No Account

Am I alone in thinking that the shadow on Santa Claus in this Wyeth painting looks a whole hell of a lot like Oogie Boogie?

The Kingdom was Lost

Guess what I found in my tire this morning.



GIGANTIC FUCKING DEATH-SPIKE!

Chestnuts You Will Roast

The B A Start estate has been decked out in holiday fashion. Where one finds dead twigs during ordinary time, one now finds dead twigs with dead berries on them. We've got a spindly, skellington-looking tree the branches of which can barely withstand the weight of our ornaments. The presents are uniformly wrapped and stacked for maximum photo-opportunitousity. A few miniature santa hats, positively garish by comparison are relegated to the distant bedroom, far from the eyes of house-guests and mail-carriers.

And then there's Yoda Claus.

The Clipper

People keep telling me I look like Clip Smith. Like just like him.



Aside from the ugly tie, I don't really see it. And the bad hair.

Rebels Don't Always Win

On-line cataloging tool and Web 2.0 darling Library Thing recently started an Early Reviewers program, playing match-maker between publishers looking for reader reviews and book-worms looking for another fix. My friendly neighborhood mail-carrier delivered a hastily-packaged paperback to my home, which I dutifully reviewed.

The title in question is Hunting Gideon, a Mormon (self-declared) cyberpunk adventure. The publisher describes itself as releasing "provocative, unconventional, yet ultimately faith-affirming stories that yield new insights into Mormon culture and humanity". Upon reading the back cover of this book, several alert lights went off in my head, including the ones marked "Crazy Christians" and "Bad Literature".

I decided to give it a go regardless. They did send it to me gratis, after all, and a gentleman must try to live up to his end of a bargain.

The book turned out to be pretty bland, but that's not today's topic. I want to know why those alert lights went off. Why did I assume that something written with the stated goal of lionizing a particular faith would be bad? Why do we make a distinction between propagandist art and "real" art?

When's the last time you listened to a Christian rock album? Did you try that Left Behind video game? I didn't. I'm normally the first to netflix a movie about airplanes, but when I heard Behind Enemy Lines was financed by the military, I lost all interest.

And yet our classics were in large part created as proselytism if not flagrant evangelism. We consider Michelangelo an artist, not a Christian painter. Beethoven dedicated Eroica to Napoleon, and we don't call it genre music. Shakespeare's histories? At what point did we stop accepting propaganda as art?

Certainly examples exist of modern voices sneaking past our anti-establishment filters and attaining some note (Jars of Clay and Creed did well, as I remember) and pre-modern artists touting a more humanist viewpoint, but the concept of the truest art as being strictly artist-centered and institution-hating stands. At our cocktail parties and in our book reviews, around the pub table and on our blogs, any artist aligned with a mainstream political or religious group is considered inherently lesser than the more bohemian.

This prejudice in and of itself creates a type of propaganda in modern works, inculcating a belief that the only valid subject matter is the individual's experience and emotion and culling any pieces which may say otherwise out of the body of respected art and literature.

The trouble is, Christian rock actually isn't as good. The literati are right -- propagandist works in the modern age normally can't compete with the rest. But who knows? Maybe they're out there, excellent art, literature, and music which we just ignore because the artist is a Such-and-such and makes only Such-and-such stuff.

Whether or not a strictly humanist mindset actually makes a person a better artist could certainly be debated, but for now let's just say that we should not automatically assume that works made with an organization's ideals in mind are inferior by definition; we should at least give them a chance to prove it.

And This One's Wet

In lieu of having anything legitimately interesting to say, I offer you this:

The Saddle

As you remember, yesterday I said it was unlikely I would hit the nanowrimo 50,000 word goal. This remains the case.

Yet, as if response, today I received nano's weekly pep-talk email. This latest iteration was penned by Neil Gaiman. There are notably few people out there of whom I would describe myself as a "fan", and spooky Neil hovers near the top of that list.

Oh Neil. Why couldn't you just let me be? Let me accept and even enjoy missing the goal? Why must you infuse me with pep?

More like ten

Well, I suppose I better post before Garv's mom rebukes me.

Unless I have some elves-and-shoemaker-style experience, it doesn't look like I'm going to reach 50,000 words this November. Trouble is, I actually like the story too much to just punch through it.

