The Weird Things People Eat Around the World. Plenty of interesting and sometimes somewhat gross things. But the thing that really got me were the dead fish in the tank labeled "live trout".
Goth's Wan Stamina. There's a distinction between Goth culture and fashion. However, I think most people wearing black are probably just doing it for the look.
On Your Feet. There are occasions where shoe fashion does matter (formal occasions for instance), but on a day-to-day basis, comfort triumphs. Besides, no one that I know cares about what I wear.
What’s the most desperate thing you’ve read because it was the only available reading material?
Month old newspapers and popular magazines.
If it was longer than a cereal box or an advertisement, did it turn out to be worth your while?
Not really. Old news is still old news. Popular magazines probably make the reader dumber. So I guess the lesson here is to always have your own reading material handy. It's either that or some blank paper on which I could write on (and make up my own reading material).
Onesome: Optimize-- Okay, it's geek time: what do you use to optimize your computer experience? Is there a program or tool or piece of hardware that has made a difference for you?
Not really. Maybe the better question is what I don't use. Like plugins for my browser. I could care less about the majority of embedded java applets and flash demos. Videos on YouTube? I don't care if I'm missing something "cool". I'm not installing anything that will waste my time on downloading and waste my time watching. (And if this makes people think that I'm a cultural dunce for not knowing the latest person to make a fool of themselves over the internet, so what? Some people probably already think I'm a cultural dunce for not watching regular TV.)
Twosome: your-- firewall, is it a hardware or a software firewall? ...or is that something you leave to someone else to worry about?
I just know it's there.
Threesome: Firewall-- appliances and programs stop some stuff, but have you ever had to use a malware removal tool because something slipped in through email or from a web site?
Yes, but it was because I had been connected to a network.
This stuff is getting close to unmanageable. Also: Comments are not necessarily related to the links. I felt like going off on a tangent.
TLLT. A lovely photoblog showcasing images with surprising connections.
A Sense of Anxiety a Shirt Won't Cover. I bookmarked this article before I saw it posted on other blogs. (But in this case should I still credit "via" the blogs which posted this first? I'm not--unless someone starts sending angry e-mails. And even then, still no. I don't hand out cheap links to just anyone.) Back on topic: There are cases where plastic surgery is probably the best option, but I can't help feel that surgical modification for most people is merely another method for conformity. Why the heck anyone wants to look like they came out of a factory is beyond my understanding.
Night Streetwalking is OK by Me. I don't really think the issue is that of women getting enough confidence to travel alone. The issue is other people's perception of women traveling alone. If you saw a woman walking alone at night, would you think it's right just to assume that she's asking for it? (On the other hand: it's sort of foolhardy to walk around alone in dangerous neighborhoods whether you are a man or a woman--people intent on harm don't care about gender.)
Too Many Words? I think of it in terms of food. There are the words in regular usage, the major staples of the diet so to speak, the kinds used to convey basic thoughts and ideas in a clear and succinct way. Then there are the big words--these are the spices. A few of them scattered within usual discourse in a thoughtful way makes a typical passage something to be savored. Use too many of them and you might metaphorically end up in the emergency room with a jar of lemon pepper up your nose.
"I'm not a feminist, but..." F-that!! The word "feminist" is a loaded term. Why? Because a bunch of wrong-headed assumptions have become attached to it throughout the past decades. But I'm willing to say I'm a feminist--an angry feminist sometimes--but I'm not the kind of "feminist" that bash people simply because they have the wrong equipment.
Older siblings are smarter. Once a stranger guessed that I was the firstborn simply because I "looked like it." What?! Okay, so she was right, but that doesn't make me comfortable with the stereotype. I hate being boxed in before I say a word. But I can't deny that I grew up with certain pressures and expectations that my younger sibling didn't have. Sometimes I think I've been groomed as the pseudo-elder son.
Aside: Often, I wonder why I even bother to write commentary to links. Most of the time, it's pointless. No one cares about my commentary. If anyone stumbles onto this site, they just want the links. Linkees just want to know what sort of stupid blog is popping up on their referral stats.
