It's Mrs L-K's birthday today! She deserves lots of presents.
I've been lucky enough, for the last seven-and-counting years, to have someone so smart and fun and cool who's willing to be my best friend. May she never feel the need to grow up.
You're the kind of girl
Who fits in with my world
I'll give you anything, everything
If you want things
(Love you, babe. Many happy returns.)
August 25, 2004
August 19, 2004
"I see you are using Bonetti's Defense against me!"
I'm thrilled - thrilled - about the news of Mariel Zagunis taking the first U.S. Olympic gold for fencing in a century, and how it's been making the rounds of late. As long as I can remember, I've been peeved that fencing seems to be one of the most overlooked Olympic events; maybe this stylish victory will generate some much-needed new interest in the Art of the Defence.
I'm most assuredly not thrilled, however, at the dumbass piece NPR ran yesterday on Zagunis, wherein Tom Goldman seemed to think that the most important point to make straight off is that a 19-year-old athlete in the flush of victory may not be the very exemplar of articulacy.
(One hesitates to assume, but one can't help but wonder if Goldman thinks the gold medal might be worth more if it wasn't tainted by Girl Cooties.)
Y'know, if I were Goldman, I think I'd be a little less, well, cavalier in dispensing snark about a woman who's so obviously at ease with having a yard of cold steel in her hand.
I'm most assuredly not thrilled, however, at the dumbass piece NPR ran yesterday on Zagunis, wherein Tom Goldman seemed to think that the most important point to make straight off is that a 19-year-old athlete in the flush of victory may not be the very exemplar of articulacy.
(One hesitates to assume, but one can't help but wonder if Goldman thinks the gold medal might be worth more if it wasn't tainted by Girl Cooties.)
Y'know, if I were Goldman, I think I'd be a little less, well, cavalier in dispensing snark about a woman who's so obviously at ease with having a yard of cold steel in her hand.
August 18, 2004
Pink is the New Black
Belle Waring has done what few dare: ventured into the dark lands in the Right of the blogosphere and dredged up horrors.
(Read the comments, too. Priceless, priceless.)
Sigh. You know, I really wish I understood how "blurring the role of the sexes" is going to sound the death-knell of Western Civilization and bring fiery ruin down on all we hold dear. Mostly I think folks like this Ryan Thompson fellow (and this genius) just hate the thought of having to share the train with metrosexuals and swishy girly-men, and they really hate the thought of all that sober masculine boys' club stuff they want to take for granted getting Girl Cooties all over it. This is the nasty condescension underlying the idea that women (oh, sorry, "females") are "special in a moral sense": that special is a license to set aside, exclude, and ultimately to punish if the "female" in question doesn't live up to the angelic standards of chastity and propriety. He can talk all he wants about "different but equal," but I don't buy it. Once you make a big enough deal out of "different," you've made damn sure "equal" hardly gets a word in.
It deserves repeating here: Feminism is the radical notion that women are people. It's placing "equal" in a more important place than "different," if that's even a useful word (and it rarely is). Being on a pedestal may seem like a grand thing, until you realize that once you're up there you can't go anywhere else, and half the people who seem to be gazing admiringly on you are only trying to look up your dress.
(And gentlemanliness? Rest assured I'm all for it; people in general should be kinder, politer, more gallant, more gentle than they usually are. Fabulous idea, right up to the point where "being a gentleman" translates to "taking every opportunity to treat an adult woman like a spoiled child.")
(Read the comments, too. Priceless, priceless.)
Sigh. You know, I really wish I understood how "blurring the role of the sexes" is going to sound the death-knell of Western Civilization and bring fiery ruin down on all we hold dear. Mostly I think folks like this Ryan Thompson fellow (and this genius) just hate the thought of having to share the train with metrosexuals and swishy girly-men, and they really hate the thought of all that sober masculine boys' club stuff they want to take for granted getting Girl Cooties all over it. This is the nasty condescension underlying the idea that women (oh, sorry, "females") are "special in a moral sense": that special is a license to set aside, exclude, and ultimately to punish if the "female" in question doesn't live up to the angelic standards of chastity and propriety. He can talk all he wants about "different but equal," but I don't buy it. Once you make a big enough deal out of "different," you've made damn sure "equal" hardly gets a word in.