I'm trying something new this time. I don't have any clear ideas about exactly where the narrative is headed. Last time, I had the plot all outlined like a good do-bee, and ended up with pale characters hung from a thin string of events. I'm spending much more time on character stuff this time around, so here's hoping.

In my ready room

I assume I'm not the only one who finds this disturbing.

Question is, why stop there? Why not a carbonite coffin? Have your ashes dispersed over the sands by a Maker?

Go!

Everything is funnier with seventies-style music.




There's a single synapse in my head which insists there's some pac-man glitch that allows for the kind of switcheroo the protagonist in this video pulls in the alley. That synapse, I fear, is wrong.

On The Way

"So, what was your day at work like, Alex?"

I'll tell you. It was a lot like Andy Kaufman singing the Mighty Mouse theme.

On Cloud Nine

Man attacked on Bidwell Parkway

Apparently 7:40 PM on a Sunday is no time to be walking through one of Buffalo's best-lit, most well-appointed and most frequently traveled areas. Good to know.

So, Greg gets robbed. Jess sees skeevy dude of the day. There's some hoodie-sweatshirted sexual offender running around Chapin. My brother gets robbed. Greg finds one of his windows has been tampered with. Dave gets robbed.

I've been banging the "live in the city, it's awesome" drum for a long time. Now my neighborhood has apparently become a hot-bed of violent crime and burglary. I must confess to feeling more than a little frustrated. Much of the reason I have spent so much of my life behind a desk is to be able to afford a place in a safe neighborhood. This time seems to have been wasted.

Mumble mumble

New Radiohead album. inrainbows.com. Pay whatever you want and download. Sounds like Yo La Tengo. Also sounds like awesome.

As Close As I Get

On my travels, I acquired a new watch. My grandmother gave it to me. It was my grandfather's watch.

I know this seems like the sort of thing that should tug at a young man's heartstrings, but it really wasn't any big deal. Me: "Hey, this watch still works". Grandma: "You want it?". No symbolic passing-down gestures, no wistful tales of how he wore that watch through the Korean War and countless several-alarm fires in the hamlets surrounding Burlington. None of that.

My co-workers notice the smallest changes in my wardrobe (a statement of A- how desperate these kind souls are to find something to talk with me about and B- how rarely I shop for clothes), and I am concerned someone will notice the watch. "It was my grandfather's" is sure to give the impression that I have ponderous and beautiful feelings regarding this watch, and when it turns out I don't have them, the legend of my jerkitude will simply expand to include this new anecdote.

Yet, every time I wind it and hear its ticking, I think about my grandfather listening to the exact same thing.

Here we No again

Quick note: for those of you interested in cranking out a 50,000 word bit of prose in a single month, Nanowrimo sign-ups have begun.

Judge that way after all

Yes, I know that the following statement further confirms me as a weirdo.

One of the bonuses of having internet access while on vacation is the ability to update your Librarything account with your latest purchases.

It's true, though. It's like a travel diary. "Ah, yes. Durham, North Carolina. I bought that Verne collection there."

Speaking of travelogues, Penguin's Great Journeys series caught my eye, but mainly because the covers are cool.

IFComp Walkthrough

This game has multiple endings.  In order to get the blessed ending, be sure to make the following choices:

• Accept the offer, and learn from them. "I am honored to join you."
  
•  Keep at it. This mission must be completed.

Weirdo.

The idiosyncrasies have started to take over.

I've become something of an oddball at work. An insistence on aligning my pens with each other. An incapacity to endure a buzzing sound. Pulling up socks in the middle of conversations.

These sorts of things combined with my insistent reserve make for an eccentric fellow about whom no one knows anything. The quirks replace character and personality, indeed become them in the eyes of many.

I have to confess, it's kinda fun.

Yahar...

As the autumnal breezes blow, my mind has turned near fully to the open seas. I have nearly reached the final page of Master and Commander, despite being utterly lost in the jargon much of the time. Been playing Puzzle Pirates, of all things -- but only because I couldn't get my hands on a copy of Sid Meier's Pirates Exclamation Point. (I must confess, though, it is fun.)

Just got back from New Orleans, and while there found myself growing awfully naval. On a self-made bookstore tour of the French Quarter, I picked up the dramatically-named and hideously-covered Men, Ships, and the Sea for some steamjournally research. Also bought a few old prints of (what else?) Boston Harbor circa 1800.

