Harlan: I am not a coffee drinker. I like the taste, but it upsets my stomach and causes 5 hour long jittery sessions that drive me mad (I'm a tea man). However, I found your recipe in the Hornbook for Cafe' Ellison Diabolique and found it intriguing! I shall investigate this concoction and report back what I think.
Justin: at the risk of pissing off some fellow board members here (and at the equal risk of lumping all fraternities into the same cookie cutter view), I would advise NOT to join one. I truly, truly, truly think that you can come up with a better way to spend your time. Something that can combine something social with something for your career (Jospeh's advice seems to be on the right track, if that is what you are shooting for). To be honest, I probably would have said the same thing about joining ROTC, but as Harlan says, you seem to have found something there. But I think it would be a mistake to do BOTH of these things.
David: ahhhh, so THAT'S why the rat bastard stole my copy! It was one of those rare duplicated page copies worth gazillions! Heh heh...
I hate to interrupt the preceding story, but after somewhat casually glancing at Harlan's ravings, he said out of print titles could be gotten (had? received? appropriated? fucking bought, you know what I'm asking so don't give me no shit 'bout my fuckin' grammar. Sir. Mr. Ellison, sir.).
Anyway, at the risk of stepping even more deeply into shit I can't get out of, does one have to be a member of HERC (of which I have the form and am sending it in once I convince my wife that it is a noble cause) to receive notification of books for sale from the source? I mean, I guess I could goto a used online bookstore or Amazon for the Essential Ellison, but if there is a way for me to order directly from the burning bush let me know. And I will be sending in the HERC form, anyway.
And just to show it's not all about me, I have an opinion on fraternities. Actually, my opinion is no opinion on fraternities though I am kinda partial to sororities, especially the ones whose members include cheerleaders.
Heather,
A) Love the shark story. Nice and tight.
B) Tongue like an ice-pick is a nice metaphor.
Harlan,
No, man! You da'bomb!
Anyhoo, I have read your essays on your experience with the Ohio State fraternity (and I believe there is also a Voice From The Edge column where you talk about speaking at Ohio State and feeling shriven from those old memories). There were fraternities on my old college campus that had their own abuses, and I was pleased to see just how quickly both the college and their national organizations cracked down on stupid, abusive and childlike behavior.
Personally, I think what improvements have been made in fraternities and sororities can also be attributed to it being much less acceptable to discriminate against classes and ethnic groups. It's certainly still out there, but now you have organizations that are much more diverse than they would have been even 30 years ago.
Regards,
Joseph (My, aren't I optimistic today?)
(Culled from a deep, dark file. So shoot me.)
Title: A Fish Tale
I was out in the lake this summer. The water was cool and green and dark. Not many swim in this lake. There's been lately rumors of a shark.
I was floating on my back, kicking my feet slowly in circles when I felt the water swarming against me in the opposite direction to just a moment ago.
I brought my head up off the water and found myself nose to nose at fifty feet with a shark. He had a pursed expression on his lips and his eyes were squinted.
"Didn't anybody ever tell you to watch out for man-eating sharks?" he said. I gulped, getting a bit of water in my throat and coughing.
"Nice DAY, eh? That sun feels nice on my back. You here on vacation?" His voice was surprisingly soft and warm like a buttery hard candy.
All I could do was stare. I'd seen "Jaws." I'd watched wildlife documentaries. I'd seen what harm a shark could do.
"Actually, "Jaws" WAS just a movie. Any premise, no matter how wild, that makes for boffo box office...welllll.. need I say more? And you know a lot of the story lines in those animal shows, are PURE editing. I've heard they'll even flop images to get the proper story-line. You mustn't believe everything you hear and see, ya know." He seemed to be able to read my thoughts.
"Well, you know, you humans haven't cornered the market on communications. I can transmit messages by waving my tail."
"You're.. you're very astute..." I managed.
"For a shark? Is that what you were going to say? There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, then are dreamt of in your philosophy."
"You know Shakespeare?"
"Well, lots of people round here do a lot of reading to pass the time. I pick up an idea or two, here and there."
"Amazing."
"What's so amazing? All ya do is listen. It's all out there. And nobody's cornered the market yet. So all you gotta do is keep the water out of your ears."
"True, " I said, feeling somewhat more relaxed now.
"By the same token," smiled the shark slyly. "Life is what you expect it to be."
And he ate me.
Title: What did you want?
This time he didn't care if she had a list or not. He just wanted her back. He drove downtown and parked on the seventh floor of the parking structure, crossing a yellow line and using two spaces. Slamming the car door, he listened to the sound echo in the dark, pot-holed lot. Damn her. He felt so sad and small, a stranger to this city. Across the street, the neon orange and blue sign "Larry's Pawn Shop, Buy Cheap, Sell Cheap" blinked mockingly at him. Entering the store, he nodded a mute hello to the bleach blonde punk kid at the front register. He breezed to the jewelry counter.
"This will fix everything," he muttered, nervously running an index index finger over the glass of the ring display. "This will make her happy." God, why isn't she ever happy? Always complaining about something, with a tongue like an ice pick. Lately, he'd stopped trying to argue
with her. He just eyed the television dimly and tuned her out, nodding the occasional, "uh-huh."
"What the hell am I doing?" he snapped.
"Sorry, sir? What did you say?" asked the punk kid.
"Oh, nothing, nothing. I'm just talking to myself," he replied, feeling a bit stupid.
His panic receeded as quickly as it had come.
"Desperate times means desperate measures," he sighed. Besides, his mom thought she was a dream girl.
"What the hell.. hey, kid.. show me this ring, will ya?"
CORRECTION TO PREVIOUS CORRECTION:
(Migawd, where does this self-abnegation end?!?!)
I went back and read Mitch's remarks. Yes, I was impressed by THEM as well as Joseph Finn's. Both postings seemed smart and helpful.