It deserves repeating here: Feminism is the radical notion that women are people. It's placing "equal" in a more important place than "different," if that's even a useful word (and it rarely is). Being on a pedestal may seem like a grand thing, until you realize that once you're up there you can't go anywhere else, and half the people who seem to be gazing admiringly on you are only trying to look up your dress.
(And gentlemanliness? Rest assured I'm all for it; people in general should be kinder, politer, more gallant, more gentle than they usually are. Fabulous idea, right up to the point where "being a gentleman" translates to "taking every opportunity to treat an adult woman like a spoiled child.")
August 13, 2004
Triskaidekaphilia 2
Just like we did the last time the calendar aligned like this, here's a witch's dozen of the highlights of the week:
1. I get a new experience tomorrow - going out to get measured for my first tux, something I'd probably be able to avoid forever if not for a very good cause. I'm nervous, because when you're a portly Mediterranean sort of fellow the whole formalwear thing can really go either way; fingers crossed that this one makes me look like a pulp supervillain and not, well, a big fat dork.
2. Okay, so, the dome light on your car probably doesn't suck up that much juice, except that if you leave it on all weekend you will not be able to start your car on Monday, and you'll have to call AAA and their Edgewood driver will be mysteriously MIA, and you'll be stuck at home waiting for many hours with whatever you've already got in the fridge. On the plus side, you'll have an unscheduled day off work, which will be nice. But I'm just sayin'.
3. Great post from Maija the other day relating one poor bastard's conversion into the fold of Buffy fandom, a process I've seen in action a couple of times in the last year. Hey, there's a reason it's got such a fanatical following, and it's not all because Alyson Hannigan is goddamn nine kinds of fine. (Still two months until Season 7's released on DVD. Grr. Argh.)
4. Note that the egolinks to your right now include a working page of some tunage. I'd been delaying making that public until I had a proper page up with lyrics and stuff, but gods know when that's going to happen, so there you go.
5. Note as well new folk on the blogroll. Go say hello.
6. So I finally broke down and started a LiveJournal. I got an account a while ago, mostly to join a couple of LJ communities and comment on other people's pages I liked, but it seemed a shame to not do anything with it at all. I'm not really thrilled with LJ's functionality, which doesn't let you tinker with the settings like Blogger does (at least not if, like me, you're way too friggin' Scotch to get a paid account), but it may become something interesting anyway. It's going to be a different sort of thing than this blog, though. More thematic. Watch and pray.
7. Why I love John Scalzi.
8. The lovely spacewaitress has a post up about the relationship between education and employment, and how it's not what it's cracked up to be. (And it's true; not only is a college degree no guarantee of a good job these days, but the ones that supposedly do require a degree are increasingly stupid and banal. My position requires a bachelor's for reasons I've never really understood, since I'm convinced you could train a reasonably bright mandrill to do document imaging - folks, it's photocopying, just with better toys - with a pretty fair degree of success. And he'd probably screw around on the internet a lot less than I do, too.)
9. Early in the week saw the first three pages of Adeptus #2 claw their way out of my head, which wasn't something I quite intended, but the damn thing was keeping me up nights, so it's just as well.
10. Well, okay, this is more than a little to blame. I've been reading it a bit at a time over the last couple of weeks, and it's as good a crash course in the art of making comics as you're likely to get.
11. Speaking of which, I've gotten in the first couple of inked pages of the Adeptus preview, and they're good. Really good. They make me excited to be making comics, and very excited to see the whole thing as it comes together. (See, this is me going on public record as saying this. So we'll have no more of this Doubting the Work nonsense, eh? Yeah, that's what I thought.)
12. As a followup to yesterday's post, I note that Elizabeth Bear, in a thread on Electrolite, has suggested a googlebomb. I'm game. So: Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder.
13. Finally: had the absolute best curry for lunch today. I talk a good game about Art, but in the end, it's the small pleasures that count.
1. I get a new experience tomorrow - going out to get measured for my first tux, something I'd probably be able to avoid forever if not for a very good cause. I'm nervous, because when you're a portly Mediterranean sort of fellow the whole formalwear thing can really go either way; fingers crossed that this one makes me look like a pulp supervillain and not, well, a big fat dork.