After a few days I even began to look like a seaman. My skin burned, my stubble grew. I wore my shirt far more open than is my normal Northeastern habit, and pale drawstring shorts which may just as well have been made of sailcloth. I even went barefoot at times, heels scraping on the sun-bleached deck.

This is all well and good, as International Talk Like a Pirate Day grows large on the horizon, large as a great Spanish brigantine heavy with booty and ripe for the takin', me hearties.

Bloggeur

Been plugging my way through the recommended readings in the Harvard Classics. Yesterday's fifteen minutes was a bit o' Voltaire. The man, it seems, was a blogger.

Tongue-in-cheek sarcastic humor? Check.
Disdain for some or all establishments and authorities? Check.
Penchant for short rants? Check.

It Is Absolute

Obsessive B A Starters may remember I wrote an article for the Buffalo Spree holiday guide stating that the strip of Delaware Ave from Target to Kenmore Ave is the city's video game corridor. Gamecrazy, EB Games, Gamespot all within walking distance -- add in Target and Blockbuster, and it's the major industry for the block.

Yesterday, driving back from the heinous suburbs, I passed a new game store on Delaware a block up from Kenmore. Oogie Games, LLC -- or at least that's what the tarpaulin/sign says. I can only assume the owner read the article and decided to jump on the wagon before it gets too crowded in Buffalo's Akihabara.

Don't Read This

Lot of action on the "Alex hates the chosen one" post, much of which consists of Gary reminding me that I should have put SPOILER WARNING in it somewhere. Sorry dude. Trust me -- knowing that the parents in Heroes are manipulating things doesn't ruin a thing. There are only three good things about Heroes: Superpowers, superpowers, and superpowers. And I ain't talking the USSR.

Comments

I can always trust Gary to come through when needed. 3 comments in a single day! Here, here, and here.

That Guy

Those of you who have been keeping tabs on my dream library (Todd) will be happy to know a set of 1909-10 Harvard Classics arrived today.

My feelings, like a prep school dance, are mixed. The HC are truly meant for poser intellectuals, which of course I am, but regardless I love them. I could be pressed to say I lurv them, if provided enough alcohol.

Today's fifteen minutes consisted of half a chapter of the Confessions of St. Augustine. zzzz. Here's hoping Two Years Before the Mast grabs the attention a tad more. I will, as always, keep you posted.

Who does this choosing, exactly?

When writing fiction about impossible things in my own hackish way, I find myself pulled in by the gravity of the Chosen One. I'm sick of him. He was born with the power and just needs to find it. Merlin shows up to tell him who he is, and after that no one can stand against him. He's Potter, he's Neo, she's the P sisters from Charmed, and we've seen it rehashed more times than I care to stomach.

Why does Luke get to be the super-Jedi? Why does chosenness have to pass from father to son? The message "if you ain't born with it, you can't get it" just doesn't fly with me.

Trouble is, it's so easy. You build a world with supernatural qualities, and why does your main character get to be the one to use them? Because of his parents, that's why. So, for some time now I have tried to write stories where a non-superhuman obtains superhuman powers through practice and tenacity, in which anyone can be a wizard, not just people from the right gene pool.

Then I come across this article by super-genius Jane Espenson, in which she explain how to sell sci-fi.

It's a very specific type of Hero's Journey, the most potent sub-case. It's told over and over again, and it works, over and over again. Dorothy Gale, Buffy Summers, Harry Potter, Charlie Bucket, Luke Skywalker, even Peter Parker, they all fit a very specific pattern. They're living a life, sometimes a fine one, often a troubled one, but certainly one governed by ordinary rules, when suddenly the curtain is pulled back and a whole new world, or a new set of rules of this world, is revealed. And what's more - and this is the important part - in that new world, they are something special. They are The Chosen One.

And if that wasn't enough...

So here's what I think we need to do if we want to write a sci-fi or a fantasy show and give it appeal way beyond the normal boundaries of sci-fi/fantasy fandom. We need to start with an empty page of notebook paper, write "The Chosen One" across the top and start brainstorming. At least, that's what I plan to do.

Damn it, Jane! So, I need to do the precise and stated opposite of what I have been?