CORRECTION TO PREVIOUS POST: It was Joseph Finn's comments on fraternities that I thought estimably notable. Not Mitch's. Which is not to say that Mitch wasn't ALSO a fount of ineffable wisdom, except I'll be damned if I can even remember what he wrote. Nonetheless, I miswrote myself. Finn d'bomb!
Redactively, HE
Rob: If, in fact, I were having even the most minuscule salutary effect on your grammar and spelling, you would have known the correct way to present Mary Shelley's name properly. Ah me (sigh). My life is a hideous rigadoon. Where did I go wrong with these chillun, lawd? Where, oh (sigh) where?
(This Guilt Trip has been brought to you through the auspices of the International Zionist Yiddish Jewish Money Conspiracy, a wholly-owned subsidiary of The Chosen People who, cleverly, INVENTED guilt more than 5000 years ago, otherwise you bothersome but relentless goyim would have wiped us out.)
Justin: In one of my books of essays--I think it's the HORNBOOK but maybe one of the others--I wrote an essay on the fraternity to which I belonged for one dreadful semester at Ohio State. ZBT. There may be more than one essay, in fact. There's the one about Don Forrester nee Don Epstein, and there's one that ties into my short story "There's One on Every Campus," and there may even be a third one...to which Webderlanders, more prescient about these citations than I, can direct you.
Mitch's comments seem well-reasoned and laudably commanding of attention. But as for me, and my sojourn--brief, my son, o so brief--with the Greeks, I cup hands to mouth and shriek, RUN FER YA LIFE!!!!!!! But, as they say, mine is anecdotal info only, applies only to me, and is a horror story that would've given Lovecraft the whim-whams.
It's your life, kiddo, and you seem to have found the sunnyside of ROTC, so who the hell knows...you may be leading one of those Charmed Ones that we hear about, and every cesspool into which the rest of us fall will become the Fountain of Youth and Health Spa for Justin. I, as do my confreres here, wish you well. As always.
Yr. adoring father, Harlan
Title: Push Me Away
I have these wings, ya see. They are made of the lightest, silkiest, most translucent material you've ever seen. I take them out sometimes, to air them; I flap them a bit. For as long as I can remember, they've helped me fly to levels of light and air and imaginings beyond measure. These wings have kept me sane. Though sometimes, I forget this.
Many people are afraid of these wings. They do not have any or have tattered their own beyond hope or purpose--they grow angry at my wings.
I've spent much of my life trying to understand these people. I've even helped a few, and watched them wash the dirt of despair from their wingtips. But I've also learned (and this was the hardest lesson of all) when to let go; let them push me away; to say goodbye and leave them on their shadowed shelves.
I have some flying to do.
* * * *
I love you, Harlan.
Now just a sec; I didn't say that to scare you.
You've simply reminded me of me. You've made me realize that there's nothing wrong with the way I've led my life; and that there is someone who shares my view. Through your writing and your attitudes; you've shown me I'm on the right track. It's just time to move to a higher gear.
I've never found that an easy thing to say to someone. I think my definition of love used to involve a certain 'loss of self'; perhaps a bit of 'making do' with someone or not being completely honest with that person for fear of them saying, "I don't LIKE you, for saying this or that."
I've come to realize that "liking ME" is more important. Damn the torpedoes.
I read somewhere--probably some obscure author or other--that "love is being utterly honest, even when it's ground glass painful." This brings me to the point of all this scribbling. Go grab a beer--I'll wait.
You wrote a post on this forum where you took a jocular jab at some writers with writer's block. You've never experienced this and you laughed behind your sleeve and I chuckled. You wrote that in fun; I know that.
I also know that "any writer who can be discouraged, should be." To put a more positive spin on it, they should be encouraged towards something at which they can excel. Writing is not an occupation for the faint-hearted.
At the same time, I don't think it's fair to laugh at blocked writers. The last thing they might need is anything or anyone that smells like a fire extinguisher. (I'm reminded of a university prof who laughed at the efforts of an earnest, young writer--I wish I could have been there to hug him; and slap the smile off that idiot prof's face.)
Understanding the usual ratio of those who post, to those who lurk, on a forum, (20-80, generally) one loud laugh at a blocked or timid writer (and I know we have a few of THOSE) will ripple tenfold to the scintilla of your awareness. The internet is a very strange place; it is filled with a disproportionate amount of introverted, shy, depressed, yet incredibly creative people. In part, I think it's the anonymity that draws them. So, my dear be careful.
I have another burning issue and I'm sure your gentle readers have their ears pressed against their monitors, in eager anticipation of your thoughts on this matter.
You were in the car with Susan, 'playing' at being a maniac. She said, you scared her--badly. I don't understand this.
I would have expected through your dealings with many wives, for you to have given Susan, prior to your wedding day, the current volume of "Harlan Ellison--Care, Feeding and Mystery Moves."
I was once in the back seat of a car my younger brother was driving, when he decided to take out his anger on a passing stupid driver. Unlike you, my brother, being a mechanic and a bit of a car dude, was truly incensed. There was a quality of "passengers be damned, let's play CHICKEN" in his eyes. We were on a superhighway and I spoke loudly to him, to stop. I felt trapped, and wanted to get the hell out of the car.
You, on the other hand, were playing at this 'mad mode.' I ask you, sir, why in all the years that you've known her, would Susan NOT know this? Why would you not have even 'cued' her as in "hang on to the seatcover, honey, I'm gonna 'play' with this guy. Don't worry. I'm JUST FUNNIN'."
As you were, Ellison. I like you best, that way.
+++
P.S. (written just now)
I know you are tired. I feel helpless to help in ways that count, right now.
So I offer you my friendship. You are important to me. You are fighting a FIGHT for me. I won't forget this.
Your friend, Heather
Short clips for the morning.
