Wednesday, August 15, 2012
What the hell is going on here?
"First the DHS needed 450 million rounds of ammunition, then the NOAA requested 46,000 rounds, now we've discovered an online request at FBO.Gov calling for 174,000 rounds of ammunition for the Social Security Administration."
Why do so many parents suck?
I have learned why so many parents have approached my wife and I and congratulated us on our older son's behavior. They are pathetic weaklings who do not exercise control over their hellspawn with any confidence or force. They demonstrate no leadership, no wisdom, and get sucked into shouting matches with four-year-olds... and, inexplicably, on the same level.
"You're drinking my drink. Gimme! I'll call daddy and he'll get onto you."
Seriously? That's how an adult handles this now? "Gimme or I'll tattle?" That's disgusting. Childish and disgusting.
I take solace in the prediction that my kids will utterly destroy these ill-raised demonic creatures in the competitive marketplaces of the future.
Values matter.
"You're drinking my drink. Gimme! I'll call daddy and he'll get onto you."
Seriously? That's how an adult handles this now? "Gimme or I'll tattle?" That's disgusting. Childish and disgusting.
I take solace in the prediction that my kids will utterly destroy these ill-raised demonic creatures in the competitive marketplaces of the future.
Values matter.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Introducing an Aspiring Socialist Dictator to US Intelligence
No, not that one. This one.
Apparently, Hugo Chavez thinks that US intelligence has to physically and illegally infiltrate operatives across borders in order to discern and write down "geographic coordinates" in notebooks and then physically smuggle them back out of the country. In plaintext.
That's hilariously 19th century; not to mention sloppy. I wonder if that's how Venezuela's agencies operate?
Apparently, Hugo Chavez thinks that US intelligence has to physically and illegally infiltrate operatives across borders in order to discern and write down "geographic coordinates" in notebooks and then physically smuggle them back out of the country. In plaintext.
That's hilariously 19th century; not to mention sloppy. I wonder if that's how Venezuela's agencies operate?
Wednesday, August 08, 2012
On Writing
I am re-reading Kushiel's Dart, by Jacqueline Carey, mostly out of boredom but also because I'm in the middle of writing some fantastical political fiction and felt I could use a refresher on what was in that particular well-received story. I was quickly reminded of how much I hate Carey's writing.
Don't get me wrong, the story is interesting. The plot is reasonably well crafted, she avoids a lot of fantasy tropes, and there are developed (though not very complex) characters who behave in realistic ways. And her books didn't begin to fall apart until #3 or so, as she ran out of foreign mythologies to rip off.
It's her actual writing style that I hate. It's artificial and pretentious, like someone whose idea of literary sophistication came from watching Jane Austen stories on Lifetime. "Betwixt" these (p. 3), "mahyap" that, "daresay" the other (p. 1), with "atrembling profundities and elocution, betimes." Fucking gag me. It's only tolerable because pretentious Franco-philia is pretty much a defining characteristic of the entire story so I figure she did it on purpose. Alright then, I may not like it, but at least it's a deliberate part of the writer's craft and it seems to have worked for her.
But this got me thinking.
The proliferation of authorship in America is, generally, a "good thing." At least insofar as more options and ideas are better than fewer.
But there are side effects. Chief among these is the incredible amount of garbage that gets dumped into the public sphere. Once upon a time, being a published author was a rare and valuable thing. The few who made it were survivors of rigorous and ruthless (and often unfair) screening processes that turned away many worthy writers. But they also turned away many shitty writers.
Now, with e-books and print on demand and word processors with automated spell-checkers, any fuckwit can bang their hands on a keyboard to produce a manuscript and, with minimal further effort, thrust it into an unsuspecting world.
Case in point: Fifty Shades of Grey. This "book" is one of the worst pieces of half-digested tripe to ever fall out of an author's ass into what may now be laughingly called the annals of literature. There is no plot. The characters define shallow, and I don't even mean "shallow" as a personality trait; I mean they have no personality traits. There is not a spark of creativity in the entire thing, which is hardly a surprise since it's a freaking fanfic with changed character names. And no, I'm not exaggerating, that's literally what the "author" ("Snowqueen Icedragon;" again, not kidding) did. The writing is on about a fifth grade level ("Triple crap!") except for the occasional ambush by an out of place SAT word, apparently entered at random using a thesaurus to give an unconvincing, slopped-on veneer of erudition. Large portions of the "book" are line-by-line email exchanges between the two primary cardboard cutouts.
