Columnated Ruins Domino

Sara and I just got back from Readercon in Burlington, our 8th time going. It was extra long this year due to the added Thursday panel and the expanded panels on Friday. So, I think overall we saw around 18 panels. Most were really good, but a few veered wildly from the description or were simply dull. We’ve actually somewhat given up on descriptions and go more based on who is sitting on the panel. Among others, Michael Swanwick, James Morrow, and John Clute always make for interesting panels.

Lucius Shepard gave a talk on Sunday about Central America that was rather eye-opening. He also showed a clip of documentary he is involved with, about the Dole fruit company. I am not sure of the title. It may be Christmas in Honduras (that is the title of his upcoming nonfiction book about Central America). I will post more about it when I get more information.

Oddly enough, considering the quality of the dealer’s room, I didn’t acquire that many books this time:

The Best of Philip Jose Farmer (Subterranean Books)
Year’s Best Fantasy 2007 (Prime Books)
Year’s Best Science Fiction 2007 (Prime Books)

But I was able to get a box full of books signed.

The main restaurant in the hotel was closed for renovations, but there didn’t seem to be any problems with the pub being overcrowded that I saw. However, on Sunday, they served only breakfast until 2:00. For those of you that don’t know, I have a visceral loathing for breakfast food, and breakfast buffets are a particularly loathsome thing. So we had to go deal with the brain trust manning the Finagle a Bagel down the street.

Already looking forward to next year…

People are accusing Mitt of mistreating the family dog. I don’t see what the kerfuffle is. Dogs suck.

Come on, it’s not like he put his wife on the roof of the car.

He’s lucky Mitt didn’t catch him.

For no apparent reason, except perhaps a mistyped email address, I’ve been getting some emails from some kind people in, I assume, Denmark. They seem to be a work group or a bunch of college kids working on a project. The latest email was:

“Hoi allemaal,
Ik heb de tapes niet ingeladen vrijdag…. Ze liggen inderdaad nog in de montageruimte (hoop ik :P).
Ik ga er morgen (maandag) even naar kijken. Dat komt goed.
Groeten,
Michiel”

Which I was able to translate as:

Hi all, I the tapes have not loaded Friday…. They indeed still lie in the assembly space (hope I:P). I will look at there tomorrow (Monday) just as to. That comes good. Groeten, Michiel

So I dusted off my babelfish and replied, hoping to alert them to their error in sending me a bunch of emails:

“Ik ben eerder ongerust gemaakt over dit. U hebt de hamsters vergeten, en dat zal uw val zijn. Wat de kippengod zal doen wanneer hij terugkeert? Hij zal wrathful en in brand zijn. Vlucht. Vlucht!”

Imagine my chagrin when I realized that it translates as:

This has made me rather worried. You have forgotten the hamsters, and that will be your downfall. What will the Chicken God do when he returns? He will be wrathful and aflame. Flee. Flee!

I have yet to get a response.

UPDATE
New email to me (translated from the Dutch):

“Hi all, ash Wednesday go busy with burning and testing the dvd’s for the hoofdzonden. For 12.00 gladly everything ready stand the small films on dvd have been possible burn. You for there yourself do not succeed also for 12.00 its mails me then even then speak we just as what which day. Pay everything also just as from to mov files so that we can possibly burn the dvd’s on my rag top. The scenes from the kitchen add we Wednesday at the other assemblies. Appetite to the bel if problems arise there, does not wait up to the last moment! I try still regulate that your Tuesday can continue work longer in the assembly garden. Here bowl I Monday. All up to Wednesday! Hesther”

I am worried about what a hoofdzonden might be.

“The real Romney is clearly an extraordinarily ambitious man with no perceivable political principle whatsover. He is the most intellectually dishonest human being in the history of politics.” (emphasis mine) - Barney Frank (at TPM Cafe)

“I’ve learned one thing in listening to all the debates and reading about all these people running for office, and the one fact I’ve learned, I can’t get out of my mind, is that Rudy Giuliani has been married more times than Mitt Romney’s been hunting.”

– Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, New York Times.