Thing is, I don't agree. Starbuck being Miss Prophesy is lame. In Heroes, all of the characters' parents know each other and have been manipulating them the entire time -- also lame. As soon as a show starts down the "it is your destiny" path, I lose interest. The predictability destroys the enjoyment; no matter how much a Chosen character rails against their certain fate, they always succumb* because superpowers are bad-assed. "Just be yourself" is a lot easier when your self can fly.

So, Jane, you know I love you, but on this we disagree. Give me Wedge and Xander over another mewling "why must my life be so hard, what with all of my awesome powers and all" puss. I'm sure to be Chosen is to live alone and there's some sort of proportional relationship between great power and great responsibility, but a person who chooses himself would be a welcome change.



(With the exception of Luke. It was his destiny to kill Vader. It was his destiny to join Vader. He did neither.)

The Trail of the Dead

Wandering the webs, I came across the New York Foundation for the Arts site, including info on artists' fellowships. A quick perusal of the app reveals what they want from you:

"A representation of your recent artistic work within the last 5 years."

This represents a large corpus of work for, let's say, Jess, but for me? Let's see...

• Several drafts of the Magnum Space Opus, the most recent of which being written mainly in a single month.
• A play written under similar restraints.
• One piece of flash fiction, sent to Artvoice and rejected.
• One sci-fi short story, sent to a few magazines and rejected.
• A version of Jorinda and Joringel.
• Another short story submitted to a contest. No prize awarded.
  
• Another few remarkably horrible short stories.

None of this has been published, of course. I have yet to develop the discipline to really edit stuff (spell-check is enough, right?) and there's always another ephemeral concept waiting in the wings, begging for my attention. The next project, that will be the one I really throw myself into.

Tunes

His Garveyness recently asked me to let him know what new tunes I was listening to. I think he thought he was talking to Jess. Either way, here a rhaplink for you, the contents of which are the tracks of my recent brain soundtrack. Except If You Leave Me Now by Chicago. I just couldn't.

Queue?

Not entirely sure why Netflix would recommend Unprecedented: The 2000 Presidential Election based entirely on my 5-star rating of Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind. The pro-environmental message? The negative depiction of invading forces? Does something fly in it?

.....

Usage question. The store "Sofas etc...".

Should it be "Sofas etc....", with a period for the et cetera abbreviation followed by an ellipsis?

Perhaps "Sofas etc.....", with the above and then the period which ends the phrase?

I'll ask my buddies Strunk and White, but I doubt they would deign to discuss it.

Gary?

And yet another.

And now at long last I post the link to Eric's blog, The Humanist. He's twisting my melon, man.

Appointed Rounds

The Postal Service and I have not been getting along so well as of late. Not the band The Postal Service, with which I have maintained a quietly devoted friendship, but rather the United Stated Postal Service. Apparently flying like an eagle involves either withholding or completely losing packages. Not only did my horribly pretentious copy of the Idylls of the King travel a long and tortuous route to my doorstep (causing much fear and dismay in the mind of the Ebay seller), but the USPS managed to completely misplace a Netflix return, calling into question my integrity as a subscriber. Perhaps the postal gods feel slighted because I have yet to use those Star Wars stamps.

Dustjacket

Books on the brain recently.

Here's a link from lifehacker with some booky ideas.

I went in to Borders this weekend on the hunt for an edda. I forgot it was Harry Potter Day. Yosh.

Tagged most of my books in Library Thing yesterday. Apparently my tastes in books have not changed since I was twelve, a discovery I find neither surprising nor displeasing.

Click

Anyone else notice that Debo posted a picture of me? And you thought he only snapped photos of party people.

Speaking of pictures, I was part of another great wedding this weekend. I'm always a little nervous about the pictures, though. Every time, I end up looking like I would rather be anywhere else than with the happy couple. I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong -- I smile and think happy thoughts, but it doesn't seem to work. Quite embarrassing, really.

It's over!

Finished the play. Fairly satisfied with it. So now what?

Peeve

Attended the Buffalo Book Fair yesterday, and swung by the library for the first time in a decade or so. The fair is certainly worth a stop-in, so keep your eyes open next year.

Any library gives me a feeling of coming home, of course. The decor in my apartment is a testament to that. The Buffalo library, while awesome, did manage to piss me off. There's a "Mark Twain Room" in there, outside of which is a recently posted sign reading "Iconic Mark Twain". Grr....

My hatred of the "i" word knows no bounds.

Emerge from Nothing

June has ended, and the play is decidedly less than 20,000 words long. I'm about 1/3 of the way through the third and final act, and the final product will not hit the word count. No big.

