In an effort to illustrate my conflicted feelings about Kim Stanley Robinson’s extremely preachy style of Sci Fi writing, I present a hypothetical conversation between him and his research assistant:

KSR: I’m working on a novel about the rational obviousness of science, its role in all of human progress, and the stupidity of Judeo-Christian belief systems.
ASSISTANT: Yes, sir.
KSR: I’ll need you to get me some texts to study: physics, astronomy, planetology, geology, climatology, chemistry, quantum theory, biology, systems theory, and so forth.
ASSISTANT: Yes, sir. What about the social sciences?
KSR: Social scientists are just people who didn’t have the SAT scores to get into the hard sciences. Their so-called “theories” are unscientific mumbo-jumbo with no demonstrable usefulness or effectiveness. Human behavior is so complex it can’t even be studied scientifically.
ASSISTANT: Actually, sir, there are quite a few well-validated predictive models of various aspects of human behavior, and empirical research from the social sciences has been responsible for huge improvements in the human condition. Besides, human behavior is certainly no more complex than, say, an ecosystem or a planetary climate. Why, if we simply look through the list of Nobel Prize winners from the last half-century—
KSR: I said it’s mumbo-jumbo and too complex to study.
ASSISTANT: Yes, sir.
KSR: And Buddhism is awesome.

I was at this flash fiction workshop today, and we did an exercise with lists (naturally this made me think of my sister-in-law, Susan) that I think produced bloggable results. I don’t claim this is some kind of high literature (this will become obvious); but it was fun to write, and perhaps it will be entertaining to someone else, as well.

Advice

You must not show mercy, but that’s not because you don’t have empathy; you simply have a job to do. You must not show fear, or he will use it to defeat you. It is best not to show anger, though you will be tempted; instead, try a tone of condescending cynicism.
When you send the woman, she must be the strongest, smartest, most beautiful woman you can find. you must not show mercy, even though everyone knows she will die. She has her job to do.
You must not kill him too quickly, or there will be no suspense. Your defenses must not be absolutely impregnable, no matter what the brochure says, or he will have no chance to demonstrate the superiority of Western technology. Your plan must not be perfectly devious, no matter what your IQ tests show, or he will have no opportunity to demonstrate the superiority of cleverness and homespun grit.
When you capture him, you must torture him. He will understand; he has a job to do. Often, you will have to torture the woman you sent to kill him, as well. Remember what I said about mercy. Your prison should have a hidden flaw; not too obvious, or he won’t respect you. You will capture him again, and he must truly believe that he will now die, or he may not find the strength to defeat you.
Though it seems unnecessary, you must explain your almost-perfectly-devious plan as he is placed in an overly complex and theatrical situation that should kill him, if all goes well. All must not go well.
Yes, it must be overly complex and theatrical; you must be who you are. Consider utilizing lasers, construction machinery, undersea environments, aerospace vehicles. Yes, you must explain your plan. Out loud. You owe him that much.
In the end, he must rescue a different woman, not as strong or as smart as the one you sent, though I’m sure she has her virtues. In the end, he must defeat you, for reasons too complex to explain here.
When you die, remember who you are. Scream a little. Writhe. Die badly. Give him a show. Then, you may want to find the woman you sent. Maybe she will forgive you.

In other news, I seem to be missing people, today. Especially my old internship friends, whom I haven’t seen for a year and a half. :(

…NO! Did I write a one-word-per-line villanelle about anhedonia? Yes! Yes, I did!

*

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I’ll be here all week.

(p.s. In case you’re wondering, I’m really not in a rotten mood; it was all about the juicy rhymes. This is variously called “Poetic Licentiousness,” “Terminal No-talent-itis,” or sometimes “lame-a&& hip hop”)

Uno: There’s a cool video archive hosted by UT-Austin, of Mike Wallace interviews with all sorts of famous folks in the 1950s. Salvador Dali, a KKK clansman, the Governor of Arkansas who threatened military force to prevent racial integration of the schools, and on and on. The interviews are interesting. Wallace’s 1950s social and political views are noticeable, of course, but the more shocking element is the style of the interviews. The questions are well-researched, refreshingly intelligent, apparently less infused with open political agendas than I’m used to in my lifetime. The most jarring thing was that Wallace actually gave the guests time to respond to questions. Weird.

As noted above, I was impressed by Pearl S. Buck. I had to stop counting the awesome things she said, and the very cool way she said them. There were too many.

Dos:  This weekend is General Conference. I went to Priesthood session last night (after a long struggle with laziness), and got to hear President Monson speak (the highly beloved President Hinckley died last month). His speaking style has changed. And he’s the Prophet, for sure. Good to know.