And it was apparently never edited. By anyone. For instance, on p. 27 (I think; I'm not opening that thing again for fear of losing my soul. It was twenty-something.) the word "besieged" was used twice in a row. Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I learned by the third grade that repetition of multi-syllabic words was to be avoided if possible. Clearly, this person does not know what a thesaurus is actually for. And more dedicated souls than I who read it closely and took notes point out grammar and even alleged spelling mistakes (which might actually be a result of Americans reading a "book" by a British woman; there are legitimate spelling differences).
In short, it is the worst scribbling I've ever tried to read. It's utter garbage. The one-star reviews at Amazon are exponentially more entertaining and generally better-written.
And it's a best-seller.
What the fuck? William Shakespeare could have shit a more fascinating, better-written story with memorable characters in verse, but he never received half the success and wealth from his writing that the monster known as "E.L. James" (if I were her, I wouldn't associate my real name with it either) has received from this fecal crime. This is incontrovertible evidence that the hoi polloi wouldn't know decent storytelling if it kicked them in the gonads and called them names; that's what they like to read about, apparently.
Literary justice aside, this is cause for hope, yes? If a half-baked literary nightmare like this can bring an untalented hack like this such wealth, then surely someone with a shred of talent could do as well. Right?
Well, no. Probably not. Because while the opportunity is there, it is past likely that whatever gem, whatever shining star of fiction you might write, no one will see it because it will be buried beneath the mounds of trash spewed forth by the likes of E.L.-fucking-James and her emulators. And believe me, there will be emulators.
You know how there's a thousand channels on TV and almost nothing worth watching? That's the future of written fiction.
Update: I was up late and looking for a chuckle, so I clicked on that link up there and found this. It's a review of that horrible, horrible book by someone who apparently thinks much like me.
But this is probably the most damning.
Don't get me wrong, the story is interesting. The plot is reasonably well crafted, she avoids a lot of fantasy tropes, and there are developed (though not very complex) characters who behave in realistic ways. And her books didn't begin to fall apart until #3 or so, as she ran out of foreign mythologies to rip off.
It's her actual writing style that I hate. It's artificial and pretentious, like someone whose idea of literary sophistication came from watching Jane Austen stories on Lifetime. "Betwixt" these (p. 3), "mahyap" that, "daresay" the other (p. 1), with "atrembling profundities and elocution, betimes." Fucking gag me. It's only tolerable because pretentious Franco-philia is pretty much a defining characteristic of the entire story so I figure she did it on purpose. Alright then, I may not like it, but at least it's a deliberate part of the writer's craft and it seems to have worked for her.
But this got me thinking.
The proliferation of authorship in America is, generally, a "good thing." At least insofar as more options and ideas are better than fewer.
But there are side effects. Chief among these is the incredible amount of garbage that gets dumped into the public sphere. Once upon a time, being a published author was a rare and valuable thing. The few who made it were survivors of rigorous and ruthless (and often unfair) screening processes that turned away many worthy writers. But they also turned away many shitty writers.
Now, with e-books and print on demand and word processors with automated spell-checkers, any fuckwit can bang their hands on a keyboard to produce a manuscript and, with minimal further effort, thrust it into an unsuspecting world.
Case in point: Fifty Shades of Grey. This "book" is one of the worst pieces of half-digested tripe to ever fall out of an author's ass into what may now be laughingly called the annals of literature. There is no plot. The characters define shallow, and I don't even mean "shallow" as a personality trait; I mean they have no personality traits. There is not a spark of creativity in the entire thing, which is hardly a surprise since it's a freaking fanfic with changed character names. And no, I'm not exaggerating, that's literally what the "author" ("Snowqueen Icedragon;" again, not kidding) did. The writing is on about a fifth grade level ("Triple crap!") except for the occasional ambush by an out of place SAT word, apparently entered at random using a thesaurus to give an unconvincing, slopped-on veneer of erudition. Large portions of the "book" are line-by-line email exchanges between the two primary cardboard cutouts.
And it was apparently never edited. By anyone. For instance, on p. 27 (I think; I'm not opening that thing again for fear of losing my soul. It was twenty-something.) the word "besieged" was used twice in a row. Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I learned by the third grade that repetition of multi-syllabic words was to be avoided if possible. Clearly, this person does not know what a thesaurus is actually for. And more dedicated souls than I who read it closely and took notes point out grammar and even alleged spelling mistakes (which might actually be a result of Americans reading a "book" by a British woman; there are legitimate spelling differences).
In short, it is the worst scribbling I've ever tried to read. It's utter garbage. The one-star reviews at Amazon are exponentially more entertaining and generally better-written.
And it's a best-seller.
