I Have Great Friends

“Listen, asshole. I puked in a Las Vegas gutter and passed out in a truck stop toilet somewhere outside of Barstow. I’m more punk rock than you’ll ever be.”

The Liar’s Diary

I am a lemming.

The fact that someone is too ill to promote their own book is a sad thing. I personally haven’t read the book, so I give no vouch for how good it is, but Patry Francis published The Liar’s Diary, and that’s a triumph. You should go see it if you’re into that sort of thing.

It’s on my book list, but I still need to finish Literature & Existentialism (Sartre), Twilight (Meyer), Vurt (Noon), and Eats, Shoots & Leaves (Truss).

Not a Hiatus

For the scant few readers I have – I see those hits, you are all lovely to fluff my ego so – I apologise that this week may be slim on the updates.

I haven’t gone much into my personal life on this blog. Suffice to say, it is not doing so well at the moment. I’ll handle it, and post when I can.

Operator Please

Operator Please – Crash Tragic

What is it with kids from Australia being far more talented than they should be?

This is a band I discovered about a year ago and really enjoyed. Boppy, lighthearted, and fun. The first song I heard was Song About Ping-Pong, which, really, as the lyrics inform you, is just a song about ping-pong.

Now they have new singles, a website, a CD. You turn your back for one second.

Fiscal Responsibility

You shouldn’t overspend at the moment. Frugality is important.

“What’s your fortune cookie say?”

I held it up so she could see. “But I have to buy a gift for Will.”

“What are you getting?”

I nibbled on my cookie. There was a lot of vanilla extract in it. “Guitar Hero 3. For the Wii. He said he doesn’t have it yet, and I think that’s a shame.”

“Fun for the party, too.”

“That’s what I was thinking. I’m going to have to keep the receipt though, in case someone else got the same bright idea.”

“Expensive gift. And his girlfriend will probably hate you.”

“I know. It makes me the coolest friend ever.”

“It does.”

I dropped what I hoped was a relatively healthy tip and we left the restaurant. I was dragging her with me because I dislike shopping, malls, and where the two meet. But there are only so many options when you want to get those Bath and Body Works handsoaps (three for ten dollars, and they do that automatic foaming thing).

There is this habit I’ve developed. Every time I enter a game store, I walk up to the nearest Register Biscuit and ask with as charming a smile as I can manage, “Shot in the dark: You guys have a Wii?” I usually give them the wink-and-the-gun with it. The latter was developed after I was laughed out of the store. It softens the blow, though for whom I’m not certain.

“How can I help you?”

“Do you have Guitar Hero 3 for the Wii?”

“Yeah. Let me get it.”

“Oh, and,” I prepped my trademark grin. “Shot in the dark: You guys have a Wii?”

“Oh yeah. In the back.”

I sighed. “Yeah, sure.”

“No. Seriously. I’ll be right back.”

I stared at him. “You’re a liar.”

He didn’t respond, but walked off to the back room. My friend looked at me, her mouth open. “Is he serious?”

“I doubt it. He’s probably just messing with me.”

He returned momentarily with a telltale white box in hand.

My hands went to it, resting on it as a lover would. I caressed the box, covetously, and I smiled. “Is this for me?”

“Yeah. And let me get that Guitar Hero for you.”

“Make that two. I have to have something to play with this baby, after all.”

I took the box off the counter, cradling it in my arms. My cheeks hurt from smiling, but I couldn’t contain it. This kind of joy is reserved for special occasions, like the birth of your first child. I felt my eyes burn with tears.

“Screw you, Fortune Cookie. I’m getting a Wii.”

100 Books Every Child Should Read

Article Here

I scanned this list and I have read woefully few of these books.

Young Readers
1. The Twits, by Roald Dahl
2. Burglar Bill, by Janet and Allan Ahlberg
3. The Tiger Who Came To Tea, by Judith Kerr
4. Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak (read this)
5. The Tale of Samuel Whiskers, by Beatrix Potter
6. Yertle the Turtle, by Dr Seuss (read this)
7. Fungus the Bogeyman, by Raymond Briggs
8. The Story of the Little Mole Who Knew It Was None Of His Business, by Werner Holzwarth and Wolf Erlbruch
9. Room on the Broom, by Julia Donaldson
10. The Very Hungry Caterpillar, by Eric Carle (read this)
11. The Cat in the Hat, by Dr Seuss (read this)
12. Charlotte’s Web, by EB White (read this)
13. The Story of Babar, by Jean de Brunhoff (read this)
14. Winnie-the-Pooh, by AA Milne, illustrated by EH Shepard (read this)