Since I haven’t done enough work today, I might as well share the fruits of my goofing off:

1. Video of Rick Nash making a freaking amazing goal
2. Now Amanda and I can finally be videogame friends
3. Interesting map of the U.S. by dominant religion

The last bit of webbiness is a page of fun words that allow statements such as the following to be made:

My darling, when I tell you I was overcome by mammaquatian melolagnia watching you at the the Fly Girl auditions, dancing to M.C. Hammer, clad in the most bifurcated of spandex unmentionables, please do not think I consider you a colpocoquettish slattern,  nor that I am some sort of eunoterpsian brassirothesauriast. Your dancing jolted me from my inveterate noeclexism and left helpless in the grip of cingulomanic, basorexic typhlobasian fantasies. Your firm handshake afterward awoke in me the most acute hirsutophilic tripsolagnophilia, with none of my former terror of amychesis. Nay, this timotrudian  demon is now a mere shadow from my youthful tartarology — much like those lost years of imparlibidinous ozoamblyrosis — with no power to dim the horripilating thoughts I dare to dream of our future together. Alas, these desires hinge on the slim possibility that you might find in this polylogistic erotographomania some counterintuitive cacocallia.

Sleep is not currently my huckleberry. Therefore, in response to massive popular demand (not unlike that which dominated Charles Dickens’ work during the serialization of Great Expectations… only more so), I am posting part 3 — the stunning conclusion — of Emperors (also linkable from Writing).

I would also like it to be known that this whole job thing sucks big nasty putrid slugs. Anyone who doesn’t want to hire my wife is a moron.

Looking south across the Chicago River on Michigan Ave

Part 2 (of 3) has been posted for Emperors, a story about a fat guy with an existential crisis brought on by medical advances, who serves fake hamburgers for fun on Wednesdays (via the writing page).

Like the title says, the first part of the short story called “Emperors” is posted on my writing page. It’s about a 5- or 10-minute soft sci-fi read. The next two parts will be posted as they are deemed ready for public evisceration

{This is part of an effort to get a broader array of comments and criticism¹. Whether you know me or not, feel free to chime in, now and in the future. Eventually, maybe I’ll get a story sold to one of the sci-fi magazines still in operation². To friends and family: comments and reading are welcome, though not required. There will be no quiz.}

1. not to overlook the incredibly helpful contributions of the couple of you who are giving/have given criticisms already [↩]
2. One rejection down, about 50 to go? Or so the pros would suggest [↩]

Grading papers. Haven’t done that in a little while, so I’m enjoying the delicious turns of phrase. Indulge me while I list some of my favorites from this batch. All names have been removed to protect the eloquent.

For example, I am in college now experimenting and choosing classes [psychology] that interest me, but might drastically change my mentality and become a sheep herder.

Although I feel I know the responsibilities and gender roles a woman should have in society, I think I could question it and develop it further by going on a couple of dates.

[My family's values included:] (1) …a career in law or engineering, (2) …emphasis on thanking God for all good things that happen in our lives, and (3) my father’s belief that a male should have many sexual partners before finally settling down.

One way I could refine my achieved identity would be to engage in a little more risk-taking behavior, including maybe some alcohol consumption or minor use of marijuana (Text, p. 355, 380).

“[I changed my major from CS to pre-law]. That is literally going from part of the university to the other side of campus.”

Those are literally awesome.

…so… Alex is in the kitchen with a towel over her head, trying to steam some of the mucus demons out of her lungs. I’m in here with the A/C, trying to ignore the lesser (but still irritating) mucus demons in my head. Brad is at his house, battling his own demons of phelgm and sickness.

Mr. Bikey came today. Yay. I was way too exhausted to ride it to Brad’s, which is probably OK because he sounded too exhausted to get the door if I had shown up. It’s still in the box. I dealt with several student problems today, including the following:

• I don’t really have to meet those prerequisites, do I?
• Instead of actually writing three of my own thoughts, I cut and pasted three of your PowerPoint slides for Assignment #1. With the fonts and graphics.
• Please give me a “Drop Pass” instead of a general withdrawal, because I don’t want to be in your class anymore.

Actually, not too annoying. Alex is a good voice of reason to keep me from being too harsh on the little youngsters. Twentysomethings… what can you do? They’re so cute at that age.

Speaking of punitiveness, my dissertation-mining expedition goes on, with the first article coming back from two faculty (one at UTPA, the other at Ohio State) giving me pointers. They both noticed that I have a teensy bit of bias in the article. I suppose I should cut the sentence that says, “In short, the American public appears to want criminals to suffer ever-increasing levels of punishment even when these measures might be illegal and unethical, and are likely to be ineffective at reducing crime.”