What the fuck? William Shakespeare could have shit a more fascinating, better-written story with memorable characters in verse, but he never received half the success and wealth from his writing that the monster known as "E.L. James" (if I were her, I wouldn't associate my real name with it either) has received from this fecal crime. This is incontrovertible evidence that the hoi polloi wouldn't know decent storytelling if it kicked them in the gonads and called them names; that's what they like to read about, apparently.
Literary justice aside, this is cause for hope, yes? If a half-baked literary nightmare like this can bring an untalented hack like this such wealth, then surely someone with a shred of talent could do as well. Right?
Well, no. Probably not. Because while the opportunity is there, it is past likely that whatever gem, whatever shining star of fiction you might write, no one will see it because it will be buried beneath the mounds of trash spewed forth by the likes of E.L.-fucking-James and her emulators. And believe me, there will be emulators.
You know how there's a thousand channels on TV and almost nothing worth watching? That's the future of written fiction.
Update: I was up late and looking for a chuckle, so I clicked on that link up there and found this. It's a review of that horrible, horrible book by someone who apparently thinks much like me.
But this is probably the most damning.
Tuesday, August 07, 2012
Today's Wisdom
"There is always a culture clash between those who understand how
productive industry actually works and those who gape at it like
savages, believing it to be some kind of Heap Big White Man Magic. And
where there is Magic, there are Sorcerors and Demons; for most people,
particularly those of the primitive mindset, the large cloud of Unknowns
is filled in by their imaginations with malice, conspiracy, and
deviltry." - Anonymous Internet Commenter
Monday, August 06, 2012
Political Wolfsbane
I find that three simple words work to devastate virtually all radical political arguments. First, "Why?" When they tell you, "Prove it."
Most people's heads simply spin and they sputter and wander off. Through bitter experience I have learned that most have almost zero understanding of politics and never reasoned anything out at all, they just spouted off with or repeated whatever sounded like a good idea at the time. If actually asked to support their assertions, they have nothing. If they have any grace, they'll admit it.
A minority will take up the challenge, however, either because they actually know a little something about the subject matter or because they feel that their pride is on the line. This is when you spring the trap, and point out things like:
At the very least, bringing facts, data, and logic into play will improve a political process dominated by juvenile tribalism and manipulative soundbites.
Most people's heads simply spin and they sputter and wander off. Through bitter experience I have learned that most have almost zero understanding of politics and never reasoned anything out at all, they just spouted off with or repeated whatever sounded like a good idea at the time. If actually asked to support their assertions, they have nothing. If they have any grace, they'll admit it.
A minority will take up the challenge, however, either because they actually know a little something about the subject matter or because they feel that their pride is on the line. This is when you spring the trap, and point out things like:
FBI figures show just 358 of the 8,775 murders by firearm in 2010 involved rifles of any type. By comparison, 745 people were beaten to death with only hands that year, but no one has called for outlawing fists.Or perhaps ask why 12 deaths by firearm is a horrible event requiring drastic action, but 14 deaths by truck is a nonevent, unworthy of consideration.
At the very least, bringing facts, data, and logic into play will improve a political process dominated by juvenile tribalism and manipulative soundbites.
Sunday, August 05, 2012
Political News of the Day
The Daily Mail is reporting that a twelve year old girl has conducted genealogical research and proven that all but one of the presidents of the US (the one being Martin van Buren) are descendants of King John I. "They all have the trait of wanting power," d’Avignon [the girl] said.
That's incredible.
Incredibly fucking stupid, that is. For one thing, royal lines tend to be well-monitored. The scions of royal families know of their histories, and so does everyone else. They also tend to dwindle as progeny die in coups, wars, revolutions, and intrigues. I'm confident that some herald, somewhere, has tracked down the Plantagenet line to its final points.
Oh. Look. "When Henry VII executed Edward, the Earl of Warwick in 1499, the House of Plantagenet went extinct in the legitimate male line. Margaret Pole, the Earl of Warwick's sister and last legitimate Plantagenet, was executed for treason by Henry VIII in 1541. Edward IV's illegitimate son Arthur Plantagenet, 1st Viscount Lisle was a member of Henry VIII's court until he was arrested and charged with treason in 1540. He was cleared of the treason charges but just before he was to be released from the Tower of London in 1542 he suffered a heart attack and died."
Huh.
For another, that any class of people in a country as varied as the United States spread over more than two centuries shares any measurable common ancestor is unbelievable. Even the German Eisenhower? The Dutch Roosevelts? The Kenyan Obama? The Irish Kennedy? Somehow, they're all descended from English royalty? The SAME king? Please.
