Bush Bashing:

“They want us to leave. [..] And I think the world would be better off if we did leave.”

It’s amazing that you can buy a Kurt Vonnegut novel on Amazon.com for $1.28.

The Amazon.com Marketplace economy is kind of interesting. There are sellers who lowball everything to $.99 (or lower), because they can make a few pennies per sale, and in volume this adds up. In volume, it also chokes the competition, because there’s no way to lowball the lowball. (Which is the real reason people do it.)

It also turns out you can buy a cell phone with a built-in barcode reader, which you can use to scan books in the thrift store (or wherever) to find out what they’re selling for on Amazon. It only costs ~$300… The same company sells a service where you can send them an SMS text message with the ISBN and they’ll send back the asking prices. If I were planning to make an income at it, I’d use that.

Something else: There’s really only one place you can distinguish yourself within a Marketplace account, and that is the Seller’s Comments section. Amazon tells you to put details about the book’s condition there, but many just put something like “Great book! Fast shipping!” Others describe the book’s condition, but then go on with a big ol’ ad about how this particular seller is the bestest seller in the whole freakin’ world. I can’t disagree, having never bought a copy of a paperback for $.30 online before…

I have chosen a different path. For instance, here’s my blurb for ‘The Urban Tree Book,’ which is a sort of field guide to trees you find in a city:

Seller’s comments: Some shelf wear, minor scratches on cover & back. Buy this used book to prevent living trees from becoming dead ones.

Here’s ‘The Pleasantries of the Incredible Mulla Nasrudin,’ which is a collection of Sufi teaching stories:

Seller’s comments: Minor shelf wear, some stained specks on cover, minor tanning. More fun than looking for your donkey.

And my favorite, for O’Reilly’s ‘Using csh & tsch‘:

Seller’s comments: Some shelf wear on bottom near spine, slight creasing on cover.
% rm God
rm: God nonexistent

Don’t worry. You’ll only get it if you’re a nerdy geek.

Diggin’ it:

Quicktime movie of a guy who prints very subtle propaganda on USPS labels and returns them to the post office for distribution.

It’s probably a felony, but it makes me giggle nonetheless.

Hey, check it out:

Republicans Hate The US Constitution

They’ve fabricated a wedge issue out of thin air, while at the same time attempting to lock the First Amendment and the courts (and thus the system of checks and balances) out of the issue of the mention of God in the pledge of allegiance.

That is, they’ve introduced legislation preventing the court from ruling a certain way on a certain issue, in the future. Which is contrary to the US Constitution, and the foundations of our republic. All so they can score political points against other senators who would, rightly, object to pissing on the work of our founding fathers. The legislation likely won’t make it to the house, but those Republican fuckers will be able to tell their religious right wing constituency that they defended God in government. Which they didn’t actually do.

It’s like that Frank Zappa song, ‘When The Lie’s So Big:’ “Someone please tell me wheeeeeennnnn… We’ll be rid of these meeeeennnnn…” (Click to listen.)

(Yes, the headline is excessive, but you know what? So are the Republicans doing this.)

See that ‘Currently Playing’ thing? It’s the new Lenny Bruce box set, and you should buy it. For me.

I was at Tower Records today looking for a CD, and they had a special ‘Sky Captain’ tie-in promotion of old-school science fiction on DVD. I picked up two of them: ‘Forbidden Planet,’ and ‘The Day The Earth Stood Still.’

Whoever did the restoration of ‘Day’ did a really great job. The cinematography really works, when black is black and white is white, and the image doesn’t jitter around in frame.

I remember being a kid, waiting for Sunday to come around so I could watch Sci-Fi Sunday on channel 11 in Houston. The programmers there at 11 were loose with the term ‘sci-fi,’ which is already a loose term, and they’d show all the great Roger Corman and Hammer horror movies, along with actual sci-fi, and the occassional actual science fiction picture. The tele-cine prints they showed were crap (I recognized such things, even as a little kid), which was distracting.

I love science fiction, because once you’re writing fiction, you’re already lying, so you might as well tell a real whopper. In 1952, ‘The Day The Earth Stood Still’ became a prototype for a bunch of other whoppers that the film industry has told throughout history (including ‘Forbidden Planet’ four years later)… Aliens of unknown motivation visit earth, powerful robot monsters, the self-destructive hubris of mankind, and so on. Plus the ambiguous ending that leaves a big gaping question mark shaped hole in the social conscience of all viewers (the producers hope).

