Wonderful Comment From Mr Lumpy Dirtball

          Occasionally, I write places other than on snapperhead about films, novels, and the opinions of others, but I need to be very overwhelmed or underwhelmed to do so.  In 2009, I was sufficiently underwhelmed by George Stewart's 1949 speculative fiction Earth Abides to write this comment on Goodreads:

          If I were to teach an upper-level college writing class, I’d use this book as the foundation for my semester.

          Just as secret service agents need real, expertly crafted, counterfeit bills removed from circulation and brought into their classroom to learn how to identify bad paper, every writer needs a counterfeit novel which made it into circulation and received praise.  Through deconstruction of this book, I could teach almost everything writers shouldn’t do.

          Hundreds of places the author could have ‘shown us’ with suspense, but instead ‘tells us’ with weak boring sentences.  For example, this is all we are told about our main character being attacked by a mountain lion:

  ...In the end there was bad luck, because Ish missed his shot and instead of killing a lion merely raked it across the shoulders, and it charged and mauled him before Ezra could get another shot home.  After that he walked with a little limp...

          And this, I believe, is the author’s failed attempt at suspense, which results in confusion (I’ve omitted nothing):

 ...one question, he knew, that they had not yet faced, and now she brought it forward.
“That would be fine!” she said.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, it would.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You mean you don’t like it for me?”
“Yes.  It’s dangerous.  There’d be no one else but me, and I wouldn’t be any use.”
“But you can read—all the books.”
“Books!” he laughed a little as he spoke.  “The Practical Midwife?"...

          The first sentence was probably supposed to read:  …and now he brought it forward…  But even without the typo, this is not only horrible dialogue (in a book desperately short on dialogue) as well as massive misuse of exclamation points (three times on every page minimum) but an example of the authors incessant self-censorship and avoidance of certain words and descriptions.  He avoids reference to human intercourse, birth, death, pain, anger, hatred, bigotry and bloodshed.  In a story detailing a handful of human survivors in 1949 California after a planet-wide plague—avoiding those topics (or glossing over them) becomes a herd of white dinosaurs in the room.

          There are thousands of poorly constructed sentences (like this one, which contains a large word-proximity hiccup):

…He began to temporize, just as he used to do when he said that he had a great deal of work to do and so buried himself in a book instead of going to a dance.

          Factual errors, which could have been avoided with a small amount of research, are prevalent (here are two):

…batteries with the acid not yet in them...they made the experiment of pouring the acid into a battery…put it into the station-wagon. It worked perfectly… (I guess in 1949, putting battery acid in the battery charged it too!)

…The clock was run, he knew, by electrical impulses which were ordinarily timed at sixty to the minute.  Now they must be coming less often… (AC power is 60 pulses per second).

          This book contains a main character and dozens of secondary characters we never grow to care about.  On almost every page a situation unfolds which could be easily re-written to involve the reader in the action, infuse the character(s) with depth and emotion(s), or add suspense to the plot.  Instead, the story centers around an emotionally dead man who preaches to a bland cast of less-than-ordinary idiots about their failure to reach for a fraction of their potential, while he wallows in an uncomfortable rut and never lifts a finger to attain any of his own potential.

          Aspiring writers and educators should use this counterfeit paper, available for less than the price of a cup of coffee at used bookstores, as a valuable learning/teaching tool.   In a time when there are so many books filled with examples of great writing—it's nice to have something chock-full of such a concentrated and vast range of terrible, boring, writing to weight down the other end of the scale.

          In the last decade, there have been dozens of comments on this review; some have corrected my mistakes (or attempted to), others range from a simple 'I agree' to relatively elaborate reasons why I should not have my opinion.  This week, a person who rants under the screen name Lumpy Dirtball added an extremely unique opinion: 

Lumpy posted a new comment on Veach's review of Earth Abides

 

Telling vs Showing: It's a stylistic pretense. Both styles can and do work to make great books. I get that you're dogmatically devoted to the modern party line, but honestly, you talk about it like you're making objective, scientific measurements, and it makes you sound ridiculous. It makes you sound mindless, as you're clearly just using popular, current opinion to flog peopl3 with - not because you've actually thought about it, or care, but just because it makes you feel witty and smart, despite being neither.

Your criticisms of technology are flat wrong, but your giant, brittle ego would never permit a simple admission. Even when you kinda-sorta acknowledged your mistake, you had to couch it in another insult at the person who corrected you. Talk about petty. That's just embarrassing. But I don't think you have the requisite neurological or cognitive "maturity" to experience that emotion. You're not really a developed human.

Oh. You also used "mmmkay" in a sentence to taunt a grown up. That'sca cringe that gave me cramps. What is actually wrong with you?

The thrust of your criticism is nothing but a dogmatic assault on a style of writing that bores you, and the cool kids don't like. So you took the lazy opportunity to bash the old guy in front of the hip young revolutionaries, as if you ever have a hope of passing yourself off as an adult human.

Your taste in books is trashy. The Road? Awful book. Truly awful. I suspect older, longer, 'historical' novels tax your patience. You clearly are not a neurologically 'complete' animal, so it's just a logical guess. All kinds of telling over showing in older books.

It nakes mectaste puke to even say "show, don't tell" as if it really meant anything more than a marketing strategy for getting people with child like brains to buy books.

And your stylistic crticisms... besides your own silly writing style - made to seem witty where wit is absent - you again show this highly neurotic rule-governed streak that amounts to nothing. Who would ever ask you to teach a writing class? You're a pop-culture, dogmatist with a personality disorder and no talent. You're generally ignorant, you imagine you know about topics you're utterly ignorant of, you don't know why you think what you preach, and I guarantee you, in whatever alternate universe that wants you as a teacher, the students will hate your guts, they'll learn nothing but how deranged you are, and you won't last a year. You bring nothing to the table but a chaotic jumble of unconsidered beliefs, hostile opinions, and obviously unmedicated mental illness. You'd fail that job (that nobody would ever give you) with terrible force. Into the ground and out the other side.

You didn't like a book. No biggie. You try to turn your dislike into a theatrical display of witty scorn? And pretend to have useful criticisms? Like you're a great writer? Good grief. I guess this is a safe place for you to exercise the hateful idiot within y ones ou. Lots of people use reviews to pretend they're that person. You're not. And even the smart ones are idiots.

          If I were to coach a high-school debate team, I’d use this comment as fodder for a head-to-head practice debate.

          Future trial lawyers, politicians, and philosophers need interestingly convincing topics, taken from real life examples of point/counter-point, brought into their practice debate-room to learn how to identify fallacies in logical argument.  Through deconstruction of Lumpy's comment about my comment, I could teach a debate team something they shouldn’t do.

          (This, dear reader, is what is referred to as a 'call-back' as well as 'bookends,' which I teach in an alternate universe for one whole semester.)

          I posted this re-re-reply to Mr Dirtball on Goodreads:

          Wonderful example, Lumpy.

