Words Words Words

Need yet another translation to Ancient Greek

skzb — Wed, 23 May 2012 08:19:29 +0000

I’m looking for the ancient Greek for: We can do better.

In English, there is some ambiguity there (We meaning us? We meaning humanity? My group can do better than your group?). I don’t know if those ambiguities would translate, but, if so, I want them. If not, I’ll chose the best meaning for my evil purposes.

Any help would be appreciated.

Scalzi’s Latest: But I didn’t get MY say!

skzb — Wed, 16 May 2012 08:29:45 +0000

John “Breathtakingly Brilliant” Scalzi has made another breathtakingly brilliant post. At 800 comments and late at night, he finally said “Enough,” especially because everyone was repeating himself (and anyone who didn’t notice the non-sex-specific “he” in that sentence might have problems with this conversation). Point is, I had something to say about it, and, after reading all 800 comments, no one said it. So I will say it here.

First, please read his post.

Okay, when I say it is ‘breathtakingly brilliant,” I mean it, because it has beautifully redefined things for me. It was a classic case of, “You’re bothered by this metaphor, so let me give you a new metaphor without the emotional baggage, so that, just maybe, we can discuss the actual issue.” It worked.

And, in so doing, it highlighted my problem with the whole, massive bundle. My problem can be stated thus: All of this effort put into either a) How do we make the game more fair, or b) At least making us aware of how unfair the rules are, makes it that much harder to focus on what is, to me, most important: THE FUCKING GAME SUCKS.

I don’t want to play it, I don’t want to be forced to play it, I don’t want strangers to have no choice but to play it; I don’t like smug assholes “dropping out” to live in the woods and then claiming they aren’t playing it.

The game needs to go. It needs to be replaced by a game that doesn’t have a wealth stat, or an education stat, because those things are just always maxed for everyone. It needs to be replaced by a game in which the stats are different talents, and the only thing to put points in are interests and passions.

John calls his game real life, and he’s right, it is. But I passionately, deeply believe it isn’t the only choice for what real life can be. Most people will believe my desire here is unrealistic, and dismiss it; but we must not forget that many of these people believe (or believed) that voting for Obama made a difference, so exactly who is unrealistic is open for debate. In terms of material wealth and capacity for wealth production, there is, at present, enough to create the game I want, or at least get pretty close. In order to concentrate on changing the rules for stat setting, you must believe the game is always going to be there, more or less the same.

I will never accept that.

Fourth Street Fantasy Convention

skzb — Tue, 15 May 2012 09:03:11 +0000

This is a reminder to everyone who might be interested that Fourth Street Fantasy Convention is approaching. For those who don’t know, this is a small convention (100+ people) heavily oriented toward writing and writers–I sort of made it up back in, I think, the late 80′s so I could hear smart people argue about problems I was having. The theory is that anything that is about writing is also about reading; “How to Read Better” has always been an unstated discussion topic.

What distinguishes Fourth Street from most conventions are two things: 1. A very high percentage of professionals (writers, editors); and B. Strict single-track programming with lunch breaks, so everyone can be at every panel (and, of course, continue the arguments from one to the other). It used to be that did the programming; lately it’s mostly Alec Austin with help from Tom Whitmore and me, and I’ve been delighted by how things have gone. I have learned stuff. I think it has helped me write better; I know it has helped me get more out of my reading.

Check out who will be there (John Scalzi, Elizabeth Bear, Will Shetterly, Emma Bull, &c &c)

It’ll be in Minneapolis, June 22-24, and for actual, useful details, go here.

I’d love to see all of you there.

Casting the Whedoneseque Vlad TV show

skzb — Fri, 11 May 2012 22:19:33 +0000

This from Twitter over the last few days. We’ve decided that it should be an HBO or Showtime series, written, produced, and directed by Joss Whedon and his Usual Suspects, staring:

Vlad: Alan Tudyk

Loiosh: Robin Williams (I know he’s not a Whedonite. But)

Cawti: Summer Glau

Sethra: Gina Torres

Sticks: Nathan Fillion (the part would have to get much bigger)

Daymar: Ron Glass (edited)

Kragar: Sean Mehar

Morrolan: James Marsters

Aliera: Felicia Day

Norathar: Eliza Dushku

Zerika: Sarah Michelle Geller

Lady Teldra: Morena Baccarin

Melestav: Adam Baldwin

ETA Noish-pa: Anthony Hopkins

The Demon: Mark Sheppard

Sethra the Younger: Jewel Staite

Mario: Chiwetel Ejiofor

Now, of course, if they manage to get Firefly back, all bets are off. I’d rather see that happen.