2. Okay, so, the dome light on your car probably doesn't suck up that much juice, except that if you leave it on all weekend you will not be able to start your car on Monday, and you'll have to call AAA and their Edgewood driver will be mysteriously MIA, and you'll be stuck at home waiting for many hours with whatever you've already got in the fridge. On the plus side, you'll have an unscheduled day off work, which will be nice. But I'm just sayin'.
3. Great post from Maija the other day relating one poor bastard's conversion into the fold of Buffy fandom, a process I've seen in action a couple of times in the last year. Hey, there's a reason it's got such a fanatical following, and it's not all because Alyson Hannigan is goddamn nine kinds of fine. (Still two months until Season 7's released on DVD. Grr. Argh.)
4. Note that the egolinks to your right now include a working page of some tunage. I'd been delaying making that public until I had a proper page up with lyrics and stuff, but gods know when that's going to happen, so there you go.
5. Note as well new folk on the blogroll. Go say hello.
6. So I finally broke down and started a LiveJournal. I got an account a while ago, mostly to join a couple of LJ communities and comment on other people's pages I liked, but it seemed a shame to not do anything with it at all. I'm not really thrilled with LJ's functionality, which doesn't let you tinker with the settings like Blogger does (at least not if, like me, you're way too friggin' Scotch to get a paid account), but it may become something interesting anyway. It's going to be a different sort of thing than this blog, though. More thematic. Watch and pray.
7. Why I love John Scalzi.
8. The lovely spacewaitress has a post up about the relationship between education and employment, and how it's not what it's cracked up to be. (And it's true; not only is a college degree no guarantee of a good job these days, but the ones that supposedly do require a degree are increasingly stupid and banal. My position requires a bachelor's for reasons I've never really understood, since I'm convinced you could train a reasonably bright mandrill to do document imaging - folks, it's photocopying, just with better toys - with a pretty fair degree of success. And he'd probably screw around on the internet a lot less than I do, too.)
9. Early in the week saw the first three pages of Adeptus #2 claw their way out of my head, which wasn't something I quite intended, but the damn thing was keeping me up nights, so it's just as well.
10. Well, okay, this is more than a little to blame. I've been reading it a bit at a time over the last couple of weeks, and it's as good a crash course in the art of making comics as you're likely to get.
11. Speaking of which, I've gotten in the first couple of inked pages of the Adeptus preview, and they're good. Really good. They make me excited to be making comics, and very excited to see the whole thing as it comes together. (See, this is me going on public record as saying this. So we'll have no more of this Doubting the Work nonsense, eh? Yeah, that's what I thought.)
12. As a followup to yesterday's post, I note that Elizabeth Bear, in a thread on Electrolite, has suggested a googlebomb. I'm game. So: Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder.
13. Finally: had the absolute best curry for lunch today. I talk a good game about Art, but in the end, it's the small pleasures that count.
August 12, 2004
Admitters of Impediments
Oh, California. I hope you're happy now.
This would be a big old rant waiting to happen, but as luck would have it, Kip Manley's already gone and done it for me:
Yeah. What he said.
This would be a big old rant waiting to happen, but as luck would have it, Kip Manley's already gone and done it for me:
Defend marriage? You pathetic, deluded fools. Same-sex couples have been getting married all around you for decades, and they’ll keep on doing it, long after you’ve passed your little amendment. Men will kiss their husbands as you clap yourselves on the back, and wives will continue to feed each other cake, whether you will it or no. They’ve always had the love and the cherish and the honor, and the recognition of their friends and family, and nothing you can do will take that from them. Nothing. All you’ll manage to do is rewrite the tax code. Make it more of a grinding hassle to deal with insurance and wills. Keep loving families apart at times of illness and accident and death. Condemn children to needless, nightmarish legal quagmires. You will tarnish all our rings, and when we open our mouths to take our vows, we will taste ashes. —In order to save marriage, you will destroy it. Fools.
Yeah. What he said.
Motley's the Only Wear
This has been making the rounds for a while, but I'd be remiss if I didn't note it here.
About damn time, too.
About damn time, too.
August 07, 2004
Sanriomancy
Oh, man, I totally need a set of these.
This officially makes Jill Thompson's manga version the second cutest Death.
This officially makes Jill Thompson's manga version the second cutest Death.
