The most recent 20 comments posted to Making Light by Dan Layman-Kennedy:

I see it as evidence that we live in a fallen world that the Pogues never did a cover of "Rock to Wind a String Around." I've never heard a song that wanted so badly to be sung by Shane McGowan, and in fact that's how I usually hear it in my head.

(Thank you, this has been your Open Thread pointless digression of the day.)

Bimbos of the Death Sun was a lot funnier to me ten or twelve years ago than it is in retrospect.

It's not exactly that it's untruthful; I think most people who've had contact with fandom would find much to recognize. It's that it's one more case of the Spinal Tap satirization of fandom pretending it's representative of the (for lack of a better word) norm.

That, and the tone of slightly worried condescension that pervades its POV.

It's possible to load any word with contempt, as wiser folks than I have already noted, but "mundane" is pretty innocuous as these things go, and it seems to be used tongue-in-cheek as often as not. (I like the term "Naturals" myself, but not everyone has the same appreciation of the film Nightbreed that I do.)

Bruce, I agree. Anyone who says rejection doesn't hurt probably has a defective romance gland.

I managed to avoid horror stories like yours back in my pre-hyphenated days (mostly by being a big coward, I think), but even a "no, thank you" hurts. And having a good time up until rejection? Um, no. Abject terror - not my idea of fun.

(Mind, I was never under any illusions about the odds; I look like, well, a geek, and I always have. I used to get the Friends Speech. A lot. Don't recall it ever getting easier, though.)

Best of the best? Jaysus, Randall, are ya tryin' to start a flamewar?

It's a really tough question to answer knowing nothing about your other reading tastes. What else do you enjoy in entertainment? Who are your favorite authors? What comics do you like, especially ones with sf or fantasy elements? What genre-flavored movies did you love seeing?

You'll still get more answers than your time and budget can handle, but at least it's a start...

You know, the knowledge that there's a quasi-shadowy cabal behind the shapeshifting abomination that is Fashion actually makes me feel better about it. The idea that it's just something that arises organically from the Zeitgeist is too horrible to contemplate.

I spent enough of my formative years at the pointy end of fashion snark that I can't sit through five minutes of What Not to Wear without being inspired to give both hosts a beating-to-death, but now I understand that they're only an arm of the monster. Obviously it's too vast and bloated and evil to ever truly destroy, but nihilistic despair in the face of that is something I can cope with.

So I sigh, and accumulate black XXL Polo t-shirts (which are comfy and last forever), and assure myself that Drab and Brooding are always in style again eventually.

(On which note, damn your eyes, Hitler Wore Khaki, for my never being able to hear this the same again.)

Hitler comes in khakis
Khakis come on Hitler
Taupe. Taupe. Taupe. Taupe.

Surprised to be the first to mention this: Lou Reed's "NYC Man" (to pick out maybe the most obvious from his extensive ouvre).

Also, Jim Infantino's "Somewhere Over NYC," if you're lucky enough to find a copy of The World of Particulars.

To quote Grant Morrison:

Elephant head. Elephant head. I worship a god with an elephant head.

(That's by way of an A-men, Xopher.)

On the other hand, to quote Carla Speed McNeil on the same august deity: "Woe betide the favorites of gods who think they're funny."

(All the good theology's in the comics these days.)

Well, I don't have any real hopes of my work-in-progress being edited/published by the Nielsen Haydens, seeing as Tor doesn't do graphic novels, and anyway I'm a pretentious hack. (But not a liar!)

Not that I've been in the pile-on before now. Happy to bring a bucket of tar, though.

Incidentally, how many people in that "published by Tor" list have also been rejected by the same folks? I'm betting it's a good percentage.

"Don't play piano when Keith Jarrett's in the room" is sage advice. Also: Never get involved in a land war in Asia, and never go in against a Nielsen Hayden when manuscripts are on the line.

Oh, and don't mess around with Jim.

Point well taken. :)

From this, I think we may divine two lessons: First, that, in the realm of first impressions, pretention beats substance hands-down; and second, Tangible Artifacts mechandise is money well spent to this end. Go get you some Making Light stuff, kids!

Paula, you're not the only one to notice that particular phenomenon at Balticon. (I assume it's happening elsewhere as well.)

I had the honor and pleasure of chatting up one well-known small-press editor who mentioned that a big red flag is opening the book and finding the title page, copyright page, acknowledgements and so forth all in the wrong order. Also if the author doesn't have books with anyone else's name on the byline at their table...

I was mildly surprised there wasn't more ML merchandise in evidence at Balticon. Mine seemed to be the only messenger bag, anyway.

(And where else but a con can you get away with not having to spend ten minutes explaining LL YR VWLS to someone who deosn't know any of the levels of reference?)

Aiglet, you mean that wasn't all because of my scintillating conversation and Byronic good looks? I'm crushed. Still, I'll take what I can get. Thanks, Making Light!

