact, quite well done. But of all the people who read His Wanted Woman, I wonder if I am the only one who started getting impatient with the descriptions of lusciously soft lips, hungry kisses, and pounding hearts, and looked forward to the next chapter in which the erotically enflamed investigators pulled themselves away from each others' arms and delved once more into tracking the prospective buyers of a stolen presidential diary or hand-scribbled Civil War map.
His Wanted Woman, by Linda Turner. If any scholarly, librarianly, or archival types are obligated to read a genre romance novel for any reason, this might be one to look for. I came across it as a result of an online discussion of an LA Times article about the Archival Recovery Team that tracks down and attempts to recover items stolen from the National Archives which are being offered for sale on the internet or through rare-books dealers. The article vaguely mentioned that this team had been the subject of a "Harlequin romance". A little librarianly cooperation, mixed with some serendipity and a helpful romance writer, identified the "wanted" title.
I have to say that the cover -- viewable at Amazon -- is unsettling in a way that the artist probably did not intend. The man and woman portrayed are attractive individuals, and they appear to be quite fond of each other, but it appears that in order to give a "suspenseful" ambiance to the scene, the artist has bathed both figures in an eerie green glow emanating from below. This, combined with the woman's closed eyes and inert posture, has the unfortunate effect of appearing more necrophilic than suspenseful. Surely this was not the intent. Also, for some reason, a glowing scale model of the US Capitol building and a purple Christmas tree appear to be stuck to the man's elbow.
The book seems to be the first of an intended series dealing with three brothers. The O'Reilly brothers, we find out in a brief prologue, are all strapping, handsome men who work in different branches of law enforcement and all got divorced nearly simultaneously: "A bunch of cops with bad taste in women." They get together on St. Patrick's day for a very masculine brotherly ceremony of drinking beer and tossing their old marriage certificates into the pub bonfire while vowing to "never get married again". Their loving mom, in between cooking delicious lasagna (O'Reilly? lasagna?) meals, helpfully pushes them to find "nice girls". What do you suppose will happen in this volume? And how many books do you suppose the series will include?
I suppose I should not mock the inherent predictability of romance novels. That is, I take it, what many romance readers expect: the reassurance that Things Will Work Out, that there are Happy Endings in which a Good Woman and a Good Man are irresistably drawn to each other and find a way to Live Happily Ever After despite all the betrayals, bitterness, and fears that dog them as individuals, and despite every worldly obstacle that rears up to oppose them. The fact that reality does not always follow this script no doubt only increases the hunger to have it confirmed in fiction. And why should I condemn or mock that desire for reassurance? Is it really any more laughable than the innumerable fantasy and SF epics in which obscure country bumpkins rise to overthrow dictatorial overlords whose armies have overrun the known world/universe? Both posit, indeed insist on, reassuringly happy endings that readers crave.
But enough generalia. In the volume at hand, once the prologue is past, we find ourselves meeting Mackenzie Sloan, a smart young woman who has recently acquired a master's degree in an unspecified subject, broken up with a boyfriend, lost her father, and inherited the latter's livelihood, a rare-books store in Washington, D.C. Shortly after she reopens the shop, a dark-haired "hunk" walks in with a improbably rare document to sell, and an even more improbable story to explain his possession of it. He's one of the O'Reilly brothers, naturally, the one who works for the Archival Recovery Team, and he's checking her out. Checking out her honesty, that is. He's checking to see if the current proprietor of the store will buy tempting items of suspicious provenance, because it turns out that some of her father's inventory that she's recently sold on eBay was stuff that should have stayed in the Archives. Is she a thief? Was her father a thief? Or a duped victim who bought stolen documents? Where did they come from, and will the investigation tarnish her good name and damage her business?
In any case, the two of them are very shortly checking out more than just each other's credentials, the more so when she is impelled to seek police protection after someone breaks into her store and steals, not books or maps, but routine business paperwork. Each has fears and bitterness from the past to overcome before becoming emotionally involved, although the physical sparks of attraction are flying in short order, along with some hints of mild kinkiness. (Something about handcuffs...)
I found the characters interesting and the story entertaining. I would have liked more emphasis on the process by which historical documents wind their way through the labyrinthine, sometimes clandestine world of archival institutions, dealers, and collectors. I would have liked to have seen more detailed description of how the Archival Recovery Team identified and tracked such documents, and I would have enjoyed reading at greater length about the investigation of the particular case at hand. The resolution of the case, though unfortunately plausible, seemed rather sudden and deus-ex-mechanical. It so happens that I subscribe to the school of thought that in a well-plotted mystery novel, the criminal, when revealed, must be a character who has been previously introduced in the story, and whom the reader has had fair chance to consider as a suspect.
But this is not, of course, primarily a mystery novel, and I fear that I am not part of its prime target demographic. The primary emphasis is on the exposition and expulsion of the personal demons of the two romantic principals, and their growing involvement with each other. This is, in fact, quite well done. But of all the people who read His Wanted Woman, I wonder if I am the only one who started getting impatient with the descriptions of lusciously soft lips, hungry kisses, and pounding hearts, and looked forward to the next chapter in which the erotically enflamed investigators pulled themselves away from each others' arms and delved once more into tracking the prospective buyers of a stolen presidential diary or hand-scribbled Civil War map.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
So you want to be....
I guess one of the hallmarks of a lost friendship is that you continue to see things that remind you of the other person's interests and sense of humor, and wish that you could share those things with them. These short animations, for example. Peace and success in all things to absent friends, even (or especially) ones who will never read these words.
I guess one of the hallmarks of a lost friendship is that you continue to see things that remind you of the other person's interests and sense of humor, and wish that you could share those things with them. These short animations, for example. Peace and success in all things to absent friends, even (or especially) ones who will never read these words.
Monday, November 08, 2010
Recent viewings
Never Take Candy From a Stranger / These Are the Damned
I ordered this double DVD of 1960-vintage thrillers because someone on a listserv said interesting things about These Are the Damned.
Never Take Candy From a Stranger is an uncomfortable film, and I'm not sure whether to dismiss it as mere sensationalistic pandering. On the one hand, it's subject matter -- pedophilia -- is decidedly sensationalistic. On the other hand, the movie does not go out of its way to portray the child victims in a prurient manner, the actual offense is relatively tame by the standards of today's daily news, and most of the film's attention is devoted to one victim's parents as they attempt to goad the corrupt local government into prosecuting the wealthy and politically-connected offender. It all ends up as a courtroom thriller, in which the emotional state of a young girl facing a hostile, overbearing and manipulative defense attorney evokes as much tension as the fate of the defendant himself.
These Are the Damned is almost two movies in one, not quite seamlessly joined. It begins as the tale of an American tourist in a postwar English seaside town. Lured into a backstreet by the charms of a sultry local girl, he's promptly set upon, beaten and robbed by a weirdly well-organized gang of black-leather clad, motorcycle-riding "teddy boys". How weirdly well-organized are they? After apparently spending most of the day draping themselves over a 18th-century statue on the waterfront and scaring tourists, when their suit-and-tie-clad leader gives them a signal, they all get up and march in formation into the alley to await their prey, all whistling their bizarrely cheery theme tune in unison like the British POWs of The Bridge on the River Kwai.
Black leather, black leather, smash smash smash!
Black leather, black leather, crash crash crash!
Black leather, black leather, kill kill kill!
First heard in a rock-n-roll arrangement while Our Hero and his duplicitous date walk down the street, this happy little tune makes several thematic appearances throughout the film: whistled in unison as a marching song, above, and later whistled, this time solo, by various gang members signalling to each other during a tense nighttime stalk.
It's in the middle of this nighttime stalk that the movie shifts gears into a completely different story. A mysterious British military officer and his foreign mistress, who has arrived to take up residence in a guest house on his seaside property and pursue her artistic calling of creating strange lumpy sculptures, have made cryptic appearances earlier in the film, most notably as Knowledgable Locals to whom our bruised and bloodied American tourist commisserates after his unfortunate back alley encounter. Turns out they're not just background extras after all, and we're not watching a cautionary thriller about motorcycle gangs after all. No, there's some kind of sinister secret military base on the seashore, ringed with barbed wire fences and patrolled by soldiers with guard dogs. And the purpose of this military base appears to be to supervise a group of young children who are being raised in underground caves, educated via closed-circuit television, and visited only by soldiers in heavy protective gear.
I won't give away any spoilers, other than to note that the movie is based on a novel entitled The Children of Light, that the "teddy boys" so important to the first half of the movie are almost completely forgotten in the second half, and that with Hammer Films at the helm, the operant rule of horror movies -- "anyone can die" -- is in full effect, and British filmmakers do not, like many Hollywood filmmakers, insist on producing happy endings.
Never Take Candy From a Stranger / These Are the Damned
I ordered this double DVD of 1960-vintage thrillers because someone on a listserv said interesting things about These Are the Damned.