New post about the new post

skzb — Wed, 09 May 2012 02:00:25 +0000

For several days, I’ve been feeling like I should post something, but nothing comes to mind. What should I talk about?

Oh, in case anyone missed it, I did a pod interview. Tons of fun.

Too Many Danes

skzb — Sun, 22 Apr 2012 19:47:29 +0000

By Rex Stout

When the doorbell rang at the old brownstone on West 35th Street, I was already in a lousy mood. We had just finished the Beltham embezzlement case, and it was Friday, and I had wanted to celebrate by spending the weekend with Lily Rowan. Instead, Wolfe had insisted I finish the paperwork. I knew he would have no interest in a case, in any case, what with what we’d just been paid, so I made up my mind that, whoever this was, he was getting in to see Wolfe.

The man on the other side of the glass was young–I’d say in his early twenties. He was slight, but seemed athletic. When I opened the door, he said simply, “Mr. Nero Wolfe?”

“No,” I said, “I’m Archie Goodwin. But if it’s a case, I can take you in to see Mr. Wolfe. He’s just down from visiting his orchids.”

“His–? No, never mind. Yes, I’d like to see him about a case.”

“Then come in, Mr.–”

He handed me his card as I took his coat. I looked it over–expensive printing, gold lettering. I guided him to the leather chair. Wolfe looked up, glared, started to speak, but evidently put it together, because instead his lips pressed together into a thin line–or as thin a line as he can manage. I handed Wolfe the card. He glanced at it, glared at me, then turned his attention back to our guest.

“Very well,” he said. ”How can I help you, Mr. Hamlet?”

“I want you to prove that my uncle killed my father.”

He wagged his finger. ”I will do no such thing under any circumstances. Should I agree to take the case, I will endeavor to discover the truth.”

“That will be fine. As a retainer, I can–”

“Excuse me, I haven’t said I’d take it, yet. Now, what makes you think your uncle killed your father?”

“His ghost told me,” said Hamlet, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

Wolfe glared at me. ”Pfui,” he said. He started to say more, but then stopped, and a sort of malicious glint came into his eye. He turned to Hamlet. ”That is very interesting,” he said. ”It is getting rather late. Perhaps you could stay to dinner and afterwards Archie can get all the details? Archie, tell Fritz we will be having a guest.”

No way around it, I was beat. I got up and headed to the kitchen to tell Fritz that something smelled rotten in the office.

[Sorry, folks. I just sorta had to. Next, Pamela will demonstrate how Shakespeare would have written Plot It Yourself.]

Health report

skzb — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 12:13:40 +0000

About three weeks ago I developed a toothache–lower left canine. Thanks to Will and Emma, I found a really, really good dentist. Good people, good doctors, and there is an especially hot dental assistant. The canine seemed fine, but the four front teeth next to it Had To Go. I got what’s called a “flipper” (I named it Dolphin, of course) to replace them. Unfortunately, the tooth didn’t stop hurting. It’s been getting worse. Usually, it’s fine as long as I’m upright, but when I lie down, it is very very painful. This, of course, means an inability to sleep.

A few days ago it reached the point where the drugs (percoset, motrin) weren’t helping. We finally decided that Something Had To Be Done. We rejected referred pain, sinus problems, heart complications. However healthy that tooth seems, it had to go. So I scheduled an appointment with a dental surgeon. I got up to go in on Thursday, walked down the stairs, and couldn’t catch my breath. I should have known things were going to go wrong when Hot Dental Assistant didn’t want to out with me.

Fuck. The term is, “congestive heart failure,” and you don’t want to fuck around with it. The only sane thing to do is skip the dentist appointment and go into the ER. Right? Yeah, but, the tooth HURT. So I went to the oral surgeon. The oral surgeon, being smarter than me, sent me to an urgent care, where they did an EKG and decided it looked sort of marginal, and sent me to an ER, who checked me in.

I spent Thursday night at Nicolet Park Methodist Hospital. Now, you may say that Mr. Wesley and the other Methodies are over rightous, but they make a fine, fine hospital. The staff was wonderful, taking more than good care of me, and, while they couldn’t make the tooth stop hurting, they never stopped trying, or stopped caring.

So, yeah, there was fluid in my lungs. They got my heart stabilized, and let me go last night. Corwin, Dee, Carolyn, Aliera, Toni, and Martin all showed up, as did my friend Betsy, and Will. Was wonderful to feel so supported. Summer Glau didn’t call, but that was probably because she was busy. Or else because she’s never heard of me.

Last night, for no reason I can think of, my tooth stopped hurting. I got 11 beautiful hours of sleep. Today, the tooth hurts a bit, but nowhere near where it was. I dunno. I guess I’ll talk to the dentist on Monday.