August 05, 2004
Means "Bloody Peculiar"
Today I revived and brushed the dust off an old blog of mine, one I'd intended to use for some freewriting and stream-of-consciousness weirdness, but which I'm breathing new life into as a general writing blog. I'm putting stuff up there for public scrutiny, in the hopes of... well, go read for yourself.
Most significantly so far, I've put up the text of "Heartwood, Heartblood," the story I wrote for the SSXI auction table. In the future, I plan on posting additional stories, diversions, and possibly bits of of works-in-progress like novels and scripts.
So, welcome to the Eldritch Cafe. Sip carefully...
Most significantly so far, I've put up the text of "Heartwood, Heartblood," the story I wrote for the SSXI auction table. In the future, I plan on posting additional stories, diversions, and possibly bits of of works-in-progress like novels and scripts.
So, welcome to the Eldritch Cafe. Sip carefully...
August 03, 2004
What's He Building In There?
Frightening moment of the day: seeing paperwork cross my desk from these guys.
You know, I went to the site, and I still have no frickin' idea what they do. Or at least none that my mind cares to dwell on.
You know, I went to the site, and I still have no frickin' idea what they do. Or at least none that my mind cares to dwell on.
July 30, 2004
When Your Name's With the Best, Will My Name Be On Your Guest List?
I just discovered I'm on the blogroll over at the new incarnation of everythingsruined. How freakin' cool is that? (Thanks, John-Paul!)
Also, note new postage from Maija, who I'd begun to fear the Vikings had gotten at last.
Me, I've got some sort of bug that I suspect got passed around the Swampstock circle (though I didn't get it from making out with Caroline, I swear), so I'm utterly useless at work today and avoiding all constructive activity. So it goes.
I'll write something interesting and witty soon. Promise.
Also, note new postage from Maija, who I'd begun to fear the Vikings had gotten at last.
Me, I've got some sort of bug that I suspect got passed around the Swampstock circle (though I didn't get it from making out with Caroline, I swear), so I'm utterly useless at work today and avoiding all constructive activity. So it goes.
I'll write something interesting and witty soon. Promise.
July 28, 2004
In the Heart of the Wood (and What I Found There)
SSXI was the best Swampstock ever.
Enough so that I think my melancholy at its being over is already fading in light of how very awesome it was. Magic happened. Connections were made. Many libations were downed. Tiny arachnids were filled with smoke and made to glow in the dark. That sort of thing.
OVO had a pretty grand first performance too, which was one of many things I was worried about having oversold to newcomers. We're already putting together next year's setlist. Though I'm not sure about another finale where I have to follow Bernice singing lead. (This may indeed also be why nothing was Called Up by our cover of "The Angel Highbury"; I know I'd be hesitant myself to manifest in front of someone who could turn my name into a killing word.)
Anyway, a rousing success of a weekend all around. I do believe some of all y'all who were there took photographs. Share, please?
UPDATE: As those of you who have read the comments know, lots of pictures are here and here. Revel in the virtual debauchery!
Enough so that I think my melancholy at its being over is already fading in light of how very awesome it was. Magic happened. Connections were made. Many libations were downed. Tiny arachnids were filled with smoke and made to glow in the dark. That sort of thing.
OVO had a pretty grand first performance too, which was one of many things I was worried about having oversold to newcomers. We're already putting together next year's setlist. Though I'm not sure about another finale where I have to follow Bernice singing lead. (This may indeed also be why nothing was Called Up by our cover of "The Angel Highbury"; I know I'd be hesitant myself to manifest in front of someone who could turn my name into a killing word.)
Anyway, a rousing success of a weekend all around. I do believe some of all y'all who were there took photographs. Share, please?
UPDATE: As those of you who have read the comments know, lots of pictures are here and here. Revel in the virtual debauchery!
July 21, 2004
These Endless Days are Finally Ending in a Blaze
It's almost time for Swampstock XI, which means all week I've been useless at work, restless at home, and running on too little sleep both places. This is all part of the necessary buildup of energy, I think.
I did manage, at some point in this mad rush, to finish a new Jenny Haniver story, which will be making its debut this weekend in booklet form on the auction table. My assessment of it now is about the usual ("Could use a revision"), but it ain't bad for a week's work. Though I'm not expecting to be the cause of any bidding wars or suchlike.