As this is my first salvo into comedy, I have found myself in an new situation: asking myself "is this funny?". The answer is usually "if somebody funny said it...". A new vertex is added to the normal author-piece-audience triangle, that being the actor. Weird.

Goldem

Looking for some good old timey illustration (movie posters, book covers, et cetera)? Enjoy.

Grinding

Avid B A Starters will remember the Final Reality post, in which we discussed using experience points to track one's progress in real-life goals. Here's the idea in webcomic form:

Again I say "shame".

Took a wee break from Scripto today and found myself ingesting a few new savories

I read a sample chapter of Vampirates: Demons of the Ocean. Wow. Now that's just bad. Here's a taste:

The storm seemed to come out of nowhere. It came at Grace and Connor just when they were at their most vulnerable, out beyond the harbour in the open ocean.
It didn’t give them a chance.
The sky changed colour so fast, it was as if someone had ripped away a sheet of blue wallpaper to reveal a gaping black hole.

The Magnum Space Opus doesn't seem so awful now, does it?

Also watched Pi. I have four things to say. Awesome, awesome, and also awesome. The fourth is as follows: shame on you Wachowski brothers. I knew The Matrix was stolen, but I didn't realize it was that stolen. The blinking command-line prompt? Scrolling numbers? Multiple monitors and loads of hanging cables? A man standing in complete whiteness? Sentient computers? A Massive Attack song? A subway showdown scene? Shame.

Update

7 days into June and I'm through Act I. Of a three act play. That's 4000 words out of 20K. Time to make with the padding....

Nano

For those of you who have expressed interest, I have started to post the end result of November's Nanowrimo challenge on another blog: Magnum Space Opus. Unedited, unrevised, unadulterated fiction. It's only opened to registered readers, so if you would like to be added let me know.

Cobham

Seems every time I travel I end up at a bookstore. Odd, really, as I don't read all that much anymore.

I picked up a copy of Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable in Milwaukee this weekend. Awesome. I first heard of the book in an intro Neil Gaiman wrote for one of the trade paperbacks of his Sandman series, and it has been a staple of Alex's Fantasy Library ever since.

While in WI, the friend I visited shared that one of her life's goals is to read all of the books in her home. Yosh.

Here We Go Again

The Nanowrimo people have issued another challenge: Script Frenzy. A 20,000 word play or movie script written exclusively in the month of June. Considering the timeless work of high literature I squeezed out last November, how can I resist? Now, if only I had a plot....

Playoff Living, Installment the Fourth

First #4: 2nd Intermission Geekiness

Greg and I attended that game against the Leafs where the local boys came back like fifty goals in the last seven picoseconds of play. T'was awesome.

In between the second and third periods, we opted to risk ejection for wanton nerdosity and catch a little DS. One of the young bucks sitting next to us craned his neck over, presumably to drunkenly taunt us. "So, you two are connected wirelessly, right?" he asked.

The tradition has stuck, in a fashion reminiscent of that Gradius game that would play on the Jumbotron at the second intermission in Blades Of Steel.

Playoff Living, Installment the Third

First #3: The Lucky Hat

Ok, so it's not really lucky. The Sabres don't seem to care what hat I'm wearing, if any. It is, though, the first time I have worn any apparel with the new logo, and also my first New Era cap. We all must support New Era; before long they will be the only employer in the area. Best to get in good with our future haberdasher overlords.

Playoff Living, Installment the Second

First #2: Update Boy

Dr. Fishman has been a fan of Sabres hockey nearly as long as there has been such a thing. It's s shame, since he has not watched the Sabres win in years. Now living in Columbus, the man is, one supposes, bad luck. His own father has disallowed him from entering New York state when a game is on.

My role has been to text message the Fish with updates. Prior to this, I might have sent three texts lifetime. See? Watching sports teaches you new skills.

Playoff Living, Installment the First

This year's hockey playoffs have brought vast change to the B A Start household. Check back for updates.

First #1: The Playoff Beard

Whether this good-luck tradition is localized to Buffalo fans or not, I cannot tell. Either way, the bulk of my small-conversation recently has been related to whether or not it itches, if Jess likes it, and general maintenance issues.