          Thank you for so clearly showing you don't abide with any of my opinions, comment-replies, or even my taste in reading.  Perfect angry outrage.  I especially liked your slight typo usage (...That'sca cringe... and ...It nakes mectaste puke... as well as ...within y ones ou...) because it shows your emotional-crazy and helps add to the reader's immersion in your adrenaline as well as really paints the picture of you pounding keys followed by hurriedly sending without proofreading.

          If you'd written using George Stewart style, you might've told it in this manner:

          ...your review was neurotically off the mark!  I know this is so, because your taste in books is dogmatic and instead of providing any useful criticisms you merely make me so very incredibly, lividly, ups3t that my finger just hit the wrong key and my scorn causes me to not even it gointo edit.  Your stylistic criticism is nothing but witty scorn from a hateful idiot and you need to know it as soon as possible.  You aren't a good writer so don't follow through with your hypothetical college course, you'd fail.  Idiot!...

other comment-replies to emails and other internet commenters:
Modern Design Incorporated - when in need of irony and jewelry

Occasionally the inbox contains sufficient fodder

Modern Design Incorporated - when in need of irony and jewelry

          And now for something completely different.

          To be honest, I previously reviewed a few products and websites (some still can be found on the links page) but this one is none-the-less completely different.

          Before I go into the heavy rough weeds of the story (and to show that I don't always 'bury the lead') please let me impress upon you, dear reader, that Modern Design is a real jewelry company.  Interested in purchasing jewelry from the internet?  They offer an amazingly fantastic selection, successfully ship items in several nested packages designed to camouflage their contents, and are very interested in your on-line business.

          Over a month ago I received their initial query letter which explained they were a Los Angeles-based company specializing in wedding and engagement rings striving to obtain a larger internet presence.  They offered a tungsten ring in exchange for my review.

          I was highly skeptical.  So I did a small amount of research into their company and eventually found and thoroughly examined their website.  After confirming they were legitimate, I agreed.  They replied:  pick any ring, select a size, and give us an address to mail it...which I did.  A week later an extremely well packaged ring arrived.

          I discovered two issues with their website; one would be easy to fix, the other slightly harder:

• It is difficult to page-back to a specific ring from a previous page because the order in which their extensive product line is displayed can change.  In other words, the ring you saw four minutes earlier on the top of page 4 under the category "men's titanium" is now in the middle of page 6 when you clicked on the "custom fit" link.  One remedy for this might be if they included "click to compare" buttons (found on many electronics sites).
• Most rings are not identified on the website by a product number but instead by lengthy titles filled with descriptors.  This would be simple to fix if they just add a number somewhere.

          When I selected a ring it was (and still is) identified as Ring Tungsten.  (The hotlink wasn't something I included in my e-mail...an oversight...but I don't think it's possible for me—acting as "the reviewer" in this transaction—to be at fault.)  The ring I received was actually Brushed Tungsten Carbide ring with Polished Grooved Center.  I requested beveled edges and received squared-off ones; preferred polished with brushed; got brushed with polished.  Obviously, if you were to use their shopping cart system this mistake would be less likely to occur.

          This was only the big-final problem I experienced, the first issue was in their initial query letter and promotional flyer:

          While you mumble about the incongruous black splashed border, irritating multi-font usage, and attempt to pull your focus away from that terribly cropped snapshot of a collection of smog-stained sandstone-colored concrete buildings under a green sky, I may need to remind you at this point that I did, really really, receive a quality ring.  And while this miserably designed flyer contains several superfluous elements it does not contain a physical address, web address, or any links to their website.  Important, because their initial query letter also contained no links to a website and ended thusly:

... Please let me know as soon as possible since we're contacting some other bloggers as well and we only have a limited number to give away this month.

Regards,
Marie L
ModernDesign.com

          Moderndesign.com is a web company with a slick and unique take on how to market yourself if your name includes the words modern and design.

          I suspect neither this last paragraph nor my title for this post are strong or loud enough in the hint department.  Here's me being overt:  HEY MODERNDESIGNINC.COM, HIRE MODERNDESIGN.COM TO RE-TOOL EVERY INCH OF YOUR WEB FACADE.  YOUR CURRENT ONE SCREAMS "SCAM".

          I eventually located the jewelry company who wants to obtain a larger presence on the web and who mistakenly employed a child-family-member who understands as much about design as she does about domain names.  (Marie:  that pesky little "inc" is so very very necessary.)

          Because both their promotional advertisement and their query letter included the sentence:  We can't wait to hear about your experience with Modern Design!  I offer this tangent:

          Several years ago I'd, on-occasion or occasionally depending on my mood, amble over to the blog review site Ask And Ye Shall Receive so that I could read a new giggle or two from internet foolz and their playmatez.  I haven't done so in years (before they stopped in 2011) but I recall they were very upfront with who they were.  When your domain name is iwillfuckingtearyouapart, one doesn't need to delve very deep to understand what it is you shall receive when you ask.

          I think it may also be important to know the writing of David Thorne is of personal value to me.  I love the name of his web page: Go Away and admire every aspect of his trademarked logo (which I include just to the right completely without his knowledge or permission).  It is an amazingly perfect example of modern design; embodying the exact right balance of space, tension, color, and multiple-font usage, while informing, communicating, and intriguing with equal amounts of mirth and sincerity.  You will not forget a logo of this quality.    

          If you have read this far...let me conclude by saying wow....thanks for sticking with this review and for the ring.  I suspect, however, if you'd read a few of my posts you may not have been so quick with your offer.

          Still not sated?  Try this one where a disc golf company requested a review of their website, or this funny one where an online casino asked for advertising with a horrendous query letter.  I have written dozens of film reviews.  And here are a ton of book and blog reviews. 

Book Selecting & What Not to Read

I read in fits and starts. Fiction can be a wonderful escape and non-fiction is a simple way to learn things; so, I’ll gorge myself by devouring a half-dozen books and then fast a few weeks with nary a page-snack.

I shop in bookstores like this:

• I scan New Arrivals for authors that’ve proven themselves wordsmiths to my satisfaction.
• If I find a new Andrew Vachss (let's say). I open it to the copyright page; 1st printing within the last few months?–buy it without scanning a word (back covers and flap jackets have become mini-movie trailers, which should all begin *warning spoiler alert*).
• If I discover it was previously published (two decades ago, say) but I don’t recall the title, I scan for an introduction or a ‘new afterward by the author,’ and read a bit to determine if this is a previously read novel.
• Still can’t determine if I’ve read it?–sit and read the first few pages.
• Then, I scan genre sections that I prefer; presently Sci-Fi, Graphic Novels, Non-fiction, small press. (Here, I actually expect the book to jump up and down and say ‘pick me pick me’).
• I eventually shop for authors recommended by book-umpires that I trust. (e.g. Chuck Palaniuk not-so-vaguely recommended Katherine Dunne’s Geek Love, in his book fugitives and refugees.)
• I may resort to reading the first few pages of books that have won awards. (I’ve learned, however, that the Pulitzer is rarely an indicator of reading I’ll enjoy, but the Hugo, Nebula, and Bram Stoker’s almost always are.)
• Lastly, I hunt and pick. Reading bits of randomly selected books–for reasons I can’t guess at (probably just because the covers are interesting).