Middle Readers

15. Stig of the Dump, by Clive King
16. Ballet Shoes, by Noel Streatfeild
17. Howl’s Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones
18. Just So Stories, by Rudyard Kipling
19. The Borrowers, by Mary Norton
20. Struwwelpeter, by Heinrich Hoffman
21. The Magic Faraway Tree, by Enid Blyton
22. Danny, the Champion of the World, by Roald Dahl
23. George’s Marvellous Medicine, by Roald Dahl
24. Underwater Adventure, by Willard Price
25. Tintin in Tibet, by Hergé
26. The Complete Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales (I don’t know if I’ve read the complete tales, but I’ve read a lot)
27. Erik the Viking, by Terry Jones, illustrated by Michael Foreman
28. When the Wind Blows, by Raymond Briggs
29. Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, by TS Eliot
30. The Iron Man, by Ted Hughes
31. The Owl and the Pussycat, by Edward Lear
32. The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame
33. The Worst Witch Collection, by Jill Murphy
34. Peter Pan, by JM Barrie (read this)
35. Mr Majeika, by Humphrey Carpenter
36. The Water Babies, by Charles Kinglsey
37. A Little Princess, by Frances Hodgson Burnett (read this)
38. I’m The King of the Castle, by Susan Hill
39. The Wave, by Morton Rhue
40. Pippi Longstocking, by Astrid Lindgren
41. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, by Roald Dahl (read this)
42. Bambert’s Book of Missing Stories, by Reinhardt Jung
43. The Firework-maker’s Daughter, by Philip Pullman
44. Tom’s Midnight Garden, by Philippa Pearce
45. The Phantom Tollbooth, by Norton Juster
46. The Silver Sword, by Ian Serrallier
47. Cue for Treason, by Geoffrey Trease
48. The Sword in the Stone, by TH White
49. A Wizard of Earthsea, by Ursula K LeGuin (read this)
50. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, by JK Rowling (read this)
51. The Chronicles of Narnia Box Set, by CS Lewis (read all of these)
52. His Dark Materials Box Set, by Philip Pullman
53. The BFG, by Roald Dahl
54. Swallows and Amazons, by Arthur Ransome
55. Clarice Bean, Don’t Look Now, by Lauren Child
56. The Railway Children, by E Nesbit
57. The Selfish Giant, by Oscar Wilde
58. Black Beauty, by Anna Sewell
59. Just William, by Richmal Crompton
60. Jennings Goes to School, by Anthony Buckeridge
61. Comet in Moominland, by Tove Jansson
62. The Bad Beginning, by Lemony Snicket (read it)

Early Teens

63. Call of the Wild, by Jack London (read it)
64. Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll (read it)
65. The Outsiders, by SE Hinton
66. I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith
67. The Wolves of Willoughby Chase, by Joan Aiken
68. To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee (read it)
69. Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens
70. The Owl Service, by Alan Garner
71. The Hound of the Baskervilles, by Arthur Conan Doyle
72. Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte
73. The Diary of a Young Girl, by Anne Frank (read it)
74. Roll of Thunder, Hear my Cry, by Mildred D Taylor (read it)
75. A Kestrel for a Knave, by Barry Hines
76. The Hobbit, by JRR Tolkien (read it)
77. War Horse, by Michael Morpurgo
78. Beowulf, by Michael Morpurgo
79. King Solomon’s Mines, by H Rider Haggard
80. Kim, by Rudyard Kipling
81. The Road of Bones, by Anne Fine
82. Frenchman’s Creek, by Daphne Du Maurier
83. Treasure Island, by RL Stevenson
84. Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott
85. Anne of Green Gables, by L M Montgomery
86. Junk, by Melvin Burgess
87. Cider With Rosie, by Laurie Lee
88. The Go-Between by LP Hartley
89. The Rattle Bag, ed by Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes
90. The Song of Hiawatha, by H W Longfellow
91. Watership Down, by Richard Adams
92. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, by Mark Twain (read this)
93. True Grit, by Charles Portis
94. Holes, by Louis Sachar
95. Lord of the Flies, by William Golding
96. My Family and Other Animals, by Gerald Durrell
97. Coraline, by Neil Gaiman (read this)
98. Carrie’s War, by Nina Bawden
99. The Story of Tracy Beaker, by Jacqueline Wilson
100. The Lantern Bearers, by Rosemary Sutcliffe

A tragic 22%.

Books I was sad not to see on this list: The Giving Tree, anything from Jules Verne (how will they know if they like science fiction?), The Lorax (really, they picked The Cat in the Hat over The Lorax?), The Giver, The Cay, Island of the Blue Dolphins, anything by Laura Ingalls Wilder, A Wrinkle in Time, The Secret Garden, The Minpins… books I loved as a kid, and love to this day.

As a horrific sidenote, for many of these, I’ve seen the movie but haven’t read the book. This article claims the thing with getting kids to fall in love with books, is to get them to fall in love with stories. But that’s not at all true. They have to fall in love with the written word. There is an oral tradition, and now we have film. Books are a special kind of love, the kind where you like to look at words and picture it in your mind. This is a vastly different way to express a story.

