Because it's total nonsensAGGGHHHHHHHH
The personal blog of author Kelly Sedinger, chronicling the adventures of one overalls-clad wanderer.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Origin: a tale of immortality
Deep in the rain forests of South America there is a secret laboratory complex that is devoted to a single project, and the result of that project is a girl named Pia. All of their work has led to the ‘creation’ of Pia, who is the first in what the scientists hope is nothing less than the complete re-engineering of the human species. And what, exactly, is so special about Pia? She is immortal.
That’s the background of Jessica Khoury’s wonderful debut novel Origin, in which Khoury explores a host of issues all the while spinning a highly engaging story of adventure and first love. It’s a very entertaining book that left a lot of questions lodged in my mind. Many of them aren’t new questions, but they’re questions that are bound to come up a lot over the next phase of human history.
What is the proper role of science?
What lengths are justified in the pursuit of scientific discovery?
To what extent should humans be biologically ‘modified’ with improvements?
And to what extent are children obliged to fulfill their own dreams and desires, and to carry out their assigned duties in the service of the dreams and desires of adults?
When we meet Pia, she is about to turn seventeen, and is on the cusp of becoming a full-fledged member of the scientific team at Little Camelot (the research facility). The entire focus of this facility, as led by a man Pia calls “Uncle Paolo”, is the development of nothing less than human immortality, which (they believe) would usher in a new golden age of humanity -- a permanent golden age. How such an achievement would change humanity is mostly glossed over -- there are a few discussion as to what it means to have humans stop reproducing, because they won’t need to -- but that’s clearly by design on Khoury’s part, as she is depicting one of the SF’s oldest and finest tropes, the scientists meddling with things best left unmeddled, and without really working through the ethical and moral implications of their project.
Consider Pia. Khoury doesn’t entirely spell out what is meant by ‘immortality’, but she establishes that Pia cannot be harmed by normal means. She can’t even have blood drawn, because the needles will no longer puncture her skin. So, how big a bomb blast would she survive, for instance? We’re not really told, but that’s probably a good thing, as it really doesn’t have a whole lot to do with the story.
Pia’s mother seems to look on Pia with disdain, and we do learn more about their relationship as the book goes on. The novel is one of relationships across the board, each one convincingly drawn. Most central to the book is the relationship between Pia and the native boy she meets, Eio, a member of a tribe called the Ai’oans. Pia meets Eio one night when she succumbs to her desire to see beyond the boundaries of the science facility and sneaks out. In many ways, meeting Eio puts Pia sets everything to come in motion.
Khoury’s Pia is a somewhat typical teenage/young adult protagonist in that she chafes against the boundaries that have been placed upon her life. What sets Origin apart is the nature of those boundaries. They are not just imposed from without, by the scientists in control of her life (on the basis that she is literally their greatest success and she is also, for all intents and purposes, a human lab rat), but also by the very nature of her being. The possibility of love terrifies Pia, because she can’t imagine a basically unending life of always outliving those she comes to love. But she also learns that love isn’t always a force that can be ordered around.
For all the interesting questions raised in Origin, Khoury is still able to craft a book that keeps the pages turning, first during the intriguing chapters at the beginning when we’re learning about this world of hers, then in the middle part of the book when Pia is starting to really develop, and then in the kinetic and at times horrific final act, when all manner of hell breaks loose as relationships are exposed and questions are answered.
I was particularly interested that Origin doesn’t seem to be set in any real specific timeframe. What I mean by that is that Khoury keeps things grounded well enough that even as the book’s central Maguffin is the scientists’ search for immortality (which is granted by the pollen of a flower that grows in exactly one place in the rain forest), there’s a powerful sense that the book could well be happening right now...or in twenty years...or in a hundred. In terms of location, Khoury keeps the book very tightly focused. It’s an interesting choice, and it turns out that this is an excellent book to put into the hands of people whose impression of science fiction is spaceships, and lots of ‘em.
(On that very last point: reading Origin in the same year as Beth Revis's Across the Universe and A Million Suns was a nice bit of synchronicity, given the teenage heroines in all three novels -- apropos to me personally, since Princesses In SPACE!!! (not the actual title) also has a teenage girl as the main protagonist. Funny how things work out sometimes!)
I have no idea if Khoury is planning a sequel to Origin or not. I rather hope not, as the book is a fine stand-alone. And as a final bit of testimony, let me just note that I bought a copy for myself...and then, when finished, I bought another for The Daughter as one of her Christmas presents. Shhhh! Don’t tell her.
A Random Wednesday Conversation Starter
My Heavens, I'm busy these days. Ye Gods.
Anyway: assuming your significant other (if there is one) does not read this blog, what did you get him or her for Christmas? If multiple gifts, which one are you most excited to give?
Anyway: assuming your significant other (if there is one) does not read this blog, what did you get him or her for Christmas? If multiple gifts, which one are you most excited to give?
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
Shiny in the Black: A FIREFLY Christmas, part three (a repost)
Continuing my repost of this Very Special (but Not Blossomesque) Episode of Firefly.
part two
part one
"Weapons on the ground!" the voice shouted. "Now!"
"Do it," Mal said. He shot a look at Jayne, whose expression of disgust tended to be indistinguishable from his expression of being about to lose his temper. Slowly, Mal, Zoe and Jayne all laid their guns on the floor.
"Put that package on the floor too, preacher," said the voice.
Book put the crate down.
"All right, face the crates."
They complied.
"Put your hands on your head."
They complied.
"Stand on your left feet and recite the first stanza the Alliance anthem!"
Mal glanced at Zoe. "Uh, what?"
Now the voice burst out in laughter. "All right, turn 'em off," he said. The floodlights all shut off, and the light returned to the dim of the warehouse overhead lamps. Mal turned toward the source of the voice to see a stocky man dressed in old army fatigues approaching. The man was bald except for long, stringy hairs that hung from the back of his head; he had a thick mustache and three days' growth of beard. He gave Mal a gap-toothed grin as he put his hands on his hips.
"Ahh, Mal, what am I gonna do with you?"
Mal and the others glanced around at the 'lawmen', and saw that they weren't lawmen at all. They were a motley bunch of thieves. Not unlike themselves.
"Jonas," Mal said. "Fancy meeting you here. I never figured you to be on Ariel. Kind of a rich world for your tastes, isn't it?"
"Gotta go where the money is, my boy," the man named Jonas said as he lit a cigar and took a few puffs. "'Sides, ain't planning on being here long. I'm guessing you weren't either."
"Not really," Mal agreed. "Can we put our hands down? I don't tend to find this posture conducive to friendly chat."
"Ain't so sure we're being friendly," Jonas said. "But sure, let your hands down. Don't make a move toward those weapons, though."