Never Take Candy From a Stranger is an uncomfortable film, and I'm not sure whether to dismiss it as mere sensationalistic pandering. On the one hand, it's subject matter -- pedophilia -- is decidedly sensationalistic. On the other hand, the movie does not go out of its way to portray the child victims in a prurient manner, the actual offense is relatively tame by the standards of today's daily news, and most of the film's attention is devoted to one victim's parents as they attempt to goad the corrupt local government into prosecuting the wealthy and politically-connected offender. It all ends up as a courtroom thriller, in which the emotional state of a young girl facing a hostile, overbearing and manipulative defense attorney evokes as much tension as the fate of the defendant himself.
These Are the Damned is almost two movies in one, not quite seamlessly joined. It begins as the tale of an American tourist in a postwar English seaside town. Lured into a backstreet by the charms of a sultry local girl, he's promptly set upon, beaten and robbed by a weirdly well-organized gang of black-leather clad, motorcycle-riding "teddy boys". How weirdly well-organized are they? After apparently spending most of the day draping themselves over a 18th-century statue on the waterfront and scaring tourists, when their suit-and-tie-clad leader gives them a signal, they all get up and march in formation into the alley to await their prey, all whistling their bizarrely cheery theme tune in unison like the British POWs of The Bridge on the River Kwai.
Black leather, black leather, smash smash smash!
Black leather, black leather, crash crash crash!
Black leather, black leather, kill kill kill!
First heard in a rock-n-roll arrangement while Our Hero and his duplicitous date walk down the street, this happy little tune makes several thematic appearances throughout the film: whistled in unison as a marching song, above, and later whistled, this time solo, by various gang members signalling to each other during a tense nighttime stalk.
It's in the middle of this nighttime stalk that the movie shifts gears into a completely different story. A mysterious British military officer and his foreign mistress, who has arrived to take up residence in a guest house on his seaside property and pursue her artistic calling of creating strange lumpy sculptures, have made cryptic appearances earlier in the film, most notably as Knowledgable Locals to whom our bruised and bloodied American tourist commisserates after his unfortunate back alley encounter. Turns out they're not just background extras after all, and we're not watching a cautionary thriller about motorcycle gangs after all. No, there's some kind of sinister secret military base on the seashore, ringed with barbed wire fences and patrolled by soldiers with guard dogs. And the purpose of this military base appears to be to supervise a group of young children who are being raised in underground caves, educated via closed-circuit television, and visited only by soldiers in heavy protective gear.
I won't give away any spoilers, other than to note that the movie is based on a novel entitled The Children of Light, that the "teddy boys" so important to the first half of the movie are almost completely forgotten in the second half, and that with Hammer Films at the helm, the operant rule of horror movies -- "anyone can die" -- is in full effect, and British filmmakers do not, like many Hollywood filmmakers, insist on producing happy endings.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Poetry Wednesday
Dirge
by William Alexander Percy
Tuck the earth, fold the sod,
Drop the hollow-sounding clod.
Quiet's come; time for sleeping,
Tired out of mirth and weeping,
Calmed at last of mirth and weeping.
Tuck the earth, fold the sod;
Quiet's here, maybe God.
(Published in The Double Dealer, Nov. 1923, p. 201)
Dirge
by William Alexander Percy
Tuck the earth, fold the sod,
Drop the hollow-sounding clod.
Quiet's come; time for sleeping,
Tired out of mirth and weeping,
Calmed at last of mirth and weeping.
Tuck the earth, fold the sod;
Quiet's here, maybe God.
(Published in The Double Dealer, Nov. 1923, p. 201)
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
He knew eldritch evil when he saw it
"As for the Republicans—how can one regard seriously a frightened, greedy, nostalgic huddle of tradesmen and lucky idlers who shut their eyes to history and science, steel their emotions against decent human sympathy, cling to sordid and provincial ideals exalting sheer acquisitiveness and condoning artificial hardship for the non-materially-shrewd, dwell smugly and sentimentally in a distorted dream-cosmos of outmoded phrases and principles and attitudes based on the bygone agricultural-handicraft world, and revel in (consciously or unconsciously) mendacious assumptions (such as the notion that real liberty is synonymous with the single detail of unrestricted economic license or that a rational planning of resource-distribution would contravene some vague and mystical `American heritage'…) utterly contrary to fact and without the slightest foundation in human experience? Intellectually, the Republican idea deserves the tolerance and respect one gives to the dead."--H.P. Lovecraft
Attributed to a 1936 letter by this site; elsewhere stated to be cited in S.T. Joshi's A Dreamer and a Visionary, to which, sadly, I have no quick and convenient access.
"As for the Republicans—how can one regard seriously a frightened, greedy, nostalgic huddle of tradesmen and lucky idlers who shut their eyes to history and science, steel their emotions against decent human sympathy, cling to sordid and provincial ideals exalting sheer acquisitiveness and condoning artificial hardship for the non-materially-shrewd, dwell smugly and sentimentally in a distorted dream-cosmos of outmoded phrases and principles and attitudes based on the bygone agricultural-handicraft world, and revel in (consciously or unconsciously) mendacious assumptions (such as the notion that real liberty is synonymous with the single detail of unrestricted economic license or that a rational planning of resource-distribution would contravene some vague and mystical `American heritage'…) utterly contrary to fact and without the slightest foundation in human experience? Intellectually, the Republican idea deserves the tolerance and respect one gives to the dead."--H.P. Lovecraft
Attributed to a 1936 letter by this site; elsewhere stated to be cited in S.T. Joshi's A Dreamer and a Visionary, to which, sadly, I have no quick and convenient access.
Refgrunting
Where can I type up a paper? Try the computer lab.
Gorgeous blonde girl: I'm researching sex appeal. Can you show me where to find it?
Stapler is empty.
You know that room, like, on the second floor, where you can do stuff, is it open? Yes, the media computer lab is open.
I put my thing in the computer and it won't let me open stuff. What kind of document is it? Like, Word or something. Try the computer lab.
Where can I type up a paper? Try the computer lab.
Gorgeous blonde girl: I'm researching sex appeal. Can you show me where to find it?
Stapler is empty.
You know that room, like, on the second floor, where you can do stuff, is it open? Yes, the media computer lab is open.
I put my thing in the computer and it won't let me open stuff. What kind of document is it? Like, Word or something. Try the computer lab.
News noted
The work of religion continues apace. Congratulations to the religious leaders on both sides who continue to successfully divide people and turn them against each other. Another slaughter accomplished.
McDonalds orders workers to vote Republican.
SF writer Charles Stross excorciates the runaway popularity, lagging originality, and selective historical amnesia of steampunk.
Controversy over whether companies can patent the human genome. US Justice department says nay.
The Battlin' Boomers' first baseman is profiled by the NYT in the wake of his victorious trip to the World Series. At the ripe old age of 33 he's described as a grizzled, widely-traveled veteran. Also as a north Texan who grew up listening to the same Rangers games I listened to in college. Steve Buechele is not forgotten.
The work of religion continues apace. Congratulations to the religious leaders on both sides who continue to successfully divide people and turn them against each other. Another slaughter accomplished.
McDonalds orders workers to vote Republican.
SF writer Charles Stross excorciates the runaway popularity, lagging originality, and selective historical amnesia of steampunk.
Controversy over whether companies can patent the human genome. US Justice department says nay.
The Battlin' Boomers' first baseman is profiled by the NYT in the wake of his victorious trip to the World Series. At the ripe old age of 33 he's described as a grizzled, widely-traveled veteran. Also as a north Texan who grew up listening to the same Rangers games I listened to in college. Steve Buechele is not forgotten.
NaBloPoMo prompt #2
"Tell us the story of a piece of jewelry you own. Where did it come from, and what does it mean to you?"
Well. Let's see. A gold chain given by grandparents, never worn. Two neckerchief clasps from Boy Scout days, one broken. One orphaned cufflink, never worn. A black button-cover, never worn. A couple of watches given by various people, both non working and not worn for years. Make of those what you will.
"Tell us the story of a piece of jewelry you own. Where did it come from, and what does it mean to you?"
Well. Let's see. A gold chain given by grandparents, never worn. Two neckerchief clasps from Boy Scout days, one broken. One orphaned cufflink, never worn. A black button-cover, never worn. A couple of watches given by various people, both non working and not worn for years. Make of those what you will.
Monday, November 01, 2010
NaBloPoMo
Spotted this just in time to jump onboard: National Blog Posting Month. Because the world has a severe shortage of poorly edited, rambling personal thoughts being batted about the internet.
Actually, it does seem that most of the personal blogs I used to read and enjoy have gone dark in the past few years. Perhaps Facebook ate them, or sucked away all the exhibitionistic desire to discuss one's thoughts before the stage of all the world that once fueled the blogging craze. If so, I don't consider it a particularly good trade. Facebook is good for posting pictures, links, and very short blurbs, but terrible as a medium for in depth personal writing.