My co-workers have been talking with me much more often of late. Apparently flying the "I like the local professional hockey club" flag has given them a toehold, opened a small door into the mysterious personal life of the man they call 'Alex'. Heretofore, I was a sphinx, inscrutable and unmoving. The appearance of facial hair has revealed to the world that a human heart may yet beat beneath the Great Stone Face.

Still going

For those of you who expressed interest in seeing Johnny and Don in the Buffalo "PC v Mac" spoofs, here are the links.

V Charlotte
V NYC
V Miami

Going around

Want to see Johnny K in a "I'm a mac, I'm a PC" parody about Buffalo and Cleveland?

Reticulated

Sorry, just another link. I cam pretty close to posting about whether, if an elf and given the option, I would rather work at Santa's Workshop or for the Keeblers*, so consider yourself fortunate.

I'm a Marvel. And I'm a DC.



*The Keeblers. That stand of trees they work in must be closer to a decent city than the North Pole, regardless of what kind of in-house facilities St. Nick provides. Also, Santa's work may be seasonal, and the annual layoff would be a bitch.

Addiction... ADDICTION!

Now that's what I am discussing.

Hey, that's mine...

So, I've added a widget from our Library Thing library. I'm finding a small but noticeable percentage of our books are borrowed -- I think I've labeled them all as such, but let me know if I missed any.

No Commercials, Though

While MSG's coverage of tonight's game was sub-par, with poor image quality and little sound from the arena, it was certainly superior to that of VS, which opted to play a still image of this guy for the entire game.

Starting Lineup

Brian Campbell of the Buffalo Sabres.



Sabretooth from the Xmen movie.



Clearly the same person. This begs the natural question, which members of the Xmen would make good men's hockey players, assuming a 'limited powers' rule?

Iceman, naturally. Very at home in the environment.
Magneto. Skates are metal.
Longshot. A lucky carom here and there would be helpful.
Gambit. Lots of practice with small flying objects.
Beast in goal.

Wave Of Babies

Overheard at work:

"I'm finding that I get sick a lot when I eat."
"That means the baby will have a lot of hair."

Criminy.

I've learned far more than I should about the birthing of babies from the apparent safety of my desk. Apparently water does not only break, but it can also be broken by a licensed physician -- an act I dasn't imagine. If you yawn, the umbilical cord will strangle the half-formed progeny. The mother's nose changes shape during pregnancy, but snaps back to normal at an undisclosed later point. Also, men simply do not get it, and they should try lugging around all that extra weight and having a hungry little person inside them for nine months before they complain about anything. All valuable lessons.

Click

Got something you want to work on? Start a blog. It has been working for my Victorian adventures, and it's sure to work for Debo's photography. Go check out his new photo plog:

http://debography.blogspot.com/

Enough!

Damn it! Stop using the word 'iconic'!

More Theory

Not to bring up the video games as art topic again, but here's a decent article on the topic. And here's a quote from it:

Molyneux says he and his crew at Lionhead Studios (now part of Microsoft) take a similar approach to creating games. “Does a painter decide to make art or paint a picture? Does a composer decide to compose a piece of music or make art? Does a film maker want to make a film or art? I think they're more concerned with evoking emotions and creating something meaningful and enduring.

“I set out, especially today, to instill emotions in the people who interact with my games, which are broader and more visual than they have been before,” he explains. “I want players to feel a range of emotions, not just excitement—that is my ambition. If on this basis some critics describe this as artistic, then I will feel like I have succeeded.”

Why must you mail me such things?

Just yesterday, the B A Start household received an adver-mailing citing the following:

Sham-rock Solid Savings!

We have found it -- after years of diligent work, American society has hit upon the platonic ideal of lame marketing.

#1 - Shamrock needs no hyphen. It's a word.
#2 - That being stated, "shamrock solid" makes no sense, but "sham rock solid" implies falseness. This is the point in the brainstorming session where I would have recommended scrapping the idea. I feel for the poor Cassandra who presumably did so in my absence.
#3 - "Rock-solid savings" also makes little sense.

"How were the savings at the store?"
"Oh they were solid. Rock-solid, I say without hyperbole."
"Dear me, that is solid. Rather solid. Perhaps I should go to the store. As the savings are not fluid, I assume I will have a similar experience to yours."
"I should say so. Quite solid, really."

All in all, just shameful.

B A Slow Down

Sorry for the dearth of posts, avid readers. I've had steam on the brain recently, and have started this blog to chronicle mes recherches into the Victorian Era.