"Of course not," said Mal. "After all, we're just bein' friendly."
"I suppose we are," Jonas replied as Mal and his people lowered their hands. "So, Mal, what are you doing here?"
"Same as you," Mal said. "Doin' a job."
"And what would be the nature of that job?"
"Well, we're purchasing the contents of this crate right here and going with them to a...client on Haven. Easy enough."
"Sounds easy. Haven's a piss-poor world...wait, did you say you were purchasing the goods?"
Mal shrugged. "Yeah, we're doin' it the honest way this time. Wanted to see what that was like."
"Really. Honest. Dumpin' a box of coin here and taking the box? That's a new version of honest. Sounds to me like you've found a way of stealin' that ends up costin' you money."
"Yeah," Mal said, shooting a look at Shepherd Book, "I guess we didn't really work all the kinks out."
"Well, Mal, I can't let you have this box. See, we need it, too. I'm doing a job, myself, and there's a cantankerous old woman out on Whitefall that could use some of what's in that box."
"Whitefall?" Mal laughed. "You're planning on doing business with Patience?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"Oh, no reason," Mal said. "Just make sure you plan for her to try to shoot you."
"Nah," Jonas said. "Patience and me go way back. I was the one who told her that she should shoot you if she got the chance."
"Well that was nice of you," Mal said. "She got the chance. Twice. I'm still here, still flyin'. Counts for somethin'."
"Yeah, I guess it does. But I can't let you take this box, coin or no. You see, Mal--"
"Hey, Captain!" It was one of Jonas's men. Jonas rolled his eyes.
"What is it, Randy? I'm trying to be threatening here, and you're interrupting."
"I know, Cap, but this ain't the box we're here for."
"What?"
"Look!" The wiry man named Randy held out a PDA for Jonas to look at. "See, that's the number of the box we want. It's the next one over. That one."
"Really?"
"Yeah. That one's got the farming seed and fertilizer in it. See, the one we want is in slot number 29-94-77. This slot is number 29-94-75."
"Oh," said Jonas.
"Well, this changes things a bit, doesn't it?" Mal said.
"I think it does, Captain," said Zoe.
"You see, Jonas, there's no need to make this deal confrontational. Instead of goin' that way, we can go another. We're not even here for the same crate. We'll take what we want, you'll take what you want, and everybody's happy."
"Seriously, Mal? You're after this crate? What's in it?"
"I don't think that really matters," said Mal. "Haven's not a big farming world, so you can bet I'm not looking for farming seed and fertilizer. Let's just take what we all want and be done with it."
Jonas kept his gun aimed at Mal as he considered things. Then he nodded at the Shepherd.
"Sure, Mal, we can do that. But I want the coin, too."
Mal shrugged. "Give it to him, Preacher," he said.
"Really?" asked Book.
"Yeah, really," Mal said. "Plan was to leave the coin here anyway. But if you're gonna take the coin, least you could do is have your boys load our crate onto our hauler for us."
"I suppose I could do that," Jonas said. His men grumbled, but he hissed them quiet. "A friendly gesture, right?"
"Yeah," Mal said. "If we promise not to shoot you, can we pick up our guns now?"
"Sure," Jonas said. "But we'll still be coverin' you until this is done."
"I figured," Mal replied as he picked up his pistol. The others followed suit.
"How'd you get in here, anyway?" Jonas asked.
"Door was open."
"Well, I suppose you can thank me for that," Jonas replied. "Paid the guards to leave it open and make themselves scarce. All right, boys, you heard the man. Let's get these boxes loaded! Remember, this one here goes with them, that one down there goes with us. With the Shepherd's coin."
Book handed the box of coin to one of Jonas's men, four of whom turned to the work of loading both crates while Jonas and Randy kept their pistols aimed at Mal and his people.
"Somethin' here ain't right," Jayne said. "We're gonna get screwed on this deal."
"Well, Jayne, the screwing was built into the deal, so at least we're not surprised by it." Mal shook his head. "This is a weird damn job, though."
"Nah," Jayne replied. "There's still some way this is gonna go south. You watch. Always happens to us."
Mal rolled his eyes. "Not all our jobs end in disaster," he said.
"Name one," Jayne said.
"Well, there was--"
"You ended up drunk and with a con-woman pretending to be your wife."
"Yeah, but it was good up to then."
After about ten minutes, they were all outside and both crates were loaded onto their respective haulers.
"Well, Mal," said Jonas, "I'd prefer if you'd drive off first. And try to stay out of my way in the future."
"Pleasure doin' business as always, Jonas," Mal said. "But I wouldn't mind pointin' out that just because we were in the same place, doesn't mean I was in your way."
"Even so. I don't want to get your luck on me, Reynolds. You have a history of taking on work that doesn't leave you much of a profit. One day you're gonna realize that 'Just keep flying' isn't a great strategy for life."
"Thanks for the wisdom, Jonas. Got some for you, too."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"Patience is gonna try to shoot you."
Jonas grinned. "Let her try." He gestured with his pistol, sending Mal and his people off.
"I'm tellin' you, this is gonna be a bad deal for everybody," Jayne said as they neared Serenity.
"Calm down, Jayne. Your opinion is noted."
Mal drove the hauler back onto the ship's cargo hold, and Kaylee closed the hatch behind them. Simon and River were there waiting; Wash was on the bridge, and he called down on the intercom.
"Captain?" Wash said. "I'm ready to lift."
"What are you waiting for!" Mal responded. The ship shifted beneath their feet as the engines roared and Serenity lifted off. Book and Jayne were offloading the crate from the hauler and securing it.
"You see, everybody?" Mal said as he took off his overcoat and tossed it at the foot of the stairs. "Nice, simple job. No big worries, no big fuss. We're out some coin, sure, but we've got a big crate full of nice, shiny toys that will make all the children in an orphanage on Haven happy."
"Everything went all right?" said Simon. "No hiccups?"
"One little hiccup," Mal said. "But it didn't amount to much."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Captain," said Shepherd Book.
"What?"
"Hey Mal," Jayne said. "We got a problem."
Mal glanced at Zoe. They walked aft, to where Book and Jayne were both staring at the crate, which Book had opened. Zoe took one look and let out a string of expletives in Chinese. Mal did the same, only with a string of completely different expletives in Chinese.
The crate was full of farm seed and fertilizer. They had the wrong crate.
part two
part one
"Weapons on the ground!" the voice shouted. "Now!"
"Do it," Mal said. He shot a look at Jayne, whose expression of disgust tended to be indistinguishable from his expression of being about to lose his temper. Slowly, Mal, Zoe and Jayne all laid their guns on the floor.
"Put that package on the floor too, preacher," said the voice.
Book put the crate down.
"All right, face the crates."
They complied.
"Put your hands on your head."
They complied.
