The Gorjun is . . . um . . . riding a giant vibrator?
Boo-yah (or, as my ten-year-old says whenever he wins a game of chess*, “Huzzah!”) My first non-electronic publication, which is to say PRINT publication, is in PRINT, in Continuum Science Fiction, a PRINT science fiction magazine.
“The Gorjun is Free” is a story about a dysfunctional family, an alien artifact that looks like speckled poop, and several not-so-random changes to the fundamental constants of the universe. Former title, “All Change”, which no one liked but me.
So I’m leafing through, admiring the speckled poop illustration**, when I noticed this eye-popping breach of Strunk and White:
Like any true wonder, I couldn’t take my eyes away.
The opening phrase refers not to the sentence’s subject, but to the object of the narrator’s gaze. Well, you can bet I’m not going to read any further.
Other neat stuff: Editor Bill Rupp put my story first, wham, right there on page 2. In the table of contents, my story and byline are in larger font than the other stories. You would think I had a hand in the editing.
D.
*Yes, we are all geeks in the Hoffman household.
**In fairness, I did describe the artifact that way . . . but, did the artist have to take me so seriously?
*sob* Not one of you has mentioned my award!
You’d think winning People’s Sexiest Man Alive award would do something for my prospects, wouldn’t you? But bam‘s only taking calls from Scott Speedman, and I overheard Miss Snark hollering, “If it ain’t Clooney, I’m not here!” Or maybe that was Sheila . . . the women are all blurring together right about now.
No. What do I get? A bunch of teeny-boppers screaming at me while I’m trying to shop for groceries. (Overheard in Produce: “Doug, what do you think of these musk melons?”) All the attention baffled me until I saw the cover of People. Then I was like, “Girls, girls, I’m a happily married man, although if you truly value my opinion of fruit, I am willing to check for ripeness.”
Fame has its downside, as I am rapidly discovering. Rufus in Hardware pounded my face a few times, saying, “I’m gonna do something about the alive part.” Seems he came in second place and was none too happy about it. William from Home and Garden came to my rescue, but as he helped me to my feet he used a most unusual handhold.
Now that I am safely home, I find myself waxing philosophical about my award. How can any one man be THE sexiest man alive? Don’t we each embody the masculine ideal in our own peculiar ways? And is it really fair for People to subject me to such intense public attention, just so they can sell a few more magazines?
I’m also wondering whether this will alter my personal life. Karen seems to be treating me no different than usual; maybe she doesn’t know yet. I left a copy on her pillow, just in case.
D.
Stamper’s paradise
This one’s for my sister. (For the rest of my readers, skim through to the end. I won’t disappoint you.)
I missed her birthday this week, which I would like to say is a rare occurrence, but my memory says otherwise. I remembered to call (see? there have been worse years) but it’s still rather slovenly to forget like this. I mean, she never forgets my birthday, or Jake’s. (more…)
Quick shout (politics)
. . . to Jeff Huber for a fine run-down of the Friday news. Thanks to NaNoWriMo and that other time-consuming November activity, MyDamnedJob-o, I don’t get to surf the news as much as I would like. Thanks to Jeff, I don’t have to!
High points:
*Pennsylvania Congressman John Murtha, a Vietnam vet and retired Marine colonel, has called for the withdrawal of all American troops within the next six months. Speaker Dennis Hastert’s response:
“They would prefer that the United States surrender to terrorists who would harm innocent Americans,” Mr. Hastert said.
Ah, the sweet, sweet sound of squawking chickenhawks. Read the NY Times story here. While you’re at it, check out Jurassic Pork’s commentary, too.
*Renewal of the Orwellian Patriot Act may not see smooth sailing, thanks to a possible Democratic filibuster. We have Russ Feingold to thank for this (from the NY Times story):
“This is worth the fight,” Senator Russell D. Feingold, a Wisconsin Democrat who serves on the Judiciary Committee, said in an interview.
“I’ve cleared my schedule right up to Thanksgiving,” Mr. Feingold said, adding that he was making plans to read aloud from the Bill of Rights as part of a filibuster if necessary.
Go for it, Senator Feingold! Hell, make all the bastards miss Turkey Day. It’s worth it, all right.
***
Shout for my wife:
Karen has written an interesting post on her late father’s rather odd past. His life story seems like something out of Vonnegut (a la Mother Night) or John Irving. Check it out.
D.
Who’s my fugwy wittle Secwetawy of State, hmm?
