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October 27, 2004

I Ask Myself That Every Day

Having seen Tim Burton's love letter to Ed Wood again recently, I'm amused by the synchronicity of this: Long-lost final Ed Wood film found. It's a porn film, but it does sound interesting in that MST3K-what-the-hell? way. Interesting quote at the end:

He says "Necromania" displays Wood's wit and style and he points to a scene where the main character Danny is struggling to untangle a pair of red pajama bottoms to put them on.

"The guy's fumbling for about 15 seconds and he's starting to laugh -- the actor, he can't get the pajama bottoms on and he's laughing," Grey says. "He could have cut that out but Ed Wood left that in intentionally. He was having some fun."

More a display of style than wit, according to Burton.
WOOD: And cut! Print. We're moving on. That was perfect.
REYNOLDS: Perfect? Mr. Wood, do you know anything about the art of film production?
WOOD: Well, I like to think so.
REYNOLDS: That cardboard headstone tipped over. This graveyard is obviously phony.
WOOD: Nobody will ever notice that. Filmmaking is not about the tiny details. It's about the big picture.
REYNOLDS: The big picture?
WOOD: Yes.
REYNOLDS: Then how 'bout when the policemen arrived in daylight, but now it's suddenly night?

WOOD: What do you know? Haven't you heard of suspension of disbelief?
Reading: Bones of the Moon, by Jonathan Carroll.

October 24, 2004

Two Out Of Three

Well, as a speculative fiction writer I'm sure this isn't anything for me to worry about. Romance writer investigated as terrorist. Confiscated all her stuff: computer, disks, all her research materials, paper, stamps, pens, the CDs she listed to as she wrote, everything. You know how those romance writers are. Dangerous, dangerous people. As opposed to sf writers, who, despite our excessive consideration toward such things as alien invasions, demonic possession, and heroic warriors breaking into wizard's towers to rescue the princess, are really harmless. No, really.

My writerly news consists of a 17 day friendly reject from Flytrap, and not one but two sales: "Erin and the Dinosaurs" to Abyss & Apex, and a soon-to-be retitled story to Scattered, Covered, Smothered. What the hell? Nothing for ten months, and then two within fifteen minutes of each other. Oh, and I've also an unusual blend of exuberance and paranoia going on.

Reading: Pratchett's Hogfather.

October 23, 2004

Transcended Time, Not Space

The best thing about weekends at this point in my life, ironically, is that I have a job. Which means I work during the week and then get weekends to, y'know, relax. Look forward to them. My dad mentioned the other day that, now that he's retired, it seems the weekend is the time when he and Mom have the most committments on their time. What I use to relax, he not so much.

Perhaps this is newly gained wisdom on my part. More likely I'm just thinking too much.

I spent the first day of my weekend with Lisa, eating steak fajita enchilladas for lunch, followed by a showing of I Heart Huckabees and now reading Sleeping in Flame by Jonathan Carroll as the Red Sox go toe-to-claw with the Cardinals in the background. Excellent.

October 21, 2004

Baseball Remark

"Who are you people, and what have you done with the Red Sox?"--Giblets, at Fafblog

October 18, 2004

Caught The Meme

Webster was much possessed by death
And saw the skull beneath the skin;
And breastless creatures under ground
Leaned backward with a lipless grin.

Daffodil bulbs instead of balls
Stared from the sockets of the eyes!
He knew that thought clings round dead limbs
Tightening its lusts and luxuries.

Donne, I suppose, was such another
Who found no substitute for sense,
To seize and clutch and penetrate;
Expert beyond experience,

He knew the anguish of the marrow
The ague of the skeleton;
No contact possible to flesh
Allayed the fever of the bone.

Grishkin is nice: her Russian eye
Is underlined for emphasis;
Uncorseted, her friendly bust
Gives promise of pneumatic bliss.

The couched Brazilian jaguar
Compels the scampering marmoset
With subtle effluence of cat;
Grishkin has a maisonette;

The sleek Brazilian jaguar
Does not in its arboreal gloom
Distil so rank a feline smell
As Grishkin in a drawing-room.

And even the Abstract Entities
Circumambulate her charm;
But our lot crawls between dry ribs
To keep our metaphysics warm.

--Whispers of Immortality, T. S. Eliot

When you see this, post poetry into your journal.

Late Update: In a fit of irony, a 25 day rejection (short, personal) from Asimov's for a couple of poems.

Recent Reading: America: The Book, by the Daily Show, and Soul Music, by Mr. Pratchett.