What on earth does one have to do with the other? Well, if there's anything I can say about Marjorie M. Liu, she sure likes to mix it up in her stories. It isn't necessary to read the five previous stories in her Dirk & Steele series to understand her latest offering, Soul Song*, a gritty paranormal romance with some surprising points of complexity. Fluffy--no. Adventure, violence, sex, a little humor--yes. I'd compare it to a Bond flick with magic thrown in.
During one of her concerts in Vancouver, violinist Kitala Bell "sees" the murder of a woman sitting in a front seat of the audience. Kit normally tries to ignore her talent for seeing violent deaths, but in this case, she is compelled to warn this woman, Alice, of her vision. For her pains, Alice's uncle is killed and Kit and Alice are kidnapped by a pair of corrupt police officers intent on delivering Alice to their mysterious employer. Although Alice remains in their clutches, Kit is rescued by a man who can sing others to their deaths and breathe underwater.
M'cal, however, is no do-gooder. He is Krackeni, a merman, enslaved by a beautiful witch who forces him to steal souls. Kit is his next target, but his instant fascination with her when he watched her perform on stage makes him warn her of the danger that he poses to her. What he is unaware of is that Kit herself has powers that have influence on his captivity.
There is much going on--from the obvious relationship between Kit and M'cal, to the witch's motives, the circumstances and reasons behind Alice's abduction, M'cal's estrangement from his father, the appearance of shape-shifting agents from the Dirk & Steele agency, and even Kit's subtle tug-of-war with her voodoo priestess grandmother speaking from beyond the grave. Somehow, Liu manages to tie everything together in the finale.
My minor quibble with this novel is the pacing of the relationship. Twenty-four hours seem awfully fast. But what do I know. The rest of the action-packed plot does slow it down a bit. I'm also not too sure about the use of the terms "fiddle" and "violin" interchangeably--for some people, they're the same thing, but for me, they're not (unless Kit has been switching out the bridges and the strings while I wasn't looking). There were some details/possible references that I did enjoy. Like the description of Vancouver--hey, it's easier to visualize someplace if you've been there and the author even gets the street names right. M'cal's talent reminded me of the myth about the sirens that lured sailors to their deaths. And the name Kitala Bell--is that inspired by the violinist Joshua Bell? But I guess I'll never know the answer to that unless I stopped lurking at the author's weblog.
*I received this novel as an ARC for a buzz campaign.
Stay tuned later this week when I continue clearing out my bookmarks. But meanwhile:
The Bem Sex Role Inventory Test. (via So anyway) This test says I have a "traditionally masculine personality." I think this test is just getting it mixed up with my INTJ tendencies.
Viewing American class divisions through Facebook and MySpace. (via A Blog Around The Clock) Arg. I'm squarely in the target demographic, but even with invitations, I've avoided and ignored pretty much every social networking application there ever was, from Friendster, Orkut, MySpace, Facebook, Twitter, ad nauseum. (I suppose one could point out one exception--LibraryThing--but I very, very rarely make use of the social aspects of that site.) Online, I'm pretty much just like what I was during most of my high school years--sitting by myself at a lunch table far away from everyone else. Someone on Metafilter said that the kids with their own domains instead are nerds. Well, if I'm a nerd, then so be it.
Because some of those roses might be coated with pesticides that are illegal in the US.
I've never quite understood what flowers were all about, specifically the ones you would get from a florist. Maybe it's because I never got flowers as a gift. And no, getting a carnation in a beer bottle doesn't count because all the other girls in the dorm got the same thing. I haven't given flowers as a gift to anyone either (just not my style, ya' know?). I've only been a messenger or an observer watching other people get flowers.
My reasoning is: those flowers are all on death's doorstep. It's far less depressing spending an afternoon walking through a botanical garden (even if you're by yourself); the plants, if not perfect, are at least still alive.