Alex is back. More Daria!

Then, off to Harlingen. I hunted down the only other disc golf course in the Rio Grande Valley. Turns out it’s a pretty OK course (which means it’s approximately 2,452% better than my nemesis course just down the road in Freddy Gonzalez Park). The pictures above are from the newer, cooler course. The fourth one is a weird brick in the grass. I think maybe it’s a distance marker (350 feet), even though it was in the middle of nowhere. The course isn’t very well marked. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out which basket corresponded to which tee.

Maybe it was laziness, or maybe the fatigue of constantly teeing off and putting at various angles to the 30-mph wind, but I gave up after 8 holes. It was fun, but some of the pure joy of a nice drive was taken away by the climatic situation.

Then back home, stopping for tacos on the way. Since then, I’ve been wasting time in a variety of ways, each more pointless than the last. Except my brief chat with my honey. That is always pointful.

I have to say I was d### productive this week. So, I’m celebrating. How? Generally, by aggressively doing nothing productive. I’ve surfed the web–because I feel like it, I’ve bought 2 books (Green Mars and Blue Mars, to complement the Red Mars monkey lovingly placed on my back by my sweetie pie), I’ve eaten half a pound of green beans (it’s OK; I live alone this week) and a package of ramen and half a bowl of shredded wheat, I’ve watched some completely banal TV, and I’ve wallowed in the beauty of my cluttered abode. Surfing slate.com, I found this lovely essay, about some dead German guy. It’s about writing, and it seems to speak to me. I’m enjoying its no-nonsense approach to prose. One memorable phrase from the author of the column (who seems quite skilled at this writing gig):

To make an idea come alive in a sentence, some of its words must be left for dead: The penalty for trying to bring them all alive is preciousness at best.

I fear that is all. But I’m restless and enjoying my distractibility, so there may be more later.

Wall in a parking lot, Montreal, January 2006

It was a weird Saturday, but I got some writing done. Mental note: don’t add big things to stories at the last minute. It takes a long time to work them into the cracks and crevices.

Got to see ALH coach hockey last night. That was fun. I watched, this time, from the climate-controlled perspective of the upstairs bar/observation deck, while I tippity-tapped away on the computer. I’m so dedicated. I also got to go to play rehearsal for part of the day, yesterday. It’s strange to be reminded of my former life as a thespian.

Hm. Now, it’s after 8:00. Since it’s Sunday, and since I’m in Canada, and I’m not the Sunday School president up here, I’m going to go back to bed :) Yay, sloth!

Shrine to the patron saint of irritability

2 days ago, I found Bruce Trail. It’s really, really neato. Gorgeous, lush (bikeable!) trail with lots of nifty natural beauty. It connects to this end of town by a short spur trail that starts where Filman (sp?) Road ends, just off Wilson St. (that’s where I found the angry monk, in someone’s backyard). Of note, there was a section of forest off the road (just North of the trail) cordoned off in yellow police-tape zigzags. I wanted to take a picture, but a very stern-looking police officer discouraged this. Anyway, a few more pics of the trail are under the cut.

Other news: Yesterday was a bit blah. I’m still bummed about not having a computer of my own here (it’s just frustrating, you know?), even though Topita is being so nice and lending me hers. I went to get her a gift last night, from Best Buy, and that provided more frustration. I looked at the flyers, which advertised said gift, and I looked online and the website said the Burlington store had some in stock. So I drove there. The customer “service” representative said, “Yeah, we have two of those” while looking at his computer screen. When I asked where they were, he looked around a bit, then informed me that they must be on the truck, and it would be a real hassle to find them. I pressed, and he agreed to go look. He then ducked back onto the sales floor and ignored me for 15 min. I cornered him and asked him again, and he said it would take “way too long” to find them. Sigh. I told my story to the helpful person at the front, and he said the same thing. Sucks to be you, man.

In positive news, Urbie came over for dinner. That was fun, even though I was in a crappy mood. She helped raise it a bit. And then I got to write a little, and help Topita with her lines for Oedipus Rex. I think (semi-)trained monkeys translated this version. In the 19th century. It includes lines such as “Apollo is forsook…” and it uses “weird” as a noun (I know it can be one, but still; it’s… um… strange). Continue reading →

One o’those awesome churches in NYC

Today’s photo is part of my ongoing obsession with photographing dark holes in bright sunlight, trying to set the exposure so I get some of the detail inside the hole (a church interior, in this case) while blowing out (brightening too much) the outside, all sunlit. I think it’s fun.

Life goes on, here at ALH’s house… Continue reading →