Real life changes have affected my own little mini-biome within the blogosphere as well, as I've lost contact with various individuals who once formed connecting threads, or nexii of connection, to other individuals. Some of them are active on Facebook, posting pictures and links and "likes" and comments, but not writing much beyond a sentence or two in length. Others, presumably with more to say but less desire for attention from this quarter, are still blogging away behind password-walls. Others have vanished entirely or moved on to other addresses and activities, leaving only the record of their past postings as a kind of neglected monument. Old threads detach and drift away; new threads may form.
Anyway. Perhaps it will be entertaining to respond to some of NaBloPoMo's writing prompts. Number one is easy. "How would your life change if you didn't have rent or a mortgage to pay, i.e., if your housing was free?" That's easy. I would have some hope of paying off credit cards.
See? Like I said. In depth personal writing.
Spotted this just in time to jump onboard: National Blog Posting Month. Because the world has a severe shortage of poorly edited, rambling personal thoughts being batted about the internet.
Actually, it does seem that most of the personal blogs I used to read and enjoy have gone dark in the past few years. Perhaps Facebook ate them, or sucked away all the exhibitionistic desire to discuss one's thoughts before the stage of all the world that once fueled the blogging craze. If so, I don't consider it a particularly good trade. Facebook is good for posting pictures, links, and very short blurbs, but terrible as a medium for in depth personal writing.
Real life changes have affected my own little mini-biome within the blogosphere as well, as I've lost contact with various individuals who once formed connecting threads, or nexii of connection, to other individuals. Some of them are active on Facebook, posting pictures and links and "likes" and comments, but not writing much beyond a sentence or two in length. Others, presumably with more to say but less desire for attention from this quarter, are still blogging away behind password-walls. Others have vanished entirely or moved on to other addresses and activities, leaving only the record of their past postings as a kind of neglected monument. Old threads detach and drift away; new threads may form.
Anyway. Perhaps it will be entertaining to respond to some of NaBloPoMo's writing prompts. Number one is easy. "How would your life change if you didn't have rent or a mortgage to pay, i.e., if your housing was free?" That's easy. I would have some hope of paying off credit cards.
See? Like I said. In depth personal writing.
Recent reads
War for the Oaks, by Emma Bull. Along with the works of Charles de Lint, this is one of the works that started the subgenre of urban fantasy that prospered through the 1990s and 2000s before recently being supplanted by Sparkly Vampires In Lurrrve, Pretentious Title With Amusingly Improbable Monsters mashups, and reiterations of steampunk set in a conveniently idealized Victorian age.
It's an amusing and adventurous story that appeals to a number of romantic adolescent urges: the love of music; the wish to possess secret knowledge of another world, and to be able to enter that world; the desire for magical abilities that conveniently short-circuit all those tiresome realistic limitations of the mundane adult world; and the desire to find oneself, and one's own neighborhood, the focus of supernatural attention and importance.
It's also amusing for a middle-aged reader to find that he bears a far greater resemblance to a despised, comically incompetent minor villain of the piece than to any of the romantic heroes that vie for the attention of the supernaturally gifted female musician who is the protagonist of the story. It's not the first time this has happened. In Cabell's Domnei, I felt far more affinity for Ahaseurus than for that gaudy hero Perion.
War for the Oaks, by Emma Bull. Along with the works of Charles de Lint, this is one of the works that started the subgenre of urban fantasy that prospered through the 1990s and 2000s before recently being supplanted by Sparkly Vampires In Lurrrve, Pretentious Title With Amusingly Improbable Monsters mashups, and reiterations of steampunk set in a conveniently idealized Victorian age.
It's an amusing and adventurous story that appeals to a number of romantic adolescent urges: the love of music; the wish to possess secret knowledge of another world, and to be able to enter that world; the desire for magical abilities that conveniently short-circuit all those tiresome realistic limitations of the mundane adult world; and the desire to find oneself, and one's own neighborhood, the focus of supernatural attention and importance.
It's also amusing for a middle-aged reader to find that he bears a far greater resemblance to a despised, comically incompetent minor villain of the piece than to any of the romantic heroes that vie for the attention of the supernaturally gifted female musician who is the protagonist of the story. It's not the first time this has happened. In Cabell's Domnei, I felt far more affinity for Ahaseurus than for that gaudy hero Perion.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Recent viewings
The Bicycle Thief. Atmospheric, low-key black & white European film, ostensibly about an impoverished man who needs his bicycle to earn a living. When the bicycle is stolen, he spends the rest of the day doggedly pursuing the thief through the streets, alleys, churches and bordellos of the city, accompanied by his young son.
Of course, to me the much more interesting story is not the pursuit of the bicycle, but the relationship between father and son. What child, at the age of five or six, does not adore his parents and believe that they are omnipotent beings who can accomplish anything? And what father wants to have his son closely observe him as he struggles and falls short of being the man, the father, the provider that he wants to be?
The Bicycle Thief. Atmospheric, low-key black & white European film, ostensibly about an impoverished man who needs his bicycle to earn a living. When the bicycle is stolen, he spends the rest of the day doggedly pursuing the thief through the streets, alleys, churches and bordellos of the city, accompanied by his young son.
Of course, to me the much more interesting story is not the pursuit of the bicycle, but the relationship between father and son. What child, at the age of five or six, does not adore his parents and believe that they are omnipotent beings who can accomplish anything? And what father wants to have his son closely observe him as he struggles and falls short of being the man, the father, the provider that he wants to be?
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Being politically incorrect
This morning's NYT includes a well-intentioned but clueless editorial equating wariness about Islamism with homophobia. The Times, bastion of free speech that it is, has so far declined to accept the comment that Your Humble Correspondent submitted in response to that editorial. So here it is. (I've corrected a couple of typing errors that slipped in during a rather hurried composition.) Edit, 10/28: comment was in fact published later in the day.
This morning's NYT includes a well-intentioned but clueless editorial equating wariness about Islamism with homophobia. The Times, bastion of free speech that it is, has so far declined to accept the comment that Your Humble Correspondent submitted in response to that editorial. So here it is. (I've corrected a couple of typing errors that slipped in during a rather hurried composition.) Edit, 10/28: comment was in fact published later in the day.
Muslim communities display zero tolerance for women who have the misfortune to be born to Muslim families and who wish to exercise any freedom in their own lives. The Muslim "honor" murders of Aqsa Parvez in Toronto and Amina and Sarah Said in Texas are only the best-known examples of thousands of young women in north America who are brutalized, threatened, and/or intimidated into unwanted arranged marriages by their Muslim families and the insular, self-referential Muslim community.
Homosexuals and those who wish to leave the Islamic religion fare no better when subjected to the dictates of a religion which prescribes murder as the "remedy" for both.
I am a strong proponent of the first amendment and all associated freedoms. But I cannot read an article like this without noting that there's a big difference between homosexuals, who mostly just want to be left alone and have the same rights as everyone else, and a totalitarian religion that openly seeks world domination with absolutely no tolerance granted for the rights of women, homosexuals, or, eventually, nonMuslims.
Yes, the freedom of religion and the freedom to assemble must be respected. But the brutal totalitarianism of Islam, which is deeply ingrained in both its historic culture and its scripture, cannot be permitted to take root and exercise power over the lives of people who do not want to be subject to it, any more than any other abusive religious cult should be permitted to do so. This is the dilemma: how to respect individual religious beliefs, while preventing an insular, totalitarian religion from abusing individuals within its community of followers; how to refrain from exercising state power over religious belief, while preventing an aggressive and brutally domineering religion from gaining the political power to abuse others.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
A new growth industry
Niagara County, New York has figured out how to rejuvenate its economy during an economic recession: Charge people $15.00 to apply for a job.
Niagara County, New York has figured out how to rejuvenate its economy during an economic recession: Charge people $15.00 to apply for a job.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Recent viewings
Citizen Kane. Welles’ epic tale of the rise, fall, and lonely decline of newspaper tycoon Charles Foster Kane is of course a classic, and one described elsewhere with much more critical insight than Your Humble Correspondent can muster even on his best days. I enjoyed it anyway. There are elements to the film that are still visually startling and unsettling even though I’ve seen it before: Welles’ use of extreme contrasts of dark and light, most obvious in scenes where central characters are literally lost in shadows or reduced to featureless silhouettes for dramatic effect. Those long, soaring, moving crane shots, whether zooming in through the scaffolding of a sign and then plunging through a skylight, or slowly panning across the enormous, jumbled heaps of treasures piled up in Kane’s cavernous mansion without a single human being in sight. The claustrophobic low ceilings and cramped spaces of the newspaper offices which Kane utterly fills up and dominates in the most powerful phase of his career, and how they contrast with the towering edifices of his own construction which utterly dwarf him in later scenes. The way that the movie on at least one occasion shows the same sequence of events twice, once from one character’s perspective, then again from another character’s perspective with an entirely different emotional effect.