But watch out when Mitt is hunting tail.

“My mother was fired from her job 11 months ago and has not yet found work. She drew unemployment, but that has run out. However, her real problem is, she thinks the devil is living in her home and raping her every night. She also thinks this man at work she had a crush on, and who kept rejecting her, is living in her house.
She often talks about killing herself. My aunt says she is fine, but she is NOT fine. She refuses to get professional help. How can I help her? — Worried Daughter in Illinois” (emphasis mine)

A rather odd way to structure a letter. What happened with starting with the main idea? I rather think the lack of a job is a tad less important than the nightly diabolical trysts.

Yes! The rise of Mitt continues unabated. New Hampshire is much bigger than Texas and slightly smaller than Africa.

Suck it, Guliani. You were just a mayor, Mitt was a governor.
Suck it, McCain. You spent years as a POW, Mitt went to the Olympics.
Suck it, Fred Thompson. You were an actor, Mitt still is.

Faced with the knowledge that his paltry presidency will soon be eclipsed by the Reign of Mitt, Bush settles down with a “cold beverage.” Although my expertise only extends to things Mitt Romneyish, I do believe that is a cold beer, which one could speculate to mean that Bush left the wagon back at the ranch.

What’s he going to do to Merkel once he gets his drink on?

Poor Mitt.

“…[MITT] had asked his wife if in her wildest dreams she ever thought she would be at his side as he ran for president. “She looked at me and answered, ‘You are never in my wildest dreams,’” Romney said, his expression simultaneously modest and gallant.”

Apparently, she dreams of a cadre of gas-masked monkeys wielding strap-ons and lemons, and not the splendor that is Mitt.

And “simultaneously modest and gallant” seems more appropriate to describe a bowel movement, not the next ruler of the planet.

Lucius Shepard (one of the best writers alive) highlights the many virtues of the Republican field, and reserves some special acclaim for He Who Is Mitt. Good stuff.

Josh Marshall at TPM considers Mitt’s apparent insincerity. Come on, now. There is truth. And then there is Mittruth. If it comes out of Willard’s mouth, it becomes true.

Because the majesty of Mitt Romney will not fit within the confines of my meager blog, I have created a new web presence: MittWit, your one-stop place on the intertubes to learn everything about the man and the truth he tells.

Problem: I am Mitt Romney and I am a Mormon.
Problem: Evangelicals hate Mormons almost as much as they hate those nasty secular progressives.
Problem: I need the evangelical vote to become the king of the world.

What to do? What to do?

Why not plant some starry-eyed volunteer in the audience to say crass, intolerant statements so that everyone (and the media) will see that I am being oppressed for my personal beliefs, you know, just like that guy that got all those nails in his wrists. Mayhaps it will elicit some sympathy.

Bonus Points: Have the volunteer claim to be some liberal, secular progressive supporter of a dreaded Clinton.

I bet this guy is thrilled he is on the front page of the Washington Post looking like an ass.

It is becoming increasingly apparent that I hate Mitt Romney even more than George Bush. W is like the pile of shit you inadvertently step in on the way to your wedding; Mitt is an ambulatory pile of shit that doggedly follows you around, throwing himself under your shoes every chance he gets.

He gets off on bashing Massachusetts, the very state he used as his springboard to run for President.

One wonders what vacillating Willard will say about the United States when he decides he wants to become ruler of the world?

What will he say about the Earth when distant Kolob needs a new muckety-muck?

Well, Falwell is dead, and I am rather happy with the fact.

Of course, whenever some carbuncle like Falwell dies, there are always those do-gooders that say “we shouldn’t stoop to their level” and celebrate their death. They claim “the dead should be treated with respect like any other human being.” Pish posh, say I.

Since humanity is nothing more than an ambitious slime mold with opposable thumbs and deserves nothing from the universe, a vile exemplar of the species (like Falwell, Ann Coulter, Gary Coleman) deserves even less. Claiming we derive some inalienable rights from some God, or the Constitution, or your jazzed up blog, or that we have some inherent joyful bliss due to our shared humanity really means nothing in the grand scheme of things.