Occasionally, I buy books from the internet (when it’s cheap and the weather outside is frightening).

I bought Muffy: a Transmigration of Selves after reading only a few internet blurbs (shame on me). None the less, I applaud the author, S.T. Gulik, for:

• Teaching me to never buy a book written by an untrusted author without holding it in my hand (this will determine if I’m being fucked at the drive-thru).
• Seeding interesting reviews on the Internet about her own book–when extremely incompetent in the writing department, be good at marketing.
• Being an imaginative twelve-year old who accomplished an enviable feat of self-publishing for a junior high school student (a fact, I surmise, solely from the writing).

Real published authors–versus writers who print their own shite–are proofread by editors and publishers; most people can’t edit their own work to save themselves a tarring, feathering, and run-out-of-town-on-a-railing. Gulik is proof of this.

If you can’t hook me by page thirty, you don’t get read. Here are a few examples of Muffy’s totally-terrible first thirty:

...large, doughy breasts. [cliché]
...sweet childlike voice... [cliché]
...you’re pure as the driven snow. [cliché]
...ain’t nuthin worse than an uppity whore. [cliché]
...she saw for the first time the true face of evil. [cliché]
...a tsunami of nausea came crashing down upon her... [cliché]
...that looked more like a horrible train wreck than teeth. [cliché]
...howl of anguish which resembled the sound a cat makes when it’s in heat... [cliché]

...rusty green bench...; ...door soundlessly becomes one with the wall...; ...Muffy awkwardly fell upon the waffles, devouring them...; ...arched as painfully as it had been before. [all very trite adverbs]

...usually sobs and convulses for hours after an encounter...this time had been different. [mixed present and past tense, and use of passive voice]

She squeezed the animal tighter until it began to feel its bones splinter. [mixed point of view inside a sentence]

...she caught a glimpse of a small figure silhouetted in the doorway. It stepped out of the light and shut the door. At first the room was without form and void and darkness was upon the face of the girl. She could hear her captor’s footsteps as they circled her in the darkness... [jarring change in the writer's tone of voice]

“My name’s Sarah, what’s yours?” Muffy tried to speak but her mouth . . . the blue haired one saw the problem and... [misuse of pronoun convention; once a speaker is identified, don't use a pronoun]

She could only stare at the dog that was now licking at a puddle that was developing around the garbage can. Drunken gaiety gave way to anger as the feeling of being insulted grew in his belly. [mixed point of view inside a paragraph; ‘Drunken’ should have begun a new paragraph]

Some of the vastly-various verbs, and horrendously trite adverbs, surrounding almost all of the dialogue: Muffy remarked, Muffy sneered, he demanded, Muffy mused, Muffy nodded gravely, Muffy awed, Muffy squealed, Muffy grunted inquisitively, Muffy said in awe, Muffy whined, Muffy assured, Muffy pouted, Muffy declared, she asked proudly, she said with a giggle, Muffy asked in awe, Muffy cooed, Muffy continued to coo, Muffy nodded happily, Muffy pleaded, Muffy giggled. In fact, Muffy almost never, ever, just said or asked.

Can an average adult not say to them self: hey, this book is full of disgusting clichés and perverse grammatical usage. I won’t read it. And put it back on the shelf? (which is a slightly altered excerpt from Gulik’s own interest generating introduction-disclaimer). Although I would never consider myself average–yes, I can. And I can write about it all over the Internet so others are informed about a very poorly written book.

Plato and a Platypus Walk into a Bar

Plato and a Platypus Walk into a Bar: Understanding Philosophy Through Jokes by Thomas Cathcart

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars

Philosophy has interested me for deades, but I—unfortunately—have gotten lost in other authors' need to impress their peers. This book is for the everyman. It makes this esoteric subject readable, and, more importantly, understandable.

As an example of 'inductive logic' (reasoning from specific instances to a general conclusion, that is broader than what can logically inferred from the instances):

A man is driving down the road.
A woman is driving up the same road.
They pass each other.
The woman yells out her window, "Pig!"
The man shouts back, "Bitch!"
The man rounds the next curve, crashes into a huge pig in the middle of the road, and dies.

The "funny" here, is the man used 'inductive logic'. He reasoned that every time a woman has called him a 'pig' in the past, was because she was negatively describing his character; therefore he concluded that this woman must be doing the same, and called her a 'bitch'. His 'crashing into a pig' proves that his logic was faulty and that what has always come before is not proof of what will come in the future.

Previous Reviews

Film Reviews (Late Fall 2005)