Amy Stewart's viewpoint in Flower Confidential is the opposite of mine in regards to this vegetable decoration. Even after her extensive research into the flower industry, she's still excited about buying and receiving flowers. But hey, everyone's entitled to their vices. So what if priviledged women living in industrial societies don't give a damn about the ecological and economical consequences in third word countries as long as their hubbies give them their pretties on arbitrary holidays?*
But regardless my opinion on flowers themselves, I found Flower Confidential to be an intriguing look at the process from which flowers get from the field to the local supermarket. People don't merely pick blossoms and ship them to the store anymore--everything is done clockwork as in a factory. Flower farmers these days control everything--from the nutrients, the temperature, the sunlight, even their genes**--so that their product will be produced in the exact shape, size, color, smell, and time. (Otherwise, how the heck can a beleagured man find two dozen perfect red roses for Valentine's?***) The business of selling flowers is equally unsentimental--whole cargoes of the stuff can be auctioned off in minutes or even seconds without even a cursory glance by the buyer.
However, it was the more human side of the industry that really held my attention. Stewart recounts the story of the eccentric lily breeder Leslie Woodriff who never saw any profit from his creations, most notably the "Star Gazer" lily which is now a major staple in many florist shops. She shadows the owners of some major flower farms who are quite enthusiastic--abeit obsessively workaholic--about their products. She chats with a jaded flower auction coordinator who really doesn't like flowers any more because her ex-husband always gave her free flowers. On the Central American flower farms, Stewart details the process in which the workers wear biohazard suits and respirators just so they can dip roses into vats of fungicide--that have been banned in the United States--so that the rose can be preserved in its perfection for American and European consumers.
I suppose flowers aren't all doom and gloom though. Stewart does mention one company that develops environmentally friendly biopesticides (bring on those Bacillus subtilis isolates from Fresno peach tree orchards!) and the fact that several flower farms are voluntarily getting certified. But these things seem to be going by slowly, and by the end of the epilogue, I still could not quite understand the author's enthusiasm.
*Do I really have to explain sarcasm?
**A (not so minor) nitpick: Genes are extracted from vacuoles (pg. 43)? Tell me this is a journalistic mistake and not what the scientist actually told the author.
I'm driving home from the grocery store on a main road, minding my own business, when a sedan peels off from the side road right in front of me without stopping--going a kazillion miles an hour. I slam on my brakes, nearly missing the other car. The driver sticks his arm out the window and gives me the finger.
Onesome: Laundry-- Ah, the relaxing way to spend a day, -eh? ...or not. "Laundry, bane or boon?", the question of the week!
It's just another chore I have to do. (I'm not the domestic kind of person, so of course I don't like it.)
Twosome: Stain-- Okay, we'll work on cleaning this Thursday: what's your best stain removal tip?
There's that stain removal stuff you can buy at the store.
Threesome: Removal-- So you're doing dishes (presuming you don't nuke everything on paper plates and use plastic utensils): what's the hardest food to remove from day to day stuff (cookware doesn't count!).
If you wash your dishes immediately after using them, you don't have to work as hard scrubbing them.
And I read complaints about how some books are too intellectual. WTF? I think people are failing to see the distinction between intellectual and unclear. Big words and obscure references do not necessarily make anything intellectual.
But if they truly are meaning that certain books are too intellectual, I only have one recommendation for them: picture books*.
*Then again, if all the pictures were Kandinsky paintings people would still be whining.
I was walking up the Hill. I hate it. It's too steep, too everything. And then I spotted some old ladies lugging lawn chairs up the Hill. Well, that put things into perspective.
This afternoon, another student was enthusing about The Amber Spyglass. I think Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials is brilliant, but all I said was, "That's a good book." It's pointless to extol the virtues of a book to someone who's already a fan.
The ARC of the Covenant. An interesting article with hints on how not to get ripped off by ARCs. I confess, I'm usually more interested in the content of a book rather than its packaging so lures of pristine ARCs (unless they are free) will not sway me.
Where are all the single women? The single men? I'm looking at those two blue dots on either side of the Idaho-Washington border and I'm thinking, "Is that Moscow and Pullman? Nah. Must be Spokane and Coeur d'Alene." Most of the people I know are either married or seriously involved--which would normally not bother me, but it does get annoying when conversation starts veering off into "S.O. this, S.O. that" territory.
17 foods to try before you die. Some of those--no thanks. Like street food, for instance. People have landed in the hospital because of it. Hm. I should probably make my own list some time. (It would probably include snake and snail, but not frog. I've tried frog before.)
