Alien psychology
In case you missed it, PBW had a wonderful post on the “don’ts” of writing fiction (Paperback Writer: How Not To). Pearls galore. Some time soon, I hope to blog on my own list of don’ts.
In the comments, one of F. O’Brien Andrew’s “don’ts” struck me. Paraphrasing: in science fiction, make your aliens physically bizarre but psychologically human. This is a don’t, mind you.
This is an interesting “don’t” because it gets at the root of an interesting dichotomy in the science fiction audience. Some folks read SF exclusively for the wow factor. These readers go into ecstasies over authors who can deliver extraterrestrials who are alien body and soul. (more…)
Jews to the right of me, Jews to the left of me
New York Times Op-Ed columnist David Brooks might tick me off as an Op-Ed guy, but he writes a provocative book review. In the November 6 NYT Book Review, he looks at Jerome Karabel’s scholarly work, The Chosen: The Hidden History of Admission and Exclusion at Harvard, Yale, and Princeton.
Karabel’s book focuses on a quiet revolution which occurred on Ivy League campuses over the course of the 20th century. In the early 1900s, non-White Anglo-Saxon Protestants didn’t bother to apply to these schools; yet “Jews, for reasons that are not clear, never got the message. They applied to Harvard, Yale and Princeton even though they weren’t really wanted. And because many were so academically qualified, they increasingly got in.” (more…)
I’ll take a winged Eros, please
You think I’m lazy? Me, lazy? We did this last night:
The Piledriver from Sexual Positions Free.Com
. . . and we used real wooden mannequins.
Somehow, sex looks more fun when genitalia-free mannequins get it on. Rent the uncut version of Team America and tell me I’m wrong.
D.
Ubersexual — so that’s what I am!
Thanks to Beth for pointing me towards Sandy Oakes’s Romancing the Blog post, Ubersexuals. At last, I find someone who understands my true nature.
Let’s see how I stack up. According to Marsha Saltzman’s book The Future of Men, the Ubersexual
- “embraces his masculine qualities (the M-ness factor) which includes confidence, leadership, passion and compassion.” Yup, that’s me, all the way. Just ask Karen.
- “is passionate about causes and principles.” Check.
- “treats and respects women as equals, but considers other men his best friends.” But my wife is my best friend. Does that make me (gasp!) a metrosexual? Am I less uber for my choice in friends?
- “is sensual and not self-conscious.” Sensual, yes, but . . . does worrying about my belly blubber count as self-consciousness?
- “knows ‘the difference between right and wrong and will make the right decision regardless of what others around him may think.'” Check.
By my conservative estimate, this makes me at least 70% ubersexual. That’s good enough to overturn a Presidential veto — ubersexual it is! Yippee. This sounds like a good (albeit vaguely Third Reichich) thing.
One problem: I don’t like being on top. Does that make me an untersexual?
D.
The Political Cusack
John Cusack has written a somewhat rambling political rant over at the Huffington Post:
On Bush, the Dems, Jon Stewart, Hunter Thompson, Bill Moyers, and King (not Don)
What the essay lacks in focus it makes up for in passion. Great quotes from Thompson, Moyers, and MLK, but Cusack’s commentary on Jon Stewart puts into words something that has been bothering me for a long time:
“. . . when Republicans, who were the ones who led us into this war, and the ones whom he’s so rightly skewering every night, sit across the table from him — there is some kind of unspoken message being given that they are not part of the problem, that they can wink and laugh with Jon and the things he is making fun of. That they are not them, when in fact, they are . . .
And they are getting a free pass to sit next to someone who speaks truth to power. They get reflected hipness just by sitting across the table from him, and the irony is that they share a laugh over the same things that he rails against. As an example, look at the jokey appearances by Bill Kristol, or David Frum. These are not dutiful soldiers standing by their president (which would be bad enough), these are the intellectual architects of the the invasion. Bill Kristol, the editor of the neocon house organ The Weekly Standard, came on and could barely keep a straight face when he said that Bush was a good president. And as anyone knows, reflected hipness on these types of men is a truly ugly thing. I would suggest each Republican must face a press conference, or a gauntlet perhaps, of Daily Show correspondents…or at least Lewis Black.”