(I haven't forgotten Justin's request for comments on college education, and the Harry Lime/grass huts thread kept alive by Lynn, but will comment on those separately so that this does not become an interminable post).
Frank Church: If you haven't read _Sexual Personae_, then you don't know the real Camille Paglia. I'm not saying that book will make you love her, but it will show her at her best. Forget most of the essays of the past 10 years -- she's just riffing in them, trying on ideas for size.
Brian Siano says a friend talked about how wonderful a teacher she was before she became notorious. I don't doubt it. If success has spoiled anyone, it's her. I'm afraid fame went straight to her head, she got enamored of her own cult of personality, and, having noticed that she got the most attention and mike time whenever she said something outrageous, shocking people is just about all she's ever tried to do since.
I don't AGREE with everything she says in her first book (some of it is in fact bonkers, but so is plenty of other writing I admire), which took her 20 years to find a publisher (and I suspect her mentor Harold Bloom had to twist some arms to get that to happen), but it's fascinatingly, engagingly, entertainingly, and stylishly put.
While I think she's all wet on a lot of contemporary subjects, I'm amused that Frank appears to be nonplused that Paglia refers to pornography as an art form. The Boston Globe had a front-page story just last week on college courses that study pornography. On the other hand, while I detest Dworkin and MacKinnon (and give them a good drubbing in my upcoming book), I agree with Brian that Paglia's piece on them was appallingly bad form.
Bob Sassone:
It looks like a signature was repeated in my copy of the new _Essential_: some 20 or 30 of the first pages are doubled. I'm not complaining, since nothing appears to be MISSING, and this may even automatically raise the value of my copy, but you'd think after all Ellison's suffered at the hands of publishers, the good folks at Morpheus would have been extra careful to avoid this sort of thing....
Brian and Bud:
Brian, the ugly artwork you describe was on the Signet (New American Library) edition of THE BEAST THAT SHOUTED LOVE AT THE HEART OF THE WORLD, not the Avon first edition pb. The original Avon pb edition, which was published rife with typos--and the ugly story of THAT one, involving as it does the guy who became the editor at The New Yorker, Robert Gottlieb--who gets his comeuppance in my story "The New York Review of Bird"--is too long to tell here. If you want the preferred first edition text, you have to locate the SF Book Club hardcover. Or just revel in the Edgeworks version, which is the variorum text.
Bud: I don't sign DOOMSMAN under any circumstances. But I do offer to buy the copy from anyone who presents it for personalization. I also don't sign Star Trek adaptations of my "City on the Edge of Forever." I usually sign SEX GANG with the name on the cover, "Paul Merchant." I have long since gotten over being embarrassed by that sad little paperback. After all, it's mostly just ineptly-written early stories from men's magazines. At the time, it was the sort of pseudonymous publication cobbled up for rent and food money, that I--wrongly or correctly--thought might sully my oh so precious rep...but that's a loooooong time ago, and now the book is mostly a dopey curiosity only of interest to weird guys like you.
There are probably many other "autograph line" exceptions, but I can't think of them right now. You pays your money, and you takes your chances.
But I'll tell you this: if some bookdealer, too busy tending his table in the hucksters' room to bring my books to me for signing himself, duplicitly dispatches his "mule" of a son, or wife, or gofer to appear before me with three copies, already in Brodart bookcovers, of LOVE AIN'T NOTHING BUT SEX MISSPELLED, and a shopping bag full of lesser titles and paperbacks, under the pretense that the indentured servant is actually someone who may have read a random paragraph of Ellisonia in his/her life, and the blank-eyed native bearer stands before me, as they ALWAYS do (because they have no more idea of who I am or what I've written than a centipede has of the merits of Dr. Scholl's Zino-Pads), waiting for me to take fifteen minutes or more to sign every item so the huckster can raise the prices, while honest readers twiddle their toes waiting for this egregious imposition to pass on . . . try not to be in the vicinity. Gobbets of sodden human flesh make unusually repellent projectiles. (On occasion I've taken the child by the ear, led him back to the bibliomerchant Fagin who sent him as stalking horse, and give that merchant shithead a tongue-lashing at 180 decibels that will keep all customers away from his booth for several hours. Add insult to injury, of course, with the knowledge that though this poltroon and his minion manifest no shame or chagrin at holding up a long line of people who are legitimately waiting for an inscription in a book they've just bought, the dealer will not have authorized the kid, or his wife, or his rain man to have bought the title for which the signing line was created. They just lurch into the line with their stacks and bags, and expect me to sit there and work in their behalf, without so much as suggesting that in return for all these autographs I might care to come to the booth and select something -I- might need. And I keep the books till the convention is over, before I return them, unsigned, to the creep. I'll sign pretty much anything for a genuine reader, no matter how long it takes--as those of you who've been in my two-hour-long lines will attest--even if I'm exhausted or sick--but greEdy dealers already rip off my readers and collectors with their venal prices (which is certainly one of the reasons we sell my out-of-print titles here), and I'll be damned if I'll help them.
Beyond these comments, Bud, this is a subject I'd as lief keep private.
Yr. pal, Harlan
FAQ:
I doubt very much that anything was posted here supporting your belief that the film SOLDIER, starring Kurt Russell, written by the estimable, Oscar-winning scenarist of UNFORGIVEN, David Webb Peoples, had anything whatever to do with me, or my Outer Limits script, "Soldier," or even the original novelette of that title.
You are doing some slovenly remembering.
TERMINATOR, directed by James Cameron, was a ripoff from that script, but I won an out-of-court settlement, and my name appears at the endcredits of every videocassette and DVD.
The Peoples script merely shared the word "soldier." The film had nothing to do with me or my story, which even a casual screening of them would attest.