So it seems cliché, but it’s not, really. It’s a well-told tale, and, like I say, the restoration work is well-done, including a THX remaster of the audio.

‘Forbidden Planet’ is just goofy fun pulp sci-fi, but the real star of the show is the music, ‘composed’ by Bebe Barron. It was generated by creating electrical circuits and then providing power to them. What you hear is the cycle of electrical circuits coming to life and dying (sometimes literally).

Read about it here.

I’m selling some books through Amazon.com.

Go browse.

Note that the listings might not have appeared yet on that page; Amazon.com is funky that way.. The listing appears for sale immediately to search, but it takes 24 hours for an open listing.

Searching for something else, I ended up at this page, which you can file under “irony”:

Ah, the good old days of 1995, when terrorists were Americans and Flash was still called Shockwave. And geez.. What kind of cold heart could put that little child’s face in the top banner?

Not too long ago, I wrote this about the military draft, hoping it would stir some folks to consider such a development in real terms.

Well, today I read this bit over on xoverboard. The essence is that there might be something like a draft in the works for people with certain specialized skills, especially computer- and language-oriented ones.

This all comes from a FOIA-derived document from the DoD and Pentagon.

So if EUE HAF PHAT SKILLZ, EUE SHUD V0TE D3M0!

Just got back from the U-District.

I went down there to get a bite of Mongolian grilled stuff, which is always filling and cheap. I ended up getting a slice of pizza and a medium Coke, which isn’t quite as filling, and not as good a value, but tasty nonetheless.

Wander down the Ave.

Wander into the University Bookstore. It’s a pretty good store, and has lots of semi-obscure stuff that you won’t find anywhere else. Then I saw it: The placard. The placard that said:

Reading and book signing: Neal Stephenson, Sept. 21

Ah! Ah hah!

Bought a copy of ‘The System Of The World’ (his new book), and head out for the place on campus where this was to take place.

Sat around in the theater/classroom and waited. Two women, older middle-age, sat next to me with one seat in between. The nearest one asks: “Have you read these books? They’re like 1800 pages each or something…” We started talking about them, that they’re historical novels, that they deal with the birth of what we call the scientific method in western Europe in the 1600s, etc. The basic synopsis.

She told me this story: “I’m only here because we have a cabin in Idaho, and our neighbor in Idaho is Neal’s mom. I’ve never read anything he’s written. She says..” This is his mom, mind you.. “She says his work is hard to read and understand.”

I nod. “I can see how someone would think that.”

The two women eventually start talking amongst themselves, and they’re saying how Condoleeza Rice spoke in this very auditorium not too long ago, and how they were surprised that she got any applause at all.

Eventually the woman’s son arrived, who was about my age, maybe younger. He was there for similar reasons. He was chatting in email with someone and said he was going to see some author speak, some author he’d never heard of named Neal Stephenson. I know all this because he told me. He said that his friend emailed him back and said that if he could get an autographed copy of ‘Snow Crash,’ they’d be bestest pals forever.

I said that ‘Snow Crash’ is good and fun, but the really good one is ‘The Diamond Age.’ Soon I was answering questions from the whole row about the relationships between the various books. People were asking me, as if I were the expert on the guy who’s about to speak. It seemed like I was the only one in that area who had read anything by Neal Stephenson.

At this point, the bookstore guy mumbled through some announcements as though we already knew what he was going to say, and he was just confirming it. Then he mumbled something like, “And now that that’s out of the way, I guess we can get on with Mr. Neal Stephenson,” and immediately left the stage. Stephenson looked around, not sure if he had just been introduced, and took the podium.

He read a bit from ‘System’ and took some questions. The most interesting things he said had to do with the craft of writing, especially that he didn’t use outlines (for 2700 pages of printed book), that he just had the whole story in his head and he wrote it. And that having it all in your head means you don’t have to be constricted by what’s on paper in your outline. You can just change what you need to as you go along. And that this is an important part of the craft. He compared it to building contractors, who have all kinds of things in their heads, like who’s on which job, which clients get which stuff, blueprints for a dozen houses, stuff like that. You would expect a contractor to remember such things, so why should writers not be able to hold a framework of their own fantasies in their head?