Quoth abby: Dan L-K: I played up my theatre-tech experience when I was looking for a part-time job that summer. I got the job, but I'm not sure whether my enthusiastic explanation of how, after dealing with the spoiled rotten diva of my last show, handling unhappy customers would be a piece of cake had anything to do with it.

I may have to steal that pitch - though I must say that dealing with spoiled rotten divas has made me even less forgiving of petty drama and office politics. That shit didn't impress me in people with loads of talent; among the clueless and artless, it moves me not at all.

I'm inordinately pleased (though I shouldn't be surprised) to see so many fellow theatre majors among the Making Enlightened.

(BFA in Playwrighting/Directing/Stage Management, here. And one of the last at WVU to receive that unwieldy bastard title as well.)

I've never used it professionally, and am somewhat horrified at the thought of trying.

But I've been working on my spiel, now that I'm getting serious about looking for a new job, that theatre folk are the best people to hire for any position: We know how to make stuff out of nothing, we can produce on impossible deadlines, we're good at improvising, we have work ethic like no one else, and we're all about cooperation and teamwork. I'll probably leave out the tendency to do funny voices and recall blank verse at the drop of a (feathered and sequined) hat.

Incidentally, I did win a writing award when I was in college, though I couldn't remember what its name was with a gun to my head. (It was for a genre-related work, too - a short essay on the importance of food in The Hobbit.) I even got prize money out of it, making that my first and only piece of paid writing, for an even hunnert bucks. Which to my starving-student lifestyle at the time looked like a veritable fortune in used paperbacks and Taco Bell.

I still can't imagine putting that in a cover letter, though.

Actually, I sort of meant Survivor as shorthand for the whole noxious pack of them, but as you will.

If you want my vote, the most monstrous of the lot that's been dreamed up so far is The Apprentice. It earns my particular bile for almost, but not quite, showing the Beast for what it is. These are our new demigods; this is the best we aspire to - Borgia in the boardroom, Glengarry Glen Ross without the irony. We cheer on qualities in these wanna-be celebrities we'd rightly despise in our friends, and call it "drive" and "ambition" and pretend that those aren't euphemisms for shallowness and baseness and visciousness.

And The Apprentice makes it all seem sexy and edgy - nice suits, sleek haircuts, top-notch accessories. It dresses up the abomination in velvet and silk and sprays it down with civet, and tells us that this is the pinnacle of our culture, and it's meant to inspire the audience with envy and lust and appetite. It's worse than just money porn, status porn, power porn; it inspires people to wonder what they'd do for half a chance at the golden ticket, and just maybe inspires them to treat the show's examples as role models. This is the dream, it says; this is what you should be to attain it. And nobody seems to notice that the reward for First Place is to be a glorified, high-class toady.

At least with Survivor, we can pretend that it's all Lord of the Flies insanity that happens when you take people away from civilization. The Apprentice is meant to be the height of civilization. And I suppose it is. It's the civilization that breeds Bushes and Cheneys and Rumsfelds, and then allows otherwise intelligent people to believe that these are courageous, admirable, honorable men.

Randall, I think you're on to something.

I've been trying to put my finger on what it is that bothers me about Survivor (and reality TV in general) for years now. And that's what it is: Survivor is the worst of American culture in miniature. It's not just our political model; it's the way we do business, and, by extention, the way we treat each other given the slightest encouragement. It's all just a game, but somebody's got to win. Get there firstest with the mostest. And there's no point if there's no drama along the way, so everyone be as awful and difficult to each other as you can. Vesti la giubba!

It's almost enough to put me in the market for a Guy Fawkes mask.

Of interest to Tor-reading folk: A short, sweet interview with Steven Brust is up at Bookslut.

I always get a twinge of guilt whenever he speaks of getting feedback from his readers (which he mentions only in passing here). I'm afraid I was a dreadful fanboy at him over email back in '99, in ways that still embarass me to think of.

Nice little interview, though.

Which doesn't explain why the Glasgow soccer team called Celtic also pronounce their name that way.

I suspect this is a clever blow struck by the Scots against their ancient foe, the Scots.

Things I can't believe:

I can't believe I misspelled Faren's name in response to such an excellently cool comment the other day. D'oh! So sorry about that.

Just you watch, I'll be all "Theresa" next.

The Mammoth Erection site reminds me that, years ago in Parkersburg, WV, Industrial Erection was right across the street from Industrial Rubber.

Xopher: I've gotten that impression myself, reading some of your comments here. Hail fellow-traveler; it's always nice to be in the company of Good People along the ill-defined and wandering path.

Farren: You're most welcome - indeed, thank you. I hope your mom likes it.

(If I'd known I was making a Meme, I'd've provided footnotes and properly credited Alan Moore, Iris DeMent, et al...)

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