This has been the 6582nd this year of internet misinformation resulting from sloppy attention and not taking advantage of the "vast information storage and retrieval potential of the web." Yeah, sure; and I've got a panda farm up my ass for lease or purchase. One discovers, sadly, that people who wouldn't walk down the street to get the correct data from the library, are just as lackadaisical about seaching out the answers to their idle curiosities before throwing them into the electro-wind. They are woefully ignorant of the information available, and settle for muddy recollection and instant verbal diffusion of the false data. Thus do rumors and bad bibliographies come into existence.
Respectfully, Harlan Ellison.
Justin,
Just my two cents about fraternities and sororities:
There's a huge world of difference between the social fraternities and those that exist as professional and service organizations. The social ones may seem fun, but they obviosuyl don't have a point besides companionship. The professional ones provide a convenient networking for your particular career, and the service organizations obviously provide communities with some sort of help.
As for the hazing: even the social fraternities national organizations will come down on a chapter with the hammer of God if they catch wind of hazing going on. The threat of lawsuits and losses of charter (and the legitimate recognition that hazing is a dumbass move) have made them nice and vigilant (or as much as they can be).
My advice? See if yout campus has a fraternity that actually does something (besides throwing a pig roast where the proceeds go to the local food bank), or if there is a fraternity thta fits your career goals.
Regards,
Joseph (Phi Mu Alpha Sinfonia, Professional Music Fraternity)
Shaddup! (That's before ya can say it). I mean "diuresis for daily stress". Yeah, that's right, as in likening stress to increased discharges of urine; NOT like dieresis, which is, I think, the accent with two dotties you put over a vowel to separate it from another vowel. I did NOT check my typing before hitting the 'SEND' button 'cause it's late.
Editor's spelling proof officially submitted.
Y'see how manic Prof. Harlan has gotten us all?
Dropping in for a quick one here at my favorite all-night dive; it’s kind of like a dieresis for daily stress. I only hope it has better effect on me than it does on those off-duty cops who get smashed and then run down families when active again (and to think I never even knew about this pastime of theirs until this last week).
Mark Zug:
At LAST, I managed to scare SOMEONE 'sides just myself. Since you raised the matter, not that I'm trying to make myself look bad here, but I’d only noticed recently that whenever I go through bad times with a girl there seems to be corresponding increased viewing time on my part watching movies about psychos...from Claude Raines as the Invisible Man to Alex in Clockwork Orange; from ol’ Jack in The Shining to Terry O’Quinn in the Stepfather (I seem to have a thing particularly for nut-cases who go around laughing maniacally for absolutely no goddamn reason). The only matter here that might concern me is the frequency these movies seem to run on my VCR. It MIGHT explain a few things; some desensitizing and conditioning escaping my notice. Perhaps it’s time to give my social life a face lift.
Now, to keep the thread consistent, my ex-girlfriend and I (we’re still on the "fer now we’re pals" arrangement) went to MY second viewing of ‘The Others’ (so that I could actually see it from the start this time). On the whole its evocative power does just fine; two worlds are beautifully created, etching the boundaries of isolation and lost identity. We both left the theater thinking about those melancholy themes.
On another front this weekend, I rented what was originally a tv-movie in the 70’s. Some of you here may remember 'Frankenstein: The True Story' (I met the director once, which was fun...despite misgivings about the gentleman Ray Bradbury justifiably had about his earlier filmed treatment of 'The Illustrated Man'). I originally saw it when I was around eight. For tv - or even a theatrical release - it was a DAMN graphic experience; some of the goriest scenes ever for the time. It was written (or co-written) by novelist Christopher Isherwood. In spite of his credit, it does jump between literacy and implausible scenes of camp violence (some of which ARE fun, anyway): it owes as much to the old Hammer movies as it does to Shelly’s novel. But on the whole it’s a fascinating version. TV movies were well-made at that time. ( David McCallum and Tom Baker from Dr. Who were among the cast).
So how do I rate on the scare scale now? OK, I mean Harlan aside.
Nice to get praise for taking Harlan's note in stride.
Well, what else was I gonna do? Complain? Argue back? Nahh. I've been reading Harlan for years, and I figure, if I'm trading notes in his presence, sooner or later I'll trip a wire and body parts shall fly in a noisy spectacle. As long as it's not _personal_, or really malicious, I can't take offense. But I'll try even harder to keep the grammar clean and the spelling solid, and "off of" shall not pass through my fingertips again. (He _is_ right, after all.)
Re: Bud Webster's question about certain Ellison books. Bud, you referred to an Avon paperback of _Beast..._ Is that the one with the black background, and the quasi-Giger-like skull machine artwork? (BTW, I have that Winokur book, too.)
And one last item. Worldcon's in Philly this weekend. Perhaps some of us could grab a meal together and trade Harlan stories? I could start scouting for a decent venue near the convention center, if people have specific dietary requests.
Justin - I can't speak for all fraternities, only for my own experience. I went to Stevens (a small engineering college), and pledged Alpha Sigma Phi my freshman year. It wasn't because of an overwhelming need to belong, or because I fit their "profile". The house I pledged was a bunch of friendly, laid-back guys with a variety of interests.
It became a home away from home. The chapter house was cheaper than the dorms. We helped each other with classes, volunteered, threw parties, and went rafting in the summer. No one was forced to drink, or do anything dangerous. I had friends outside the fraternity, so it wasn't insular.
I know there are still reports of hazing tragedies, and alot of people point disdainfully at movies like "Animal House" (though "School Daze" paints a more frightening picture), but that's not what it was like for me. It's a decision I've never regretted.
Mitch
Justin: I have a simple solution to your pool problems: sodium. Lots and lots of sodium. "Violent" was the word my chemistry teacher used in describing the reaction between that substance and water, and, coincidentally, "violent" is the only adjective (other than "nuclear") that can describe a truly productive encounter with some of those party brats. I say this not to try to sound "cool" or rebellious, but because a lot of those twits are, as you probably know, too drunk to understand anything less than horrible, horrible chemical burns.