Possibly just as exciting is the premier performance of OVO, the first Thing in a Jar musickal project. We'll be taking the stage sometime Saturday to assault the gathering with what may be its most plugged-in set ever, putting our spare yet loopy spin on a bunch of weirdass covers in the bastard fusion style that has been dubbed (after probably one too many glasses of Pete's Purple Fuck-Me Punch) "proggoth." Be afraid.
We set out tomorrow afternoon (and I've been entertaining for a while the rather cruel fantasy of going back in time to tell my twenty-year-old self how I'll be driving out to Birdsong Hill on Friday in a car full of hot women), which means tonight will be the mad dash to do all the final packing in preparation of forgetting the two or three essential items that will be left on the kitchen counter all weekend. (This always happens, and I've just resigned myself to quit fighting it.)
So I'll see you there if you're going - and if you're heading there, or planning to be there in spirit, you might take a moment or two between today and tomorrow to focus some energy on this sigil, all charged up for "No Rain on Swampstock Eleven":
(Incidentally and resonantly, this post is the 200th entry on Otter Ponderings. And also my first posted image, mostly because it took me this long to figure out how to do it. Round of applause.)
I did manage, at some point in this mad rush, to finish a new Jenny Haniver story, which will be making its debut this weekend in booklet form on the auction table. My assessment of it now is about the usual ("Could use a revision"), but it ain't bad for a week's work. Though I'm not expecting to be the cause of any bidding wars or suchlike.
Possibly just as exciting is the premier performance of OVO, the first Thing in a Jar musickal project. We'll be taking the stage sometime Saturday to assault the gathering with what may be its most plugged-in set ever, putting our spare yet loopy spin on a bunch of weirdass covers in the bastard fusion style that has been dubbed (after probably one too many glasses of Pete's Purple Fuck-Me Punch) "proggoth." Be afraid.
We set out tomorrow afternoon (and I've been entertaining for a while the rather cruel fantasy of going back in time to tell my twenty-year-old self how I'll be driving out to Birdsong Hill on Friday in a car full of hot women), which means tonight will be the mad dash to do all the final packing in preparation of forgetting the two or three essential items that will be left on the kitchen counter all weekend. (This always happens, and I've just resigned myself to quit fighting it.)
So I'll see you there if you're going - and if you're heading there, or planning to be there in spirit, you might take a moment or two between today and tomorrow to focus some energy on this sigil, all charged up for "No Rain on Swampstock Eleven":
(Incidentally and resonantly, this post is the 200th entry on Otter Ponderings. And also my first posted image, mostly because it took me this long to figure out how to do it. Round of applause.)
July 14, 2004
Sing, O Choirs of Cacophony
Happy Bastille Day, citizens!
Normally, I like to commemorate this occasion with a baguette and brie and a bottle of red, but in light of the various crimes of our own ancien régime I think it may be more appropriate to take this opportunity to guillotine some aristos - figuratively speaking, of course.
In other news, note new homepage for Citoyenne Martha (Bien), as she sets out to show just how much of a nuissance one tiny, insignificant creature can be.
Viva la Resistance!
Normally, I like to commemorate this occasion with a baguette and brie and a bottle of red, but in light of the various crimes of our own ancien régime I think it may be more appropriate to take this opportunity to guillotine some aristos - figuratively speaking, of course.
In other news, note new homepage for Citoyenne Martha (Bien), as she sets out to show just how much of a nuissance one tiny, insignificant creature can be.
Viva la Resistance!
July 13, 2004
You Silly Old Man
Today is Andy's birthday, an occasion which should probably be celebrated with brandy and cigars and 30s swing records, or at least with the new Morrissey and a properly soul-wrenching session of Call of Cthulhu; but since I don't have hardly any of those things handy, here's hoping a raised lager and a "many happy returns" will do.
I've known Andy for an embarassingly long time now, and I'm happy to say he's one of the best people I know, and someone I've now spent more than half my life admiring. There are a lot of things to like about him, from being the kind of guy who could put Talking Heads, Harry Belafonte and Beethoven on the same side of a mix tape and make it work, to being kind enough to weather the crush I had on him at 17 with grace and gentleness. Mostly, though, he's just an extraordinarily decent human being, and I'm proud and lucky to have him in my life; we don't see each other nearly enough these days, but he's never made me feel like being on different coasts means drifting apart.