I got a package in the mail yesterday--my first ARC! Okay, so maybe I shouldn't be so excited--the cover looks like some cabana boy-crazed design artist had done a number on it. Anyways, I've always been envious of people who've gotten books before the official release date--not because I'm generally impatient, but because in a small corner of my mind, I resent the fact that I'm relegated to the masses who only get to read when the publishers feel it's good and ready.
Back on topic: There's no question that I'm going to review this ARC like all the other books that I've borrowed from the library or bought myself. But then again, I've never reviewed an ARC before, so is it necessary to disclose that one got a book as an ARC? Professional reviewers never seem to do so--however, I think everyone already knows that the publishers send books to the pros anyway. And what if you personally know the author? (Well, I don't know the ARC's author--I only lurk on her weblog.)
Hm. Maybe I'll just put lots of disclaimers in tiny font just to be safe.
Have you ever read a book which had you laughing and nodding your head in agreement?
The Tough Guide to Fantasyland by Diana Wynne Jones is a hilarious look at the cliches of the pseudo-European-historical/high fantasy genre in the form of a travel guide. Or more precisely, a dictionary. If you've read any appreciable amount of fantasy, you'll get the sly references to the tourist always receiving three brochures, the "official management terms", the typical tour companions, and of course, the dark lord. Reading through all the entries, one could suppose a "fantasy tour" is nothing more than a transcript of a Zork walkthrough.
Despite it's light-hearted nature, The Tough Guide makes the reader and writer consider: what is good, original fantasy? Or even more broadly, what is good genre fiction? I don't think that good genre fiction necessarily needs to discard all tropes. But a good story doesn't depend on these tropes. Using a cliche just because it's there is lazy storytelling. Tropes and cliches force the reader to rely on stereotype--which in the end will leave people thinking that the story at best is nothing special and at worst derivative dreck.
When I first heard one of Maroon 5's new songs, I thought the Bee Gees had made a comeback. Why is this stuff so popular anyway? Are baby boomers desperately clinging to music that reminds them of their youth in a hopeless effort to turn back the clock (and thus brainwashing the next generation into liking this)? You're getting old, dudes. Just give it up.
A bunch of professors and grad students (me included) are going rappelling. First, we cross a sedate looking river surrounded by denuded trees. I notice swimmers and kayakers calmly navigating the waters--as well as one drowning person desperately clinging to a sinking maroon pleasure yacht.
Then the river abruptly ends. With a maniacal grin on his face, one of my advisers shouts, "Hold on tight!" I look down. In one hand, I'm holding the rope. The other, I'm holding a white trash bag (barf bag? white flag?), and before I know it, I'm barrelling down the mountain with silver arrows and aggressive SUVs coming the opposite direction.
Somehow, I reach the bottom without getting shot at, run over, or falling to my death. We go into a shack that has a dirt floor and a mysterious metal door. But it's not so mysterious when some people open it and take out a trunk containing lunch trays that bear a suspicious resemblance to ones they occasionally have after seminars.
While everyone is eating, I notice some papers left in the trunk. I take them out. It's a map of Afghanistan with fiery icons indicating where all the fighting is going on. A black squiggly line connects all those icons. Another grad student looks over my shoulder. "Hey," he says, "that's the next part of our route."
I am seriously considering dropping BlogHer from my feeds. Why? Too few posts on women's issues and too many mommybloggers introducing themselves, that's what. Whenever a woman who is a mother blogs--she always mentions her kids as if they are the center of her universe. Well, maybe they are. There's nothing wrong with that if she's truly happy for her life to be so, but...
There's other stuff in life besides kids. (Or marriages for that matter.)
Now I'll just sit back and wait for all the non-existent comments berating me on how I'm just a self-centered twenty-something who will soon "grow out of it". Yeah, whatever.
1. Do you cheat and peek ahead at the end of your books? Or do you resolutely read in sequence, as the author intended?
Sometimes I do look a couple pages ahead. Or even read the ending first. This is not because I'm really impatient--if I'm reading ahead, that's a sign that the author did not sufficiently engage my attention, or even worse, made me exasperated. If I read in sequence, all that means is that the writing was interesting enough to guide me through the proper order.