Wallace and Grommit.. (2005) directed by Steve Box (Chicken Run, 2000); starring the voices of Helena Bonham Carter and Ralph Fiennes: Snaprating=WFD, MILIEU theme (Problem sub-theme). Stop-motion claymation fans, especially those who know and love the three previous W&G short films, will enjoy the antics and not be bothered by the predictably childish plotline.
Domino (2005) directed by Tony Scott (Man on Fire, 2004); starring Keira Knightley and Mickey Rourke: Snaprating=Keeper, PROBLEM theme (Character sub-theme). Fans of Scott's colorful, quick-cut, intense information overload films, will love this edgy, hard-pounding blur. Of special note are the numerous, wonderful, minor-characters and quirky-odd sub-plots.
2046 (2004) directed by Kar Wai Wong (director of many films released outside the US); starring Tony Leung Chiu Wai and Takuya Kimura: Fans-who-don't-hate-operatic-cinema-Snaprating=Cheaper, Opera-haters Snaprating=WFT, CHARACTER theme. Disregard the trailer, this is not an SF Film! It feels like Barton Fink melded - confusingly - with a slow-paced, 50's gumshoe-story (but set in late-60's Asia) AND because it's a need-to-concentrate, think-film, don't leave for three minutes or you'll lose the thread.
In Her Shoes (2005) directed by Curtis Hanson (Wonder Boys, 2000); starring Toni Collette and Cameron Diaz: Snaprating=Cheaper, RE-ORDER theme (Character secondary theme). This funny-touching film will be enjoyed by mothers and daughters everywhere. A mix of Return to Me, Playing by Heart, and - maybe - (with sisters and grandmothers instead of sons and mothers) Igby Goes Down .
Touch the Sound (2004) directed by Thomas Riedelsheimer (Rivers and Tides, 2001); starring deaf percussionist Evelyn Glennie: Artist and lovers-of-art Snaprating=Cheaper, Non-Artist Snaprating=WFT, MILIEU theme. This intense documentary about hearing with one's body will soon be available on IFC and The Sundance Channel.
Good Night and Good Luck (2005) directed by George Clooney (Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, 2002); starring David Strathairn and George Clooney: PPBOATS* Fans Snaprating=Cheaper, All others Snaprating=WFC, MILIEU theme. This near-historically-accurate film is quasi-documentary (but not too quasi, like an Oliver Stone film). Fans of The Downfall: Hitler and the End of the Third Reich will enjoy this glimpse of 1950's McCarthyism.
The Weather Man (2005) directed by Gore Verbinski (The Ring, 2002); starring Nicolas Cage and Michael Caine: Snaprating=WFD, CHARACTER theme. This poignant, slightly unsettling, well-acted, story (with the humor of: Me, You, and Everyone Else We Know) is similar to About Schmidt only the focus is on a self-absorbed, angsty, middle-aged man, instead of a retired one.
Capote (2005) directed by Bennett Miller (big-screen directorial debut); starring Philip Seymour Hoffman and Catherine Keener: Snaprating=Cheaper, CHARACTER theme. Hoffman is incredable in this BPBOATS*, which is plotted like Girl With a Pearl Earring, since it's more about the 3 years he wrote In Cold blood, than his entire life.
MirrorMask (2005) directed by Dave McKean (big-screen directorial debut); starring Stephanie Leonidas and Gina McKee: Snaprating=WFC, MILIEU theme (Problem sub-theme). Although the simple, non-musical, plot may be compared to The Wizard of Oz (even thought it's more of an after-school special) this wonderfully drawn, poorly-scripted, and terribly-acted construct fails to make audiences care about it's characters or outcome.
Elizabethtown (2005) directed by Cameron Crowe (Almost Famous, 2000); starring Orlando Bloom and Kirsten Dunst: Snaprating=WFD, CHARACTER theme (Problem and Milieu sub-themes). This Lost in Translation set in middle-America, maybe had potential for greatness during pre-production (great script and director) but over-reached with: poor casting, esoteric music, and tacked-on subplots, which all fail in this patchwork-quilt-of-quirkyness.
Jarhead (2005), directed by Sam Mendes (American Beauty, 1999); starring Jake Gyllenhaal and Jamie Foxx: Snaprating=Keeper, CHARACTER theme (Milieu secondary theme). The Vietnam war has Full Metal Jacket, WWII has Saving Private Ryan, now Desert-Shield and -Storm have this humorous-yet-poignant, exceptionally acted, directed, and edited masterpiece.
Memory of a Killer (Zaak Alzheimer, De) (2003) directed by Erik Van Looy (Shades, 1999); starring Jan Decleir and Koen De Bouw: FFF* Snaprating=Cheaper, All Others=WFC, PROBLEM theme (Character secondary theme). Fans of the Korean film Tell Me Something will enjoy this pro-antagonist 'hit-man with a heart' (who's losing his memory).
Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang (2005) directed by Shane Black (directorial debut, screenwriter); starring Robert Downey Jr. and Val Kilmer: Snaprating=Keeper, PROBLEM theme (Character sub-theme). Downey is wonderful in this enthralling and hilarious 'unwitting-PI, murder-mystery-gone-awry', which has the look and feel of The Pink Panther meets Jackie Brown with an Elmore Leonardesque smell and taste.
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005) directed by Mike Newell (Four Weddings and a Funeral, 1994); starring Daniel Radcliffe and Rupert Grint: Snaprating=WFD, PROBLEM theme (Milieu sub-theme). If cramming a book (twice as thick as the first ones) into 2 hours: A - Cut a lot out. B - Uniquely tie together fifty slices of information and action. or C - Use a massive amount of CGI and hope the shitload of poorly fitting, choppy scenes will be overlooked. Newell failed at A, never tried B, and accomplished C.
Unleashed (Danny the Dog) (2005) directed by Louis Leterrier (The Transporter, 2002); starring Jet Li and Bob Hoskins: Snaprating=Cheaper, Problem theme. This 'marial arts film with a heart' will be mostly enjoyed by Jet Li fans.
The Girl in the Cafe (2005) directed by David Yates (Big Screen Directorial Debut); starring Bill Nighy and Kelly Macdonald: Snaprating=WFD, Character theme. This made-for-TV film blends two interesting character studies, and humor, packaged into a strong geo-political guilt-trip-heavy message.
Imaginary Heroes (2004) directed by Dan Harris (Big Screen Directorial Debut); starring Sigourney Weaver and Emile Hirsch: Snaprating=WFC, RE-ORDER theme. This Ordinary People-Chumscrubber mixture is interesting because of plot twists, but we never grow to care about the shallow characters and when the twists become resolved, we end up with a handful of whogivesafuck.
*PPBOATS = Period Piece Based On A True Story *BPBOATS = Biographical Picture Based On A True Story *FFF = Foreign Film Fan

PP-BOATS are different than B.P.BOATS, but who cares.