I’m now on more drugs: something to keep my heart beat regular, and a mild diuretic. I’m told I could use an operation to insert something into my chest that will shock my heart if it goes into, uh, I don’t remember. Ventrical a-fib, maybe? But it’s supposed to keep me alive. I can no more afford the operation than I can pay the hospital bills I just incurred, BUT….

I met with a social worker, who seems confident she can get me heath care–enough to help with those bills, and get the operation, and fix my teeth, and even deal with the fucking polyp in my nose that’s been making life interesting for several years. This is very, very good news. I am actually feeling hopeful.

Maybe I’ll ask Hot Dental Assistant out again.

On Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files

skzb — Wed, 28 Mar 2012 16:34:55 +0000

I’ve been reading the Dresden Files, and I want to get my thoughts down, because it’s always worthwhile to me try to turn vague moods about writing into precise expressions that I can generalize and learn from.

I was told by several people that the books “hit their stride” with number 4, Summer Knight. I respectfully disagree. The problems in the early books remain, in my opinion, all the way until #9, White Night. The problems? Dresden’s sexism is not cute, not endearing, not charming. It’s annoying, and at various points I simply disbelieved in Murphy’s character because of how she reacted to it. By #9, he’s toned this down enough to be tolerable. More significantly, in the early books I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was watching the author push the pieces around. I could hear him saying, “No, I have to find a way to ramp up the tension, even if it makes no sense.” Two people hear a phone call, but in order to increase the tension, they both conveniently forget about it. Pfui.

So, why did I keep reading? There is a moment toward the end of #2, Fool Moon, where, right at the high point of the action, Butcher is required to bring everything to a dead stop and spend a paragraph describing another character’s interior landscape. While the battle hangs in the balance. He not only gets away with it, but he makes me like it. That is some serious chops. That’s the shit. Someone who can do that is worth reading.

The other thing he has going all the way is that he does exactly what I’ve tried to do (and not always succeeded at): Each book is a fully self-contained story, and each one significantly advances the overall arc. There’s no filler. There’s no treading water. He leaves it all out on the field every time. That’s how you do that.

By the time we get to #9, things are smooth. I’m not thinking about what the author is doing any more, I’m just reading and enjoying and really, really pulling for Harry Dresden. And moreover, we’re starting to get serious: we’re in territory where there are no easy answers, where there are no good choices, so you have to pick the least bad and live with it. This means the books are gripping on more than just one level, and that when the book is over, you have something to chew on. I like that.

I’m currently reading #11.

Anyone want to buy a hat?

skzb — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 03:08:35 +0000

I’ve finally replaced my hat, which I’ve had since I think about 1988 or 89, so I’m putting the original one up on ebay. It’s falling apart, and missing the post to keep the side up. Bad shape. But it’s still the hat. You can find it here.

On Winning Arguments

skzb — Sat, 17 Mar 2012 00:07:30 +0000

There’s been some recent discussion–most of it, I believe, ironic–about winning arguments. It got me to thinking. Those of us who pride ourselves on logic and rationality hate losing an argument; it damages our self-respect. But that aside, none of us expect to actually win an argument of the sort we’re having here. In fact, I can only remember winning an argument once in my life, when a better man than I said, “You haven’t convinced me, but I can’t answer you.” I didn’t gloat about winning; rather my jaw dropped at his honesty.

But, you see, convincing someone isn’t the point of arguing. At least, for me. For me, the point is to sharpen and clarify my own ideas by testing them against others. Sometimes, in fact, I only learn what I think about something when I hear myself making an argument. When someone is so far from my position that arguing would be absurd; or says something so preposterous that nothing can be gained or clarified from the discussion, I will usually opt out. Case in point: the discussion of Capital that was going on until I lost my copy: I was reading it to help me understand what are to me difficult concepts; and people who hold positions far, far from mine sometimes said things that were helpful in clarifying things. There was no point in arguing with them. If someone believes that the exchange of commodities is determined by pure ideas, I’m not going to change his mind, and he isn’t going to change mine. Why argue? But nevertheless, some of the “value is all the in the head” people said very, very useful things that helped me piece together concept I was having trouble with.

Another use of a good argument is to make subtle distinctions sharper and clearer. If someone starts out saying, “We should do more to prevent voter fraud,” and, through the course of an argument, it becomes clear that his attitude is, “the poor should be disenfranchised,” then that argument was useful in showing anyone listening the basis of his original position.

To summarize: I will engage in argument to help me clarify my positions; to expose the logical conclusions of another’s positions, and that’s about it.

Well, no. I’ll also do it because I’m pissed off, or because I thought of a clever way to trash someone who annoys me. But I shouldn’t do that, and I try not to.