The scene I have in mind in that last sentence is Susan’s singing debut at the opera house that the wealthy, powerful, successful Kane has had built specifically for that purpose. From the audience perspective, the moments before her debut appear chaotic but “normal”. When seen a few minutes later from her point of view on the stage, it’s frightening, and rapidly gets worse. Kane has decided to rescue her from her previous life by making her a great singer. Unfortunately he neglected to find out whether she was suited for that role, or whether she actually wanted it. Such hamhanded displays of egotism rarely end well.
The movie’s final shot is of course well known, although I won’t commit any spoilers for the sake of the two or three people who don’t already know. Welles reportedly denounced it as a “cheap Freudian trick” in an interview conducted years later, but I still can’t help but see it as an effective metaphor. Sometimes the most fundamentally defining secrets of a person’s life are locked up in the past: moments, events, people so irretrievably lost to them in later life that no one to whom they can talk would know how to understand it even if they were told.
Citizen Kane. Welles’ epic tale of the rise, fall, and lonely decline of newspaper tycoon Charles Foster Kane is of course a classic, and one described elsewhere with much more critical insight than Your Humble Correspondent can muster even on his best days. I enjoyed it anyway. There are elements to the film that are still visually startling and unsettling even though I’ve seen it before: Welles’ use of extreme contrasts of dark and light, most obvious in scenes where central characters are literally lost in shadows or reduced to featureless silhouettes for dramatic effect. Those long, soaring, moving crane shots, whether zooming in through the scaffolding of a sign and then plunging through a skylight, or slowly panning across the enormous, jumbled heaps of treasures piled up in Kane’s cavernous mansion without a single human being in sight. The claustrophobic low ceilings and cramped spaces of the newspaper offices which Kane utterly fills up and dominates in the most powerful phase of his career, and how they contrast with the towering edifices of his own construction which utterly dwarf him in later scenes. The way that the movie on at least one occasion shows the same sequence of events twice, once from one character’s perspective, then again from another character’s perspective with an entirely different emotional effect.
The scene I have in mind in that last sentence is Susan’s singing debut at the opera house that the wealthy, powerful, successful Kane has had built specifically for that purpose. From the audience perspective, the moments before her debut appear chaotic but “normal”. When seen a few minutes later from her point of view on the stage, it’s frightening, and rapidly gets worse. Kane has decided to rescue her from her previous life by making her a great singer. Unfortunately he neglected to find out whether she was suited for that role, or whether she actually wanted it. Such hamhanded displays of egotism rarely end well.
The movie’s final shot is of course well known, although I won’t commit any spoilers for the sake of the two or three people who don’t already know. Welles reportedly denounced it as a “cheap Freudian trick” in an interview conducted years later, but I still can’t help but see it as an effective metaphor. Sometimes the most fundamentally defining secrets of a person’s life are locked up in the past: moments, events, people so irretrievably lost to them in later life that no one to whom they can talk would know how to understand it even if they were told.
Fagbug! A colorful visitor to campus. Turns out the cheerful looking critter has a story.
After her car was vandalized with the word "fag" in crude spray paint, Erin Davies turned the insult around by leaving the graffiti on her car and taking it on an epic road trip as a kind of rolling display piece. After someone scraped off the original graffitti, she had the car decorated more professionally along the same lines. Take that, bigots.
Fortunately, the "fagbug" seems to have met with a more affectionate response here than it did in some other places.
Tropespotting
The "hot/sexy librarian" trope makes an appearance in the oddest of places, a Maureen Dowd column comparing Marilyn Monroe to Sarah Palin. (Ms. Candle-in-the-Wind comes out on top, for at least being interested in books and making a creditable attempt to look smart despite her own self-doubt.)
The "hot/sexy librarian" trope makes an appearance in the oddest of places, a Maureen Dowd column comparing Marilyn Monroe to Sarah Palin. (Ms. Candle-in-the-Wind comes out on top, for at least being interested in books and making a creditable attempt to look smart despite her own self-doubt.)
Monday, October 18, 2010
Become a magazine publisher for just $1.00
Douglas Cohen, editor of Realms of Fantasy, reports sad news:
So. Any optimistic would-be magazine moguls out there?
Douglas Cohen, editor of Realms of Fantasy, reports sad news:
I invested more than $50,000.00 of my own money into reviving this magazine. I tried every traditional method I could think of to increase the circulation, but nothing worked. I also spent a great deal of money trying nontraditional methods....
...Ultimately, I believe Realms failed because of a terrible economic climate. When I purchased the magazine I did not believe that the worst economy since the Great Depression would actually get worse; that was a mistake.
Should there be any interest in purchasing the magazine I will gladly sell Realms to a responsible party for $1.00 and give them the finished files for the December issue....
So. Any optimistic would-be magazine moguls out there?
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Fortunate find
Orwell first edition turns up in donation pile
I applaud, without necessarily sharing, the selflessness of the volunteer who alerted the agency to which the book was donated, rather than purchasing it for himself.
Orwell first edition turns up in donation pile
I applaud, without necessarily sharing, the selflessness of the volunteer who alerted the agency to which the book was donated, rather than purchasing it for himself.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
The gleanings of the morning
A couple of interesting articles on the treatment of mind-altering drugs in science fiction, one from eminence-grise Robert Silverberg, ca. 1974, and one from Robert Marcus, the head of a drug-policy lobbying group called Drugscope.
http://www.eric.ed.gov/PDFS/ED112299.pdf
http://ansible.co.uk/DreamDust.pdf (could use some copyediting....)
And with that, off to a meeting in which I'm supposed to help sit in judgement on a prospective university administrator. I doubt that I'll have much opportunity to singlehandedly preserve academic freedom or job security, though.
A couple of interesting articles on the treatment of mind-altering drugs in science fiction, one from eminence-grise Robert Silverberg, ca. 1974, and one from Robert Marcus, the head of a drug-policy lobbying group called Drugscope.
http://www.eric.ed.gov/PDFS/ED112299.pdf
http://ansible.co.uk/DreamDust.pdf (could use some copyediting....)
And with that, off to a meeting in which I'm supposed to help sit in judgement on a prospective university administrator. I doubt that I'll have much opportunity to singlehandedly preserve academic freedom or job security, though.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Airship pirates, now with added aetheritude!
An interesting crew of folks made landfall at RealmsCon 2010.
An interesting crew of folks made landfall at RealmsCon 2010.
Friday, October 08, 2010
Recent viewings
Taking a brief break from fantasy-baseball ramblings:
The Sandbaggers, season 1, episodes 1 and 2. Late-1970s British spy drama about a cadre of "special operatives" working for the British government during the Cold War. Interesting for focusing more on the domestic bureaucratic difficulties faced by the "sandbaggers", and their sometimes dicey relationships with their NATO allies, than on their Soviet foes. In the first two episodes, there's very little action, but no shortage of tension as cold-eyed British spymaster Neil Burnside attempts to pull the right political strings to get his operatives permission to do their jobs as he thinks they should be done, while attempting (not always successfully) to keep them from being sent on suicidally stupid missions. The science-fantasy gadgets, improbable feats, and one-sided cheerleading of the James Bond movies are nowhere to be seen. In the first episode, a furious but icily calm Burnside explicitly states to someone who has placed his agents in unnecessary danger: "If you want James Bond, go to the library." The moral hypocrisy of politicians is highlighted in the second episode, where we find that for the Sandbaggers, that much-vaunted "licence to kill" depends more on the political convenience of current officeholders than on moral principle. For once, the typical British television low-budget production adds to the realism rather than detracting from it, as the shabby, crowded offices, clunky 1970s telephones and intercoms, and rusty little cars used by the operatives are all too believable for "overworked and underpaid" public servants taken for granted by the politicians they serve.
Grave of the Fireflies. As usual with Japanese animation, the scenery is gorgeous, although the foreground characters are sometimes a bit too much like caricatures for my taste. As is also frequently the case with Japanese animation, it addresses a story much, much grimmer than Western animation usually tackles. Those who see this movie expecting a lighthearted, Disneyesque "family film" are in for a surprise. Within the first fifteen minutes of the film, our oh-so-cute protagonists, a young boy and his even younger sister, are subjected to a brutal incendiary American air raid, driven from their idyllicly-portrayed home, and made homeless refugees. And then it gets worse. Much worse. The same movie that portrays its 1940s Japenese villages and countryside in lovingly detailed, shimmering, nostalgic watercolors, also forthrightly portrays the aftermath of aerial incendiary warfare against civilian populations. This includes stacks of charred bodies, and in particular the visibly horribly marred body of a major character. Later, we see the corpse of said major character visibly crawling with maggots. This is not to say that every scene is a horrific shocker. There are, in fact, plenty of scenes in which we, the viewers, get to watch while the protagonist tries valiantly to create an idyllic, sheltered life for his little sister despite the horrors that surround them, and for a time, we get to witness some of those glorious moments in which children discover, for the first time, beauty that adults have long since learned to ignore. The back-and-forth pendulum-swing between the two cannot be supported forever, and by the end, not one Disneyesque cliche or plot device is left standing. Family values? The goodness and generosity of the human race? The belief that fate, or God, intervenes to protect the cute? The "noble savage" dream of living off the land? No, no, no, and no. I found a certain montage of scenes near the end rather cloying, but no doubt it's not that different from what was going through the protagonist's mind. I've had the experience of being haunted by similar imagined images. I can't say I enjoyed this movie, but I respect the makers for telling a story so radically different from what audiences of animated films expect (at least in the Western world), and for rigorously avoiding an easy cop-out Hollywood ending.