Answer me this:           Who's to blame for mistaking myth for historical fact?  Are individuals accountable for their belief systems (each step of the way, not just ultimately) or are the propagators of ‘myth in nonfiction-sheep’s-clothing’ at fault?  And if these instructor-wolves are liable, where’s the beef?           These three questions—easily directed at religion/priests or classroom/teachers—came to the forefront of my brain today, after watching two recently released films containing a common thread, (both Cheaper-quality, reviews will be posted next month) so I decided to point my three questions at: films/directors.           The films were: Capote (which is plotted like* Girl with a Pearl Earring) and Good Night and Good Luck, (which is plotted like* The Downfall: Hitler and the End of the Third Reich).           I discussed both with my film umpire:           “I wonder how Good Night and Good Luck will be used in decades to come?  Do you think teachers will show it in class when teaching about 1950s-era McCarthyism?” I asked.           “I think that’s certain to happen.  My high-school history teacher showed: A Man Called Horse, as part of Native American studies and Tora, Tora, Tora, when covering World War Two; I also recall watching Excaliber in English class.”           “Did your English teacher show King Arthur and Merlin to depict actual events?”           “Very funny…she showed it as an example of fantasy. Myth.”           “Then, neither you nor she took it out of context, that's encouraging...           ...but…a Hollywood war-movie?  Even though it may seem unbiased because it tries to be a movie that "tells it from both sides" it's still just a dramatic re-creation about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and NOT historically accurate, except for the war footage, of course.           Also, I'm amazed anyone would think a movie about an Anglo trying to 'become a native'…wasn’t that the one with Richard Harris hanging by the chest?…I thought so…How does that have anything to do with teaching about Native American culture?”           “It’s a wrong-headed, highly-skewed perspective, you’re right.  But, I wasn’t so good in those classes—and partly because I’m still not so good at history, geography, and religious studies; once-in-a-while, I like a movie that teaches me something while it entertains.  I’ll bet there are plenty of people who think like I do,” she said.           So, I ranted: “Some films, by their very nature, are understood to be a story by everyone that watches them.  But when teachers show PP-BOATS to their students, there aren't any attached codicils: ‘What you are viewing is merely a story, or a depiction of a few people's ideas—namely those of the screenwriter, the director, and a producer or two.’  I'll bet even if the teacher told you it was a story…in a couple decades, your memory holds the film and forgets the disclaimer.”           “aaah…PP-BOATS?” She asked.           “Oh, sorry...I thought you knew my acronyms: period piece, based on a true story.”           “Was Capote a period piece based on a true story?”           “No. It’s actually a bio-pic, based on a true story…so: B.P.BOATS.  Confusing myth with fact in a bio-pic, like Capote, or Girl with a Pearl Earring, isn't as problematic as with a PP-BOATS.  Actually, it’s nothing compared with the mistake of teaching a PP-BOATS as if it were historically accurate!”           “I don’t know if I understand the distinction—and I’m positive I don’t understand why one’s OK to confuse with history, but the other isn’t.”           “I’ll use better examples.  Are you familiar with, The Birth of a Nation?  No? Well, it is a boringly-long, silent film, set in the years surrounding the US Civil War. Filmed in 1914, but depicting the 1860’s, thus ‘period piece’; and since the war actually occurred, it is ‘based on a true story’.           But, that’s where fact stops and fiction starts.  The director and screenwriter tell a story—which distills into flagrant racism—about why the ‘nation’ of the Klu Klux Klan needed to be ‘born’ to restore ‘white order and justice’ to the incompetent, negligent, and lazy newly-freed blacks in the southern states.”            “Are you saying such an obvious fiction, could be confused with actual history?”           “Yes.  And, it is.  Children are born and raised by stupid, evil, and viciously-hateful adults every day—who grow up to raise ignorant, vile, and insipidly degenerate children of their own.  And I’ll further answer your question with questions of my own: How could such an obvious fantasy as The Old Testament be confused with natural events?  How could the New Testament be considered a true-biography?  How can such a ridiculous fabrication as The Book of Mormon be considered depicting actual events?”           “But, have you ever read or heard about anyone who believes the version of history depicted in that KKK film?”           “Well...yes...In the mid-90s, I worked with a card-carrying hater who—while trying to convince me of the supremacy of the white race—ended up only making me sure of one thing: he actually believed the film revealed the ‘real truth’ behind a liberal, left-wing, non-confederate, cover-up!  This college-educated cracker from Arkansas spoke in earnest praise of this film’s message.”           “Right.  So, I understand how this KKK PP-BOATS film is misused, even today.  But, if I'm following you correctly, it's not so bad to re-write history if it's done in a bio-pic?”           “Correct.  Take the film: Girl with a Pearl Earring—even a huge misrepresentation about Johannes Vermeer’s paintings, or life, amounts to nothing more than you mistaking an artist for something he wasn’t.  In the film, his wife is a tyrant.  What if she was really a saint?  What if Vermeer was really a fanatical blithering idiot who not only couldn't mix his own paints, as this film depicts, but couldn't walk outside without a diaper?  The truth hardly matters at all.  It's only about one person: unimportant in respect to the big picture.”           “So.  OK.  Where are you going with all this?  What do you think about directors who take Oliver-Stoneish and Michael-Mooreish liberties with history?  That make films about Pocahontas falling in love when she was actually kidnapped, that recreate history in the minds of millions, effectively making “new-history?”           “Oh, I don’t much care either way.  They are—after all—just movies.  But I do so very much enjoy debating their value as if they were earth-shatteringly important.”           “I thought so.” * plotted like, does not always mean ‘similar to’: Capote (about the years he researched and wrote the book In Cold Blood) is plotted like, and similar to, Girl… (about the years Vermeer spent working on the titled painting).   But, although the plotting of Good… and The Downfall… are alike because each collect ‘snatches of time’ (from the years of Murrow’s news-team’s lives, and from Hitler’s last days in which his surviving-secretary shared a bunker with him) once these ‘snatches of time’ are combined, the differences are vast.  In Good... the journalistic endeavors to expose Senator McCarthy become canonized, while in The Downfall... Hitler’s fractured personality is not only it’s focal point, but it's rasion d'être.

Counterfeit Paper: A Valuable Teaching Tool

          If I were to teach an upper-level college writing class, I’d use this counterfeit book: The Earth Abides, by George R. Stewart, as the foundation for my semester.

          Just as secret service agents need real, expertly crafted, counterfeit bills removed from circulation and brought into their classroom to learn how to identify bad paper, every writer needs a counterfeit novel which made it into circulation and received praise.  Through deconstruction of this book, I could teach almost everything writers shouldn’t do.

          Hundreds of places the author could have ‘shown us’ with suspense, but instead ‘tells us’ with weak boring sentences.  For example, this is all we are told about our main character being attacked by a mountain lion:

  ...In the end there was bad luck, because Ish missed his shot and instead of killing a lion merely raked it across the shoulders, and it charged and mauled him before Ezra could get another shot home.  After that he walked with a little limp...

          And this, I believe, is the author’s failed attempt at suspense, which results in confusion (I’ve omitted nothing):

 ...one question, he knew, that they had not yet faced, and now she brought it forward.
“That would be fine!” she said.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, it would.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You mean you don’t like it for me?”
“Yes.  It’s dangerous.  There’d be no one else but me, and I wouldn’t be any use.”
“But you can read—all the books.”
“Books!” he laughed a little as he spoke.  “The Practical Midwife?"...

          The first sentence was probably supposed to read:  …and now he brought it forward…  But even without the typo, this is not only horrible dialogue (in a book desperately short on dialogue) as well as massive misuse of exclamation points (three times on every page minimum!) but an example of the authors incessant self-censorship and avoidance of certain words and descriptions.  He avoids reference to human intercourse, birth, death, pain, anger, hatred, bigotry and bloodshed.  In a story detailing a handful of human survivors in 1949 California after a planet-wide plague—avoiding those topics (or glossing over them) becomes a herd of white dinosaurs in the room.

          There are thousands of poorly constructed sentences (like this one, which contains a large word-proximity hiccup):

…He began to temporize, just as he used to do when he said that he had a great deal of work to do and so buried himself in a book instead of going to a dance.

          Factual errors, which could have been avoided with a small amount of research, are prevalent (here are two):

…batteries with the acid not yet in them...they made the experiment of pouring the acid into a battery…put it into the station-wagon. It worked perfectly… (I guess in 1949, putting battery acid in the battery charged it too!){I comment-learned this is an accurate depiction of mid-20th century batteries.}
…The clock was run, he knew, by electrical impulses which were ordinarily timed at sixty to the minute. Now they must be coming less often… (AC power is 60 pulses per second).

          This book contains a main character and dozens of secondary characters we never grow to care about.  On almost every page a situation unfolds which could be easily re-written to involve the reader in the action, infuse the character(s) with depth and emotion(s), or add suspense to the plot.  Instead, the story centers around an emotionally dead man who preaches to a bland cast of less-than-ordinary idiots about their failure to reach for a fraction of their potential, while he wallows in an uncomfortable rut and never lifts a finger to attain any of his own potential.

          Aspiring writers and educators should use this counterfeit paper, available for less than the price of a cup of coffee at used bookstores, as a valuable learning/teaching tool.  In a time when there are so many books filled with examples of great writing—it's nice to have something chock-full of such a concentrated and vast range of terrible, boring, writing to weight down the other end of the scale.

