I already have my ticket for a 7pm showing of Serenity tomorrow night. It’s Joss Whedon: The Movie! I can’t wait.

And then, next weekend, somehow while attending a wedding in Bellingham, I need to get into theaters to see Wallace & Gromit: Curse of the Were-Rabbit and Mirrormask as they both open in Seattle. I’m not sure which I’m more looking forward to. Probably the former — I’ve been waiting for new Wallace & Gromit since I first saw the original shorts just after college.

I just hope none of these films are as disappointing as Terry Gilliam’s The Brothers Grimm. Now there’s a script that could’ve used another rewrite or five. I think Gilliam was so antsy to film something — anything — that he filmed the first thing that was offered to him. I’m hoping Tideland is a little closer to his usual high quality.

Just got back from the Terry Pratchett signing at the University. According to my ticket, I was #596 in line for an autograph, so I just snuck in close enough to snap a cameraphone pic for my blog (which was all I really wanted anyway), then took off.

The smell of nerd was in the air — literally. The place stunk well before Pratchett took the stage.

Out of his talk beforehand, his explanation of his writing technique was the most interesting. He sits down with a few vague ideas for a story, but has no idea how the plot will resolve itself until he gets to the end. Pratchett seemed to think this was unusual among authors, but it actually seems pretty common. Neil Gaiman and Stephen King do the same thing.

I’m the opposite. I have to have a detailed outline before I can write anything. Perhaps it’s a difference in talent — these writers have so internalized the art of storytelling that they can essentially adlib a structured three-act plotline without even trying.

The Mars stories of Edgar Rice Burroughs were his second most famous creation. Unfortunately, there’s a pretty big dropoff after the first: everybody’s heard of Tarzan, while only a few SF fans know of John Carter. A Princess of Mars was the first in this series of nine books.

I picked it up partly because of next year’s film adaptation. A Princess of Mars will leave the ranks of “classic SF novels that everyone thinks should become movies but never do,” a label that includes the most famous works of Alfred Bester and Robert Heinlein. Kerry Conran, who created Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, is directing.

Aside from that, the book is really only interesting as a historical document. It is definitely a product of 1912. Ex-Confederate soldier and perfect phsyical specimen John Carter is mysteriously teleported from the Arizona desert to the face of Mars, where he battles savage green and civilized red Martians while falling in love with the titular princess. (Speaking of titular, she appears topless on the rather lurid cover of my edition.)

Since Martian gravity is so much lower than Earth’s, Carter can jump fifty feet in the air and kill giant green Tharks with a single punch. No explanation is given for his ability to learn the language in two weeks or teach the Tharks how to control their own steeds, which you’d think they’d have figured out already. White people just do everything better, apparently.

The prose consists entirely of eye-wateringly dense descriptive text, punctuated by stilted dialogue every thirty pages or so. If it all seems cliche, that’s probably because it established the cliche. I can’t say I have any desire to read more Burroughs, though.

Apparently I was too busy limping to blog anything. My foot is almost 100% now, but it took until Friday for it to start feeling remotely normal, and now I have a fascinating purple and grey bruise on the side of my heel.

Meanwhile, I went out to Bellevue on Wednesday night, my writer’s group on Thursday night, picked up tickets for the University Bookstore appearances by Terry Pratchett (9/26) and Neil Gaiman (10/4). And on top of that, a ton of TV series premiered this week, which I usually make time to try.

The best new show I’ve seen so far is Jason Lee’s sitcom, My Name is Earl, about a white trash loser who discovers the power of karma. He makes a list of each bad thing he’s done in his life and intends to make amends for each one, in some way he hasn’t figured out yet. It’s like a redneck version of Arrested Development meets Wonderfalls. If the series can keep up the pilot’s hilarity, it’ll be outstanding.

Speaking of television, I bought a TiVo to better facilitate my viewing habits. CompUSA had a free-after-rebate deal on the box itself, so I went for it.

Unfortunately, this life-changing 21st century technology requires the 19th century tech of a phone line in order to activate, and I only have a cell phone. The ethernet activation hack doesn’t work either. So I’ll have to visit someone with a phone line, muck around with their entertainment center to plug in the TiVo, wait up to EIGHT HOURS (as it turns out) for the machine to update itself, then extricate the TiVo and rewire everything the way it was. All for a wireless internet setup that may not work anyway.

I’m very close to giving up and returning everything to the store. Maybe I should just stick with BitTorrent downloads — they’re slow, they’re illegal, but at least they work.

Actually, today has been filled with grand, failed Plans. Besides the TiVo, I went to Nordstrom to buy a suit, but chickened out because I have no idea what I’m shopping for. And I was going to buy more gold, but decided against it after today’s Rita news. (Gold is probably going to drop next week… maybe I’ll buy some then.)

Here it is, finally. Once again, certain copyrights are reserved through a Creative Commons license; click the CC link at the end of the story for details.