Which is why, sir, I recommend you shun fraternities and make as many chemistry major friends as possible. Besides, fraternities seem overrated anyhow: they seem to have a lot in common with the average labor union, only instead of having a skill or trade in common, members enjoy cramming a strip of toilet paper up another member's ass, setting the end alight, and laughing like drunken hyenas while the unfortunate victim runs around screaming.
Finally, Justin, before you lose all interest in this post and scroll to the next--I hate to drag the putrid hunk of worm-eaten carrion that is this topic back into the light, but while the University does have a journalism program, word is (or was) that it was being slowly phased out. Am I hearing things?
~Jeff
p.s. Don't think I failed to notice that Harlan didn't reward my smartass "off of" post with the same orifice-ripping that he distributed to Brian. Heavens, I feel as though I escaped a firing squad.
p.p.s. Hi Michael, you glorious, lurking bastard.
J
So I walk outside this morning, and what do I see strewn around at the bottom of my stairway? A multitude of cigarette butts! At least two dozen! I'm assuming they were thrown there during last night's festivities. My apartment is located near the entrance to the pool/courtyard area, where most of the partying goes on, and revelers are frequently to be found milling around outside my place before moving on and jumping into the pool, drunker than a bunch of underage skunks.
How it somehow fails to occur to a human being that maybe that kind of behavior is perhaps a smidgeypoo unwise--that it falls somewhere between walking into a closed screen door and crossing Harlan Ellison--is far beyond the realm of my meager comprehension skills. Anyway, the underage little drunks had never used my staircase as an ashtray until last night, and they had just better hope I don’t catch them at it again.
See, this isn’t just my staircase, this is also Courtney’s (she in charge of Cute Blonde Neighbor duties). As the MAN up here, it is my duty to see to it that this sort of behavior is rewarded with a good throttling. I don't know about the rest of you, but I've just about had it up to here. I was not under the impression that courtesy was horribly difficult to cultivate.
Moving on:
"So, uh, what do you folks think of fraternities," he asks casually, just out of curiosity.
J
Harlan, as a bookseller and collector of Ellsionia (I recently picked up an obscure little books called _A Curmudgeon's Garden of Love, compiled by Jon Winokur, with a piece by you in it), I'm frequently confronted by people who have mistaken impressions about your willingness or unwillingness to sign certain editions of your books.
As a way of forestalling wrong-headed speculation, and by way of arming myself with information straight from the horse's mouth in order to authoritatively correct this wrong-headedness, may I ask you what, exactly, your SOP is when asked to sign a) either of the Belmont _Doomsman_ issues, b) the original Avon _Beast..._, c) the Paul Merchant book, and/or c) any other book with which you've had an issue?
(I recall vividly when Grant Thiessen wrote me asking if I knew of the book Leslie Swigart DIDN'T list in the 1st edition of her biblio; I indicated to him that you'd made it clear that you didn't particularly want that information bruited about publicly. He found out from someone else and "outed" you, and as much as I appreciated and benefitted from his work in indexing and bibliography, it was a good while before I could respect him again. I knew because I'd seen a copy at a friend's home, but I've never seen another one and don't own one.)
I recently had the misfortune to watch 'Soldier', the Kurt Russell film thats is probably the most expensive straight to video film ever to be released in the UK.
Anyway, I remember reading the credits to look for Harlan's name and to see what his credit actually is. No luck there.
I know that some financial transaction took place concerning HE's original story (it was reported on this webpage) but what, if anything, did it have to do with the final film?
Any revelations?
Thanks.
FAQ
For those of you who Haven't Made the Connection:
The Mark Zug whose posting precedes this one, is the very same Mark Zug who did the exquisite, the breathtaking, the Brandywine-influenced paintings that enriched my book, I,ROBOT: The Illustrated Screenplay. (If you don't have a copy, well, we sell 'em; and if for no other reason, Mark's artwork is worth the price at thrice the price.)
Mark Zug is a youngish man of such enormous artistic ability, that I was truly and literally without speech, speechless, when the first of his paintings for I,ROBOT came in.
Welcome to the playpen, Mark. You'll like these people a lot. As you so cogently noted, even when I bare my fangs--as with Brian Siano--they properly pay me as litle attention as I deserve, and they take from my epiplectic (not epileptic, plz. note) fulminations only that which is of value. The noise-to-signal ratio is automatically interdicted--unlike the m.o. at other websites, I'm given to understand--and everyone moves on, whistling a jaunty tune.
As for crowing that I've joined the webhead walking dead, just because I appear here from nonce to nonce, well, that will only spook me. Don't even float that caracle, kiddo, lest I vanish with the morning dew. It's traumatic enough for me that I'm here at all; and meaning no offense, because y'all know ah loves ya, but I'm here atall atall because I got tired of hearing myself, at the deposition in the AOL/RemarQ lawsuit, sounding like a shambling pithecanthropoid because I didn't know what an ISP is, or how to "defragment" a hard-drive. I reluctantly dipped a tentative baby-toe into the tepid Tiber of the internet, to familiarize myself. But when I want to write, a story or a letter, I return for 99.9877555321% of the time to my beloved Olympias. This place, with all due respect, holds me and compells me to return, not because I find the medium of any sucor or enchantment, but because I've come to very much like the goons who hang out on this ectothermically electronic streetcorner. You don't see me anywhere else, do you?
So while I twitch at your cackle, Zug, I am pleased as punch to have yourself here. Good friends are always welcome. Welcome: Extraordinary artists need no visas.
Yr. pal, Harlan.
A newbie posts, then departs, overwhelmed and desirous of return
Well, well. Harlan Ellison with a computer. Harlan Ellison ONLINE...
Excuse please, allow me to introduce myself: I'm Mark and one week ago I discovered this little miracle of a bulletin board, when I surfed over to see what HE might be up to lately. And BY JEEZUZ he's playing gin-rummy with Satan, all grins and cigar ashes and green eyeshade. Welcome to Cyberspace, Harlan.