         {I comment-learned, that opinions are like ...✴... and that many people are adamant theirs smells like daffodils in spring.  Mine smells the same as yours; but it's at the top of the ★☆☆☆☆ reviews on Goodreads because it must have passed a thumb test 👍 or three.}

read people who disagree:

Wonderful Comment From Mr Lumpy Dirtball

snap on over to my sidebar

For those who've not perused my sidebar for over a fortnight, I've added some interesting links covering a wide range of sites: From a useless bit of time-wasting at Virtual Stapler; thru a wonderful re-dubbed clip from the Disney Film 'Dumbo' at Pink Elephants; to a superior compilation of film lists and reviews at Movie Review Query Engine (MRQE).

Those in need of a heaping quantity of international information the US counter-intelligence community's World Fact Book now has a link; and, on a smaller scale, if you want to read an ever-changing story (being created by many writers, which I edit) Quill Ting now has a microbutton.

Celebrating Writers and Artists

Something as arbitrary as—this—my 100th post, is an innocuous reason for celebration; albeit, I do have ten fingers and toes, so am able to recognize the peculiar, ingrained, some would say gravitational, pull of round numbers. And, celebrating arbitrary notions is more acceptable (to me) than the reasons many hold as sufficient to give them pause or to raise their glass. Celebrating births or deaths (90% of all national/federal/bank holidays) feels akin to complimenting someone on their overall appearance or their selection of vehicle — ridiculous (unless, of course, they had a hand in design or construction; Frankenstein and Ford: nice work). Consequently, I have very few things on my calendar worthy of a party. So, recognizing the rollover of my blog’s odometer is as good a reason as any for a small *hurrah*.

Today's hurrah is directed at you — who write and create — for us, who read and view. Please understand, I've walked this rocky trail before and stirred up more controversy with complements than one might expect from derision. Controversy is good. So, this time I replaced my 'labels' with my 'editorial eye and pen'. This is also intended to stir-the-pot, provide insight on what really constitues copyright violations and acceptable creative commmons license usages, and entertain my frequent (if merely lurking) readers.

If you are one of the following 20 Applaudable or Standing Ovational bloggers, and take umbrage with my editing (no matter if it was for length, content, clarity, spelling or grammar) rather than thinking of my rendition as demeaning, consider this a humble tribute. (If it bothers you so, so, so very much: hire a different editor to sing your praises.) And now for something catagorically less-is-more:

• Pick Yin at Life is Great is almost a Malaysian mirror of snapperhead (except not), with her photos in place of my Digital Renderings, and little speculative fiction, her film reviews and book opinions are interspersed with blog and helpful technical advice. Here is an (edited) excerpt:

  I was driving home from the gym last night. It was almost eleven and raining quite heavily. I grumbled to myself about the possibility of getting wet after reaching home as my house has an uncovered porch, till I saw a bread man pedalling carefully on his bike in front of me.

  Just as I thanked God, ‘at least I have a roof on four wheels compared to him and his rotis all soaking wet’ (and then thought: I really should not complain at all), one of his High Five Wheat breads turned loose and fell rolling onto the wet road.

  “Alah... kesiannya!” I thought. It may have been just a loaf of very affordable bread to me, but to the bread man it was his bread and butter, literally. I followed behind him slowly in my car and then not one minute later, another loaf fell off! By the time both of us parted at a road junction, he'd lost five loaves of High Five Wheats. Worst of all I couldn’t do anything about it. It was raining and if I honked him (my mother’s suggestion, later), he would’ve thought I wanted him to go faster.

  I prayed for the bread man when I got home and reminded myself to think of the poor guy the next time I fuss about getting wet in the rain.





• 'Irishwind' at odium generis humani has amazing drive and zeal for a young writer, can overuse fuck as an adjective (a little more fucking adjectivial-imagination would be fucking adverbial-helpful), and comes close to not being included as an applaudable blogger because of her “alter-ego’s” membership in a weblog which is, arguably, candidate for worst blog in the blogosphere — nonetheless, here is an (edited) excerpt of her good-angry, blog:
  

  Sometimes it scares you when you think you're something else, when you have a feeling something's wrong with you. You feel it happening — like a disease you can never be cured of — eating you from inside. Every time you look at everyone else's perfect life you're one step closer to being consumed by your greed; to succumbing to the impulse of stripping them of what they possess, until they are blind, wasted, and helpless.

  Yes, stealing what was never yours. Ahh, the covetous monster you are.





• 'Spoonleg' at Spelunk in the Trunk prolifically writes a diary-opinion blog containing creative non-fiction stories centering around her family, work, and life-lessons. With a humorous wink-and-nudge, these stories never fail to entertain. Here is an (edited) excerpt:

  I recently decided I needed to do something to get my fat ass into motion, which did not involve traversing the oft-tread path from bed to fridge. Since I figured exercise — in pretty much any form — is nothing more than high-priced torture, I decided to just go all the way and find the most unbearable, insufferable, incredibly horrific, kill-me-now-because-Hell-can't-be-THIS-bad, form of exercise known to man. Compared to this, the carnage in Full Metal Jacket is like an episode of the Smurfs. Lasik surgery performed by a chainsaw-wielding Stevie Wonder is less painful. Walking in on your parents having wild, viagra-assisted, butt sex in your bed is less traumatizing. Yes, my friends, I speak of Birkram Yoga.





• 'Davecat' at shouting to hear the echoes has uncanny insight into very interesting design (no matter the epoch), revels in his agoraphobia with his sacrosanct other and is a Standing Ovational blogger I’d willingly meet in the meat (if my tan and his lighter-shade-of-pale wouldn’t, like matter and anti-matter, cause universe implosion. . .maybe that’s the best reason). Here is an (edited) excerpt of his wonderful, acerbically humorous, blog:
  

  How many five year olds could I personally take on at once? If thrown in a gym with only the clothes on my back and a protective cup, I could take out probably fifty of them before I became too exhausted. If allowed the use of an offensive article, I'd go for a seven-foot length of chain. Not a heavy chain, but something like a dog lead, with that clip thing at the end — light, but damaging. Even if I couldn't take them all out on the first attack, it'd be more than enough to immobilize, whereupon I'd just go back and finish them off later.

  Do feel free to give your own personal estimations of how many five-year olds you could take out!

  Anyone responding with anything disparaging will be openly mocked, by the way, just so you know.





• 'French Maid Character' at the uglier house writes a diary-type blog in which she vents her frustrations, provides lessons based on life experiences and — sometimes with an overdose of dark, anger — an insightful glimpse which her readers can learn from. Here is an (edited) excerpt:

  
  I feel a little bad regarding the bitchy comment I made yesterday about: '…my roommate probably wanted to fuck his houseguests'. In this particular instance it was doubtful (I hope), since he was on suicide watch for the young man and working with other agencies trying to provide support for the young man's partner. Neither of them are here anymore (and I really hope they're going to be OK). I talked to my roommate about it because I wanted to know why he needed to keep his shotgun at our neighbor's house for safekeeping. I expressed my concern about his capacity for taking on the responsibility of another person's will to live. Although we ended up having a fairly positive exchange, I stand by my assertion: it’s generally a safe assumption — my roommate wants to fuck his houseguests.