I was too chicken to ask him my question: “Mr. Stephenson, the Baroque Cycle is essentially about the rise of capitalism as we know it in western Europe. I was wondering if you could maybe give a few comments comparing and contrasting this early capitalism with its imperial desires to the current globalism, and the development of the EU.” I’m sure he’d be grateful if he knew.

Eventually the Q/A ended, and it was time to line up for book signing. The audience sprang to its feet and jockeyed for position. This was just enough chaos to send me into the beginnings of an anxiety attack. Yay.

That slice of pizza was the only thing I’d eaten all day. It was crowded. People were pouring past me. I held my eyes down and made my way to the exit.

This event was taking place in Meany Hall on the UW campus. So I hiked back to the Ave for some reason. I don’t know why, other than to hike for a while. I had a little cathartic moment and hiked back on campus to Meany Hall.

I had about three or four episodes of going back into the auditorium and then leaving again. I sat there trying to judge how far I had rebounded after the attack, and estimated I could make it back in, only to go back in and need to leave again almost immediately. I’m sure that if anyone noticed, they were saying, “What’s up with that guy in the grey shirt?” I did run into the women and their son again, who asked me if I had gotten my book signed. “No. I had a mini-anxiety attack and had to leave.” Being still somewhat antsy, I rushed away from further conversation. I hate that about anxiety attacks. So hard to hold a conversation.

Eventually, I had settled enough, and the room was empty enough, that I could wait in line. There was this strange guy at the end of the line, who was sitting on the steps in the aisle. He looked at me out of the extreme corner of his eye, making sure not to move his head so I wouldn’t see. Every time the line would inch forward, he would scoot forward to the next step, still seated, pulling his backpack alongside him. I thought to myself: Asperger’s Syndrome.

I wasn’t entirely wrong. He opened up to me. I was still coming down off the anxiety, so I couldn’t reciprocate, but I didn’t need to. He went off about Issac Newton, who is a character in Stephenson’s last few books. Newton this, Newton that, general theory of relativity, Newton chaired Cambridge where Hawking is now, connections between Newton and Hawking, Einstein never chaired Cambridge but is the connection between Newton and Hawking… He was one of My People, the Aspies. Strangely, being barraged with this confluence of trivia about Issac Newton helped me calm down and find my psychic footing, since I wasn’t the only autistic freak in the room.

Soon it came time for actual book signage. The bookstore guy was standing next to Stephenson, and he asked me what I think is a stupid question: “Do you want your name?” Now, without context, the answer is obvious to anyone who has ever considered changing their name. Yes, I want my name. Being an autistic freak, this is exactly the meaning that occurred to me first. Being an autistic freak who can pass as one of you Earth humans, however, I realized that this isn’t what he meant. What he meant was: Do I want Mr. Stephenson to put my name in this book? And that’s still a stupid question, because, as far as I’m concerned, that’s up to Mr. Stephenson.

I shrugged. I said, “I really don’t know.” The reason I said that is this: There’s something fundamentally disconnected in me, especially in social situations, and perhaps especially just after a sort of anxiety attack, that makes it very difficult to explain what I just explained up there without sounding like the guy who was just lecturing me about Issac Newton.

He said, “You better decide pretty quick,” as if there were some dire consequence if I didn’t make up my mind. And as if he were ultimately any more important than I was.

At this point, some readers might be thinking: That Homer guy is a real troublemaker. He’s just putting himself into everybody’s shit, isn’t he? Well, yes. I would be if I could articulate my own rebellious nature, but instead I say “I don’t know.” But still: It’s a stupid question no matter how you interpret it, and I have no desire to make demands of Stephenson, and I have no desire to make Mr. Gatekeeper Man make demands of Stephenson, either. But I can’t explain that to him because he looks like the walking dead having set up this whole event and it’s almost over and trust me, he really can’t take some uppity autistic guy who just had an anxiety attack arguing with him about this.

He passed the book to Stephenson, a graceful, tall man, like if Tony Levin were a computer nerd, who didn’t even look up. He took the book and carefully signed his name to it.

Then he did look up. He made eye contact with my chest and said:

“Do you want your name?”

Pause. Eye contact, this time with the eyes.

“In addition to the signature?”

I motioned towards the signature and said, “This is beautiful. And it’s beautiful because you went to the trouble of making it.”

He smiled, maybe for the first time that evening, and I went on my way.