Third, was there some sort of sorcerous force that conspired to ensure that only these lost sons of royalty won their elections and obtained their offices? Was it divine providence that had Franklin Roosevelt, descendant of King John, select Harry Truman, descendant of King John (one of the few presidents to have not graduated college before serving in office, chosen to be a non-threatening, working class appeal to Middle America), for his Vice President? Did fate conspire to have frontier-dwelling-but-secretly-Plantagenet-royalty Lincoln select the Scotch-Irish-but-secretly-Plantagenet-royalty Andrew Johnson as his VP, or was it because he was from Tennessee and represented a symbolic attempt to hold together the union, like the history books and primary documents say?
Fourth, there are real difficulties in tracing most American ancestors before the 18th century. Hardly a surprise, since literacy was not universal and people sort of appeared on the American continent in drips and drabs with spotty records, if any at all. Yet 43 of the 44 US Presidents can be traced with certainty to 12th century England? And, since the legitimate Plantagenet line was made extinct, these bloodlines were traced with certainty through royal bastards?
This sounds like an asinine conspiracy theory given a veneer of legitimacy; 'oh, a little girl has researched this, it must be true.' That anyone is taking this seriously in the absence of thorough, and I mean mountainous, proof makes me want to weep.
That's incredible.
Incredibly fucking stupid, that is. For one thing, royal lines tend to be well-monitored. The scions of royal families know of their histories, and so does everyone else. They also tend to dwindle as progeny die in coups, wars, revolutions, and intrigues. I'm confident that some herald, somewhere, has tracked down the Plantagenet line to its final points.
Oh. Look. "When Henry VII executed Edward, the Earl of Warwick in 1499, the House of Plantagenet went extinct in the legitimate male line. Margaret Pole, the Earl of Warwick's sister and last legitimate Plantagenet, was executed for treason by Henry VIII in 1541. Edward IV's illegitimate son Arthur Plantagenet, 1st Viscount Lisle was a member of Henry VIII's court until he was arrested and charged with treason in 1540. He was cleared of the treason charges but just before he was to be released from the Tower of London in 1542 he suffered a heart attack and died."
Huh.
For another, that any class of people in a country as varied as the United States spread over more than two centuries shares any measurable common ancestor is unbelievable. Even the German Eisenhower? The Dutch Roosevelts? The Kenyan Obama? The Irish Kennedy? Somehow, they're all descended from English royalty? The SAME king? Please.
Third, was there some sort of sorcerous force that conspired to ensure that only these lost sons of royalty won their elections and obtained their offices? Was it divine providence that had Franklin Roosevelt, descendant of King John, select Harry Truman, descendant of King John (one of the few presidents to have not graduated college before serving in office, chosen to be a non-threatening, working class appeal to Middle America), for his Vice President? Did fate conspire to have frontier-dwelling-but-secretly-Plantagenet-royalty Lincoln select the Scotch-Irish-but-secretly-Plantagenet-royalty Andrew Johnson as his VP, or was it because he was from Tennessee and represented a symbolic attempt to hold together the union, like the history books and primary documents say?
Fourth, there are real difficulties in tracing most American ancestors before the 18th century. Hardly a surprise, since literacy was not universal and people sort of appeared on the American continent in drips and drabs with spotty records, if any at all. Yet 43 of the 44 US Presidents can be traced with certainty to 12th century England? And, since the legitimate Plantagenet line was made extinct, these bloodlines were traced with certainty through royal bastards?
This sounds like an asinine conspiracy theory given a veneer of legitimacy; 'oh, a little girl has researched this, it must be true.' That anyone is taking this seriously in the absence of thorough, and I mean mountainous, proof makes me want to weep.
Once more...
I have a tendency to use Facebook (which I generally loathe) like a blog, linking the outrage or inspiration of the day with accompanying commentary. I think this drives other people crazy, especially the ones for whom FB is just a method of sharing cat pictures and gossip.
Basically, it's like I'm blogging to a captive audience. Enter A Clockwork Orange.
Ergo, I'm going to make an effort to channel all of my rants, etc. here, instead. I'll get more space and the ability to give multiple links, images, and so on without having to dip my heel into the horrible black pool of social media. And anyone who actually likes such things can come by and view it at their leisure.
Basically, it's like I'm blogging to a captive audience. Enter A Clockwork Orange.
Ergo, I'm going to make an effort to channel all of my rants, etc. here, instead. I'll get more space and the ability to give multiple links, images, and so on without having to dip my heel into the horrible black pool of social media. And anyone who actually likes such things can come by and view it at their leisure.
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