2. And, if you don’t peek, do you ever feel tempted?
So you want to go to grad school? Perhaps you'd better read the links in this post first. My only comment is that grad school is a lot like getting beaten into a bloody pulp, beaten some more while you're still down, and then as a bloody smear attempting to crawl away to scar in peace--getting chased down yet again. (But you're still here, you might say. So grad school can't be that bad. Well, just keep on dreaming about those hot cabana boys.)
As of the writing of this post, LibraryThing is still down. Although I do not frequent this site as much as some other people, I still sympathize with the people going into withdrawal symptoms from lack of cataloging. In the meantime, read a book...
Every time I visit Technorati, my "authority" number goes down. I'm just glad people aren't linking to me as an example of stupidity.
What's up with those messages on Father's Day cards? Almost all of them totally SUCK. Next year, I'm just going to get a blank card and write my own damn message.
Bookstore Breakup. Heh. Awesome metaphor of a bookstore as a boyfriend. Except when it comes to me and bookstores, I'm more like a party girl who juggles a couple dozen clueless boyfriends at the same time.
One rotten thing about checking books out of the library is that they have due dates. You have to turn them back in whether or not you're finished with them. Another thing is those little old ladies who come out of the library just as you're going in with smug looks on their faces. You then rush to the shelves and discover that the book you've been looking for has just been checked out.
On topic: the library copy of Bambi vs. Godzilla by David Mamet has been in and out of my hands for the past three months and only now have I been able to finish it. And I have one word for all of you waiting on bated breath for my review: ARG.
The title is amusing, but I didn't think to actually read the thing until after I read a not so favorable review over at Third Level Digression and a comment from an academic refuting Yahmdallah's opinion. Usually, if something strikes extreme opinions, it probably lies somewhere in the middle for me. This time, well...ARG.
I've never seen any of Mamet's plays or movies (they could be pure genius for all I know), but from his writing Mamet strikes me as the kind of guy that arty grad students would put up on a pedestal while everyone else would denounce as full of BS. Some science papers may have atrocious writing, but at least they have graphs which get to the point. Mamet--no. If he prizes getting to the point so much, why does he take such a circuitous way to say so? (Perhaps you'll want to excuse him by saying it's his writing style. Well, if you like having your eyes permanently crossed, go ahead.)
Now this doesn't mean that the book was a total waste. Mamet does have some interesting insights scattered here and there--like the psychology behind certain film genres and his ideas on what storytelling techniques works or falls flat on its face. His philosophy on writing screenplays is quite nihilistic--the writer is viewed as a "thief": if you don't compromise with the producer/director you get fired, but if you compromise too much you get fired anyway. Then again, that's not so surprising since Mamet emphasizes that the movie business is powered by money, not artistic endeavor.
As for Mamet's "writing for women" section, I didn't feel as much outraged as Yahmdallah did as resigned. It reminded me of a post I read a while ago while surfing some sci-fi discussion weblogs about how some editors claim that they only select stories for good writing and not for who wrote them--even though they do not acknowledge that they are selecting their stories through the filter of their own biases. Mamet is the same way. He says:
The question is not can one sex write for the other--if not, are we then to have only unisexual dramas?--but can the individual write? That is, can he (a) see and (b) tell the truth?
I don't doubt that some men can write a women's point of view well, but the assertion about writing the truth being the key to writing well is erroneous. Truth is not the same as fact. Truth is subjective. When a writer develops a character (male or female), the character's motivations and actions are based on the writer's own experiences and ideas that have been selectively distilled by his unconscious from seemingly objective research. Only when the writer realizes that everything is being sifted through his own viewpoint will he start getting anywhere.
What the World Eats. (via Scrubbles.net) This photoessay by Peter Menzel (yep, it's that same guy whose book I raved about last year) is inspiring me to throw away what little junk food I still keep in my cupboards. (Looking at all the processed foods that the families from industrialized countries have is making me green.) And now I'm totally looking forward to getting my hands on Menzel's "Hungry Planet".