Taking a brief break from fantasy-baseball ramblings:
The Sandbaggers, season 1, episodes 1 and 2. Late-1970s British spy drama about a cadre of "special operatives" working for the British government during the Cold War. Interesting for focusing more on the domestic bureaucratic difficulties faced by the "sandbaggers", and their sometimes dicey relationships with their NATO allies, than on their Soviet foes. In the first two episodes, there's very little action, but no shortage of tension as cold-eyed British spymaster Neil Burnside attempts to pull the right political strings to get his operatives permission to do their jobs as he thinks they should be done, while attempting (not always successfully) to keep them from being sent on suicidally stupid missions. The science-fantasy gadgets, improbable feats, and one-sided cheerleading of the James Bond movies are nowhere to be seen. In the first episode, a furious but icily calm Burnside explicitly states to someone who has placed his agents in unnecessary danger: "If you want James Bond, go to the library." The moral hypocrisy of politicians is highlighted in the second episode, where we find that for the Sandbaggers, that much-vaunted "licence to kill" depends more on the political convenience of current officeholders than on moral principle. For once, the typical British television low-budget production adds to the realism rather than detracting from it, as the shabby, crowded offices, clunky 1970s telephones and intercoms, and rusty little cars used by the operatives are all too believable for "overworked and underpaid" public servants taken for granted by the politicians they serve.
Grave of the Fireflies. As usual with Japanese animation, the scenery is gorgeous, although the foreground characters are sometimes a bit too much like caricatures for my taste. As is also frequently the case with Japanese animation, it addresses a story much, much grimmer than Western animation usually tackles. Those who see this movie expecting a lighthearted, Disneyesque "family film" are in for a surprise. Within the first fifteen minutes of the film, our oh-so-cute protagonists, a young boy and his even younger sister, are subjected to a brutal incendiary American air raid, driven from their idyllicly-portrayed home, and made homeless refugees. And then it gets worse. Much worse. The same movie that portrays its 1940s Japenese villages and countryside in lovingly detailed, shimmering, nostalgic watercolors, also forthrightly portrays the aftermath of aerial incendiary warfare against civilian populations. This includes stacks of charred bodies, and in particular the visibly horribly marred body of a major character. Later, we see the corpse of said major character visibly crawling with maggots. This is not to say that every scene is a horrific shocker. There are, in fact, plenty of scenes in which we, the viewers, get to watch while the protagonist tries valiantly to create an idyllic, sheltered life for his little sister despite the horrors that surround them, and for a time, we get to witness some of those glorious moments in which children discover, for the first time, beauty that adults have long since learned to ignore. The back-and-forth pendulum-swing between the two cannot be supported forever, and by the end, not one Disneyesque cliche or plot device is left standing. Family values? The goodness and generosity of the human race? The belief that fate, or God, intervenes to protect the cute? The "noble savage" dream of living off the land? No, no, no, and no. I found a certain montage of scenes near the end rather cloying, but no doubt it's not that different from what was going through the protagonist's mind. I've had the experience of being haunted by similar imagined images. I can't say I enjoyed this movie, but I respect the makers for telling a story so radically different from what audiences of animated films expect (at least in the Western world), and for rigorously avoiding an easy cop-out Hollywood ending.
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
Battlin' Boomers season in review : part 1
To start with, here are the final season standings for the Southwest Sluggos, organized by Commissioner "SteveJ". The Boomers' second place finish, while respectable enough for a rookie manager, leaves room for improvement. It's obvious that I was one of the most activist managers in the league, with more than double the number of "moves" (adds/drops of players from the team roster) of any other manager. There was a reason for this, as will become clear in a future discussion.
.....
Now let's look at the overall points won by each team in the league. For those unfamiliar with rotisserie-league fantasy baseball, here's how it works. In each statistical category, teams are ranked from 1 (worst) to 12 (best). The ranks are then added up into a total score. Theoretically, a team that was tops in every statistic in a 12-team, 10-category league could get a maximum score of 120. As you can see, "C55E" came pretty close to doing this. At least I lost to a very strong competitor. The Boomers' rankings are strong across the board, with my weakest stats being Home Runs, Stolen Bases, (Batting) Avg., and ERA (Earned Run Average). The next chart will help cast more light on this. It is worth noting that throughout the season, I tried to manage to my weaknesses; that is, I consciously made an effort to be no worse than average in any category, and sought out players who would improve my team's weakest areas. Some fantasy-baseball commentators argue that one should concede one or two categories in order to excel elsewhere. I disagree. In my (admittedly limited) experience, it's easier to rise from awful to mediocre than to rise from mediocre to the top of the rankings, especially when one or two teams are accumulating massive "overkill" stats in particular categories. And the ranks from 1 to 6 count just as much, in the final total, as the ones from 7 to 12.
.....
This chart shows the Boomers' ranking in each stat relative to the other teams in the league. Brown "tabs" indicate where they were tied with another team. Measured in terms of raw totals, rather than rankings, everything looks pretty good except for HRs, SBs, and AVG, which look awful. And yet I'm not terribly dissatisfied with the HR and SB rankings. Rankings, not raw totals, are what counts in rotisserie baseball, and despite the towering leads that the category leaders in HRs and SBs accumulated, the Boomers still came out above average in rankings. In achieving massive "overkill" totals in one statistic, about half the teams that ranked very high in one of these categories had below-average results in the other, suggesting that they relied too much on one dimensional players, "sluggers" or "speedsters", and did not achieve a good balance between the two. (See second chart.) The exceptions: C55E and the Kiwis, both of whom are notable for having drafted several multi-dimensional players with both exceptional power and exceptional speed. (C55E, evidently, was more selective than the Kiwis in terms of batting average.) The Boomers, sadly, had only one season-long player, the Phillies' Jayson Werth, who put up notably above-average results in both HRs and SBs and also had a better-than-average batting average. The other guys in my lineup tended to excel in one or two categories, being either powerhitters, or speedsters, or contact hitters whose high batting averages allowed them to rack up a lot of runs or RBIs, but did not excel in all three of those categories. By very actively swapping them out from one day to the next, I kept a good balance in overall production, but could not match the productivity of teams that had rosters full of players doing all three at the same time.
For the past six months or so, at the behest of old college chum "SteveJ", I've been managing a Yahoo fantasy baseball team called, for no particular reason, the Battlin' Boomers. The season is over, and it's time to review strategies that did and didn't work.
To start with, here are the final season standings for the Southwest Sluggos, organized by Commissioner "SteveJ". The Boomers' second place finish, while respectable enough for a rookie manager, leaves room for improvement. It's obvious that I was one of the most activist managers in the league, with more than double the number of "moves" (adds/drops of players from the team roster) of any other manager. There was a reason for this, as will become clear in a future discussion......
Now let's look at the overall points won by each team in the league. For those unfamiliar with rotisserie-league fantasy baseball, here's how it works. In each statistical category, teams are ranked from 1 (worst) to 12 (best). The ranks are then added up into a total score. Theoretically, a team that was tops in every statistic in a 12-team, 10-category league could get a maximum score of 120. As you can see, "C55E" came pretty close to doing this. At least I lost to a very strong competitor. The Boomers' rankings are strong across the board, with my weakest stats being Home Runs, Stolen Bases, (Batting) Avg., and ERA (Earned Run Average). The next chart will help cast more light on this. It is worth noting that throughout the season, I tried to manage to my weaknesses; that is, I consciously made an effort to be no worse than average in any category, and sought out players who would improve my team's weakest areas. Some fantasy-baseball commentators argue that one should concede one or two categories in order to excel elsewhere. I disagree. In my (admittedly limited) experience, it's easier to rise from awful to mediocre than to rise from mediocre to the top of the rankings, especially when one or two teams are accumulating massive "overkill" stats in particular categories. And the ranks from 1 to 6 count just as much, in the final total, as the ones from 7 to 12......
