It's where I talk to myself. Gaming, politics, and links I don't want to forget about.
BookSense allows you to order books online and pick them up at your local independent bookseller. Unfortunately, it’s dog slow, and I’m a bit perturbed by their offer to sell me a book named simply Harry Potter — seems to me that there aren’t enough words in that title.
Also it would be better if they did not direct me to a bookstore in Canton when I live in Somerville.
Warren Ellis has some simple words of wisdom on the Mark Waid firing. Let it rip, Warren:
I dunno. I used to know Mark. He’s been humped by Marvel two or three times previous to this. If you keep going back to a place where they fuck you in the arse with spiky metal things, then after a while people will simply assume you like it. It’s kind of a non-story.
This post is pretty old, but Dave Winer just linked back to it today and I picked up on something new; also, it ties in nicely to the recent discussion from the Dead Parrots, and if you aren’t reading the Parrots you ought to be. So, discussion ensues. Here’s the money quote from Dave:
OK, let’s deconstruct a myth. Someone says that weblogs aren’t journalism. OK, suppose a journalist has a weblog. When that journalist writes something on the weblog, therefore, it must not be journalism. Suppose the journalist writes exactly the same words on her weblog that she writes in a column in the newspaper she writes for. In one place it’s journalism and in the other it’s not? Hmmm.
Assuming we’re talking about a weblog with no editor, the answer is quite possibly yes. The logical fallacy is in the assumption that journalism is simply words. It’s not; it’s a process. It’s certainly possible to use that process in a weblog — c.f. Gizmodo, which is not precisely deep journalism but which qualifies nonetheless — but a weblog does not become journalism simply because it’s news-oriented.
Really, it’s about reputation capital. (Ob”Whuffie”:http://www.guardian.co.uk/online/story/0,3605,889293,00.html.) “Journalism” is shorthand for “the reputation capital built up by generations of reporters and editors who have made the unwritten bargain to live up to the standards of those who have gone before them.” Independent journalism is hard because the journalists don’t have the reputation backup of an editor. Some succeed, and some don’t.
Those prone to suddenly gifting me with an all-expenses paid vacation in New York City should be aware of the Library Hotel. Their application of the Dewey Decimal System is slightly flawed, but only slightly. Map the thousandths digit in the room numbers to the tens digit in the DDS, and pretend that any floor number above 1000 subtracts 1000, and you’re close enough.
Besides. Books. I can forgive much, for books.
Cory Doctorow just posted an excerpt from an upcoming novel. “An urban fantast/magic-realist thing about community wireless networking.” It’s a fun read; kind of a Charles de Lint vibe filtered through the transfictionalist nerdcore point of view. Hm, or maybe vice versa. Definitely vice versa.
Imagine one of those Charles de Lint scenes where we get to know a somewhat fey stranger, except instead of all the folk music he’s into wireless networking. There you go.
This story about getting Darth Vader’s autograph is the best autograph story ever. You have to admire an evil that has such excellent attention to detail. Luke was just darned lucky that Vader turned from the dark side; if he’d stayed true to his path the Rebels wouldn’t have had a chance.
Joshua Ellis writes on Taste Tribes to good effect. It’s also another demonstration of the slight gap between the political blogs and the social blogs; both create tribal effects but the binding is of a different type. Not a different nature, though. As always with tribes, it’s all about commonality. (Via Mr. Ellis.)
I had a nice time this weekend ingesting the first season of Coupling, which is a pleasant little BBC comedy. Think Friends, but with more sex and cleverer writing, sort of like Sports Night but without Jeremy. (Hey, that metaphor crashed and burned. Don’t point, it’s rude.)
Alas, in England “season” means “six episodes.” Still enjoyable, and it gives me a proper base from which to mock the NBC remake. Man, that’s gonna suck.
Anyhow, it’s not terribly deep but it’s fairly witty and it’s got Jack Davenport who was so good in Ultraviolet. As the viewpoint protagonist, he’s got a fairly tough job being the straight man, and he does a good job centering the show.
My pal Rob recently uncovered something fairly bizarre. It’s a 1971 novel called The Invisibles, about — quoting Rob —
…a two-fisted psycho-pharmacologist, a kind of Indiana Jones meets Timothy Leary type, who acquires psychic powers from experiments with psychotropic drugs, and then uses those powers to fight a globe-spanning conspiracy of evil, and also to have a lot of uninhibited 1971-style sex.
The author’s other books include Society And The Assassin….A Background Book on Political Murder. King Mob was here.
Grant Morrison, come home, we believe you now. Especially about the time travel.
Dylan Kidd came out of nowhere with Roger Dodger, and sometimes it shows. The pacing is off, for example. But man, I’m a sucker for the rhythms of language, and Kidd has ‘em down pat here.
The plot? New York, nightlife, a pretty amazingly cynical copywriter who has only his sense of language to be proud about. Womanizing. Said copywriter’s nephew. Lessons learned.
The acting’s good. The nephew, at sixteen, nails being a tense sixteen year old geek, right down to the expectation of dot-com riches without a college degree. Campbell Scott is very good as Roger; he gives enough to let us care about him, which is pretty crucial if you’re going to be playing an asshole. Oh, and Isabella Rosselini is so very perfect. Worth it for her alone, actually.
The pacing fails in places. It’s sort of episodic, kind of in a made for television spread it out over two nights way. Apparently some cuts and additions were made after the test screening, and I think Kidd just isn’t experienced enough to do a really great job editing post-facto. Not too bad, though, it’s just that you can see the seams.
Worthwhile. I really like this kind of jagged Neil LaBute stuff, though, so if you like your movies less cynical you might want to stay away.