As someone who isn't in the book biz, publishing seems completely ass backwards sometimes. One example is the practice of sending back unsold books to the publisher so that the seller gets his money back. No other industry works like that. Another example is e-books. When a e-book author has finally made it, his/her books are reprinted on luddite technology. Several years ago when I first heard about e-books and went about trying to find more information about them, I came across Linnea Sinclair's work. Of course, I didn't buy any of her books then--I will freely admit that I am shallow in this instance. E-book covers are universally terrible and pretty much nothing will induce me to buy one on that point alone. Thus, e-publishers will have to either hire people who actually has an iota of talent in the art and design department or not put any covers on their offerings at all.
Anyways, here are my thoughts on Sinclair's work (although the mere fact that I read three of her novels back to back in a relatively short amount of time probably says it all):
Games of Command. As the Alliance forms when two warring factions--the Triad and the United Coalition--makes peace, Captain Tasha Sebastian is assigned to serve on a mixed crew headed by none other than her former nemesis, the biocybe Admiral Branden Kel-Paten. They first investigate some mysterious deaths which has a personal resonance for Tasha's best friend, Dr. Eden Fynn, but they are abruptly sidetracked by a space storm that conveniently deposits Jace Serafino, a wanted rebel, right on their doorstep. But with Serafino's appearance, everything starts to unravel, including the Alliance.
I particularly enjoyed (insert evil laughter here) the main character angst involved--Tasha going into all sorts of contortions so that Kel-Paten wouldn't find out that she used to be Lady Sass, an infamous rim runner, and Kel-Paten endlessly agonizing over whether or not the object of his unrequited affections viewed him as human or a machine. But let's just say that Games of Command would have totally worked if it weren't for those darned furzels. I think it was the baby-talk that killed it for me. Well, that and the contradiction that the furzels were "natural enemies" of the Ved even though it had been explained that the Ved were genetically engineered. Now if those furzels had talked like really edgy LOLcats, a lot more could have been forgiven. Other than that, it was an entertaining piece of space opera that didn't attempt to shove any serious messages onto the reader.
An Accidental Goddess. After defending Khalaran territory in a dangerous maneuver during a space battle with the Fav'lhir, Gillaine Davré a Raheiran Special Forces captain finds herself waking up three hundred and forty-two years in the future on a Khalaran space station. And if time traveling wasn't enough, the Khalarans had managed to elevate her status to that of a goddess in the intervening centuries. But when she ends up on the space station, people only assume she's a rim world trader (or maybe even a smuggler) who ran into some bad luck. So all she would have to do is to dodge the suspicious questions of Rynan "Mack" Makarian, the admiral in charge of the station, and she would be home free. However, things aren't so simple when Gillaine realizes that the Fav'lhir are still lurking around, not content with their defeat three hundred years before.
This was probably my favorite out of the three, one because it reminded me of Star Trek: DS9 (the few early episodes I did watch, anyway) and second, the sheer wackiness of some of the plot devices which would probably make An Accidental Goddess more science fantasy than science fiction. I was also quite amused in how the author used a futuristic situation to illustrate the inanities of religious commercialists and frauds. The only sticking point was Gillaine's surprising nonchalance at her one-way time traveling. Why did she never grieve or worry that all the people she knew before were now dead? Why didn't she even attempt to contact her fellow Raheirans to get her bearings on what was happening? At any rate, that is a minor quibble as I thoroughly enjoyed the story, wackiness and all.
Gabriel's Ghost. Chasidah Bergren used to be an upstanding captain in the Sixth Fleet patrolling the Empire until she got court-martialed for a crime she didn't commit and sent to an inescapable prison planet. After killing a prison guard in self-defense, however, she comes face to face with Gabriel Sullivan who was supposed to be dead. Sullivan is a dangerous rogue mercenary, who offers Chasidah freedom if she joins him on a perilous mission to stop a conspiracy from breeding the terrifying jukors--creatures with no other instinct than to kill. But there are no clear cut villains as the conspiracy infiltrates trusted superiors, friends, and even family.
As a space opera, this story had enough twists and turns to keep one happy. As a romance, the use of first person was rather questionable. Even unreliable, perhaps. Once the reader finds out that Sullivan has extensive skills in mind manipulation, how can you not question the reactions of the narrator? There were situations when Chasidah did not notice Sullivan altering her perceptions, so how would she know that what she was feeling (particularly her love and trust towards Sullivan) was real? Does she really even know her own mind even as she tells the other characters (and the reader) that she does?