• 'Breadmaker' at unreasonable scenarios is almost a twisty-bun-combination of the two bloggers above Davecat and French Maid Character (not in a twin-goldfish-from-different-ponds way, but in a ‘koi versus carp’ way) and his applaudable diary and opinion-observation blog is riddled with wry insights and outsights. Here is an (edited) excerpt:

  Maybe I should just let this play itself out. I imagine most of my recent health problems are due to this wretched house I live in, with it's dusty vents, leaky pipes, and roommates who smoke and cough everywhere — and of course the cat who leaves a thick trail of hair in his wake. The only reason I've stayed here so long is because the cat is adorable, the roommates are funny and lovable and my bedroom is really quite amazingly large. Plus, I really hate moving more than anything. But now that I've started to "fall apart" I think it's time for a change. I'm also going to try acupuncture, or Reiki (I can't decide.)





• 'Rezzee' and many others (like 'Raven' and 'Shamantic! The Wise') at rezzee's blog and unfounded shamanic shifting and powerful foolish wondering are docent questioners, anxious to listen and more willing to understand, who can be — occasionally — overly mellifluous, bordering on obfuscation, but who troll through the effluvium (each in their own applaudable way) only to return with sharable bounty which will enhance their reader’s knowledge (and maybe, awareness). These are (edited and paraphrased) excerpts from their insightfully interesting, blogs:

  We do our best to keep up with the latest and greatest in as many fields as possible, while all the time recognizing our personal insights can never oppose higher reason and scientifically tested findings, but must complement science and reason whenever the bigger picture is revealed (no matter what temporary contradiction now seems to appear). Yet, the main reason we study the external sciences is for the sheer wonder of it!

  Fear signals that something needs to shift (lest something in reality becomes a danger, rather than merely instructive — closer to a nightmare than a creative dream). When considering: global warming, what I fear is the attitude in which our society is mired, combined with all the heartless arguing and line-drawing. The global warming fuss, as I perceive it, is arguing for the sake of arguing and has more to do with attention-seeking and political strategizing than the actual expression of fear caused by an impending doom.





• 'Aibee' (Anna) at aibiffity writes (mostly, now) about her fecundity. Albeit focused in scope, she writes very lucidly about her thoughts, feelings, emotions, and actions which have placed her on the road to becoming a mother. Here is an (edited) excerpt:

  I wanted a child who was better than me, so I chose a donor who was. He was the student I've never been, a musician and a thinker. That donor is lost to me now. The donor I got is someone who, while lovely, won't give this child the pieces missing in me.

  I fear for my child, I fear it being the sum of our deficits.

  From my donor’s perspective though, he said when we discussed this (and I use the term loosely, because, what do you call a conversation that starts and ends with his sentiments: if only it had happened differently?...Oh, I'm stuck on the if-only’s also, but I'm an introverted, rational, problem solver, so use my angst as a platform for solutions. He's, well, he's just stuck.) that he got someone who, if he could have chosen, had the attributes he'd want in the mother of his child.

  I got someone who's good at soccer.





• 'Bucky Four-Eyes' at The Bucky Four-Eyes Cotillion is the US of A’s northern-bookend to Spoonleg’s southern one. They are similar in prose, prolificacy and pragmaticism (or lack thereof) while the writers are wildly different in almost every way. Here is an (edited) excerpt:

  Apes, chimps, baboons, they're all monkeys to me. I am not a zoologist, and I may not even be continent, so allow me my sloppy species identification.

  In any case, eventually we found ourselves in front of the chimpanzee exhibit, where some chimps napped and a few pranced and cavorted for our amusement. We were standing in the middle of a decent-sized group of strangers when one of the female chimps flopped down on her back and flung her legs as wide open as they would go. We were lookin' right into the heart of her monkey allure. A few people politely suppressed giggles.

  Not my husband. He laughed heartily, and then said — loud enough to be heard in the fucking butterfly house, "Hey! She looks just like YOU, honey!"

  I just stood completely still and prayed for the monkeyhouse people to disperse and stop staring at me like...well, like the chimp with her ankles behind her ears.

  The whole thing just makes me paranoid about my shaving habits.





• 'FIST' at The Sagas of a Fist in a City, a relative newcomer in my Standing Ovationables, contains stark, stolid, yet tensile prose authored by a rhetorician now fisting the big-city whom I greatly admire (regardless of his contemporary author disdain). Here is an (edited) excerpt from his fantastically descriptive and poetic blog:

  Glowing from window to floor — then on towels, back of the door: orange streetlight streams in a dense diagonal. As splinter-glints from splashes wave along, off, from, white enamel, Fist gives a finger to the sky of night and city light, outside, as he drops deeper down in the width of warmth. The demands of the day almost past — silent, still, alone at last…only for a moment. Until the arrival of…the corner of a cherry tomato; slipped out from the well of anus, circling the tree of the leg, dragged by the sloshing current to the land's-end-of-toe — before dawdling along to settle on the plain-like expanse of gut. Beautiful thing!




• Catherine Thatch at laughingsky is a prolific and talented writer of period (periodical? — sorry, you’ll have to read her to understand this inside joke) speculative fiction; her commentary-type Standing Ovational blog is optimistically focused on life and — mostly — celebrates the glass containing a half-glimpse of full-ocean breeze. Here’s an (edited) excerpt:

  I never planned my off-the-face-of-the-Earth drop, before. But I'm glad I did, because of what I learned: planning-time is wasted-time. I now know, by experience, that I had it right all along: I just needed to step off the damn flight deck, right then, without contemplation. And not heed the words of the well intentioned (who wanted me to live life by their example). Abandoning my instinct-guided impulse — my Zen way — was a mistake.

  Planning is not for me. When people take the time to plan their large life changes, they fear the change! During the time spent planning they come to realize all the opportunities for chaos to reign and things to 'go wrong', they suffer anticipation stress, and they experience disappointment when their plan unravels (as it always does). I like my way, and now that I’ve tried it their way, I know that for sure.

  Although my mind will never be closed to doing things differently, I’ll never tell my gut to shut up and listen to the real adults ever again.





• Miram Jones, at scribblingwoman, seems to voraciously comb thru, troll the depths of, and poach from the web of internets — providing incalculable (in both quantity and quality) amounts of links. This, combined with her applaudable book and art recommendations, is a place for every one-stop-blog-hopper. Here is an (edited) excerpt:

  I went to bed with a migraine. This means that I took some meds then ensconced myself in a complicated apparatus of pillows, ice packs, eye-shades and ear plugs. The Jinker Boy hovered, solicitous.

  When I woke up a few hours later, after he had gone to bed, I found myself surrounded by a number of very small toys tucked into the crook of my shoulder and leaning up against my head. There was one in my hand.

  And my headache was gone.

  Coincidence?