So raise a glass for Tinky Winky and watch out for hurricanes.

A thousand pleases, do not elect this smarmy asshat:

Mitt Romney’s favorite novel: BATTLEFIELD EARTH

I’ll trade you my wacky religion for your wacky religion.
I will see your golden tablets, and raise you two irksome thetans.

(For the record, I love L. Ron Hubbard and find it immensely amusing that his created religion flourishes as it does today. He made the shit up, folks. And got paid for it. What else can a writer ask for?)

It is about time that Boston got some cultcha.

Wagamama at Faneuil Hall

Cambridge is getting some cultcha this summah.

Wagamama in Harvard Square

I’ve been to one in London and one in Dublin. Very good food.

UPDATE:

Sara and I went to the one in Fanueil Hall on Saturday. It is in the old Rustic Kitchen location (across from Kingfish). Food is still very good, but I am far too misanthropic to enjoy the cafeteria seating. (We got stuck next to a rather weird father-daughter pairing: the typical feckless father picking up his progeny from college and the sullen co-ed whose every expression was full of “Uggg, I can’t believe you are my dad. You are so gay!”) Also had a brush with fame on Newbury Street: The Edge walked by us as we were partaking of some wine at some place whose name eludes me. I threw no dinner rolls.

I just got an envelope and spent the long walk back to my cubicle cursing like a drunk sailor (in my head, it must be said; I am on the clock) because I thought what was in the package was ruined.

To whit, I ordered a lithograph of the SMILE album cover from the artist and it is supposed to be 14″x16″. This envelope was markedly smaller, and I assumed that, beyond all reason, the lithograph had been folded and creased and rendered useless to my designs.

I was pleased to discover the envelope contained Greg van Eekhout’s SHOW AND TELL AND OTHER STORIES, which I had forgotten I had ordered.

To atone for my karmic infraction, I will refrain from mocking the next mock-worthy person I see.

I have been rushing to finish two stories before May 2: a horror story “The Harvesters,” which I will be sending to Chizine, and then a SF story “The C of the AM,” which is going to Interzone for their May email reading period. The IZ story is perhaps one of the darkest things I have written, a space opera for misanthropes. I like it a lot; hopefully, the folks at IZ will agree.

I am trying to get these done soon because I am going to New Orleans on May 3 for my best friend Roger’s bachelor party. We’re going to the Jazzfest on May 4 and maybe doing a swamp boat tour on the 5th. I suspect a few Turbodogs will be consumed, so I know I won’t be in prime writing shape for a few days after.

If only there were a God, so this woman could be smitten.
(And what’s the deal with the potbellied, browbeaten Dad not saying a word? Too much girding up his loins and dancing before the Lord, methinks.)

The Hugo nominations have been released. (The list on Locus Online).

I am woefully behind on my current reading, so I can’t make selections for every category. I’m not voting anyway, so no harm done.
I think Glasshouse should win because it is another great book by Stross. (I’ve heard many great things about Blindsight, but haven’t gotten around to reading it yet, and there is nothing on the list that would put me into fits of anger were it to win.)

Paul Melko’s “The Walls of the Universe” should win for novella.

I’ll try to read all the nominees for short forms and make my predictions.

Lou Anders should win for editor. Nothing against the other nominees, but Pyr is publishing some of the best SF today (and introducing the U.S. to some great British authors.) I’ve actually started buying books just because of the Pyr logo.

And Interzone should win best semiprozine.

We just switched over from a landline to Vonage, and so far everything is going swimmingly. The phone has crystal clear sound quality. It was very easy to set up. (I remembered about the MAC Address filtering this time. The wireless print server a few months ago was a bitch until I realized my hyper-paranoid security settings were blocking it.) $15 a month!

We didn’t have to change our phone number either, so Verizon and its morlock operators can go bite themselves.

UPDATE:

I am such an ass. I did little due diligence and now we just have to wait until Verizon gobbles Vonage up. I will not go back to Verizon, however. I will just use the cell.