This chart shows the Boomers' ranking in each stat relative to the other teams in the league. Brown "tabs" indicate where they were tied with another team. Measured in terms of raw totals, rather than rankings, everything looks pretty good except for HRs, SBs, and AVG, which look awful. And yet I'm not terribly dissatisfied with the HR and SB rankings. Rankings, not raw totals, are what counts in rotisserie baseball, and despite the towering leads that the category leaders in HRs and SBs accumulated, the Boomers still came out above average in rankings. In achieving massive "overkill" totals in one statistic, about half the teams that ranked very high in one of these categories had below-average results in the other, suggesting that they relied too much on one dimensional players, "sluggers" or "speedsters", and did not achieve a good balance between the two. (See second chart.) The exceptions: C55E and the Kiwis, both of whom are notable for having drafted several multi-dimensional players with both exceptional power and exceptional speed. (C55E, evidently, was more selective than the Kiwis in terms of batting average.) The Boomers, sadly, had only one season-long player, the Phillies' Jayson Werth, who put up notably above-average results in both HRs and SBs and also had a better-than-average batting average. The other guys in my lineup tended to excel in one or two categories, being either powerhitters, or speedsters, or contact hitters whose high batting averages allowed them to rack up a lot of runs or RBIs, but did not excel in all three of those categories. By very actively swapping them out from one day to the next, I kept a good balance in overall production, but could not match the productivity of teams that had rosters full of players doing all three at the same time......
Next up: Draft strategy (or lack thereof), and its consequences.
Friday, October 01, 2010
Poetry Friday
Kit Marlowe to Cabell
By Joseph T. Shipley
Published in The Double Dealer, Feb. 1923.
Pastels are diffident. Play a carmine, bold
Across the sheets. Blood, man; pour blood!
Have you any in you?
Life's not a questing for will-o'-the-wisps,
Delicate, flitting a lure;
Life is a lust, a fever;
Life burns at both ends.
..... You speak of a veil with twenty-seven slits;
Life tears veils aside.
..... Have you ever waited, on a stormy night of spring,
Fallen foul of a maid, and bundled her,
A delicious squirming squealing petticoat,
To a cosy bed,
Tousled and tussling, only half afraid,
But able now to cry she was unwilling --
Have you ever fought all comers for a maid?
..... When were you drunk last, James?
Have you ever reeled, rollicking, damning the state,
Spun a corner -- into the arms of the law?
You and a pal or two, and for a lark
Muzzled the watch and borne their lanterns off
And stopped all honest citizens on their way
And bunked them in a stable for the night?
List me your pranks; I'll match them double-time,
Or hang my tail upon the tavern-port
For gulls to twit.
..... Man's love of woman is the least of life --
Like food, perhaps, but no more imminent;
Man builds his world on lust of gold or power.
Fashion a harem where a king may loll,
Anthony, Heliogabalus.
And the people writes -- but let the king grow wroth,
Let him sweep conquering over continents,
Alexander, Caesar, or our own great king,
And patriots run to die to clear his way.
..... You pick me (thanks, friend), out of a many more
And say I am the true economist.
How Moll would laugh, if she caught the praise,
Dangling my empty purse from her finger-tip
And pouting for silk hose to match her garters!
My life, you say, was spent wisely. Did I wear
A cloak whose pattern was my choosing? Wish
The way I went? I burned across my years
Like any guzzler on the Mermaid bench
Who drank and fought and whored to kill King Time.
..... There is a fellow here; love's labors' lost
Indeed ('twas a play he wrote) trying to fuddle him.
We mock him when he sips his sober glass
And holds back from out boisterous company --
What a world of fun he misses -- yet I know
That had I held myself like him, the flame
That flares in me might be a steady glow
Through decades --
..... Did you see the wench that passed
The window, turned her eye this way -- just now?
Rare-fashioned for these parts, icod! is my
Feather flaunting? I'll be after her;
It's April since I've kissed as fair a face.
Don't smile, you humbug; but I saw her first,
You have no claim. One word before I go:
Match me a Tamerlane with Kennaston,
Pit Jurgen to my Faustus; strike the flint;
Stir in their bowels the search man never ends,
And I have lusty life where you have -- love.
Damme! I'll lose her 'less I hurry off.
Smear carmine on your pages, James. Farewell.
Kit Marlowe to Cabell
By Joseph T. Shipley
Published in The Double Dealer, Feb. 1923.
Pastels are diffident. Play a carmine, bold
Across the sheets. Blood, man; pour blood!
Have you any in you?
Life's not a questing for will-o'-the-wisps,
Delicate, flitting a lure;
Life is a lust, a fever;
Life burns at both ends.
..... You speak of a veil with twenty-seven slits;
Life tears veils aside.
..... Have you ever waited, on a stormy night of spring,
Fallen foul of a maid, and bundled her,
A delicious squirming squealing petticoat,
To a cosy bed,
Tousled and tussling, only half afraid,
But able now to cry she was unwilling --
Have you ever fought all comers for a maid?
..... When were you drunk last, James?
Have you ever reeled, rollicking, damning the state,
Spun a corner -- into the arms of the law?
You and a pal or two, and for a lark
Muzzled the watch and borne their lanterns off
And stopped all honest citizens on their way
And bunked them in a stable for the night?
List me your pranks; I'll match them double-time,
Or hang my tail upon the tavern-port
For gulls to twit.
..... Man's love of woman is the least of life --
Like food, perhaps, but no more imminent;
Man builds his world on lust of gold or power.
Fashion a harem where a king may loll,
Anthony, Heliogabalus.
And the people writes -- but let the king grow wroth,
Let him sweep conquering over continents,
Alexander, Caesar, or our own great king,
And patriots run to die to clear his way.
..... You pick me (thanks, friend), out of a many more
And say I am the true economist.
How Moll would laugh, if she caught the praise,
Dangling my empty purse from her finger-tip
And pouting for silk hose to match her garters!
My life, you say, was spent wisely. Did I wear
A cloak whose pattern was my choosing? Wish
The way I went? I burned across my years
Like any guzzler on the Mermaid bench
Who drank and fought and whored to kill King Time.
..... There is a fellow here; love's labors' lost
Indeed ('twas a play he wrote) trying to fuddle him.
We mock him when he sips his sober glass
And holds back from out boisterous company --
What a world of fun he misses -- yet I know
That had I held myself like him, the flame
That flares in me might be a steady glow
Through decades --
..... Did you see the wench that passed
The window, turned her eye this way -- just now?
Rare-fashioned for these parts, icod! is my
Feather flaunting? I'll be after her;
It's April since I've kissed as fair a face.
Don't smile, you humbug; but I saw her first,
You have no claim. One word before I go:
Match me a Tamerlane with Kennaston,
Pit Jurgen to my Faustus; strike the flint;
Stir in their bowels the search man never ends,
And I have lusty life where you have -- love.
Damme! I'll lose her 'less I hurry off.
Smear carmine on your pages, James. Farewell.
Creating Chaos
From Historynet.com by way of Arts & Letters Daily : a useful and entertaining account of T.E. Lawrence and the Arab Revolt of 1916 which succinctly explains much of the political chaos and anti-western suspicion that has characterized the Middle East ever since.
From Historynet.com by way of Arts & Letters Daily : a useful and entertaining account of T.E. Lawrence and the Arab Revolt of 1916 which succinctly explains much of the political chaos and anti-western suspicion that has characterized the Middle East ever since.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Attention Sherlockians and Adventure Tales... ians(?)
Wildside Press's electronic newsletter reports that they have two issues of fiction magazines available for free promotional download. Enjoy, if that's your thing.
Wildside Press's electronic newsletter reports that they have two issues of fiction magazines available for free promotional download. Enjoy, if that's your thing.
Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine #4 and Adventure Tales
#6 may be downloaded via Rapidshare:
http://rapidshare.com/files/422176735/shmm4.pdf
http://rapidshare.com/files/422176143/AT6.pdf
Adventure Tales #6 includes several tasty oddities, including an H. Bedford-Jones ("King of the Pulps"!) profile and story; poetry by Clark Ashton Smith; and a Fritz Leiber sonnet (!!!) about the Grey Mouser.
Amber by Night
Carlos, should he revisit this dusty forgotten corner of the blogosphere, may enjoy this review by the esteemable and invaluable TangognaT. It appears to fall directly into the "hot female librarian" genre of manga.
Sadly, neither Ameila nor Amber are reported to wield magical pieces of paper, slay horrific monsters, or perform death-defying feats of acrobatics.
Carlos, should he revisit this dusty forgotten corner of the blogosphere, may enjoy this review by the esteemable and invaluable TangognaT. It appears to fall directly into the "hot female librarian" genre of manga.
Amelia is a typical bookworm librarian. But she has a secret. At night, she works as a provocatively dressed waitress named Amber....
Sadly, neither Ameila nor Amber are reported to wield magical pieces of paper, slay horrific monsters, or perform death-defying feats of acrobatics.
Digging up the past
Long long ago in a galaxy far far away, your humble correspondent attended a creative-writing class. One of the students in the class submitted a poem which included a couple of lines that have stuck with me ever since, regardless of whatever merit the poem as a whole might have had.
Paging Geraldo....
Open, Sez Me
Diving into the Wreck : Day 1
Dumpster Diving : Day 2
My Back Pages : Day 3
Scraping the bottom of the barrel : Day 4
My boxes and trunks of debris (and blowing sand) contain similar notebooks and stuff. So why aren't I a successful author? The fault, dear Cassius, is surely in my stars.