"Stand on your left feet and recite the first stanza the Alliance anthem!"
Mal glanced at Zoe. "Uh, what?"
Now the voice burst out in laughter. "All right, turn 'em off," he said. The floodlights all shut off, and the light returned to the dim of the warehouse overhead lamps. Mal turned toward the source of the voice to see a stocky man dressed in old army fatigues approaching. The man was bald except for long, stringy hairs that hung from the back of his head; he had a thick mustache and three days' growth of beard. He gave Mal a gap-toothed grin as he put his hands on his hips.
"Ahh, Mal, what am I gonna do with you?"
Mal and the others glanced around at the 'lawmen', and saw that they weren't lawmen at all. They were a motley bunch of thieves. Not unlike themselves.
"Jonas," Mal said. "Fancy meeting you here. I never figured you to be on Ariel. Kind of a rich world for your tastes, isn't it?"
"Gotta go where the money is, my boy," the man named Jonas said as he lit a cigar and took a few puffs. "'Sides, ain't planning on being here long. I'm guessing you weren't either."
"Not really," Mal agreed. "Can we put our hands down? I don't tend to find this posture conducive to friendly chat."
"Ain't so sure we're being friendly," Jonas said. "But sure, let your hands down. Don't make a move toward those weapons, though."
"Of course not," said Mal. "After all, we're just bein' friendly."
"I suppose we are," Jonas replied as Mal and his people lowered their hands. "So, Mal, what are you doing here?"
"Same as you," Mal said. "Doin' a job."
"And what would be the nature of that job?"
"Well, we're purchasing the contents of this crate right here and going with them to a...client on Haven. Easy enough."
"Sounds easy. Haven's a piss-poor world...wait, did you say you were purchasing the goods?"
Mal shrugged. "Yeah, we're doin' it the honest way this time. Wanted to see what that was like."
"Really. Honest. Dumpin' a box of coin here and taking the box? That's a new version of honest. Sounds to me like you've found a way of stealin' that ends up costin' you money."
"Yeah," Mal said, shooting a look at Shepherd Book, "I guess we didn't really work all the kinks out."
"Well, Mal, I can't let you have this box. See, we need it, too. I'm doing a job, myself, and there's a cantankerous old woman out on Whitefall that could use some of what's in that box."
"Whitefall?" Mal laughed. "You're planning on doing business with Patience?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"Oh, no reason," Mal said. "Just make sure you plan for her to try to shoot you."
"Nah," Jonas said. "Patience and me go way back. I was the one who told her that she should shoot you if she got the chance."
"Well that was nice of you," Mal said. "She got the chance. Twice. I'm still here, still flyin'. Counts for somethin'."
"Yeah, I guess it does. But I can't let you take this box, coin or no. You see, Mal--"
"Hey, Captain!" It was one of Jonas's men. Jonas rolled his eyes.
"What is it, Randy? I'm trying to be threatening here, and you're interrupting."
"I know, Cap, but this ain't the box we're here for."
"What?"
"Look!" The wiry man named Randy held out a PDA for Jonas to look at. "See, that's the number of the box we want. It's the next one over. That one."
"Really?"
"Yeah. That one's got the farming seed and fertilizer in it. See, the one we want is in slot number 29-94-77. This slot is number 29-94-75."
"Oh," said Jonas.
"Well, this changes things a bit, doesn't it?" Mal said.
"I think it does, Captain," said Zoe.
"You see, Jonas, there's no need to make this deal confrontational. Instead of goin' that way, we can go another. We're not even here for the same crate. We'll take what we want, you'll take what you want, and everybody's happy."
"Seriously, Mal? You're after this crate? What's in it?"
"I don't think that really matters," said Mal. "Haven's not a big farming world, so you can bet I'm not looking for farming seed and fertilizer. Let's just take what we all want and be done with it."
Jonas kept his gun aimed at Mal as he considered things. Then he nodded at the Shepherd.
"Sure, Mal, we can do that. But I want the coin, too."
Mal shrugged. "Give it to him, Preacher," he said.
"Really?" asked Book.
"Yeah, really," Mal said. "Plan was to leave the coin here anyway. But if you're gonna take the coin, least you could do is have your boys load our crate onto our hauler for us."
"I suppose I could do that," Jonas said. His men grumbled, but he hissed them quiet. "A friendly gesture, right?"
"Yeah," Mal said. "If we promise not to shoot you, can we pick up our guns now?"
"Sure," Jonas said. "But we'll still be coverin' you until this is done."
"I figured," Mal replied as he picked up his pistol. The others followed suit.
"How'd you get in here, anyway?" Jonas asked.
"Door was open."
"Well, I suppose you can thank me for that," Jonas replied. "Paid the guards to leave it open and make themselves scarce. All right, boys, you heard the man. Let's get these boxes loaded! Remember, this one here goes with them, that one down there goes with us. With the Shepherd's coin."
Book handed the box of coin to one of Jonas's men, four of whom turned to the work of loading both crates while Jonas and Randy kept their pistols aimed at Mal and his people.
"Somethin' here ain't right," Jayne said. "We're gonna get screwed on this deal."
"Well, Jayne, the screwing was built into the deal, so at least we're not surprised by it." Mal shook his head. "This is a weird damn job, though."
"Nah," Jayne replied. "There's still some way this is gonna go south. You watch. Always happens to us."
Mal rolled his eyes. "Not all our jobs end in disaster," he said.
"Name one," Jayne said.
"Well, there was--"
"You ended up drunk and with a con-woman pretending to be your wife."
"Yeah, but it was good up to then."
After about ten minutes, they were all outside and both crates were loaded onto their respective haulers.
"Well, Mal," said Jonas, "I'd prefer if you'd drive off first. And try to stay out of my way in the future."
"Pleasure doin' business as always, Jonas," Mal said. "But I wouldn't mind pointin' out that just because we were in the same place, doesn't mean I was in your way."
"Even so. I don't want to get your luck on me, Reynolds. You have a history of taking on work that doesn't leave you much of a profit. One day you're gonna realize that 'Just keep flying' isn't a great strategy for life."
"Thanks for the wisdom, Jonas. Got some for you, too."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"Patience is gonna try to shoot you."
Jonas grinned. "Let her try." He gestured with his pistol, sending Mal and his people off.
"I'm tellin' you, this is gonna be a bad deal for everybody," Jayne said as they neared Serenity.
"Calm down, Jayne. Your opinion is noted."
Mal drove the hauler back onto the ship's cargo hold, and Kaylee closed the hatch behind them. Simon and River were there waiting; Wash was on the bridge, and he called down on the intercom.
"Captain?" Wash said. "I'm ready to lift."