Everybody loves stories. It takes something special to love books.

Book Review: The Titan’s Curse

THE TITAN’S CURSE, by Rick Riordan

“It’s like American Gods for younglings.”

This is the third book in Rick Riordan’s series Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Thankfully, the books as they sit on the shelves don’t bear that title blazing on their covers, otherwise I’d cringe at another “Person’s-Name And The Such-And-Such.” This naming convention upsets me so much that I can’t even listen to Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s. (And even if I were to shed myself of that prejudice, I’d still make grumbles at that apostrophe.)

The series thus far:

1. The Lightning Thief
2. The Sea of Monsters
3. The Titan’s Curse
4. The Battle of the Labyrinth ( due May 6, 2008 )

Here is yet another book where my paperback-only convention was broken, but it was hardly my fault. I loaned the first two of the series to a friend. I shouted words at her as I thrust them into her hands. “They are enjoyable, good action, light, and fun. Well-written. I like them.” She read them, agreed, accidentally ruined my copy of The Sea of Monsters and bought me the third book as compensation. I didn’t fight it, although I’ll probably give it back to her and buy the paperback when that comes out.

I have this thing about consistent editions in a series. I like when my bookshelf is jagged, but when there’s one series, it should all be uniform. I have my peculiarities. Leave it alone.

Basic Story: You would think being half-god would entitle you to a wonderful life, or at least an average one, but Perseus Jackson would tell you otherwise. Percy is a troublemaker plagued with Attention Deficit Disorder and an outright jerk for a stepfather. His mother is quirky and fun, but his stepfather is outright abusive, drawing the entire family tight as violin strings. And when he finds out he’s the son of an Olympian, things go from bad to worse.

He attends a summer camp with other kids like him, known as Camp Half-Blood. Chiron is an instructor there, and Dionysus is the camp director (through no desire of his own, which he makes very clear). Everything you’ve ever learned about the Greek Gods is true, and they haven’t faded away. They are the spirit of the West, of the Frontier, and they go with the end of civilization (which is apparently America, with the portal to Hades in Los Angeles – a statement I didn’t find disagreeable).

The thing about being half-god is that you’re destined to be a hero. It’s sort of what is done. You go on quests, slay monsters, rescue the distressed, and then return home for some ambrosia squares. Especially if you’re the child of one of the Big Twelve. But Percy’s quest is much bigger than your average kill-the-manticore escapade. When he rolls into camp, he stumbles onto a plot that has been brewing for some time, woven by Kronos, the fallen Titan. Kronos wants to take back what he feels was his, to sweep the world from the control of the Gods. War is on the horizon.

To make matters worse, during World War II, a prophecy was revealed that the child of one of the Big Three (Zeus, Poseidon, Hades) would make a decision on their sixteenth birthday that would change the world, that would turn the tide in a battle between the Gods and the Titans.

And wouldn’t you know it: Percy is the son of Poseidon.

The fun thing about writing these book reviews? I’m getting practise at writing synopses. How fun is that? I’m still rubbish but hopefully I’ll improve.

The first two of the series are fairly light. They start cute, end cute, and hang cute throughout the middle. Although our hero is often in peril, he isn’t in that much peril. I never found myself wondering if he or anyone else would make it out alive. Of course they would. This isn’t to say I wasn’t entertained. But death didn’t hang on the horizon here.

The third book, however, isn’t light. People die, quite a few of them, and not in an abstract They Fell Off A Cliff Into The Mist or They Were One of the Many Fallen in Battle. The titular character and his comrades watch a person go still, whispering about the stars. It was actually quite sad. My heart may be a cold dead place, but I’m not a huge fan of death when people don’t particularly deserve it.

If you like YA, Greek Mythology, and a little attitude in your main character, you’d enjoy this series. Give it a go.

Edit: A comment below and a good deal of search engine hits have led me to add this message: Hey kids. Read the goddamn book and quit fucking plagiarizing book reports.

Lots of Love, D.

I Should Submit this to Bash.

… but it might be a bit too high-brow for them.

* YOU are now known as Macduff

Macbeth (me@Star769582.hsd1.fl.comcast.net) has joined #absolutewrite

Macduff: Oh shit, things just got awkward.

Macbeth: Sorry, I’m going to have to kill you.

Macbeth: Nothing personal.

Macduff: Actually, doesn’t that story go the other way?

Macbeth: No.

Macbeth: Well, yes, I suppose ultimately it does…

Macduff: I mean, we could let it play out. See what happens.

Macbeth: There ya go.

Macduff: How’s the wife?

Macbeth: Obsessive and a bit out of touch.

Macbeth: But otherwise fine.

Macduff: Eh, well. Women.

Macduff: No matter what you do it ain’t good enough, am I right?