Writing fiction set in a past time is presenting some challenges, but I'm finding the limitations to lend a little inspiration now and then. Instead of having to make up all of the "in a world where..." stuff, I can just look it up on Wikipedia. Noice.

Vote Petrelli

I wish I could say I dislike Heroes. That would be a lie.

The show possesses so many of the qualities I dislike. It's cheesy and trite. It mimics X-men more than a little too much. It reinforces racial stereotypes, including that white guys are evil. There are too many plots. They clearly have no idea how it is going to end. They keep getting rid of the characters I like.

And yet...

I mean, I could go the rest of my life without seeing another episode and still feel I have lived fully, but there is simply no chance of that happening. I will watch them all, the TV's blue light reflecting off of my grinning teeth.

Sad

Sometimes, people out east die playing video games. Please, people of the Orient, stop. Just make this stop. It's bad enough we're all seen as lard-ass weirdos who are forced to commit violent acts by these brainwashing machines, now we die from it? Come on. Get those kids outside.

It's a plane

What do the words 'labile' and 'superordinate' have in common? At a seminar this morning, the speaker used both words, neither of which I had ever heard before. Creeped me right out.

In other word news, I'm tired of the word 'iconic'. Ever since Superman Returns, I keep seeing it around the web. Stop it, people. We know you saw the movie.

Flapjacks and sugar water

Cabin fever has officially struck the B A Start household, and we're getting dangerously close to Jack-London-type conditions. There is, it turns out, only so much TV two people can watch, only so many pages of difficult books a woman can stomach, even a limit on the number of hours I can burn playing video games.

I spent the bulk of Saturday doing Mr. Fix-it stuff. That's how bad it's getting in here. So, do me a favor and pour some libations to the sun gods before this turns ugly.

I am a jerk

I keep forgetting to tell you that Mark has started a blog. Der.

Updates

It would appear that I am without a doubt not the guy. All for the best.

Had that standing meeting again, but we did o'er the phone. Thus, no new clothing-related colleges to add to my list.

That is all.

Alma Not

Step foot in a corporation and you will run the risk of getting pulled in to a standing meeting. This is not a meeting in which people neither sit nor recline, but rather a regularly-scheduled meeting which occurs whether it is necessary or not. My schedule is speckled with many. I offer this info as back-story to the following.

Date: Two Wednesdays ago.
Alex's clothing: blue shirt, blue blazer, blue-and-orange striped tie, tan slacks.
Comment: You look like you went to Yale.

Date: Last Wednesday.
Alex's clothing: red tie, white shirt, yellow sweater, tan slacks.
Comment: This week Alex wore his red tie so we would know he went to Harvard.

While these comments were certainly meant as compliments, I would like to set the record straight. I did not go to an ivy league college. I did not go to prep school, or even regular old private school. Neither did my parents. I don't have a trust fund, and have never 'summered' anywhere. I'm just not that guy.

I do get it a lot, though. I think it's a combination of the non-Lucy-Arnaz accent, my coming to this land from the exotic East, the British last name, the English major, and the whole good-fences-good-neighbors thing. To the casual observer, I certainly could be that guy, but come on. I get my ties at Target, for sake o' pete.

Yes, that says 'fanboy'.

Can't remember if I told you this or not (it's one of the side-effects of never paying attention to the constant stream of little gifts one's sensory inputs offers one), but I tried to get a job as a pro blogger recently. This post caught my attention, and I gave it a shot. "So, let me get this straight. I link to news stories from other sites and you give me money?"

I made the first cut, but it's been a few weeks since the second deadline, so it should be safe to say I'm not the guy.

The experience does beg a veritable horn-o'-plenty of questions, though. Are there other similar jobs out there? Is the time worth the supplemental income? Would it give me any writer cred?
Would it be fun?

As with all things writery, I'd love to try it. Okay, maybe not all things writery. I don't think I could bring myself to go to anything called a "blank jam" where blank is a style, genre, or type of writing. I draw the line at jams. Other than that, though.

Pardon My Dust

I'm going to be gradually reworking ye olde blogge format over the next few days.

Final Reality

Why not live life by experience points?

From their dice-and-paper roots to the modern user-generated worlds, role-playing games have always had to deal with the question of how a character develops. This is normally handled through experience points (XP). Kill a were-turtle, get 5 XP. Accrue 500 XP and you gain a level. Et cetera.