So unfortunate, my having to leave straightaway (for Gencon U.K. in London), as I was anticipating throwing in my hat in as grand a manner as my modest prose and even modester well-readedness (eeahhgh!) can muster. But it took me so long to scroll decently up-to-date that I can only toss me hat up at a coupla high points:
Heather, you made such a graceful entrance here, where your run-in with Rob the garbage man unfolded in my mind with comic visuality. I've saved your story of Shaun Tay and the Loser of the Post: freakin' charming. And little did I know that, upon getting to know Rob, those can-manhandling deltoids would reveal a darker secret: that he is some sorta kung-fu freako vigilante with a thing about everyday bullies -- uh... in trouble already? Just making light, Rob; more loquacious and well-read than I you definitely are, and besides I'm kinda afraid of you.
I find the humanity and limpid-quarry patience of the participants here amazing. Brian Siano, I would be a trembling, spirit-whipped dog after receiving such a rebuke from the Man Himself; but you kept on contributing cheerfully, keel in the water, while expressing fitting disappointment. Amazing. Though Harlan IS right...
Which brings me to Harlan. My friend. You have found a medium so perfect it's dangerous. You get to smooge in nearly-real time with hungry-minded individuals around the globe by whacking an instrument passing similar to your typewriter. Beware. Please continue writing. This place has devoured lesser souls (says the hobbit to the mighty warrior's shins), and for all the incredibly sweet reasons I before mentioned. That said, please don't go away!
And I've gone on far longer than I wanted. Kudos to all of you at the round table; and ring-finger kisses to the Man and the Garden-Variety Goddess, as I stoop, leaving, backwards.
Mark Zug
Susan~
If you need help with anything mundane such as envelope stuffing, filing, copying, data entry, gofer shit like that, please keep in mind I'm local and more than willing to help with hands and eyes and a set of wheels. I can only imagine how much stress and bullshit this whole thing has put your family through, and tho' I can't offer much, I can offer a helping hand.
I spent last night walking pretty much, waiting for a friend to get off work from the Laurelgrove Theatre. I chuckle to notice that in a half block radius there are four java joints (Starbuck's, Peet's, Seattle's Best, and Coffee Bean). I ate dinner at Art's (and gazed upon the WALL OF MEAT, listening to my heart slow at the very sight). I poked my nose in the Bookstar/Barnes & Noble. I ended up sitting down in that little plaza, watching the crowd, listening to occassional squeal of tires and the thunder of Harleys and Indians. I imagined that they were taking the back way over the hill. Getting bored with watching parents shepherding children up the escalator to the CPK, I eventually moved back up the patio in front of the theatre and found myself enjoying a nice little conversation with the two gentlemen who own and run the theatre (both member's of the Director's Guild, I gathered). They were talking about the runs through the end of the year (when their lease is up and the status of the theatre moves into flux). The conversation turned to running a comedy show or something related to the holiday spirit, but not another wretched Miracle of 34th Street or It's a Wonderful Life.
A very dark and twisted one thought occurred to me. I wondered if Nackles (even with the stairs and storeys bit) could be adapted for the stage or if Harlan might even consider the possibility. Now, in the morning's light the idea doesn't seem to hold as much potential as it did the night before (what hair-brained schemes ever do), but I thought it couldn't hurt to ask. And even though the theatre is not-for-profit, it might be good exposure for KICK and possibly even net some income.
My thoughts are with you and yours,
L.
This may not be directly applicable to Harlan's efforts, but readers may want to check out the website of the National Writers' Union for more information regarding electronic rights, copyright, and the efforts of writers to protect their work and their livelihoods.
http://www.nwu.org/
In the meantime, Philip, it's worth clicking on that "Help Harlan Stop Internet Piracy!" link that appears at the top of this message page. From there, you'll find Harlan's statement on the matter, information about the case from his attorney, and links to a forum section where these matters are discussed.
Granted, I have lots of questions doubts, fatalistic expectations, and maybe even some suggestions that seem neat and workable to _me _in my ignorance. This message page is a social venue, and it doesn't feel appropriate to bring them up here. So, if anyone can share some URLs where the issues are discussed in more comprehensive detail I'd be grateful.
Mr. Shropshire:
I feel no need or desire to insult or berate you. You can say whatever you like. I frequently find myself athwart the mainstream of opinion. To be perfectly candid, I have been in this fight for more than eighteen months now, it has cleaned me out to the tune of more than $133,000 so far, and forced me to publicly beg for assistance--because others whose oxen are being gored are either too timid or too locked into their procedures or already making a small buck off piracy to afford any financial assistance (though they all pat me on the back and assure me they're "closely watching" my efforts because I'm "on the side of the angels" in attempting to bring basic common copyright protection to the out-of-control internet)--and your comments indicate only that with all the information available on this case, here and elsewhere, you are, pardon my use of the word, woefully and apparently obstinately ignorant of what's going on. I know you mean me well, but you are akin to the guy who arrives at the town meeting half an hour late, after everybody has exhaustively discussed that great green many-tentacled monster that swallowed the bus full of grade school kids, and you pop in, raise your hand, and demand to know what's going to be done about the giant mound of redolent regurgitated kiddie parts out on Main Street.
Frankly, sir, I'm just too damned tired, and things are too damned tough right now, for me to take the time to educate you. We are up against at least three 800-lb. gorillas, one of which is the ruthless beltway legal firm of Latham & Watkins, who represent clients whose cards cannot take the hand, but who simply raise the ante again and again, trying to "buy the pot," instead of perceiving that policing the net benefits THEM, also.
And again, to be honest about it, if you'd offered a buck to the cause, and wanted to know more, I'd feel more inclined to spend a week trying to bring you up to speed. But as my friend Tony Isabella put it, in one of the great quotations of all time:
"Hell hath no fury like that of the uninvolved."