Macbeth: Yep.

Sidenote: I was just surprised I could draw the name up that quickly.

Edit: I decided to submit it.

Rodrigo Y Gabriela

Rodrigo Y Gabriela – Tamacun

Guitar playing duo from Mexico. There’s nothing else to be said. If you don’t like what I’ve linked, there’s no helping you. Pray for a soul first, then that you might be saved.

On Criticism

I’m an INTJ. This means, among other things, that I am a natural critic. But the criticism for me is not mean-spirited. I am a scientist, analytical, incisive. I stare at systems and wonder how I can make them better, what weight can be removed, what can be dropped. This is why my writing tends to be relatively sparse, I suppose. I trim all the fat I can. My code is much the same way (and thankfully, in that realm, minimalism is appreciated).

I graduated from Santa Clara University with a BS in Computer Engineering. The engineering department was made up of two buildings (to anyone familiar with the layout: I do not count the one-story IT department building as part of the engineering school; I graduated CE after all), one with classrooms, the other with labs. Our computer lab was known as the Design Center or, colloquially, “the DC.” There is one stairwell on the east side of the building and two stairwells on the west side of the building, where the cafeteria, Benson, lies approximately fifty meters away. I analyzed which stairwell would make the shortest path between the DC and Benson.

I do this everywhere.

Every pattern I have at some point is subjected to this. Can I find a faster route home? How do I make my morning routine more efficient? Is there a way to streamline my grocery shopping? (I won’t tell you the excel spreadsheets and macro-writing that went into that one; suffice to say, you would be deeply concerned.) And recently I’ve come to the slow realization that not everybody thinks like this. Furthermore, this kind of thinking frequently pisses people off.

Why (I ask, honest, eager)? I’m helping make things more efficient. I understand you like the systems you have because you are familiar with them. But you can learn a new system, can’t you? You learned that one, you can learn this one. And it’ll be so much faster! It’ll save you time, energy, those precious seconds and those molecules of ATP add up. That’s time you could spend doing other things, because you stepped back and took a few moments to think about what you’re doing.

My condition is very far along in its development. I actually overhauled a professor’s assignment once, telling him he didn’t actually want the GUI design he proposed. Thankfully, he saw things my way.

This is how I look at writing. I try to pack as much as possible into as little as I can while still communicating the core idea in a relatively plain and straightforward fashion. (However, I do not relate to language the way a poet does. An oak tree is simply an oak tree and very rarely is it anything else.) When I read the writing of others, I think how to communicate their point effectively, while retaining whatever it is that makes up their voice.

Once more, this pisses people off. Less frequently in this case, though, because I don’t critique writing unless asked to.

I love critiquing. I really, honestly do. I have a certain threshold of what I’m willing to critique, and if the writer doesn’t care enough to understand and apply the basic rules of grammar, they’re just going to get a smile and a shooing. A direct shooing, if necessary. But I love making a black-and-white page bleed with comments. I walk away on fire.

After reading all that, you must think I’m cruel, and will probably die alone. The latter may be true but the former rarely is. Were I cruel, I wouldn’t feel horrible guilt every time someone frowns and gets very very sad at what I’ve done. I also don’t understand why they curl into themselves, but I yearn to put a hand on their shoulder and tell them it’s nothing personal. I already said, I don’t fix systems that are beyond repair. When dealing with code that makes my eyes bleed, I say screw it all, hit d1000d (yes, I’m a VI user), and redo the whole thing. When dealing with writing that makes my eyes bleed, as I said, smile and a shooing.

But the self-realization that sparked the whole post? I feel guilty when I can’t leave a criticism. Let me state that again, in italics: I feel guilty when I can’t leave criticism.

I left a response to someone’s writing which effectively said, “This was great.” And I felt absolutely horrible, because I know, for a fact, there had to be something in there that I didn’t see. Some flaw, some mistake, some error. Not because the writer is bad, but because the writer is a human and therefore fallible. Nothing is perfect. And yet, I wouldn’t be the one to find that mistake. I wouldn’t be able to help that writer.

And I felt bad.

That isn’t, from what I’ve seen, a common reaction to praising a person. When I pinpointed this feeling, I immediately panicked, felt there was something wrong with me. What does this say about me? I can’t simply compliment a person without feeling like I’ve done something wrong?

It’s not that I was angry. It’s not that I sought some perverse pleasure of superiority. I felt like I honestly failed that person, because I couldn’t help them write better. And then sure enough, someone else made a comment that I read and thought was absolutely on the mark. I’m glad the comment was made, but I’m still upset that I didn’t see it myself.

But as I thought about it, I grew to realize that there isn’t something wrong with me. I’m not a horrible person. I don’t seek to put people down to inflate my own ego. I’m not feeding some superiority complex. My problem isn’t anything like that.

I want to make everything all better. I only have to mind how I go about it.