Long long ago in a galaxy far far away, your humble correspondent attended a creative-writing class. One of the students in the class submitted a poem which included a couple of lines that have stuck with me ever since, regardless of whatever merit the poem as a whole might have had.
The sands of time bury the past. Without them, life would cease.Since I've been doing a little personal archaeology myself lately, I felt a certain degree of kinship when I read author and Inferior 4 + 1 blogger Paul Witcover's description of his excavation of a trunk of personal possessions that had remained locked since his college days.
But sand can blow away sometimes, revealing hidden graves.
Paging Geraldo....
Open, Sez Me
Diving into the Wreck : Day 1
Dumpster Diving : Day 2
My Back Pages : Day 3
Scraping the bottom of the barrel : Day 4
My boxes and trunks of debris (and blowing sand) contain similar notebooks and stuff. So why aren't I a successful author? The fault, dear Cassius, is surely in my stars.
News of the weird
Some startling news from the Telegraph:
Aliens have deactivated British and US nuclear missiles, say US military pilots
The story below seems more like something I would expect in Texas, but sure enough it's from way up north in "librul" Yankeeland.
Assistant attorney general blogs against gay student body president
Hm. A couple of people I know have boasted of their accurate "gaydar". Feel free to comment about the video in that link.
And finally... one of the most misguided seduction attempts of all time. Why is it that over and over again, hyperconservative ideologues end up making public fools of themselves with bizarrely inappropriate sexual behavior? Bill O'Reilly with his strange obsession with loofahs, falafels, and sexual harassment of female employees; Ted Haggard's prediliction for drugs and male prostitutes; Larry Craig's "wide stance" shenanigans in airport bathrooms; Mark Foley's sleazy electronic pursuit of teenage Congressional pages. Now comes ... (or doesn't, if you take my meaning) .... James O'Keefe, the right-wing "fake pimp" best known for smearing the voters-rights group ACORN with selectively-edited video footage portraying himself as a ludicrously stereotypical "pimp" seeking advice about dealing with imaginary prostitutes, then getting caught trying to wiretap the telephone of a US Senator. Evidently Mr. O'Keefe thinks he's pretty hot stuff. So hot that, if he could only lure CNN reporter Abbie Boudreau onto a floating "pleasure palace" stocked with enticing condom jars, sex toys, posters of naked women, and a bed set up with a video camera, she would inevitably fall for his manly charms and provide him with invaluable video "seduction" footage that, with just a little of his trademarked "selective editing", he could use to embarrass CNN.
No, really. Read the story here and here. And here, with entertaining commentary.
I don't think our boy James is quite as irresistable to "the lay-dies" as he thinks he is.
Some startling news from the Telegraph:
Aliens have deactivated British and US nuclear missiles, say US military pilots
The story below seems more like something I would expect in Texas, but sure enough it's from way up north in "librul" Yankeeland.
Assistant attorney general blogs against gay student body president
Hm. A couple of people I know have boasted of their accurate "gaydar". Feel free to comment about the video in that link.
And finally... one of the most misguided seduction attempts of all time. Why is it that over and over again, hyperconservative ideologues end up making public fools of themselves with bizarrely inappropriate sexual behavior? Bill O'Reilly with his strange obsession with loofahs, falafels, and sexual harassment of female employees; Ted Haggard's prediliction for drugs and male prostitutes; Larry Craig's "wide stance" shenanigans in airport bathrooms; Mark Foley's sleazy electronic pursuit of teenage Congressional pages. Now comes ... (or doesn't, if you take my meaning) .... James O'Keefe, the right-wing "fake pimp" best known for smearing the voters-rights group ACORN with selectively-edited video footage portraying himself as a ludicrously stereotypical "pimp" seeking advice about dealing with imaginary prostitutes, then getting caught trying to wiretap the telephone of a US Senator. Evidently Mr. O'Keefe thinks he's pretty hot stuff. So hot that, if he could only lure CNN reporter Abbie Boudreau onto a floating "pleasure palace" stocked with enticing condom jars, sex toys, posters of naked women, and a bed set up with a video camera, she would inevitably fall for his manly charms and provide him with invaluable video "seduction" footage that, with just a little of his trademarked "selective editing", he could use to embarrass CNN.
No, really. Read the story here and here. And here, with entertaining commentary.
I don't think our boy James is quite as irresistable to "the lay-dies" as he thinks he is.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Lazy librarians
I'm late to this party, but it seems I should write a little something for those rare folks who may still from time to time stop by to take in the view from this barren, windy little Hill in the blogosphere.
The New York Times reports that Santa Clarita, California, has outsourced its public libraries to a foreign-owned private equity firm, LSSI. The story reports that the CEO of this secretive, for-profit business is quite certain he knows how to improve libraries.
Hey, if he can make unsupported, insulting assertions about the work habits of a profession he doesn't know squat about, so can I. I bet I'm closer to the truth than he is.
The 2004 article from Library Journal linked above also states that LSSI's contracts typically include a clause which forbids the contracting entity from making any critical or negative public statements about LSSI. Corporate image management at its finest! One side of an argument is enough, isn't it? Surely that will make for more efficient collection development.
LJ and other commenters also note that LSSI takes advantage of volunteers to replace paid staff wherever possible. A commenter on the NYT story states that under California law, it is illegal for a for-profit business to skirt the minimum-wage laws by having "volunteers" work for free. This of course begs the question of why on earth any sensible person would volunteer to work for free to boost the profit margin of some distant, rapacious corporation, or bump up Mr. Pezzanite's no-doubt generous annual bonus. Certainly, as George Will noted, the ideal price of labor, from a business perspective, is zero, but I strongly suspect that even if it were legal, the perceived desirability of volunteering at the library would drop once the library was (correctly) perceived as a for-profit enterprise, headquartered elsewhere, with no connection to the local community other than using it as a source of money to be vacuumed away to New York or London. No one volunteers to sort books for free for Barnes & Noble or Borders, just like no one volunteers to work on a GM assembly line, or staff a Macy's retail sales counter, or clean Mr. Pezzanite's dirty underwear for free.
I wonder if Mr. Pezzanite, from his lofty CEO perch, looks forward to living in a society in which the last vestiges of a stable, professional middle class have been eradicated, and the vast majority of the population outside the executive aristocracy lives hand-to-mouth in precarious part time jobs with no healthcare access and a selection of retirement plans consisting of (1) work till you drop or (2) find a sturdy refrigerator box and stock up on catfood. Look out Mexico, we're gonna pass you... going down.
The readers' comments to the NYT article are on the whole more enlightened and thoughtful than the article itself. But of course, the general public doesn't have much to say about decisions like this. Those decisions are for our betters, says the new social contract.
As for me, I'm too tired to write much more at this point. I was supposed to be home two hours ago after my reference shift ended, but since then I've been intercepted by several students burning the midnight oil on term papers and needing to find peer-reviewed criticism of Hispanic literature of the 1970s, arguments for and against civil rights for gay people, and nonpartisan information about tax rates in the United States over the last ten years. And I'll be back at 8 am to prepare to teach an English class how to find useful and reliable information about political science. I guess Mr. CEO Pezzanite thinks I'm still here because I'm lazy, don't do anything, and should be replaced by a 19-year-old working for minimum wage.
I'm late to this party, but it seems I should write a little something for those rare folks who may still from time to time stop by to take in the view from this barren, windy little Hill in the blogosphere.
The New York Times reports that Santa Clarita, California, has outsourced its public libraries to a foreign-owned private equity firm, LSSI. The story reports that the CEO of this secretive, for-profit business is quite certain he knows how to improve libraries.
“A lot of libraries are atrocious,” Mr. Pezzanite said. “Their policies are all about job security. That’s why the profession is nervous about us. You can to to a library for 35 years and never have to do anything and then have your retirement. We’re not running our company that way. You come to us, you’re going to have to work.”The LSSI strategy for improving libraries, as described by the NYT and other sources, depends primarily on "cutting overhead and replacing unionized employees". And, of course, eliminating pensions and other benefits. After all, if minimum wage part-time workers who are thinking about maybe some day getting their GED are good enough for Wal-Mart, they ought to be good enough to do whatever it is Mr. Pezzanite thinks librarians do while he golfs, manages his investment portfolio, handles a busy schedule of three-martini lunches at five-star restaurants, harangues his chauffeur for not keeping him far enough away from the Little People who infest the public roadways, bullies his illegal third-world immigrant housekeepers, and keeps a squadron of personal assistants busy arranging photo-ops and adulatory interviews with uncritical "media personalities".
Hey, if he can make unsupported, insulting assertions about the work habits of a profession he doesn't know squat about, so can I. I bet I'm closer to the truth than he is.
The 2004 article from Library Journal linked above also states that LSSI's contracts typically include a clause which forbids the contracting entity from making any critical or negative public statements about LSSI. Corporate image management at its finest! One side of an argument is enough, isn't it? Surely that will make for more efficient collection development.