I hate talking about television shows and movies. For one thing, I rarely watch television or movies so I have nothing to contribute to a conversation centering solely on the media. And secondly, I hate feeling embarrassed and awkward when I find myself in a social situation where everyone is jabbering about the latest television drama. One way to remedy such situations is to actually watch said shows so I could contribute. But I don't want to waste my time (and money) renting things I have no interest in.
Of course, one could always change the topic of conversation. But I'm a geeky introvert and most extroverts (the ones who started the entire asinine conversation in the first place) probably don't give a damn about what I have to say because they're too interested in the sound of their own voices. So what's the point of even trying?
What I was trying to get at (before I got sidetracked with a mini-rant) is the latest documentary I have been watching: the BBC series of Planet Earth narrated by David Attenborough. It's stunning cinematography to the point that it verges on merely eye candy. But what saves it from being a picture book put on screen are the "Planet Earth Diaries" which documents how it was filmed and the companion series, Planet Earth: The Future which highlighted the environmentalist concerns.
At any rate, I've been reading comments about the series on the internet. (I usually look at reviews after I've read or seen something.) I can understand why some people would be disgruntled that there wasn't more information or talk about environmental crises. After all, Attenborough (although terrific) was a minimally invasive narrator. Then there were the people outraged with the animal violence and death depicted. These complaints I don't get. How can you even begin to comprehend nature when you can't see that it is both beautiful and cruel?
Onesome: Just-- in time for summer vacation? Are you there yet? Another week to go? Does it matter (to the moms with little ones and the eight to five crowd)? Just curious how things are across American and around the world...
What vacation? Summer is the time when I can do some research without the interruption of classes.
Twosome: in-- times of crisis, what do you do to chill out a bit? Talk to someone? ...take a walk? ...eat a gallon of Ben and Jerry's? Read a book?
Be stoic and try to do something constructive, I suppose. I always get the impression that if I "chill out" during a crisis, it's a sign of weakness.
Threesome: case--by case? Do you have a carry case for everything that has one available and keep them all populated? ...or do you just stuff gadgetry into whatever is handy when you need to lug it along somewhere?
Sometimes I stumble upon a blogger waxing on and on about how long he/she has been blogging and knows all the tricks in the book and is now a hardened veteran of the blogosphere. Then I check the archives and it only goes back for a couple of months.
Well, I just got back from southern Idaho. For research, not vacation. I would not call being kicked by angry cows and splattered with manure a vacation. More about that tomorrow, maybe.
Every pair a paradox. Only tangentially related: I don't think all women are obsessed with shoes. One example: me. I walk and drive by shoe stores all the time without getting an itch to fork over money for a new pair of heels.
Today I Am Reading a Book. My first thought was: Nooooooo! There is no way I'm going to stop reading when I get old. (I can just imagine people saying: You're young. Just wait until you do get old. Then you'll see how boring books are!) Or maybe it's just temperament and book preferences. If you only read books when those books are by Big Names, I can see how reading could become a chore.
However, it's interesting how the author of that post comments on her own blog about "a myspace culture which concocts the self out of consumables" as a justification for reading Big Names. Is she trying to say that reading commercial or genre fiction a bad thing? Or is it more like Ray Bradbury's message in Fahrenheit 451?
Should Scientists Write SF? I think this question is irrelevant. Sure, science fiction is mostly known as an idea genre. But this does not mean that all scientist authors use the genre as an outlet to pontificate about their pet theories. I think most people (including scientists) know that no matter how brilliant the idea, the story won't fly unless you've got some storytelling skill to back it up as well.
Where are all the Asian-American novelists? The answer, apparently, is that they're all stuck in jobs that they hate because their parents told them to go into a more practical field where they can make money. I can agree with this. Science is not exactly a practical field. So I put off telling my Dad that I was going to graduate school until almost the last minute. And writing! Even science has more cachet than writing. When I told my Mom that I sold two short stories, her response was, "Don't abandon your studies."
*, a gritty paranormal romance with some surprising points of complexity. Fluffy--no. Adventure, violence, sex, a little humor--yes. I'd compare it to a Bond flick with magic thrown in.