"What are you waiting for!" Mal responded. The ship shifted beneath their feet as the engines roared and Serenity lifted off. Book and Jayne were offloading the crate from the hauler and securing it.
"You see, everybody?" Mal said as he took off his overcoat and tossed it at the foot of the stairs. "Nice, simple job. No big worries, no big fuss. We're out some coin, sure, but we've got a big crate full of nice, shiny toys that will make all the children in an orphanage on Haven happy."
"Everything went all right?" said Simon. "No hiccups?"
"One little hiccup," Mal said. "But it didn't amount to much."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Captain," said Shepherd Book.
"What?"
"Hey Mal," Jayne said. "We got a problem."
Mal glanced at Zoe. They walked aft, to where Book and Jayne were both staring at the crate, which Book had opened. Zoe took one look and let out a string of expletives in Chinese. Mal did the same, only with a string of completely different expletives in Chinese.
The crate was full of farm seed and fertilizer. They had the wrong crate.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Be gentle
Sheila O'Malley, a blogger whose insight I aspire to reaching maybe ten percent one day, posted the following to Facebook earlier, and she gave me permission to reproduce it here.
I absolutely believe that we need to have several discussions about public policy in this country, with regard to both guns and mental health care. But we also need to remember how to heal our societal wounds when things like this happen.
I came home from the Trans Siberian Orchestra concert last night (out at Nassau Coliseum) and it was about 1 in the morning when I got home. It's been a bit of a blue time for me personally, and then of course the tragedy in Connecticut has just been devastating for all of us. A horrible week. It was fun to go out and see this ridiculous over-the-top show, and when I got home I was a bit wired. I sat in bed reading 11/22/63 for a while (wow wow wow). And at one point, I heard a woman - either in my apartment building - or maybe in the house next door - sobbing. She was sobbing as if her heart was broken. It went on and on and it was the most heart-rending sound. I ached for her, whoever she was. Whatever she was dealing with was too hard to bear at 1:30, 2 in the morning. I understand that. There were times when she would quiet down, and I hoped she was passing out from exhaustion, to just get a little rest. 40 minutes would pass, and then the sobbing would start up again. There were times when the sound was so real and so painful that I felt tears welling up too. I was sending her vibes of at least peace and rest ... everything looks at least more bearable in the morning. But, as F. Scott Fitzgerald so perfectly wrote: "In a dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning." I am thinking about that woman today. I wonder if anyone has ever heard me sobbing and had the same reaction. I felt like I was protecting her, hovering over her, during that hour or so that I was listening to her. I know that sounds dumb, but that's what it felt like. Anyway, I am thinking about her this morning. We all have our private pains. Be kind to one another. Be gentle. Assume that people are doing their best. The holidays are a tough time for many people as it is. Be gentle.
I absolutely believe that we need to have several discussions about public policy in this country, with regard to both guns and mental health care. But we also need to remember how to heal our societal wounds when things like this happen.
Sunday Burst of Weird and Awesome
I wasn't sure I wanted to post this today, but life doesn't stop and the world won't keep spinning today, so...oddities and Awesome abound!
:: Ever wonder what your facial features look like when hit by winds of 186 MPH? Well, no, I didn't either. This guy did, though.
:: I cannot deny for one second that if 2001: A Space Odyssey was made in 2012, this is what its trailer would look like.
That's about all. More next week! (Maybe. It's always possible I'll be too busy to collect links, between Christmas preparations and cranking through The Book.)
:: Ever wonder what your facial features look like when hit by winds of 186 MPH? Well, no, I didn't either. This guy did, though.
:: I cannot deny for one second that if 2001: A Space Odyssey was made in 2012, this is what its trailer would look like.
That's about all. More next week! (Maybe. It's always possible I'll be too busy to collect links, between Christmas preparations and cranking through The Book.)
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Saturday Centus (depressing edition)
I apologize for the somber tone of my entry for this week, but I think that the dominant event of the day is pretty self-explanatory.
Sigh....
UPDATE: By the way, this post will serve as my only comment on this blog on the awful events in Connecticut. I've said a few things on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter, but I won't be using this space to air any of my thoughts.
On the thirteenth day of Christmas,
my parents gave to me
thirteen lilies for my grave.
Sigh....
UPDATE: By the way, this post will serve as my only comment on this blog on the awful events in Connecticut. I've said a few things on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter, but I won't be using this space to air any of my thoughts.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Something for Thursday
So much of Tchaikovsky, I can live just fine without. But there's stuff of Tchaikovsky's that, well, if you asked me to live without it, I'd cry.
Here, in time for The Season, is the Nutcracker Suite. I played this every year in college with the orchestra there; this is one of relatively few pieces of music that, for me, has very definite ties in my mind to a specific time and place. This is also one of those musical works that I point to whenever anyone tells me that there is no magic in our world. Oh yes, there is!
Here, in time for The Season, is the Nutcracker Suite. I played this every year in college with the orchestra there; this is one of relatively few pieces of music that, for me, has very definite ties in my mind to a specific time and place. This is also one of those musical works that I point to whenever anyone tells me that there is no magic in our world. Oh yes, there is!
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
A Random Wednesday Conversation Starter
I am typkg this on my tablet's touch keypad hing, and I am makig no effort to correct tupos. Does anybody actually LIKE typing on hese things? I can't imagine writing a book like his!
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
John Scalzi wants your money for his work
I read this John Scalzi post, and immediately my mind went to this:
Clearly I have too much time on my hands.
Clearly I have too much time on my hands.
Saturday Centus (Tuesday Edition)
Hurg. I put this off because it's a Cute Picture Prompt, and those almost always screw me up. Anyway, here's the pic:
Yeesh. And we're supposed to write in first person from the viewpoint of that squirrel. OK then....
(If you haven't seen Caddyshack, you won't get the joke.)
Yeesh. And we're supposed to write in first person from the viewpoint of that squirrel. OK then....
Mr. Spackler, sir? I know you don’t much like my general field rodent class of animal, but...I was thinking that just for today, we might call a truce? I mean, after all, it IS Christmas, sir, and this war between you and the gophers isn’t going well for you. No, I’m a squirrel, sir, but I’ve been authorized to speak for the...well, there’s no need to get rude. Hey, there’s certainly no need to reach for that rifle! Mr. Spackler! AHHH!!! RUN RUN RUN!!!
(If you haven't seen Caddyshack, you won't get the joke.)
Monday, December 10, 2012
Shiny in the Black: A FIREFLY Christmas, part two (repost)
(Continuing my repost of last year's Very Special Christmas episode of...)
part one
Wash put Serenity down on the landing pad, nice and gentle. So nice and gentle that Zoe complimented him on it.
"You're getting' more gentle all the time, honey," Zoe said. "You have such a gift for handling sensitive equipment."