LJ and other commenters also note that LSSI takes advantage of volunteers to replace paid staff wherever possible. A commenter on the NYT story states that under California law, it is illegal for a for-profit business to skirt the minimum-wage laws by having "volunteers" work for free. This of course begs the question of why on earth any sensible person would volunteer to work for free to boost the profit margin of some distant, rapacious corporation, or bump up Mr. Pezzanite's no-doubt generous annual bonus. Certainly, as George Will noted, the ideal price of labor, from a business perspective, is zero, but I strongly suspect that even if it were legal, the perceived desirability of volunteering at the library would drop once the library was (correctly) perceived as a for-profit enterprise, headquartered elsewhere, with no connection to the local community other than using it as a source of money to be vacuumed away to New York or London. No one volunteers to sort books for free for Barnes & Noble or Borders, just like no one volunteers to work on a GM assembly line, or staff a Macy's retail sales counter, or clean Mr. Pezzanite's dirty underwear for free.
I wonder if Mr. Pezzanite, from his lofty CEO perch, looks forward to living in a society in which the last vestiges of a stable, professional middle class have been eradicated, and the vast majority of the population outside the executive aristocracy lives hand-to-mouth in precarious part time jobs with no healthcare access and a selection of retirement plans consisting of (1) work till you drop or (2) find a sturdy refrigerator box and stock up on catfood. Look out Mexico, we're gonna pass you... going down.
The readers' comments to the NYT article are on the whole more enlightened and thoughtful than the article itself. But of course, the general public doesn't have much to say about decisions like this. Those decisions are for our betters, says the new social contract.
As for me, I'm too tired to write much more at this point. I was supposed to be home two hours ago after my reference shift ended, but since then I've been intercepted by several students burning the midnight oil on term papers and needing to find peer-reviewed criticism of Hispanic literature of the 1970s, arguments for and against civil rights for gay people, and nonpartisan information about tax rates in the United States over the last ten years. And I'll be back at 8 am to prepare to teach an English class how to find useful and reliable information about political science. I guess Mr. CEO Pezzanite thinks I'm still here because I'm lazy, don't do anything, and should be replaced by a 19-year-old working for minimum wage.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Snark or serious? You decide....
The Conservative Bible Project
The Conservative Bible Project
The Conservative Bible Project is a project utilizing the "best of the public" to render God's word into modern English without liberal translation distortions.[1] A Colbert Report interview featured this project.[2] We completed our translation of the New Testament on April 23, 2010....
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Recent reads
A couple of interesting blog posts from something calling itself the "SF Commonwealth Office in Taiwan". Official or not, they offer explanation for some of Smith's elliptic and eccentric (to western ears) writing style.
http://danjalin.blogspot.com/2007/11/rediscovery-of-cathay-chinese-elements.html
http://danjalin.blogspot.com/2007/11/rediscovery-of-cathay-chinese-elements_16.html
A couple of interesting blog posts from something calling itself the "SF Commonwealth Office in Taiwan". Official or not, they offer explanation for some of Smith's elliptic and eccentric (to western ears) writing style.
http://danjalin.blogspot.com/2007/11/rediscovery-of-cathay-chinese-elements.html
http://danjalin.blogspot.com/2007/11/rediscovery-of-cathay-chinese-elements_16.html
Monday, May 17, 2010
Recent reads
The World Inside, by Robert Silverberg. "Here begins a happy day in 2381." Silverberg's wryly imagined utopia/dystopia presents a staggeringly huge human population living in titanic, thousand-story "urbmons", or urban monoliths, that tower over a mostly depopulated countryside while their teeming inhabitants while away their "happy days" with carefully managed jobs, abundant entertainment, and above all, sex with whomever they desire on any given night. Sexual "availability" is a social obligation whenever propositioned by either sex. Procreation is regarded as literally sacred, and status is measured by how many "littles" mommo and daddo contribute to society, to be married off and join the happy everlasting open-marriage orgy as soon as they hit puberty at 12 or 13. Sex, drugs, food, safety, all are provided in a life carefully designed to be free of "frustration".
It's possible that that might be enough to satisfy much of the human race. Several times, Silverberg describes the windows of Urbmon 116 "deopaquing" in the morning light, and I don't remember a single character ever looking through them. But are "happy days", free of physical frustration of any kind, enough to keep the best and brightest individuals really, truly content? And if one is discontented with such a life, does it mean that he is an atavistic misfit, a throwback to undesirable anti-social habits of the past, or that there's something lacking about "a happy day in 2381"?
The book, published in 1971, is obviously an exercise in projecting the tendencies of population growth, urbanization, and the Sexual Revolution to their logical extreme, but there's more to it than that. Beyond the risque caricature of a mile-high commune full of swingers enacting the biggest imaginable production of Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice, there's a serious query about whether a managed, controlled, "inside" existence, with every biological urge satisfied without struggle or frustration, is a fit existence at all. A worthy counterpart to Brave New World, which it (of course) resembles in some ways.
The World Inside, by Robert Silverberg. "Here begins a happy day in 2381." Silverberg's wryly imagined utopia/dystopia presents a staggeringly huge human population living in titanic, thousand-story "urbmons", or urban monoliths, that tower over a mostly depopulated countryside while their teeming inhabitants while away their "happy days" with carefully managed jobs, abundant entertainment, and above all, sex with whomever they desire on any given night. Sexual "availability" is a social obligation whenever propositioned by either sex. Procreation is regarded as literally sacred, and status is measured by how many "littles" mommo and daddo contribute to society, to be married off and join the happy everlasting open-marriage orgy as soon as they hit puberty at 12 or 13. Sex, drugs, food, safety, all are provided in a life carefully designed to be free of "frustration".
It's possible that that might be enough to satisfy much of the human race. Several times, Silverberg describes the windows of Urbmon 116 "deopaquing" in the morning light, and I don't remember a single character ever looking through them. But are "happy days", free of physical frustration of any kind, enough to keep the best and brightest individuals really, truly content? And if one is discontented with such a life, does it mean that he is an atavistic misfit, a throwback to undesirable anti-social habits of the past, or that there's something lacking about "a happy day in 2381"?
The book, published in 1971, is obviously an exercise in projecting the tendencies of population growth, urbanization, and the Sexual Revolution to their logical extreme, but there's more to it than that. Beyond the risque caricature of a mile-high commune full of swingers enacting the biggest imaginable production of Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice, there's a serious query about whether a managed, controlled, "inside" existence, with every biological urge satisfied without struggle or frustration, is a fit existence at all. A worthy counterpart to Brave New World, which it (of course) resembles in some ways.
Monday, May 10, 2010
James Branch Cabell has a posse
So says Poictesme, the student literary magazine of Virginia Commonwealth University. This would make a great T-shirt logo. I'd wear it.
So says Poictesme, the student literary magazine of Virginia Commonwealth University. This would make a great T-shirt logo. I'd wear it.
Monday, April 19, 2010
The fall of Mordor?
No, it's just that pesky Icelandic volcano, courtesy of photographer Marco Fulle by way of NASA.
NASA's own satellite photographs here.
No, it's just that pesky Icelandic volcano, courtesy of photographer Marco Fulle by way of NASA.
NASA's own satellite photographs here.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
A queen's visitationUP 844, one of the two showpieces of the railroad's steam program, makes a brief service stop at Kingsville, Texas, en route to Harlingen on the Valley Eagle public relations tour.
Full picture sequence at my newly-minted Flickr page.
Addendum, 4/18/2010: Another railfan captured images and video of the 844's arrival. See if you can spot Your Humble Correspondent.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
GTT
On the one hand, my new home town seems to have more "gentlemen's clubs" per square mile than any place else I've ever lived. On the other hand, such establishments are considerably outnumbered by churches of various flavors. When I had occasion to wear a raincoat during a morning rain shower a couple of days ago, I found that some helpful soul had thoughtfully slipped a religious tract into one of the pockets. Presumably this was to make sure that I knew I was welcome in the Bible Belt.
The day of Uriah's arrival in Corpus Christi was magnificent in its beauty. It was March and early spring. The stage coach from Brownsville rolled to a stop in front of the St. James Hotel and a tired, worn young man dismounted stiffly, bade the driver a quick goodbye and commenced looking around in a place where he didn't know a soul....Your Humble Correspondent is now a denizen of the Texas "Guff" Coast. No doubt culture shock and climate shock will follow in short order.
-- from Uriah Lott, by J.L. Allhands, a biography of a 19th-century South Texas railroad builder.
On the one hand, my new home town seems to have more "gentlemen's clubs" per square mile than any place else I've ever lived. On the other hand, such establishments are considerably outnumbered by churches of various flavors. When I had occasion to wear a raincoat during a morning rain shower a couple of days ago, I found that some helpful soul had thoughtfully slipped a religious tract into one of the pockets. Presumably this was to make sure that I knew I was welcome in the Bible Belt.
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