And in a little over a month, he's joining the ranks of the blissfully wed (officially, anyway, but I think he's been lucky enough to be more or less married for some time now). I look forward greatly to being there for that, and I even promise I won't wear what I encouraged him to wear at mine.
Anyway, go wish him well, and toast his health as he dives into that fourth decade in earnest. Cheers!
I've known Andy for an embarassingly long time now, and I'm happy to say he's one of the best people I know, and someone I've now spent more than half my life admiring. There are a lot of things to like about him, from being the kind of guy who could put Talking Heads, Harry Belafonte and Beethoven on the same side of a mix tape and make it work, to being kind enough to weather the crush I had on him at 17 with grace and gentleness. Mostly, though, he's just an extraordinarily decent human being, and I'm proud and lucky to have him in my life; we don't see each other nearly enough these days, but he's never made me feel like being on different coasts means drifting apart.
And in a little over a month, he's joining the ranks of the blissfully wed (officially, anyway, but I think he's been lucky enough to be more or less married for some time now). I look forward greatly to being there for that, and I even promise I won't wear what I encouraged him to wear at mine.
Anyway, go wish him well, and toast his health as he dives into that fourth decade in earnest. Cheers!
July 01, 2004
Neil When You Need Him
I was with Spyder at MoCCA in New York last weekend, but didn't go to the Harvey awards banquet because the cheap seats were $60 and then there was the barest thread of hope some NEARfest tickets might still materialize, and, well.
So I didn't get to see Neil Gaiman do his keynote speech, but he posted the text of it a couple of days ago, which I just got around to reading this morning. I felt like standing up and cheering. And, more importantly, like commencing to make comics, with a refreshed sense of cavalier roguery and aspirations of Ars Magna (in whatever sense you like).
And I'm suddenly looking forward to being a cranky old Jew myself.
So I didn't get to see Neil Gaiman do his keynote speech, but he posted the text of it a couple of days ago, which I just got around to reading this morning. I felt like standing up and cheering. And, more importantly, like commencing to make comics, with a refreshed sense of cavalier roguery and aspirations of Ars Magna (in whatever sense you like).
And I'm suddenly looking forward to being a cranky old Jew myself.
June 24, 2004
Todd James, Pierced
Last month, Teresa Nielsen Hayden wrote a brace of posts addressing the issue of a fellow named Todd James Pierce who had, to frame it kindly, publicly advocated some very dodgy advice for aspiring writers. The ensuing threads resulted in the usual erudite and entertaining discussion among the Making Enlightened.
Last night, Todd himself showed up. With, so to speak, a vengeance.
Get some popcorn, and watch Teresa, Patrick, John Scalzi, Jim Macdonald and others put the righteous smackdown on this oily, whining twit.
Word to the wise, Todd: Don't bring a knife to a gunfight.
Last night, Todd himself showed up. With, so to speak, a vengeance.
Get some popcorn, and watch Teresa, Patrick, John Scalzi, Jim Macdonald and others put the righteous smackdown on this oily, whining twit.
Word to the wise, Todd: Don't bring a knife to a gunfight.
June 23, 2004
He Resounds in Valleys
There's a common suspicion among religious folk of a certain inclination that those of us who are agnostics or Buddhists or perky nihilists or some other philosophical bent that doesn't have a Sky Bully to keep us in line have no basis for any kind of ethical code restraining us from running amok like bacchantes in Babylon.
If there's a better refutation to this nonsense than the one articulated (in a most gentlemanly fashion, it should be noted) by Umberto Eco, I don't know what it is.
(Incidentally, the term "Sky Bully" is one I nicked from the famously atheistic Joss Whedon - and anyone who doesn't think Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a deeply moral show isn't paying attention.)
If there's a better refutation to this nonsense than the one articulated (in a most gentlemanly fashion, it should be noted) by Umberto Eco, I don't know what it is.
(Incidentally, the term "Sky Bully" is one I nicked from the famously atheistic Joss Whedon - and anyone who doesn't think Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a deeply moral show isn't paying attention.)