While certainly an attempt to recreate in some way a person's actual skill advancement in real life, it would seem that XP would work in the actual world similarly to the way it does in the digital. For example. Let's take a skill you want to develop, say running. Set a series of levels in front of you, and choose XP amounts for given tasks:

Go for a 1 mile run, get 1 XP. Go for a 3 mile run, get 4 XP. Run in a charity event, 15 XP. Finish within 1 minute of the leader in a competitive run, 200 XP. Run a marathon, 10,000 XP.

Level 1: 30 XP. Level 2: 500 XP. Level 3: 3500 XP. Level 4: 5000 XP. Etc.

So, you could get to high levels just by running a mile at a time, but getting there would take forever. Doing bigger things yields bigger numbers, and thus faster level-ups.

Here's a wrinkle: in games, a higher level means better stats. A level 2 character is stronger than a level 1, and that means an easier time killing beasties. Aside from the fact that you would actually improve, how would this work in real life? I say you'd have to have your friends involved, and the bragging rights would do it. Either that or have specific level tasks, e.g. you can't get to level 4 until you run the Turkey Trot, no matter how many XP you've got.

This could work for all kinds of things.

• Career -- go to a seminar, 10XP. Get the corner office, 5000XP.
• Arts -- participate in Nanowrimo, 150XP. Get published in a magazine, 500XP.
• Education -- go to a class, 1XP. Get a PhD, 10,000XP.
• Fandom -- read the Lord of the Rings again, 5XP. Go to Marquette and lie about doing a research project to get the Special Collections guy to bring out the secret not-for-display Tolkien stuff, 10,000XP.
  
• Connoisseur -- try a new beer, 5XP. Go to a wine tour in another state, 1,000XP.
  
• Family affairs -- email your mother, 2XP. Don't yell at Shannon on Xmas, 50,000XP.

Unfortunately, it could also work for negative things. Smoke a pack, 100XP. Perhaps this could be factored in. You want to stop doing something? Take the XP away from something you're working towards. So, say the F-word, take 5XP from your Runner class count. That's 5 miles you just lost. F indeed.

If you're willing to spend hours of your life pretending to be a druid and running around killing lizards until you can get that robe you want, why not take that rewards system and move it to real life? I'll DM.

Nanosomuch

I read the first few pages of William Gibson's Neuromancer today. I am always astounded when I come across an old book that predicted the present well. As soon as computers started talking to each other, a few books pushed the experience as far as it will go. Snow Crash (1992) did it, focusing on the social aspects of the 'metaverse'. Ender's Game (1985) did it, calling it 'the nets'. Two children take on identity-less roles and debate politics in public forums, eventually becoming the faceless voices of their age.

Neuromancer was published in 1984. For comparison, AOL for DOS came out in 1991. Netscape Navigator, 1994.

The term 'cyberspace' was coined here. It's the start of the cyberpunk genre, and from what I can tell also the start of modern life. Perhaps not the best book to be reading while adding to and revising my own scifi opus, what with the inherent comparison between this giant of the genre and my paltry puppet-show, but hey.

This Title Has Nothing to Do with Bending Anything

Um...

DAVID BECKHAM IS COMING TO AMERICA.

To play SOCCER.

PROFESSIONALLY.


In other news, David Beckham is coming to America. To play soccer. Professionally.

And Ever

B A Start Poll: What companies will still be around 1,000 years from now? Will we still drink Pepsi? Eat Cheerios? Use Faber-Castell colored pencils?

Bye Bye Birdie

I saw of these one time. IN A DREAM. Figures my clairvoyance would be limited to videogames.

The Wiff

Whoops. This is what would happen if I played hockey.

Quite

Those of us from New Hampshire call Martin Luther King Jr's birthday "Civil Rights Day". Just to be contrary, I think.

But wait, there's more

Not to belabor the writing thing, but I am embarking once again on a month of productivity. Like a twenty-five-year-old, I'm starting to flesh out. I'm shooting for an additional 30,000 words by month's end.

Joining me on this journey is the ineffable Greg, prompting us to name January Agnowrimo, for "Alex's and Greg's Novel Writing Month". Why not "Greg's and Alex's", you ask? Ganowrimo, pronounced after the fashion of a third-grade bully.