Bonus Poem:

Re: Lockheed Martin: C-130 flies well but Exceeds the budget
--Senate Armed Services Committee minutes, 6/5/02 from America: The Book

October 15, 2004

Fallen

Well, it's happened. The temperature has dropped dramatically (barely about the 60 degree mark for the high today and yesterday), the leaves are changing colors, and walking across campus is a bit risky from all the acorns dropping off the oak trees. It's vegetable-based hail, squirrel manna from heaven, a recreation of Newton's epiphany on gravity, only without the apple.

Fall is officially here. Finally.

October 12, 2004

Egg Council Creeps Control Japan

Because nothing else explains this to me. Turn up your speakers for maximum effect. And then try to ignore the stares of your coworkers.

Reading: First Mort, now Reaper Man. I've decided to follow the recommended sequence for Discworld, having finished Thief of Time without knowing enough backstory.

October 11, 2004

Those Sounds You Hear Are My Eyes Rolling Back In My Head

I seem to be getting at the reference desk these days two kinds of patrons, subtle variations on a theme:

  • Students who say they need journal articles on Topic X, but they can't use our journal databases because they think the material provided is the same as searching on the Internet (which is verboten)
  • Students who say they need journal articles on Topic X, but their professors say they're not allowed to use our journal databases because the professors think searching these databases is the same as searching on the Internet (strictly taboo)

The first kind are easy to straighten out, but the second are, quite frankly, doomed. Fundamental misunderstandings on the part of the professor kill me. What are they thinking? Are they grumpy old luddites?

"Why, in my day, we didn't have any of these easy to use, fulltext databases! No, we had to find articles the old fashioned way! We'd flip through great big indexes printed in itty bitty type just to find a citation, only we kept bleeding all over the pages from all the paper cuts we got! We had to pull out our hair so we could try and wipe up the blood! And the citations got so hard to read from all the blood and hair all over the itty bitty type that we all ended up with severe eye strain and had to wear big, thick glasses! And we liked it!"
Something like that, I think. Grumble.

October 10, 2004

That Toddling Town

It's been a blaze of activity here at the Hansen household. Mom & Dad came over Friday, and we entertained them with the cooking of meat. Then Saturday we all went to see Chicago (that's the musical stage production, not the musical movie) as part of their joint birthday gift this year. Then we followed it up with dinner at Nava in downtown Buckhead. Mmm, delicious Southwestern cuisine here in the Southeast. Didn't see any shootings, but I think the local cops have been working hard to make that a less mandatory entertainment.

By contrast, today has been mostly spent eating Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.

Currently reading: Some postcolonial science fiction. Specifically, So Long Been Dreaming. It does not disappoint.

October 06, 2004

Indeed A Disturbing Universe

All right, this is rather freaky. Go ahead, click on it, then start zooming in. Or out. It'll wrap back around.

Later: A 12 day short personal rejection from those swell Flytrap folks.

October 05, 2004

Delayed Bah

Late update from yesterday: a lightning quick reject from SciFi.Com (13 days). Bah, I say.

Reading: Well, if I'd posted this damn thing yesterday, I'd have said I was reading Going Postal, the new one by Mr. Pratchett. However, I devoured it all in one swell foop. Very satisfying. Sentence where I found myself nodding along, muttering, "yes, yes, and yes":

People flock in, nevertheless, in search of answers to those questions only librarians are considered to be able to answer, such as "Is this the laundry?" "How do you spell surrepititious?" and, on a regular basis, "Do you have a book I remember reading once? It had a red cover and it turned out they were twins."
He speaks truth! So I'm going to have to read something else, in case the debates don't prove as amusing as one might hope. Or if Lisa seizes control of the remote. What are the odds? Think it'll be another Pratchett, Thief of Time.

October 03, 2004

It's Mystically Delicious

So this evening I'm out filling up Lisa's car with precious precious gasohol, when I notice a large van parked at another pump. I'm staring at it idly, when I realize it's an ice cream van. Not a Good Humor van, tho'. It's a Popsicle van. On the side of it is a large fullcolor poster illustrating their frozen confections. In addition to the usual suspects (ice cream sandwiches and fudgsicles), they've also got a number of popsicles that resemble cartoon characters. One of them, however, is a bit odd looking. The Yu-Gi-Oh™ Ice Pop, which closely resembles some sort of Illuminati taste treat. Here, read the ad copy:

"Absorb Yu-Gi's mystical powers with these cherry and blue raspberry flavored ice pops. Be prepared for the monstrosity of taste!"
It seems your passport to the Shadow Realm will be a blue tongue.

Currently Reading: Brian Aldiss's The Malacia Tapestry.