• 'Scoots' and his friends over at Yes But Still ... study human nature and provide their unique brand of slant on routine Gen-Y nothingness (not Seinfeldesque exactly, but forked from the same Big Salad) even though none of the YBS contributors should fear the 'wordy' brand, Scoots can shine a humorous glow-stick with his prolific insights. Here are (edited) excerpts:

  Never try to enter an ongoing conversation, which you've had no part in, by throwing out a witty rejoinder that will cement you in legend forever: it never works. However, remarkably similar arsenals of cultural references can allow for a synergistic effect to take conversations on completely bizarre paths.

  "The next time I speak to a girl who isn't sleeping with three other guys, I'll be sure not to involve Bob Saget," is one such statement.

  But, all appearances to the contrary, I have yet to reach the true gist of my post, which is this, and by "this" I mean the bit of this sentence preceding "which is this."





• 'Kirihargie' (Kirstin) who can be seen at noncestralite, among other places, is an artist extraordinaire with wonderfully attuned — innate — eye-sense, which she relates into intimate images and words (which, at times, may include intricately personal thoughts and shots, which others may be unable to fathom or find relevant). Here is one selection of many:
  
  
  
  






• Laurie at divinities has an uncanny awareness of a story’s pacing and an extremely engaging tone, making her one of the most entertaining writers in the daily-diary niche (it’s amazing she isn’t writing romance novels for a living) although I can’t relate to her on any level other than that of 'loyal reader,' I consistently enjoy her finely-tuned life vignette’s. Here is an (edited) excerpt:

  “He's in love with me," she offered, taking a sip of her Malibu Rum and pineapple juice drink.

  "Oh, is he?" I asked.

  "Yeah. Which kind of works out for me, because when I was asked to be in this wedding, I said 'Well, only if I can find someone to sleep with in the wedding party.' And, as it turns out, Jason's not half bad. Besides, I don't have anyone else, so, you know..."

  She laughed, but I couldn't figure out if she was joking. I took another look at Jason, spinning furiously now around the other dancers on the floor, making himself dizzy and laughing out loud. I looked back at Amy, perfectly put together in her bridesmaid ensemble. Not a hair out of place. The makeup she wore on her delicate features was flawless. Her teeth were impossibly white. I looked back at Jason. He was doubled over near the stage, trying to catch his breath and reclaim his ability to see straight.

  "Are you kidding me?" I asked.





• John Bailey's writing and art, at journal of a writing man, comes from the mind of a calm but exceptionally creative non-fiction writer and painter. Although his palette is conservative in it's structure and tone, relative to most elderly British gentlemen, he’s positively flamboyant. Here's an (edited) excerpt:

  "Right. People have been getting wonky legs and stuff since time began. Nothing new in it."

  And there isn't, of course, unless I care to take a sour note and point out that it's new for me. I'm not inclined to be sour about it, though, even if I do need, and seek, a good kick up the backside now and then when the miseries come a'calling.

  So, I did the big sigh thing, pulled out my paint box and brushes, taped a postcard onto my small drawing board, closed my eyes and... out popped the below rural cottage scene. Triggered by an isolated house I saw by a small inland loch on Skye, if I have it right. Doesn't matter, of course. I'm still enjoying doing the postcards, and I confess that my head is filled with similar scenes just now. It'd be rather nice to be out in the fresh air sketching them from life. But for the moment, I'm not inclined to wander far from home. I need to be on hand to make tea.

  






• Dana at Sepia-Tone Dreams matches her ability to analyze and become self-aware with her ability to write, albeit with a distinctly candid voice in her diary-type blog, (which misses being Standing Ovational only because of infrequent posts, even though when she does write it can be novella-length). Here is an (edited) excerpt:

  Why am I going across the entire country to a hospital, at no small expense? Because it's a specialty facility, which deals with women with dissociative disorders like I have. One of the difficulties of dealing with this kind of mental illness is there aren't many psychologists who specialize in it. So, years of therapy are often wasted in trying to address symptoms (anger issues, bipolar or borderline issues, post traumatic stress, alcohol and drug abuse, sexual and intimacy issues) and not with the disorder causing them. Often because (like with me) it goes undiagnosed for so long. So I'll be going through some fairly intensive therapy designed to help integrate the "various alts" I've created to deal with past trauma, and—to a lesser degree—my everyday life. Which makes me think of a scene in my favorite movie where Wesley (as Dread Pirate Roberts) tells Princess Buttercup: "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone telling you different is selling something".

  And, while life isn't all pain, in the past I've focused so much on that aspect, I sometimes forget about the joys.




• 'Penda' (MontiLee) can be found at The Diner at Penda’s Relm, (among others places) but her diner is a great place to read about interestingly morbid world-happenings couched in pointed, witty, commentary (not exactly Daily Show commentary, but not more than a few cushions away), and also some extremely superior fiction and creative non-fiction-with-a-smirk (the best flavor). Here is an (edited) excerpt:

  The women knocked on my door and asked if I had anything to kill wasps which had taken up residence in two old cars they'd just sold. They are sweet, these women, and older — and once you get past the gruff exterior, they have amazing wit. They are women who have lived life fighting and getting fought, and they are fun to talk to. I set out to help.

  Once the new owner of the vehicles arrived, a brother-in-law of one of the women, I decided to hang around because this guy didn’t look like the quickest cat on the freeway. She’d been making jokes about his mental capacity since before he arrived. He looked like a dirty Homer and smelled like old oily rags. He hooked up cables between his car and one of the dewasped cars, started his, and then told my neighbor, "okay, start her up."

  I said, "It’s a dead battery. You need to let it charge about ten minutes before you can try to start it." But I, apparently, had phased into a space-time parallel where all he could hear from me is what sounds like the buzzing of insects. I sighed audibly and watched as one of the well-meaning women tried to start the car. Nothing happened. What a surprise. Dirty Homer fiddled with the cables (because that must be the problem) and told her to try again. The car cranked but didn’t turn over.

  "You can try to jump it, but it’s a dead cell and may need a complete recharge," I said. It must have came out as white noise. I then said, "For ten bucks, the guy at the corner station will put it on his charger for an hour."

  He—and I’m not kidding—swatted at his ear.




• Danielle Thorburn at Fluffmuppet takes on NYC is a keen-eyed artist with a unique and playful flair in her digital renderings, opinion pieces, and creative non-fiction stories, although her blog’s productivity is prone to tide-like fluctuations, it remains Standing Ovationable. Here is an (edited) excerpt:

  I did some hardcore thinking on those concrete steps, taking in the vibe of my new house and settling into singledom (sometimes wondering if what mum told me about sitting on concrete and hemorrhoids were true). I was never alone out there, though; somewhere in my sight would be a neighborhood cat, skulking around a rose bush or walking like a supermodel on the chain link fence. I wooed those kitties with bodega cat food and scraps from the fish shop. I made them my furry new mates. Soon enough a mama cat brought her kittens over to meet me, I would hand feed them, imagining that I was like a urban Diane Fossy taming the wild beasts of the Brooklyn Jungle. And it wasn't long before I made mental notes of what boy cat shagged what girl cat and whose babies came from whom. I concentrated mainly on the cats which hung-out in neighbor’s yards and mine. I came up with this: