Farewell, my curmudgeon

This coming Sunday Andy Rooney will do his last segment for 60 Minutes, capping off more than half a century of annoying the crap out of audiences. Now future generations will have nobody to encourage them to ponder the mysteries of why coffee cans contain less coffee than they used to, what Lady Gaga thinks she’s doing, why computers need to be replaced more frequently than typewriters, how hard the Pope’s job must be, what it feels like to be punked by Sacha Baron Cohen, and how much simpler and cheaper everything was when I was your age.

Spot the fake story in that list. Hint: none of them.

In honor of Rooney’s professional passing, I’d like to share one of my favorite quotes from the Book of Beavis:

“Why do they call it ‘taking a dump’? You aren’t taking anything. They should call it ‘leaving a dump.’

“Funk dat!”

Progress update

For some reason it takes Amazon 24 hours to put a book up on Kindle. So WWDG didn't actually make its debut until this afternoon.

When it finally showed up, it was weird. There it was on Amazon, just like everything else on the largest online retailer in the world. Disorienting, really. But in a fun way.

Progress update

This morning I figured out how to publish books on Kindle.

I started with Staban Beria’s “Witchy Women and Diamond Girls,” as it was pretty much the perfect length, neither too short to be inconsequential nor too long to be cumbersome.

What I haven’t figured out is how to make it available for free. Amazon insists that we charge at least 99 cents for the title (presumably because it isn’t a public domain work). Now, why anyone would want to pay even a buck for something that’s available for free at the site and via downloadable PDF, well, that’s another question. Maybe in the future 8sails Press will produce something that isn’t available online for nothing.

Snappy answers to stupid candy wrappers

I’ve been too long absent from my Hoffman Lens duties. Between a huge writing project and the usual ebb and flow, I just haven’t been particularly Lens-y lately. However, while I was searching for something else I ran across something I wrote some time ago and never posted. It seemed like it would make a good Lens, so here it is.

At the time I wrote this, Dove chocolates came in foil wrappers that had “inspirational” thoughts printed on the insides. I wasn’t sure if they were intended to inspire me to start a paper route or jump off a bridge, but what they actually brought me mindful of was “Snappy Answers to Stupid Questions,” a regular feature of Mad Magazine back when I was a kid.

In “Snappy Answers,” someone would ask a stupid question – “Is it raining outside?” – and then the soaking wet party would have a choice of barbed replies: “No, I’m participating in National Walk Around Soaking Wet Day” or “Rain? Thank heavens! I thought this was something else” or “No, God is crying because He just realized that He created an idiot.”

Then at the bottom Mad always included a blank so you could come up with your own snappy answer. A friend of mine has the best solution: the direct reply. “Is it raining outside?” “Yes, it is raining outside.” Save some work.

As I’m generally not fond of the bumper-sticker wisdom approach to life, I thought perhaps I’d treat the bonbons’ bon mots to a little snappy answering. I apologize in advance for the obscure media references that crop up here and there.

 

Linger over chocolate longer

Be sure to drink your Ovaltine.

Be your own valentine

Mmm, so what did you have in mind? Take myself out for a candlelit dinner? Maybe go by myself to a chick flick? Get myself drunk? Go home, dress up in lacy undergarments, have sex with myself all night long, then forget to call myself the next day? Or should I just buy myself some more chocolates?

Share a secret

John F. Kennedy was assassinated by a cabal of right-wing extremists with ties to U.S. intelligence agencies. Is that the sort of thing you had in mind?

Make someone melt today

Okay, but it’s gonna take a lot of hydrochloric acid if you want the job done right.

Chocolate always loves you back

As opposed to caramel, which never even bothers to give you a reach-around

Live your life with an attitude of gratitude

Make that one up yourself? Wait, I’ve got another for you. Taco Bell, it’s from hell.

Sleep under the stars tonight

I got this one in a bag of Valentine’s Day Dove chocolates. Perhaps this was actually intended for some Southern Hemisphere market where February isn’t the middle of the goddamn winter. Maybe I can wiggle out of this by pointing out that the stars are constantly all around us (even when we can’t see them), so really I don’t have any choice but to sleep under them (and over them and between them and so on).

Share a sunset

No, I think I’m going to keep the next sunset to myself. So this evening I’m the only one who gets to look at the setting sun. Do you hear me, everyone? Don’t you dare look at my sunset!

Watch the sun come up

But what if the sunrise belongs to someone else? We’ve already established that the sunset this evening belongs exclusively to me. What if somebody out there already claimed dibs on tomorrow morning? I’d be horning in without even knowing it.

Hug someone today

And then when you get sued for sexual harassment or arrested for assault, you can always say, “The Dove wrapper told me to do it.”

Memo to self: you’re the best!

Do the dumb things I gotta do. Touch the puppet head. (Wait, what?)

Don’t think about it so much

Fine advice from a company that manufactures little glops of grease and sugar.

Watch reruns, they replay your memories

I don’t even know what to say about this, except perhaps to point out that it’s a run-on.

Smile. People will wonder what you’ve been up to.

Particularly if you can learn to smile like Anthony Perkins at the end of Psycho.

Whisper in the dark

Didn’t H.P. Lovecraft write a horror story about this?

Flirting is mandatory

What is this, the corporate slogan at the company that holds the record for most sexual harassment complaints?

There’s a time for compromise … it’s called “later”

This must be the aforementioned company’s primary negotiation strategy

It’s definitely a bubble bath day

Looks like I picked the wrong day to give up bubble baths.

Discover yourself

Yep, there I am.

Listen to your heartbeat and dance

Me. Me and. Me and my. Me and my rhythm box. It never eats. It never shits. It is pre-programmed. So what? So what? So whaaaaaaaaaaaa (Wait, what?)

Go to your special place

Oh, I’m in my special place right now.

Too many organs

Somebody give an an answer to this question: why is creative writing almost always taught primarily through the use of group discussion?

Basically what you’ve got is a class full of people who have little or no understanding of the topic at hand, and they’re supposed to learn the ropes from each other. Other students are even worse as teachers than some random person dragged in off the street, because at least a non-student stands a chance of being a typical reader rather than someone blindly stumbling around in the early stages of learning a craft.

Imagine if other subjects were taught this way.

Physics: “I thought the part about the masses of two objects was fine, but I think the Gravitational Constant needs some work. And distances between two objects? Please! Nobody’s going to buy that.”

History: “I felt the Constitutional Convention was trite and unconvincing. I mean seriously, who would go to all the work to set up a new government? Plus the ending was an obvious set-up for a sequel. What are you going to call it, Constitutional Convention Two: The Bill of Rights? Audiences hate it when you pull tricks like that.”

Anatomy: “Why do you have both a large intestine and a small intestine? Save everyone some time by just combining them into a single intestine. And what’s with all this extra nonsense? Gall bladder? Pancreas? Nobody even knows what any of that’s doing in there. Just cut it out.”

I openly admit that my own efforts in the creative writing realm have been less than stellar. I’ve never taught creative writing, and I probably never will. So perhaps I’m in no position to criticize the earnest efforts of professional practitioners of the art.

However, in my undergrad years (when I wasn’t busy running away from the dinosaurs) I did take a Fiction Writing class from Paul Lim, one of KU’s full-time writing teachers at the time. We did a lot of the group critique stuff, most of which was useless and none of which I even remember. What I do recall was that Lim placed some limitations on the discussion (such as “Nobody is allowed to say ‘This reminds me of ...’”) that helped cut down on the “group therapy” aspect of such exercises.

I also remember his direct feedback to me. That’s what I was there for: some help from a professional who knew the craft and could tell me what I was doing right and what I was doing wrong. Not a bunch of blather from frat boys and emo kids who were there mostly because they figured the class would be an easy A and didn’t read the kind of writing I was trying to do.

There’s nothing wrong with having everyone read everyone else’s writing. But the bulk of the feedback needs to come from the pro in the room, not the other students who represent neither learned expertise nor the market for the product.

Review - Farewell to the King

Lay this failure at the doorstep of writer/director John Milius. The setting – Borneo in World War Two – is an environment rich with interesting stories. The lead character is a little Colonel-Kurtz-y, but his struggles to save his adopted people from Japanese invaders and Allied "help" aren't without dramatic merit, though someone besides Nick Nolte might have done a better job in the role. The landscapes are beautiful, though the filter work could have been a little more subtle. All the gripes are minor save one: the script is really, truly dreadful. Milius seems to think he's writing a philosophical instruction manual to help 12-year-old boys live more honorable lives. This plus Red Dawn makes me wonder what kind of sadly cartoonish life this man must lead. See if desperate

Death is here

After promising that “Death is coming soon” for nearly five years now, Death to Culture has finally arrived.

This section of the 8sails web site is like no other, as its distinctive look and feel indicate. It’s designed to be a little “edgier” than the rest, more openly antagonistic to some of the nonsense that goes on. If 8sails in general is the guy muttering criticism to the other folks at his table in the bad American Media Comedy Club, then DtC is the extra-drunk heckler down front.

The new section may eventually include essays and maybe even original art. At the moment, however, all the entries – all four of them – are lists of grievances. Which is nice, because lists are easy to add to, and we’ve all got grievances now and again.

I’m also pleased that activation of this section means that we now have no more “dark” pages on the left-hand side of the Octopus. Still some dark and dim spots in the Media section, but we’ll get there soon enough.

Progress update

The Herd is done.

This is likely to be the last work on the guide that's going to be visible anytime soon. I've got a lot of behind-the-scenes prep work (info gathering, organization, writing, graphics, etc.) to complete before I'm going to be ready to upload more stuff.

Still, I'll keep you posted.

Review – A Paralyzing Fear

Suffering, dying children and medical experiments on live monkeys? I must just have had too much joy in my life when I sat down to watch this documentary about Polio in America. On the other hand, at least it was a reasonably well-assembled piece of work, a good example of what university filmmakers can accomplish with a little time and effort. I was especially impressed by the use of interviews and family pictures, particularly of the woman who to this day still lives in an iron lung. The only part that bugged me – other than the suffering, of course – was the odd, repeated emphasis on the lack of government oversight as a boon to Salk's vaccine development. I think I understand what they were trying to say, but after awhile it developed the flavor of drug company anti-regulation propaganda. Mildly amusing

Review – The Evictors

Once again something that's billed as a supernatural drama turns into a simple case of poorly-motivated murder. After being violently evicted from their house, some rustics lurk around waiting for anyone who tries to buy the place and move in. Mystery non-mysterious. Script non-existent. Gore unconvincing. Trouble not worth taking. See if desperate

Review – Pact with the Devil

Oscar Wilde's famous tale of eternal youth at high cost gets a 21st century luke-warm reheat. This time around Dorian is a reluctant fashion model, the picture is a photograph, and his Lord Henry (Malcolm McDowell) has a more distinctly Satanic twist. What it lacks is any visual sense of moral corruption. Sure, the photo gets nastier as it goes. But the production is spectacularly squeamish about open depiction of any of the sins laying waste to the protagonist’s soul. I get why a version of this story shot in 1945 would have to be careful about what it showed and what it didn't, but why does the 2001 go-around have to be so prudish? It seriously weakens the case it’s trying to make. See if desperate

Eight movie characters’ jobs I’d love to have

Here's a question that often surfaces whenever the topic of discussion is "the movies" and someone needs an ice breaker question. If you could be any character in any movie, whom would you be? An action hero like Indiana Jones? A romantic lead like Ilsa or Rick from Casablanca? Someone noble like Atticus Finch?

Not me. I want to be a Honky Horn Guy.

You've seen these musicians in every historical epic ever made. They stand there in the background, looking snappy in their ornate uniforms and big, snazzy hats (they always get the best hats). They have the ultimate in job security. Archdukes and senators can get their heads lopped off left and right, but even the maddest monarch never bothers with the Honky Horn Guys. And best of all, their job is about as easy as it gets. These things aren't trumpets or saxophones or something that takes actual talent to play. As near as I can tell, it's strictly a case of "put your lips on it and blow." Caesar approaches! Do do do do do WAAAAAA! His majesty will now pronounce his verdict! Do do do do do WAAAAAA! So let it be written, so let it be done! Do do do do do WAAAAAA!

I can do that.

If there aren't any openings in the Honky Horn Corps (and that's gotta be a job in high demand), then I'm willing to settle for Palace Mumbler. These folks never seem to have anything to say right out loud until the trend of current events becomes clear. Then ever-so-softly they speak the collective mind. Moses is being dragged away in chains to be exiled to Sinai? Someone has to stand there muttering "Do not look upon him" or "Traitor to Pharaoh" while he slowly makes his exit. Cecil B. DeMille was especially fond of these folks. So fond, indeed, that every once in awhile he'd give such a person an actual line to deliver.

If I could be just one of these one-line wonders, it would have to be the Captain of the Guard from The Ten Commandments. When they're evicting Dathan The Chief Hebrew Overseer (Edward G. Robinson) from his house, Dathan naturally wants to know where he and the rest of the Israelites are going. "To hell, I hope!" is the guard's only reply. Oh to have le mot juste come so trippingly to my tongue and be able to utter it without fear of consequences!

On a related career path, one of the cushiest jobs in moviedom is Castle Guard for the Wicked Witch of the West. Sharp-looking uniform. Bad-ass halberd. And the job description apparently consists of "march up and down chanting oo-ee-oo-ee-oo-oo." I mean, their employer is a witch for crying out loud. It's not like she needs any actual guarding. Maybe throw yourself between her and a bucket of water every once in awhile. But that's it.

Working for a witch naturally raises a more general question about the benefits and drawbacks of playing for the wrong team. For example, the easiest job in the Star Wars series is the Imperial henchman who follows Darth Vader around and cleans up the bodies of the dudes he mind-strangles. Someone pisses Vader off, he Forces them to death, and out come the guys in black uniforms to cart off the corpse. Talk about a cushy detail. The only trick is to make sure to store up your leave and take it right before the rebels blow up the Death Star.

Another good way to avoid heavy duty is to be a character in a crowd scene directed by someone who can't do crowd scenes. The next time you're watching Scarface, keep an eye on the "energetic" participants in the riot scene in the beginning. My personal favorite – my movie job role model – is the one who lackadaisically waves his arms like a member of order Mustelidae and then quits entirely once the actors with lines make it past him.

Perhaps I could combine the pursuit of lassitude with my childhood ambition to be a spy. Obviously being James Bond or Jack Ryan isn't in the cards, but heroes like them have a need for people like me. As the bad stuff goes down and the protagonist is out in the field battling the forces of evil, back at HQ the head of Central Intelligence / MI-6 / Mossad / whatever stands around nervously monitoring the mission's progress. And in the background they always have a hearty compliment of men and women in suits who do nothing but look intense and mumble things to one another.

Given the circumstances, one could be forgiven for assuming that whatever they're saying must be of great importance. But then I used to think the same thing about mound conferences in baseball. When the manager walks slowly to the center of the field to have a brief palaver with a struggling pitcher, I always figured that out there where the fans can't hear he's drawing some brilliant parallel between the Athenian victory over Xerxes at Salamis and the importance of keeping the runner close at first. But after actually hearing audio recorded during some of these mound trips, I note that they tend to be more like "Hey, Mike. Everything going okay?" "Yeah sure, Ed." "Okay then, go get 'em."

I'll bet the Spy Movie HQ Mumblers are doing the same thing. Sure, they look like they're hashing out the details of bringing NATO's nuclear arsenal to bear in the event of mission failure. But if the boom mic accidentally drifted in their direction, all we'd learn is where they're going for pizza after work.

Every once in a rare while I wake up on the right side of the bed and sally forth into the world looking to actually accomplish something. And when such a rare mood strikes me, the movie job I want is Prosecuting Attorney in a Tense Courtroom Drama. For starters, these folks are almost always smart and almost always cynical. On a good day I can a mange that. But the real attraction of the job is the moral stance. After years of watching the Royals play the Yankees, I've become thoroughly convinced that being right is more important than winning.

And that's the prosecutor's job description in a nutshell. No matter haw talented or intelligent she is, the DA is going to lose to the wily defense lawyer. Ah, but the final twist more often than not is that the defendant really was a vicious psychopath whose acquittal places innocent lives at risk. If only that stupid jury had listened to me ...

However, if I could really be one movie character, one guy who would be cool and fun rather than merely easy, I'd pick Kyuzo the master swordsman from The Seven Samurai. This guy is the ultimate Feudal Japanese badass. He's the best at what he does – which just happens to be killing bad guys – and he never loses his total sense of calm and control. Never draws his sword unless he has to, but when he does things are usually over quickly. If a mad scientist somehow gene-spliced Bruce Lee and Mr. Spock and then endlessly drilled his creation in kenjitsu, Kyuzo is what you'd get.

For that I'd even be willing to give up my dream of joining the Honky Horn ranks.

Progress update

Four more cows added to the herd this morning. That's 15 spots down and five to go (with reasonably solid concepts for all of the unfinished graphics).

Some trivia about the ones I added today:

In the Television graphic, the picture faintly visible in the background is a Soviet-era test pattern from Russia.

The Radio picture is of course our friend the Survival Cow masquerading as the inestimable Dr. John Romulus Brinkley.

And the Books graphic is a combination of a couple of pages from the Book of Kells (plus a little 21st century addition).