If I have been less than courteous, I am genuinely apologetic. Just tired, sir. Just fucking tired.
Respectfully, Harlan Ellison.
First, let me say that I'm a huge fan of Harlan's and I probably own everything that he's ever written, including a lot of his crappy stuff that he wrote in the late 50s and the early 60s. I treasure it all. My fave Harlan books are the Dangerous Visions anthologies (Please, I beg of you, complete that third one..) The two glass teat books and Deathbird Stories. I also deeply miss his appearances on the sci fi channel where he was the best thing about that news show of theirs, which they cancelled and replaced briefly with the body from DS9 and then that was promptly cancelled...I don't get it. I get the sneaky suspicion that Harlan's rant about Disney caused the great dissappearance but that's only because I'm paranoid...
Anyway, I thought I would start with my pro-Harlan credentials before questioning the whole kick internet piracy thing. I don't get it. I don't see how you win at that. I like the idea of you suing AOL and I hope you get a big settlement but I don't see you ever stopping your information from circulating throughtout the internet. Look at the futile war against Napster. Sure, Napster is gone but there are a dozen more in its place. And you can't regulate the Usenet. That's an impossibility. And quite frankly, if it is possible, you shouldn't pursue an answer like that because the Powers That Be, fueling that awful MPAA bill would use it in a hot second. I guess I'm trying to figure out what your thinking is here. If the RIAA can't win on the issue you're fighting, and they have armies of lawyers, how will you win? Your charismatic manner?
You might ask well what will I, the great man Harlan Ellison, do with my time and my dwindling forture? I'm glad that you asked that. Well, the net is waiting for a genius to figure out how micropayments could work. It would take a charismatic genius, someone known for intellectual feats of derring-do...At this point it really wouldn't be that hard. Paypal is clearly the right model to go after. It would take someone with charisma and deep pockets or who knew people with deep pockets (Robin Williams and scores of others you could probably name drop, some marketing savvy by possibly the greatest self-marketer the genre has ever known and the willingness and patience to build a business. It could also make you incredibly wealthy and a lot of writers and artists completely self-sufficient...just a thought.
Anyway, when you figure out that this case isn't a winner, then I would hope that you would try to give micropayments a shot.
Philip Shropshire
www.majic12.com
www.threerivertechreview.com
PS: Please feel free to berate and insult me. In a way, it would be a kind of high point for me...
BRIAN - As far as rib recipes go, I have only one piece of advice, and it's probably not workable in the least. Head down to Alabama -- Tuscaloosa, to be exact -- and search out Dreamland Barbecue and try to hire on in some capacity that will put you behind the counter, close to whatever magic goes on in their darkened back rooms. Absorb what is there and then light out for the hills. Change your name. And spend the rest of your days in possession of a secret that, if my taste buds don't deceive me, is not even in possession of Dreamland's lesser franchisees.
Um. Sorry for this fairly stupid interruption, but I'm smack in the middle of a hankering for my home state's finest culinary export.
I wanted to tell the folks on this board how grateful I am for directing me to James Morrow. I wanted to say a few words on the first chapter of CITY OF TRUTH and compare/contrast the same feelings I encountered with my first Ellison book, PAIN GOD. The feelings of awe and happiness and jealousy.
However, after reading the posts of Lynn and Jim, I would like to revisit concerning my feelings of Jesse Helms. Skip this post and read no further if not interested.
Jess Helms is a man of hate. He hates those that are not white and not male. Oh, he might say a few words to appease whatever constituent he happens to be talking to at any given moment, but the man's actions and the majority of his words are nothing but hate. This is what he is and he does not hide his hate. He parades it and shows it as one would wear medals of valor. He hates.
I make no apologies for wishing this man's demise or hoping he deserves whatever punishment he may get in whatever afterlife there may be. He is keenly aware of what he is doing and what he is doing is feeding on people's base instincts and using his position of authority of power of seniority to further his own agenda of hate. You are different from me and you cannot be as good as me. That is his message. A message that gets airtime because he is a senator. A message that receives more weight than need be because he is a person in charge. A message that allows him to bully those that are weaker than he.
I did not want to revisit this. I have empathy to those that linger before succombing and in that lingering exact an emotional and financial toll that can be unbearable. I have no empathy for a man that bullies and forces his beliefs from his position of power to those that are least able to counter those beliefs, especially when that same bully incites the mob to spread his beliefs. I did not want to revisit this as Lynn and Jim's posts made me realize that somewhere somehow someone loves Jesse Helms. Someone will grieve when he dies. And I'm not talking about the rednecks that buy his hate and will weep into their Confederate flags when he departs. I'm talking about his grandchildren who go fishing with this monster. I'm talking about his kids who gather around his birthday cake and shower him with laughter and joy.
I still cannot alter my opinion about this man. No moment of lucidity will grant him reprieve for his actions and words, just as the drunk will still bear responsibility for the head-on collision that kills three. I do not alter my hateful wish for that hateful man, but I wonder what toll that takes on my life, my so-called soul, that the same hate that I decry allows me to fester it within myself.
Well, shit. Not exactly the happy-go-lucky post I wanted to write, but there it is. I promise I won't do this again.
One of my deficiencies-- okay, apart from the obvious ones-- is that I've never had a really wide range of food tastes. Never liked Chinese, Mexican, Thai, or whatever people are going for.(So when I'm with friends who want to go to a particular restaraunt, I usually stick to an appetizer or two.)
But about two weeks ago, I picked up a nice rotisserie toaster oven. BIG improvement in the local diet, now that I'm playing with roast seasonings and chicken marinades.
Now if I could only find a decent recipe for _ribs_...