"Thanks for sayin' so, my love," Wash replied. "But I could always use more practice--"
"All right, enough of that, you two." Mal came up onto the bridge, fully dressed in his usual brown shirt, brown pants, brown belt, brown holster, brown boots, and probably brown socks too, if one could see them underneath all of that. "Wash, you keep the ship warmed and ready to lift if some part of this job goes south. Zoe, you're coming along."
"I figured, sir."
"Captain," Wash said, "is it really necessary to have contingency plans for this job? We're actually conducting an honest transaction for once."
"Yeah," Mal said. "For once. We don't get a whole lot of practice with this kind of thing, so who knows what might go wrong. You and Kaylee keep the ship ready. River and the Doc will keep you company. Zoe, you'll be with Jayne, the Shepherd, and me."
"What's Inara doing?"
"Well, I think she's still on her shuttle, writing long entries in her diary about how much she hates me right now."
Zoe knew what that meant. "You told her no clients."
"We ain't got time. Why am I always the bad guy on this?"
"Oh, I couldn't begin to venture a guess, Captain," Zoe said. "Let's go."
Mal and Zoe began to exit the bridge.
"Zoe?" Wash called out.
"Yes, love?"
"You're going to buy toys," Wash said. "I could use a new stegosaurus for the collection."
"I'll see what I can do."
The Captain and Zoe left then, and Wash reached into the small footlocker next to his seat and pulled out a handful of his dinosaur figurines.
In the cargo hold, Shepherd Book and Jayne had the cargo hauler ready to go.
"Jayne," Book said, "do you really need that many guns?"
"Preacher, are you carryin' that Bible of yours right now?"
"Good point."
They lifted a crate containing coin up onto the back of the hauler as Mal and Zoe arrived and descended the criss-crossing stairs down to their level.
"Awful lot of coin to be givin' up," Mal said.
"A purchase of good will is never a bad purchase," said Book.
"You get that from that Bible of yours?"
"No, it just came to me," Book replied. "A preacher can't live on the words of one book alone."
"All right," Mal said. "Let's go. Kaylee, open her up."
"Be careful, Captain," Kaylee said as she opened the ship's cargo door and lowered the ramp. Mal, Jayne, Zoe and Book drove off in the hauler. Then Kaylee closed the ship back up. She turned away from the control and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw that River was standing there, unblinking, just inches away.
"River! You scared me!"
"Would you like me to teach you a song?" River asked.
Kaylee blinked. "Uhhh...sure, honey. I'd love to learn a song."
"It goes like this. 'On the first day of Christmas, the operatives brought to me....'"
"Uh, River?" Kaylee interrupted. "Is this one of those creepy songs you learned while you were captive at...that place?"
"Yes," River said. "I guess I should learn some new songs myself."
"Yeah," Kaylee said. "That would be great."
***
Mal drove the hauler through a warehouse district of Ariel's main city. Unlike the shiny, wealthy area they had visited a few months earlier – to steal some medicine – this area was much darker and dingier. Every planet, no matter how rich, had parts like this, Mal had long since learned. No one was rich enough to banish dirt and grime forever.
"You know where this warehouse is, right, Book?" Mal asked.
"I've got the address right here," Book said, holding up an electronic data organizer. "And the crate number of the merchandise we're getting. It'll be in and out."
Jayne growled. "Every time one of you people says we'll be in and out, I go through half my ammo. I haven't had an in and out job since--"
"Jayne, I'm sure that's fascinating," Mal cut in. "But just in case it ain't, why don't you hold it to yourself?"
"Sure, Mal," Jayne said. "I'll just sit here and be quiet as usual while you and Zoe tell each other the same stories over and over again. Hey, can I hear that one about that time you both got your asses kicked by the Alliance? I love that one."
"Captain," Mal said, pointing to himself. "First mate," he said, pointing to Zoe. "Gun for hire." He pointed to Jayne.
"Thank you for clearing us up on the chain of command, Captain," said Shepherd Book. "But we appear to have reached the warehouse."
"All right." Mal brought the hauler to a stop near an entrance. "Standard procedure. Zoe, you'll get us in. Then, Jayne, you're in first, followed by me, then the Shepherd, and Zoe, you bring up the rear. We're going to try and find this crate, get it, and be done with it before anyone knows were here."
"In and out, Captain?" Zoe said.
"In and out," Mal agreed.
"Not usually our thing," Zoe said as she walked to the door.
"See, Mal?" Jayne said. "This is what I'm talkin' about."
"Well Jayne, that's six hours since I last regretted hirin' you." Mal smiled. "I think that's a new record for you, ain't it? Hey Zoe, you got that door open yet?"
"Think so, sir," Zoe said as she pressed a button that made the large bay door swing open. "Pretty easy, too."
"Huh," said Mal.
"Anybody else thinkin' that was a little too easy?" Jayne put in.
Mal shrugged. "Well, we've got guns, so if we get into some local color, we can make our way out."
"There might be armed guards inside," Book pointed out.
"Cold feet, Shepherd?" Mal said. "This was your idea. But we're here, and I'm not in the habit of runnin' away at the first sign of something unexpected, especially if that unexpected thing is something that actually makes my life a little easier. Like an unlocked door. Shepherd, grab the coin. Jayne?"
Book picked up the crate of coin, and Jayne came forward and led them inside.
The warehouse was, pretty much, like every other warehouse in the 'Verse. There's only so much you can do, really, to dress up hundreds of stacks of thousands of cargo crates in an enormous, cavernous room.
"Well, would you look at that," Jayne said. "A warehouse. We don't see these too often."
"Sure, Jayne."
"I mean, yeah, we go into our share of storehouses, stockpiles, armories...there was that one depository we knocked over that one time...and before I joined you people, there was that distribution center job...but not a lot of warehouses."
"Jayne," Mal said, "are you trying to get on my gorram nerves?"
"Just commentin' on the unique nature of this job, Mal."
"Shut it, Jayne," Zoe said. "Preacher, you got the crate number?"
Book consulted a slip of paper. "It's 29-94-75."
Mal looked at the manifest markings emblazoned on the side of several nearby crates, and determined which way they needed to go. "This way," he said, and with Jayne in the lead and Zoe in the rear, they made their way down the corridor created by line upon line of stacked crates.
It didn't take long to find it. The crate was pretty large, taller than Mal by about two feet, and about eight feet long and six feet across. Mal shone his flashlight on the crate and read the number. "This is it," he said. "29-94-75. No other markings."
"There wouldn't be," Book said. "The number is all they need."
"Yeah, I know how shipping works," Mal said. "All right, here it is. Now we just gotta get it out of here."
"That crate's a little big for me to haul out on my back," Jayne said. "Of all the gorram--"
Zoe cleared her throat. "I think that's the solution to our problem, Captain," she said. She pointed to an open area about thirty feet away, where two forklifts stood silent.