June 10, 2004
His Hand is Everywhere
Today's moment of Illumination brought to you courtesy this fine establishment, located a mere stone's throw from the nation's capital.
(It's like they're not even bothering to hide it any more, you know? I thought half the point of being a Secret Master was being, well, secret.)
The world just gets goddamn weirder every day.
UPDATE: More Saint Germainia cropped up the other day on Snarkout, who links to the same page on Count Welldone as your humble author (not that it's the first thing to come up on a Google search or anything). Weirdness abounds.
(It's like they're not even bothering to hide it any more, you know? I thought half the point of being a Secret Master was being, well, secret.)
The world just gets goddamn weirder every day.
UPDATE: More Saint Germainia cropped up the other day on Snarkout, who links to the same page on Count Welldone as your humble author (not that it's the first thing to come up on a Google search or anything). Weirdness abounds.
June 07, 2004
See, On a White Horse He Comes
For those of you who have been flashing on images of naked emperors in the wake of the recent ubiquitous Reagan memorializations, some useful correctives by lefty bloggers of note can be found here and here.
Interestingly, both use the word "hagiography" to describe the current round of fireside tales being spun about the deeds of the Teflon Cowboy. Apt, very apt.
"Not peace but a sword," and don't you forget it.
Interestingly, both use the word "hagiography" to describe the current round of fireside tales being spun about the deeds of the Teflon Cowboy. Apt, very apt.
"Not peace but a sword," and don't you forget it.
June 01, 2004
Conjob
I spent much of the long weekend getting my geek on at Balticon 38, thus ending my overextended SF-convention virginity, and had a terribly grand time.
Too much to go into now, but some highlights: an enlightening chat with Darrell Schweitzer in the dealers' room on the yawning gulf of horror that is vanity publishing; attending a panel with Mark Wheatley, and having him validate my comics-writing impulses by saying "Don't wait for permission to create"; and learning regency dance without falling down and killing myself. Oh, and Jane Lindskold called me handsome, which was pretty well worth the price of admission, as it's not every day you get your starstruck Famous Author encounter and your ego-strokage all in the same moment.
Also had the pleasure of getting a cool con-buddy on Saturday night, in the form of the lovely Aiglet, who was nice enough to not only tool around with the dorky n00b but also drag me off to the stuff I needed drug to. We were very much on a wavelength, and I think we shall keep in touch. (But between me and the Mystery, this newfound talent I seem to have for getting attractive, geeky young women to want to hang out with me would have been very fucking helpful ten goddamn years ago thankyouverymuch.)
(No, of course I don't really mean that. Whatever losses I totalled in my misspent youth are more than balanced out by having a wife who asks me, "What'd you do at the con yesterday?" and being able to answer, without fear of my life, "Made friends with a cute girl.")
One frightening revelation came out of the whole event, though, and that is the discovery that I am, apparently, a filker. I suppose I could resist the label, but in light of my canon - "Lord Vlad," "Dragon," "Miskatonic U," "Cocteau, Goya, Blake," among others - it'd be like that Roy Cohn line from Angels in America: "I'm not a homosexual. I'm a man who has sex with other men." And anyway, I was up doing it until five in the morning, so I may as well suck it up and embrace it.
It's very odd to be back among the Naturals now. I may be addicted. When's Philcon, now?
Too much to go into now, but some highlights: an enlightening chat with Darrell Schweitzer in the dealers' room on the yawning gulf of horror that is vanity publishing; attending a panel with Mark Wheatley, and having him validate my comics-writing impulses by saying "Don't wait for permission to create"; and learning regency dance without falling down and killing myself. Oh, and Jane Lindskold called me handsome, which was pretty well worth the price of admission, as it's not every day you get your starstruck Famous Author encounter and your ego-strokage all in the same moment.
Also had the pleasure of getting a cool con-buddy on Saturday night, in the form of the lovely Aiglet, who was nice enough to not only tool around with the dorky n00b but also drag me off to the stuff I needed drug to. We were very much on a wavelength, and I think we shall keep in touch. (But between me and the Mystery, this newfound talent I seem to have for getting attractive, geeky young women to want to hang out with me would have been very fucking helpful ten goddamn years ago thankyouverymuch.)