Special thanks to the two ex-military women whose backgrounds I cannibalized for Charity’s story.
Read the rest of this entry »

I managed to sprain my ankle carrying a full laundry basket down a flight of stairs. I thought there were no more stairs, but the last one was hiding, ready to pounce. Stumble crunch ow. Stairs 1, Mike 0.

I have a ziploc full of ice resting on my right ankle as I type this. I should probably wrap it in a bandage or a brace, but I can’t make it out of the house to buy either of those. I’ll have to send Jim out when he gets home.

Hopefully I’ll be good to drive to work tomorrow. Not that I would say no to an extra day off…

This on the heels of last week’s Great Suit Debate. Erin invited me to her sister’s semi-formal wedding, but I don’t own a suit. I tried to figure out the minimum dressiness I could get away with until James told me to stop acting like a redneck or child or both and just buy a nice goddamn suit. I’m going shopping next weekend.

Apparently I turned 30 and immediately became old.

Max Berry’s Jennifer Government is exactly the sort of book I should be writing. It’s a wicked, cyberpunk-ish satire of corporations in a Republican wet-dream, no-regulation, totally free market (something I also write about in Rogue Systems, which none of you have seen yet except for Vern).

Jennifer Government‘s universe is one in which, as the back of the book says, “taxation has been abolished, the government has been privatized, and employees take the surname of the company they work for.” The Police are a for-profit corporation, and so are the schools. Canada, Australia, and South America have merged with the U.S. into the United States Federated Economic Blocs.

This book is also the greatest action film that will never be made — too many opportunities for lawsuits. The villain, after all, is John Nike, VP Guerilla Marketing, who misses the old days when kids were killed for their Nikes — that only made them more desirable to own. So he orders hapless underling Hack Nike to kill ten random kids who purchase their newest shoes.

Berry’s writing style consists of short, punchy screenplay-style sentences, which careen through a story at top speed. Also much like a screenplay, Berry doesn’t bother describing his characters in too much detail. He gives his characters a distinctive personality and a state of mind and leaves the movie-in-your-head casting to the reader. (I saw Angelina Jolie as Jennifer, the government agent with a UPC tattoo under her eye.)

My only complaint is about the ending. Swipe if you don’t mind being spoiled:

[ All the corporations split into two huge "customer loyalty programs," a brilliant idea I wish I'd thought of. McDonald's in one, Burger King in the other; Nike in one, Reebok in the other; etc. By the end of the book, John Nike has manipulated events so they're on the verge of a shooting war, with arms supplied by the Police and the NRA on either side.

But in the end, both sides de-escalate and John Nike is fired. Plot-wise, it's a move designed to allow Jennifer to arrest John and have a happy ending, but right there, the satire loses its bite. Satires like this don't have happy endings. Think of Catch-22 or Brazil: the only happy ending is escape from the insanity of the story's world.

Besides, if the last few years have taught us anything, it's that once events go into motion and bloodlust spreads, groupthink settles in and war becomes inevitable. ]

Still, it’s a really entertaining book and well worth a read.

The Pentagon’s clumsily-titled America Supports You Freedom Walk took place in DC today. Attendees even received commemerative dog tags for that full, priaptic chickenhawk experience.

Does it bother you that the government is sponsoring marches and rallies in support of the government’s policies? While they’re at it, why not dig up Leni Reifenstahl and hand her a camera?

The march included a performance by Clint Black, because, you know… when I think of the 9/11 victims in New York and DC, I think of country music.

The Rude Pundit has the full rundown of today’s festivities.

About a dozen people came to my 30th birthday party last night, which is more than I figured. It was a low-key affair, with an MST3K Shorts DVD providing entertainment early on while guests arrived and my iPod/computer speaker combo supplying music after that.

(Although apparently not as low-key as I thought — my new neighbor complained about the music because she was trying to sleep… at 10pm… on a Saturday. Everyone could easily speak over the music, so it wasn’t that loud. But I digress.)

Three people brought bottles of wine, only to discover I didn’t own a corkscrew. (What? I don’t trink… vine.) So Aunt Maria, Erin, and Erin’s friend Melanie ventured out to a supermarket and bought me a fancy corkscrew as a birthday gift.

It was only after 12:30 or so, when the last guests left (except for Erin, who stayed the night), that I realized I took NO PICTURES during the party. Not even with my cameraphone. Oops.

Bad blogger.

I spent my last night as a twentysomething the same way I spent most of my twenties: watching DVDs and some TV. Since I’m throwing myself a party tonight, I felt no urge to go out on the town or anything.

I’ve been freaked out only a little over the prospect of turning 30. Everyone I know says your 30s are better than your 20s anyway. You’re old enough to have some order and direction in your life, but still young enough to be a hottie.

In between cleaning house and battling my neighbors for the laundry room today, I may re-watch Free Enterprise, since it’s about a sci-fi nerd turning 30, with all the requisite Logan’s Run jokes that entails. (Hmm… actually, maybe I should add Logan’s Run to my Netflix queue. It’s been ages since I’ve seen it…)