"There it is, then," Mal said. "Easy. Jayne, you'll drive the lift. We'll get the goods back out to our hauler, get back to the ship, before anyone knows we were here. No problem. See, I told you! Easy job."
At that moment six floodlights turned on, three from each side, all trained on Mal and his crew.
"Malcolm Reynolds!" a voice boomed out from the darkness behind the floodlights. "Malcolm Reynolds, you are bound by law to stand down."
Jayne muttered something in Chinese.
"In and out, right, Captain?" Zoe said.
All Mal could do was raise his hands and nod for the others to do the same.
To be continued....
Wash put Serenity down on the landing pad, nice and gentle. So nice and gentle that Zoe complimented him on it.
"You're getting' more gentle all the time, honey," Zoe said. "You have such a gift for handling sensitive equipment."
"Thanks for sayin' so, my love," Wash replied. "But I could always use more practice--"
"All right, enough of that, you two." Mal came up onto the bridge, fully dressed in his usual brown shirt, brown pants, brown belt, brown holster, brown boots, and probably brown socks too, if one could see them underneath all of that. "Wash, you keep the ship warmed and ready to lift if some part of this job goes south. Zoe, you're coming along."
"I figured, sir."
"Captain," Wash said, "is it really necessary to have contingency plans for this job? We're actually conducting an honest transaction for once."
"Yeah," Mal said. "For once. We don't get a whole lot of practice with this kind of thing, so who knows what might go wrong. You and Kaylee keep the ship ready. River and the Doc will keep you company. Zoe, you'll be with Jayne, the Shepherd, and me."
"What's Inara doing?"
"Well, I think she's still on her shuttle, writing long entries in her diary about how much she hates me right now."
Zoe knew what that meant. "You told her no clients."
"We ain't got time. Why am I always the bad guy on this?"
"Oh, I couldn't begin to venture a guess, Captain," Zoe said. "Let's go."
Mal and Zoe began to exit the bridge.
"Zoe?" Wash called out.
"Yes, love?"
"You're going to buy toys," Wash said. "I could use a new stegosaurus for the collection."
"I'll see what I can do."
The Captain and Zoe left then, and Wash reached into the small footlocker next to his seat and pulled out a handful of his dinosaur figurines.
In the cargo hold, Shepherd Book and Jayne had the cargo hauler ready to go.
"Jayne," Book said, "do you really need that many guns?"
"Preacher, are you carryin' that Bible of yours right now?"
"Good point."
They lifted a crate containing coin up onto the back of the hauler as Mal and Zoe arrived and descended the criss-crossing stairs down to their level.
"Awful lot of coin to be givin' up," Mal said.
"A purchase of good will is never a bad purchase," said Book.
"You get that from that Bible of yours?"
"No, it just came to me," Book replied. "A preacher can't live on the words of one book alone."
"All right," Mal said. "Let's go. Kaylee, open her up."
"Be careful, Captain," Kaylee said as she opened the ship's cargo door and lowered the ramp. Mal, Jayne, Zoe and Book drove off in the hauler. Then Kaylee closed the ship back up. She turned away from the control and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw that River was standing there, unblinking, just inches away.
"River! You scared me!"
"Would you like me to teach you a song?" River asked.
Kaylee blinked. "Uhhh...sure, honey. I'd love to learn a song."
"It goes like this. 'On the first day of Christmas, the operatives brought to me....'"
"Uh, River?" Kaylee interrupted. "Is this one of those creepy songs you learned while you were captive at...that place?"
"Yes," River said. "I guess I should learn some new songs myself."
"Yeah," Kaylee said. "That would be great."
Mal drove the hauler through a warehouse district of Ariel's main city. Unlike the shiny, wealthy area they had visited a few months earlier – to steal some medicine – this area was much darker and dingier. Every planet, no matter how rich, had parts like this, Mal had long since learned. No one was rich enough to banish dirt and grime forever.
"You know where this warehouse is, right, Book?" Mal asked.
"I've got the address right here," Book said, holding up an electronic data organizer. "And the crate number of the merchandise we're getting. It'll be in and out."
Jayne growled. "Every time one of you people says we'll be in and out, I go through half my ammo. I haven't had an in and out job since--"
"Jayne, I'm sure that's fascinating," Mal cut in. "But just in case it ain't, why don't you hold it to yourself?"
"Sure, Mal," Jayne said. "I'll just sit here and be quiet as usual while you and Zoe tell each other the same stories over and over again. Hey, can I hear that one about that time you both got your asses kicked by the Alliance? I love that one."
"Captain," Mal said, pointing to himself. "First mate," he said, pointing to Zoe. "Gun for hire." He pointed to Jayne.
"Thank you for clearing us up on the chain of command, Captain," said Shepherd Book. "But we appear to have reached the warehouse."
"All right." Mal brought the hauler to a stop near an entrance. "Standard procedure. Zoe, you'll get us in. Then, Jayne, you're in first, followed by me, then the Shepherd, and Zoe, you bring up the rear. We're going to try and find this crate, get it, and be done with it before anyone knows were here."
"In and out, Captain?" Zoe said.
"In and out," Mal agreed.
"Not usually our thing," Zoe said as she walked to the door.
"See, Mal?" Jayne said. "This is what I'm talkin' about."
"Well Jayne, that's six hours since I last regretted hirin' you." Mal smiled. "I think that's a new record for you, ain't it? Hey Zoe, you got that door open yet?"
"Think so, sir," Zoe said as she pressed a button that made the large bay door swing open. "Pretty easy, too."
"Huh," said Mal.
"Anybody else thinkin' that was a little too easy?" Jayne put in.
Mal shrugged. "Well, we've got guns, so if we get into some local color, we can make our way out."
"There might be armed guards inside," Book pointed out.
"Cold feet, Shepherd?" Mal said. "This was your idea. But we're here, and I'm not in the habit of runnin' away at the first sign of something unexpected, especially if that unexpected thing is something that actually makes my life a little easier. Like an unlocked door. Shepherd, grab the coin. Jayne?"
Book picked up the crate of coin, and Jayne came forward and led them inside.
The warehouse was, pretty much, like every other warehouse in the 'Verse. There's only so much you can do, really, to dress up hundreds of stacks of thousands of cargo crates in an enormous, cavernous room.
"Well, would you look at that," Jayne said. "A warehouse. We don't see these too often."
"Sure, Jayne."
"I mean, yeah, we go into our share of storehouses, stockpiles, armories...there was that one depository we knocked over that one time...and before I joined you people, there was that distribution center job...but not a lot of warehouses."
"Jayne," Mal said, "are you trying to get on my gorram nerves?"
"Just commentin' on the unique nature of this job, Mal."