John Scalzi seems to have kicked up a hornet nest by announcing his run for President of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. I can’t vote yet, but he would definitely have my support. From the little I know of the SFWA, it seems to suffer from a calcification of bureaucracy and Scalzi’s proposed platform may be the necessary kick in the balls the organization needs.

(For me, its website is unforgivably ancient-looking for an organization whose raison-d’etre involves the future. I want bells and whistles and shiny jetpacks, dammit!)

There is also a VERY interesting forum following the candidates (and SFWA members) discussing this election. (It keeps getting better and better! I am not getting any work done this week following all the twists and turns.)

The seminal fantasy/weird fiction magazine Weird Tales now has a special subscription offer that is too good to resist. 12 issues for $12. I think it goes until the end of April, so don’t delay.

Sara and I are going to London in September to see God.

“Having called London’s Royal Festival Hall his “spiritual home away from home,” Brian Wilson, legendary writer, producer, arranger and performer of some of the most unforgettable and inspirational music in rock history, returns in September 2007 for six nights with a concert repertoire highlighted by the world premiere of a brand-new work. Commissioned by Southbank Centre as part of its opening season, Wilson reveals that the piece “is called That Lucky Old Sun (a Narrative), and as he describes it, “will consist of four ‘rounds’, with interspersed spoken word.”

I hate waiting for news about my submissions. I know all the advice says you should just keep sending stuff out and ignore wait times, but at some point I get too preoccupied with stories I have sent to various markets and can’t focus on new stories. Right now, I have four stories out and they are all edging past the “maximum response time” window. Tension ensues.

I wouldn’t mind waiting as much if I knew for sure that the story was still under consideration, but there have been several times where I find out many months after submitting a story to a market (and waiting patiently for the response) that A) they never received the story in the first place or B) they rejected it and I never got the rejection. (Or C, I wake up and realize that I am a butterfly who dreamed he wrote a story.)

I also indulge in all manner of fruitless rejectomancy: checking the Black Hole for response times to see if a market is actively sending out responses, scouring blogs and forums for tidbits about the current state of slush at the various markets, splattering fish entrails on the wall and speaking in elder tongues to learn the truest truths.

Ah, I should finish my new story…

I haven’t had time to wade through all 50 of these, but I am sure that most are superfluous anyway. Just because someone gets their toast from a talking toaster, it is not SF, of even sci-fi for the philistines.

Not too surprised to see Star Trek at #1. I won’t even rant about the sheer insanity of it; it was one of the firsts and deserves some props. Ellison, Gerrold, and Spinrad wrote some good episodes.

But Babylon 5 should have been given #2 because it is not only the best SF show ever, it is one of the the best television shows ever aired. J. Michael Straczynski made a five-season space opera that redefined how television SF is made.

Twilight Zone should be closer to the top. And, come on, I love Scully and Mulder as much as the next guy, but X-Files before Doctor Who? That’s a conspiracy I’ll never understand.

UPDATE (I finally read the entire list, and I threw up a little in my mouth.):

#48 3rd Rock from the Sun is a ridiculous piece of offal.
#47 Buck Rogers in the 25th Century #47?! C’mon, where’s the love? Surely, they are forgetting the episode that guest-starred Gary Coleman. This should be in the Top 10 at least.
#38 Batman is not SF (nor is Xena, Superman, Buffy, Tales from the Crypt, etc.).
#22 Andromeda is perhaps worse than #48.

Where the fuck is ALF? I mean, come on, you are putting every ridiculous, stereotypical piece of televised dogshit in a convenient list and calling it the Top 50 Sci-Fi Shows of All Time (in an edgy font, no less; the future is all semiotics to you folks, isn’t it) and yet, beyond all belief, you leave out ALF, the Rosetta Stone of idiotic, laugh-track laden, mainstream American television circa 1986.

You must remember ALF, Alien Lifeform, feeds on cats, oh so witty? He is why the Berlin Wall fell, not Reagan.

I deleted my old blog and started over with this. I am led by certain persons to understand that it will meet my needs. I will try to import my old posts so no pearls of wisdom are lost to the ravenous aether, but we both know how well that will work.