Archive for November, 2007


The Mayor of 9/11’s New Scandal

November 29, 2007

From the Politico: 

As New York mayor, Rudy Giuliani billed obscure city agencies for tens of thousands of dollars in security expenses amassed during the time when he was beginning an extramarital relationship with future wife Judith Nathan in the Hamptons, according to previously undisclosed government records.

The documents, obtained by Politico under New York’s Freedom of Information Law, show that the mayoral costs had nothing to do with the functions of the little-known city offices that defrayed his tabs, including agencies responsible for regulating loft apartments, aiding the disabled and providing lawyers for indigent defendants.

Given the recent track record of the political media, I think we can all safely assume that this will be blamed on the Democrats.


Word of the Day

November 27, 2007

n. the act of imagining a person naked


*eye twitch*

November 21, 2007

I bought Mass Effect today. It is a super concentrated jolt of pure ecstatic glee.

My one of my fucking housemates has her goddamned loud stoner friend over, along with another friend, and together they have taken over the living room, so I can play Mass Effect, but I cannot hear it.

Murder is still illegal in this country, right?



November 20, 2007

Go here:

Download a hi-res version of the new Cloverfield trailer. Watch it. At 1:29 we get the clearest shot yet of the movie’s monster. Looks like some kind of spiky elbow, along with the back of a head ending in sort of Knuckles-the-Echinda dreadlocks.

Earlier in the trailer, at point 1:11, we can see the silhouettes of two soldiers in biohazard gear trying to restrain a young woman. Her shadow rapidly distends outwards all along the torso, and the shot cuts just become she presumably explodes. This seems to indicate there may be a plague element to the story as well. Or perhaps, if it really is a Cthulhu movie, one of the Old Ones has just decided to start making people pop. You know, for kicks.

The next couple of days are going to be a smörgåsbord of unfounded rumor and speculation. Game on!


Oh, The Angst!

November 18, 2007

One of the problems that I’ve found with writing a fantasy is that I don’t know how much to tell people about it when it comes up in conversation. I’m not really concerned that somebody is going to “steal my ideas” or any such nonsense, because honestly ideas are cheap; it’s the execution that’ll bring in the money, and I’m the only person in the world who can execute an idea the way I would. (I mean this in the most arrogant way possible)

No, what I’m really concerned of is giving too much away. Surprises are good. Surprises make me respect the author. So I want to put surprises in my books. But the best surprises are always the ones that have just enough foreshadowing that you know that something is up, you just don’t know what.

For example, the opening scenes of the Matrix make it pretty damn clear that something which is both unbelievably cool and sinister is happening. When we find out that the whole world is an elaborate game of Pong, we are surprised.

In Evangelion, we know in short order that Dr. Ikari is planning something. When, no, if the viewer manages to figure out what Ikari is really after, he or she is surprised.

Well I don’t have any cosmic mindfucks in store for my heroes (at least not in the first book), but I do have some surprises. And I’m not sure how to talk about the plot with the people in my workshop group without giving up the game. I can’t afford to do that, because if I do, then how am I to guage the surprise’s effectiveness?

Another problem I’ve found is coming up with all the gritty little details that make a world breathe. But most of my workshop group (or at least the new one) doesn’t seem interested in helping me worldbuild. I don’t think it is Literary Enough for many of them. (If, by any chance any of you are reading this and know who I am, then you know who you are. You heard me.)

That second problem, I suppose, could be solved by just, you know, asking for help, but for some reason I haven’t thought to do that yet.

Oh the troubles and toils of the aspiring fantasy writer!


Okay, Listen Up People

November 16, 2007

You know what? No more zombies. None. They’re played out. They’re overexposed. They’re starting to smell a bit ripe.

Living Dead, it’s been fun, we had a few laughs, it was a nice little Renaissance of dead things, but the party is over, and you guys need to leave. “Zombie” currently nets 35.6 million hits on Google. Benjamin Franklin gets 4.5. I’ll ask you to read that again: Benjamin fucking Franklin, the man who practically pulled the United States out of his ass, gets less than 13% as many Google hits as zombies.

Entire webrings are dedicated to zombie survival, most of which simply repeat everything all the other zombie survival sites are saying. A man named Max Brooks was smart enough to jot most of this down and have it published, which earned him a lot of undying goreboy (a fanboy of gore) devotion and the delusion that he was a good writer. He quickly followed up by inflicting a book called World War Z on us, and I haven’t been able to look at the Borders sci-fi/fantasy section without feeling a little whisper of profound and eternal disappointment since.

There is so much zombie fiction out there these days that it has started to be viewed as its own genre. But that can’t possibly be right, because calling a collection of works taken together a genre implies that there is both variation and commonality within the group. But there is nothing new coming out of Zombietown these days.

So stop. Stop the fucking zombie train, I want to get off.


I Am The Buddha of Disinterest

November 13, 2007

I have reached such a plateau of indifference towards my schooling that I have become almost transcendent in my apathy. I walk out of lectures when they’re only half-way finished. What do I care? It’ll all be on the hand-outs, or in the books. I barely studied for my astronomy midterm, and I got an A. I didn’t study at all for my Global Lit midterm, and I got a C.

I write papers the day before they are finished, and that feels like I’m striving to be an overachiever.

Even putting in the minimum effort for my classes seems like a waste of energy. The only exception is, as usual, my writing class, which continues to be a grubby beacon of occasional joy and sporadic fulfillment, far and away the most enjoyable class I have this quarter. When the stories I’m critiquing are good, the class is great. When my work is up for critique, the class is even better. When the stories I’m critiquing are bad, then the class is painful. But still, it’s at least significant to me.

So 2/3rds of my classes are a waste. I want good grades, but my desire not to do any of this pointless busywork is just as strong. They balance into a beautiful equilibrium of ennui.

I am the Buddha of disinterest.