"Shut it, Jayne," Zoe said. "Preacher, you got the crate number?"
Book consulted a slip of paper. "It's 29-94-75."
Mal looked at the manifest markings emblazoned on the side of several nearby crates, and determined which way they needed to go. "This way," he said, and with Jayne in the lead and Zoe in the rear, they made their way down the corridor created by line upon line of stacked crates.
It didn't take long to find it. The crate was pretty large, taller than Mal by about two feet, and about eight feet long and six feet across. Mal shone his flashlight on the crate and read the number. "This is it," he said. "29-94-75. No other markings."
"There wouldn't be," Book said. "The number is all they need."
"Yeah, I know how shipping works," Mal said. "All right, here it is. Now we just gotta get it out of here."
"That crate's a little big for me to haul out on my back," Jayne said. "Of all the gorram--"
Zoe cleared her throat. "I think that's the solution to our problem, Captain," she said. She pointed to an open area about thirty feet away, where two forklifts stood silent.
"There it is, then," Mal said. "Easy. Jayne, you'll drive the lift. We'll get the goods back out to our hauler, get back to the ship, before anyone knows we were here. No problem. See, I told you! Easy job."
At that moment six floodlights turned on, three from each side, all trained on Mal and his crew.
"Malcolm Reynolds!" a voice boomed out from the darkness behind the floodlights. "Malcolm Reynolds, you are bound by law to stand down."
Jayne muttered something in Chinese.
"In and out, right, Captain?" Zoe said.
All Mal could do was raise his hands and nod for the others to do the same.
Sentential Links
Links, for those wanting for linkage.
:: God, yes! If there’s one thing fantasy is just crawling with these days it’s widowed black middle-aged pirate moms. (Salty language alert...and interesting ruminations on race in fantasy. Race is a small factor in Princesses In SPACE!!!, as luck would have it. Or design, since I wrote it.)
:: So how do the Foundation novels look to me now that I have, as my immigrant grandmother used to say, grown to mature adultery? Better than ever. The trilogy really is a unique masterpiece; there has never been anything quite like it. (Not a blog post, but a wonderful article by Paul Krugman about the Foundation Trilogy. Via.)
:: John Milius's The Wind and the Lion is a truly wonderful film, and one I have a great deal of affection for. This film embodies everything I love about movies: great action scenes, an intriguing story (based VERY loosely on historical fact) and setting, well-drawn characters, and a wonderful sense of intelligence both cynical and insightful. When one is in the right mood, a movie like this just hits the spot. (It is a wonderful film, one which I'm overdue to rewatch. I also must mention that it boasts what might well be the best score Jerry Goldsmith ever wrote. Via.)
:: Roger Green, founder and president the organization Christmas Or Other Labels (COOL), has declared the war on Christmas in the United States to be officially over. People celebrating the holiday religiously, those celebrating it socially, and those not celebrating it at all were all declared victors in emotional celebrations across the country. (Huh. One wonders what Roger was waiting for, then, if he had the power to declare that conflict officially over!)
:: When times get tough, I usually start reading books about war. Maybe it satisfies my need for carnage and revenge.
:: Yes, I had that moment. The atheist at the end of his rope, totally desperate, confronting his beliefs and not sticking by them because, damn it, if there was a chance that the inevitable could be avoided, I would have recanted everything I'd ever said. And then finding his beliefs cemented and reaffirmed in the worst way possible.
:: ROM’s been in the news lately; Hasbro filed once again for the trademark on the property, prompting speculation that we may be in for a revival of the character. Personally, I don’t care so much about seeing future adventures as I do about getting reprints; if Marvel does get the rights back, the smart thing to do would be to pump out ‘Essential ROM’ Volumes 1 through However Many It Takes to Reprint His Every Appearance as fast as they can get the ink on the paper. Because ROM…ROM was freaking epic. (Wow...come to think of it, I have been seeing a lot of mentions of ROM in Blogistan of late....)
:: If this is your cue to complain about how this makes me an asshole, ask me if I care. Go on, ask! (John Scalzi gets angry. Justifiably. Which is fun. Oh, salty language, too! Yay, salty language!)
More next week!
:: God, yes! If there’s one thing fantasy is just crawling with these days it’s widowed black middle-aged pirate moms. (Salty language alert...and interesting ruminations on race in fantasy. Race is a small factor in Princesses In SPACE!!!, as luck would have it. Or design, since I wrote it.)
:: So how do the Foundation novels look to me now that I have, as my immigrant grandmother used to say, grown to mature adultery? Better than ever. The trilogy really is a unique masterpiece; there has never been anything quite like it. (Not a blog post, but a wonderful article by Paul Krugman about the Foundation Trilogy. Via.)
:: John Milius's The Wind and the Lion is a truly wonderful film, and one I have a great deal of affection for. This film embodies everything I love about movies: great action scenes, an intriguing story (based VERY loosely on historical fact) and setting, well-drawn characters, and a wonderful sense of intelligence both cynical and insightful. When one is in the right mood, a movie like this just hits the spot. (It is a wonderful film, one which I'm overdue to rewatch. I also must mention that it boasts what might well be the best score Jerry Goldsmith ever wrote. Via.)
:: Roger Green, founder and president the organization Christmas Or Other Labels (COOL), has declared the war on Christmas in the United States to be officially over. People celebrating the holiday religiously, those celebrating it socially, and those not celebrating it at all were all declared victors in emotional celebrations across the country. (Huh. One wonders what Roger was waiting for, then, if he had the power to declare that conflict officially over!)
:: When times get tough, I usually start reading books about war. Maybe it satisfies my need for carnage and revenge.
:: Yes, I had that moment. The atheist at the end of his rope, totally desperate, confronting his beliefs and not sticking by them because, damn it, if there was a chance that the inevitable could be avoided, I would have recanted everything I'd ever said. And then finding his beliefs cemented and reaffirmed in the worst way possible.
:: ROM’s been in the news lately; Hasbro filed once again for the trademark on the property, prompting speculation that we may be in for a revival of the character. Personally, I don’t care so much about seeing future adventures as I do about getting reprints; if Marvel does get the rights back, the smart thing to do would be to pump out ‘Essential ROM’ Volumes 1 through However Many It Takes to Reprint His Every Appearance as fast as they can get the ink on the paper. Because ROM…ROM was freaking epic. (Wow...come to think of it, I have been seeing a lot of mentions of ROM in Blogistan of late....)
:: If this is your cue to complain about how this makes me an asshole, ask me if I care. Go on, ask! (John Scalzi gets angry. Justifiably. Which is fun. Oh, salty language, too! Yay, salty language!)
More next week!
Sunday, December 09, 2012
A retail dilemma: What would YOU do?
OK, so this happened.