I suspect Stewart would counter, “But this is comedy, people,” but surely he understands the responsibility of his position? As Cusack points out a bit earlier in the essay, Stewart is all we have — one of the few people with an audience AND the clout to get these guys to show up on his program. I suspect if he didn’t give these guys a walk, they’d stop making appearances.
What to do, what to do . . .
D.
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A prayer for Pat Robertson
LORD,
Given that one of thy most precious qualities is MERCY;
And that thou hast forgiven Pat Robertson for saying 9/11 was YOUR punishment for gays, abortion, and anal bleachings;
And that thou hast forgiven him for calling for the death of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez;
And that thou hast forgiven him for calling all feminists “child killers”;
And that thou hast forgiven him for a lifetime of hubris, in claiming to know YOUR will;
Respectfully, LORD, I request THOU DROPPEST THE MERCY CRAP and remember one of thy other divine qualities, namely, JUSTICE,
And when thou, in thy divine wisdom, weighest the merits of Robertson’s recent call for a natural disaster to plague all of the men, women, and children of Pennsylvania, sinners and innocents alike, thou shouldest remember the Pharoah of Egypt: for you hardened your heart (sorry, LORD, but those thous and thys have become quite taxing of my puny mortal patience) and punished Pharoah for his sins, oh, how you punished Pharoah — that was truly righteous, LORD, good one! — but can we please, oh please, oh please, have some of that JUSTICE now?
When an ass clown calls for death and hardship for thousands of your faithful, and claims to do it in YOUR NAME, does that get your attention, LORD?
I’m sure you will choose a worthy and just punishment for PAT ROBERTSON (common name, LORD, so I gave you a photo above to help you find the right PAT ROBERTSON), but in case you’re busy and need some help, might I suggest you revive an old favorite — the ten plagues of Egypt? For extra zest, you might add “in his ass” to each of these plagues:
BLOOD in his ass.
FROGS in his ass. Come to think of it, hold off on that one. I like frogs too much.
LICE in his ass.
FLIES in his ass.
A HERD OF DISEASED CATTLE in his ass.
BOILS in his ass. LORD, you could do that one in your sleep.
A HAILSTORM in his ass.
LOCUSTS in his ass.
DARKNESS in his ass. Huh?
DEATH OF THE FIRSTBORN — no, you can stop there, LORD. I always thought you went a wee bit too far on that one. Instead, might I suggest
A GOOD-SIZED, YET NON-LETHAL EXPLOSION in his ass.
Amen.
D.
Technorati tags (thanks to Rob for doing the work for me):
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Pat Robertson
If Amanda can procrastinate, so can I
Besides — it’s after 11. Too late to write anyway.
Also, I’m bummed. Amanda’s character has far better boobage than me. Just as well; if I were Amanda’s character, I’d never get anything done.
You are a Grassroots Activist. Anti-capitalist,
anti-patrist, anti-authoritarian, whatever,
you’re just fuckin’ anti. You probably tell
people you hate postmodernism, but that
assertion elides the complex interdependencies
among academic poststructuralism and
street-level activism. You don’t bathe
regularly (like hell I don’t!), and know at least one person who has
scabbies (that’s scabies, Nimrod).
What kind of postmodernist are you!?
brought to you by Quizilla
D.
Life with Fred
In my library of books on writing, none is more idiosyncratic than Damon Knight’s Creating Short Fiction. (My favorite book on writing, in case you’re wondering, is John Gardner’s The Art of Fiction. That’s where I go whenever I need reassurance that it’s all worthwhile.)
You may remember Knight as the author of To Serve Man (“It’s . . . a cookbook!”) Creating Short Fiction is his first person/intensely personal compendium of advice for novice writers. He gives the reader lots of snarkworthy passages, not least of which his annotated story “Semper Fi.” I don’t want to indulge my snark glands, however. I give Knight a hell of a lot of credit for throwing himself into this book so wholeheartedly. (more…)
Judith Miller’s Top 10 new job opportunities
Ms. Miller, 57, said in an interview that she was “very satisfied” with the agreement and described herself as a “free woman,” free from what she called the “convent of The New York Times, a convent with its own theology and its own catechism.”
She said that in the few hours since her departure had been made public, she had received several offers “of all kinds” for future employment, which she declined to specify.
Hmm. I can imagine the offers rolling in . . . (more…)