(No, of course I don't really mean that. Whatever losses I totalled in my misspent youth are more than balanced out by having a wife who asks me, "What'd you do at the con yesterday?" and being able to answer, without fear of my life, "Made friends with a cute girl.")
One frightening revelation came out of the whole event, though, and that is the discovery that I am, apparently, a filker. I suppose I could resist the label, but in light of my canon - "Lord Vlad," "Dragon," "Miskatonic U," "Cocteau, Goya, Blake," among others - it'd be like that Roy Cohn line from Angels in America: "I'm not a homosexual. I'm a man who has sex with other men." And anyway, I was up doing it until five in the morning, so I may as well suck it up and embrace it.
It's very odd to be back among the Naturals now. I may be addicted. When's Philcon, now?
May 28, 2004
The Brood
"Goetia means Howling. It's the chittering of a billion insects in the night. It's what it sounds like where we live."
- the demon Andras, in Promethea #2
And where we live, too, because Brood X has awakened.
And they are loud; I don't know what Alan Moore had in mind when he penned that line, but cicada song certainly fits the bill. And there's no avoiding them now, even with earplugs. Trees, houses, sidewalks are thick with red eyes and orange wings, and you can't pull out of the driveway without intercepting a cicada in (singularly graceless and eccentric) flight. It's like a little daily dose of cosmic horror delivered right to your doorstep.
Which I can't help but feel is kind of cool, when it comes down to it. Every seventeen years, these weird things crawl up out of the earth, like Lovecraft monsters designed by Steven Brust, to bring chaos and cacophony to the world for six weeks, and then they go away. And it's a phenomenon you only get to experience a handful of times in your life.
(I still can't bring myself to take advantage of the opportunity to eat 'em, though. But for the more bold, you'll get all the options you could want, and then some, here.)
And fortunately, despite bringing on massive attacks of the wiggins, the bugs themselves are completely harmless. (Or so they tell us!)
Iä! Iä! Cicada fhtagn!
- the demon Andras, in Promethea #2
And where we live, too, because Brood X has awakened.
And they are loud; I don't know what Alan Moore had in mind when he penned that line, but cicada song certainly fits the bill. And there's no avoiding them now, even with earplugs. Trees, houses, sidewalks are thick with red eyes and orange wings, and you can't pull out of the driveway without intercepting a cicada in (singularly graceless and eccentric) flight. It's like a little daily dose of cosmic horror delivered right to your doorstep.
Which I can't help but feel is kind of cool, when it comes down to it. Every seventeen years, these weird things crawl up out of the earth, like Lovecraft monsters designed by Steven Brust, to bring chaos and cacophony to the world for six weeks, and then they go away. And it's a phenomenon you only get to experience a handful of times in your life.
(I still can't bring myself to take advantage of the opportunity to eat 'em, though. But for the more bold, you'll get all the options you could want, and then some, here.)
And fortunately, despite bringing on massive attacks of the wiggins, the bugs themselves are completely harmless. (Or so they tell us!)
Iä! Iä! Cicada fhtagn!
May 17, 2004
Something Old, Something New
I'd planned to write up a big congratulatory post in honor of the same-sex couples getting their licenses today, and found that the inimitable John Scalzi had gone and done it for me.
If you can get to the end without tearing up, I've got nothing to say to you.
Me, I'm thrilled this comes not only on the 50th anniversary of Brown v. Board of Ed, but right on the heels of my own anniversary (which we celebrated yesterday mostly by having a lovely day of domestic slack in our beautiful house, and couldn't believe it had been six whole years).
Anyway, a big Huzzah for Massachussetts (which may yet get out of the red for that witch-trial thing after all), and for the good folks getting ready to tie the knot up there. In the company of such fabulousness, how can marriage do anything but improve?
If you can get to the end without tearing up, I've got nothing to say to you.
Me, I'm thrilled this comes not only on the 50th anniversary of Brown v. Board of Ed, but right on the heels of my own anniversary (which we celebrated yesterday mostly by having a lovely day of domestic slack in our beautiful house, and couldn't believe it had been six whole years).
Anyway, a big Huzzah for Massachussetts (which may yet get out of the red for that witch-trial thing after all), and for the good folks getting ready to tie the knot up there. In the company of such fabulousness, how can marriage do anything but improve?
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