The Daughter had a church-related function today for a couple of hours, and The Wife was working, which gave me some free time. I decided to avail myself of this opportunity to do a small amount of my Christmas shopping, and to that end, I further decided that scope out a store I'd noticed in nearby East Aurora, NY, wherein I thought I stood a good chance of filling one of The Wife's gift wishes and also fulfill my usual desire to do at least a healthy chunk of my shopping at a local establishment. In addition to carrying the type of item The Wife had requested, this shop also apparently features jewelry made by a local artisan, so there's a double opportunity for supporting a local business.
According to this shop's Facebook page, they are open on Sundays, so off I went -- only, when I got there, the place was closed, tighter than a drum. I wondered if maybe I had misread things on FB, so I actually got out of the car and checked the posted hours sign on the door. Sure enough: Sunday, open 10 AM to 5 PM. And yet: lights out, locked up, nobody home. No shopping for me. And no sign on the door saying anything like "Dear Customers, due to unforeseen circumstances we will be closed on Sunday, December 9." Not even a "Out to lunch" or "Gone fishing". Just a locked up store.
This irritated me. I specifically drove to East Aurora -- not a far drive, it's just the next town over, about fifteen minutes -- to check out this store that I'd wondered about. (Key point there: I've not yet set foot in the place.) But when I got there, it was closed when it should, according to all information at my disposal, have been open. Now, there are other places in East Aurora to shop, but I was looking for a specific kind of item, so there aren't any other stores of that nature there. And I didn't really want to do the 'park and walk up and down Main Street' thing -- for one thing, I only had limited time; for another, I don't like window shopping by myself.
So later on, I went to the shop's Facebook page and inquired as to why they were closed when all information indicates that they should have been open. The proprietor responded within an hour to basically say this: "Sorry about that, but at the last moment I scored tickets to the Bills game, and I almost never get to be out of the shop. But next time you drop by, I'll give you a discount!"
Now, part of me is thinking, "Hey, discount. Huzzah!" But the other part of me is saying, "Yeah, hell with that. You know what you're looking for, so go to the other local business you know of that sells that sort of thing, where you've done business before, and spend money with them, since you know they'll be open." And you know what? I was going to solicit opinions as to which part of the brain I should listen to, but having typed it out here, I think it's pretty obvious, innit?
Pity. I like supporting local businesses. But it's also important to support the ones that are more obviously interested in being supported.
The Daughter had a church-related function today for a couple of hours, and The Wife was working, which gave me some free time. I decided to avail myself of this opportunity to do a small amount of my Christmas shopping, and to that end, I further decided that scope out a store I'd noticed in nearby East Aurora, NY, wherein I thought I stood a good chance of filling one of The Wife's gift wishes and also fulfill my usual desire to do at least a healthy chunk of my shopping at a local establishment. In addition to carrying the type of item The Wife had requested, this shop also apparently features jewelry made by a local artisan, so there's a double opportunity for supporting a local business.
According to this shop's Facebook page, they are open on Sundays, so off I went -- only, when I got there, the place was closed, tighter than a drum. I wondered if maybe I had misread things on FB, so I actually got out of the car and checked the posted hours sign on the door. Sure enough: Sunday, open 10 AM to 5 PM. And yet: lights out, locked up, nobody home. No shopping for me. And no sign on the door saying anything like "Dear Customers, due to unforeseen circumstances we will be closed on Sunday, December 9." Not even a "Out to lunch" or "Gone fishing". Just a locked up store.
This irritated me. I specifically drove to East Aurora -- not a far drive, it's just the next town over, about fifteen minutes -- to check out this store that I'd wondered about. (Key point there: I've not yet set foot in the place.) But when I got there, it was closed when it should, according to all information at my disposal, have been open. Now, there are other places in East Aurora to shop, but I was looking for a specific kind of item, so there aren't any other stores of that nature there. And I didn't really want to do the 'park and walk up and down Main Street' thing -- for one thing, I only had limited time; for another, I don't like window shopping by myself.
So later on, I went to the shop's Facebook page and inquired as to why they were closed when all information indicates that they should have been open. The proprietor responded within an hour to basically say this: "Sorry about that, but at the last moment I scored tickets to the Bills game, and I almost never get to be out of the shop. But next time you drop by, I'll give you a discount!"
Now, part of me is thinking, "Hey, discount. Huzzah!" But the other part of me is saying, "Yeah, hell with that. You know what you're looking for, so go to the other local business you know of that sells that sort of thing, where you've done business before, and spend money with them, since you know they'll be open." And you know what? I was going to solicit opinions as to which part of the brain I should listen to, but having typed it out here, I think it's pretty obvious, innit?
Pity. I like supporting local businesses. But it's also important to support the ones that are more obviously interested in being supported.
A Quick Reminder: Gimme a Title!
Hey folks, just a brief reminder about the Gimme a Title! game I'm going to be doing. You throw out a post title, and I have to write a post with...that title. Simple, right? Leave 'em in the comments on the post I've just linked!
Sunday Burst of Weird and Awesome
Oddities and Awesome abound!
:: For serious drinkers, the problem of how to keep the ice from melting too fast in the Scotch has been a thorny one for quite some time. The obvious solution is to minimize the surface area of the ice, which therefore leads one to conclude that the ideal ice shape is the one with the least surface area.
Behold: the ice ball! Apparently in Japan, in order to be a member of their national bartender's guild, you have to be able to carve an ice ball to order. Wow.
(I'll just stick with large cubes. A bit of watering down doesn't bother me all that much.)
:: Speaking of drinking, I indicated some time ago that I was officially adopting the Dark-and-Stormy as my signature drink...as in, if I'm James Bond, the Dark-and-Stormy is my vodka martini (shaken, not stirred). Problem is, I've just learned that I've been making this ginger beer-and-black rum concoction incorrectly. Here's how it's done:
That formulation really does make a better drink.
More next week!
:: For serious drinkers, the problem of how to keep the ice from melting too fast in the Scotch has been a thorny one for quite some time. The obvious solution is to minimize the surface area of the ice, which therefore leads one to conclude that the ideal ice shape is the one with the least surface area.
Behold: the ice ball! Apparently in Japan, in order to be a member of their national bartender's guild, you have to be able to carve an ice ball to order. Wow.
(I'll just stick with large cubes. A bit of watering down doesn't bother me all that much.)
:: Speaking of drinking, I indicated some time ago that I was officially adopting the Dark-and-Stormy as my signature drink...as in, if I'm James Bond, the Dark-and-Stormy is my vodka martini (shaken, not stirred). Problem is, I've just learned that I've been making this ginger beer-and-black rum concoction incorrectly. Here's how it's done:
That formulation really does make a better drink.
More next week!
Friday, December 07, 2012
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