Props to Pat for finding the Condoleeza Rice is Ugly blog. The goal of this site:
“Here at Condoleeza Rice Is Ugly, we feel that our Secretary of State has received far less parody and hostility than other major players in the Bush adminstration. The time has come to mock with equality.”
An honorable purpose indeed, and yet I fear this blog will bring out the trolls, racists, and misogynists of the ‘osphere. Condoleeza Rice is Ugly seems to invite the Least Common Denominator of humor. For that reason alone, I’m going to reserve judgment. As you all know, I like my humor to be witty to the point of erudition.
And that is why, for my contribution, I made a poopy joke.
D.
Technorati tag: Condoleeza Rice, humor
I’m the Daughter of a Traitor
Most of my family were thrown in internment camps during WWII by FDR for the “crime” of being Japanese-American. Of course, none of those internees ever committed even a slightly treasonous act but suffered the consequences of the loss of their civil rights.
On the other hand, my (now deceased) father’s story is a great deal more complicated. My great-grandfather was forced to leave Japan because he was a supporter of the old order. When the Meiji restoration occurred (the emperor seized control), he was on the losing side of the power struggle and emigrated to the U.S. where he was a successful farmer. He went back to Japan and bought real estate and lived quite comfortably. His daughter and her husband stayed in the U.S. and that was where my father was born.
He was sent to Japan at the age of seven to be educated. His parents stayed behind, so he was raised by his grandfather, a very strict but fair man. When the shit hit the fan in 1941, my great-grandfather publically stated that the Japanese government had their heads up their asses and would lose the war. The police questioned him but let him go. Actually, the Japanese government and military knew that it was a bad idea but, for extraordinarily stupid reasons, they went ahead and attacked Pearl Harbor anyway. Why would a government knowingly commit an idiotic and catastrophic mistake? (Sound familiar?)
In any case, my father, then 14, suffered beatings and abuse because he wasn’t a “patriotic Japanese citizen.” Determined to prove his loyalty, he ran away from home at 16 and found work making bombs in a Tokyo factory. I suppose he may have committed high treason for this activity. His bombmaking job didn’t last, however.
The U.S. firebombed residential sections of Toyko, killing hundreds of thousands of civilians who were NOT engaged in the war effort. People ran for the rivers but the heat was so intense, the water boiled and they were literally cooked to death. My father saw bloated bodies floating in the water with their skin peeling off their flesh. He escaped the same fate through sheer luck.
After Japan’s defeat and the subsequent economic dislocations perpetrated by Douglas MacArthur, my great-grandfather lost most of his money and had to sell his real estate holdings. My father eventually decided to go to the U.S. He was still a U.S. citizen.
When the Korean War broke out, my father was drafted by the U.S. Army. He served two years and was a model soldier. For the next 50 years, he worked hard, raised a family, and was a law-abiding, contributing member to society.
I believe that a rational person would forgive my father’s “treason.” He was young, his allegiance was to the country where he was raised, he was pressured as disloyal by his peer group, and he later served in the U.S. military (a rather ironic twist, imho).
This is my father’s odd history with bizarre twists and shifting patriotism (or lack thereof). FDR and the U.S. government are hardly the heroes in this story, but neither are the Japanese; atrocities abound for all.
So what country deserves the patriotism of its citizens? George Bush’s America? HAH! Not a goddamn one deserves my loyalty, but that’s a consequence of my family history and post Vietnam/Watergate cynicism.
Dream a little dream
Jona has been messing around with her dreams lately, trying her best to remember them. Sounds innocent enough, huh? BUT (cue scary organ music) that’s how it starts. Dreams are a risky business, but I’m not sure any of you will believe me. (more…)
A liberally dirty joke
Long O.R. day today, plus two trips to the ER, so I find myself short on energy, creativity, and time. Soon, I hope to write a post on this little feller,
the blue poison dart frog, Dendrobates azureus. Hard to believe I’ve been blogging since April and I’ve made scarcely a mention of our frogs.
Maybe later. For now, here’s a joke I heard in the O.R. today. Stop me if you’ve heard this one.
Um . . . any of you who are still in that 36%-who-still-like-George-Bush demographic might want to sit this one out. (more…)
Ox tail stew for the muse
How’s that for a book title? Forget chicken soup; even the best leaves me hungry. Ox tail stew, on the other hand, is the quintessential meal in a bowl. Give the muse a bit of metaphorical ox tail stew and she’ll be good for a week. (more…)