Paul,
Thanks for the sympathy and the suggestion. I'm afraid my attempts at various asian dishes have mostly numbered among my failures (the exception being my lightly marinated seared Ahi tuna). Albeit most were edible, and a couple close to good, none would entice locals to demand more!
Tandoori cravings? Ah, I sympathize right back. Indian was one of the cuisines I missed in AK, and is one of the culinary blessings here. There's Indian food galore - and very good on the whole. Even Scotland has it's redeeming gastronomic qualities. (I didn't mean to imply there isn't good food here, there's just not a lot of variety.)
Hey, anyone got an ark I can borrow? It's raining like Tim Robbins just crawled out of a sewer pipe here.
Glad to see that Harlan has at least a web page for communications with his many fans. I'm a mid-aged biker who also happens to enjoy good stories, and had the pleasure of meeting Harlan at various times, mostly in SHerman Oaks at now defunct bookstores and comic emporiums. Harlan, I wish you nothing but the best, and hope that your fan base continues to grow-- I don't know if this is the right place to view upcoming stuff by you, but I'll keep tuning in to see what happens. Also, I know it's a dim possibility, but I'd still wish that there may be some future collaboration between yourself and Stephen King before the rest of my mane falls out. PPS-- as I said on chatroom which is defunct, thanks for the signing on Mind Fields. Kudos and continuations, U are the best.
Peg, I sympathize with you. I really do. I used to live in Wisconsin. Right now, I'm living in Dallas, which bears any number of restaurants, but none that would make you want to hop on a plane and visit the city. (Well, with the exception of the Red Hot & Blue chain: the best Memphis pork barbecue this side of Memphis, and I should know, since my wife is from Memphis. The slogan is "The best barbecue from a building that hasn't been condemned", and that's no exaggeration.) That's why I make a point of experimenting: if you can't get someone to bring cuisine to you, it's up to you to take the initiative.
For example, Dallas has only one Indian restaurant of any repute, and I tend to have cravings for tandoori chicken at the worst times. Actually, I wanted to know what tandoori turkey tasted like, so I took the iniative and came up with a distinctly unique take on the recipe. It's at http://www.hpoo.com/columns/hells/news38.html for anyone who may be interested: I'm posting it up here because Harlan expressed interest in it at AggieCon back in 2000, so why not share with everyone?
(Along that line, because everyone who has tried this tandoori turkey has been impressed, I'm half-tempted to throw a big party as an excuse to smoke up about seven or eight of these monsters. I have plenty of pecan wood, and since the squirrels in the back yard have denuded my poor trees of nuts, I spent an hour this morning picking up pecan hulls. 20 pounds of 'em, and nothing beats pecan hulls for smoking. This is going to be a good party: anyone interested in coming?)
With that in mind, while it's always great to have someone else doing the cooking for you, you might want to introduce everyone in your area to the joys of Japanese cuisine and wait for the fallout. Once your neighbors get a taste for it, they won't be happy until they get a restaurant, and then someone will realize that they have a market for a successful sushi restaurant in town. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to write up that business proposal for "Uncle Zonker's Tandoori Turkey Takeout"...
Lynn: Amen. I know you aren't trawling for sympathy, but I want to say how sorry I am for your loss. My mother was diagnosed with Stage III-C Ovarian Cancer five years ago, and spent a hellish eleven months careening from surgery to chemo to remission to rediagnosis to surgery and chemo again, finally succumbing to a massive infection abetted by the drug's destruction of her white blood cells. I was her primary caregiver, and I learned more in that year about the human capacity for bravery and love than I had ever suspected existed. It's a strange club we belong to, and I often wonder how my membership has changed me. I HOPE it's made a little more empathetic, even for the likes of a Jesse Helms.
Jim
Deify truth, not men
Man is vanquished dust
Dust blinds, truth edifys
I go beyond mere Haiku
To see inside confusion
More dust, endless family of worms
Harlan has eyes that see
Not blind, forming opinions
Cancer of thought makes lesser mortals squeedle.
I just made that word up: squeedle. Teehee.
Haiku is no fun now. Smile.
I don't understand why someone who writes in a "dry" style makes them somehow worthless, but to each his own. Chomsky is important to me because he receives information that cannot be found any where else. The info on MAI was worth the price of admission itself. In a dangerous age where Bush forces our noses into the shit, we need information more now than ever.
The left is actually doing quite well. Behind the scenes the gears are being greased, and activists of all stripes are doing their damn best to overthrow uber-Bush America. Seattle proved that. Genoa is just going to make the future either real bloody or more interesting.
I have read quite a lot of Paglia, and find her offensive to the quick. This is a harpie who thinks "date rape" is like being beaten up in a bar fight. She always goes on about her love of the rantings of Rush Limbaugh. Rush even went so far as to interview her in the odious Limbaugh Letter; where Paglia fawned like a school girl over him for the entire interview. Paglia defends kiddie-porn, but blames the sixties for the AIDS crisis. She thinks porn is a high art form, and that men who read a lot of books, become wimps. She defends commercial television, and thinks Madonna should be thought of as high art. She talks about how wonderful sex is, but claims to be "asexual" herself. I will say she is a great writer, but her views are nothing if not obnoxiously aberrant. But she is fun to read. But I will take Noams "drone" any day.
May I suggest the spoken word recordings of, Jello Biafra; who is the former lead singer of the punk band, Dead Kennedys. Jello has become quite the stand up, political ranter. He is no Lenny Bruce, but he is quite entertaining, as well as enlightening. And you have to love someone who was nominated by the Green Party, for President.
Harlan, no hard feelings. Dissagreement is just part of this Democracy thang. Peace.
Haiku Deity:
Mad, am I? Not me!
"Almost" is not all the way.
I grin inside, now.
Insomnia strikes
After a sixteen hour day
Madness may ensue
The Webderland board
Brimming with "off of" and more
Damn, much to read now
On Chomsky I say
That the man has helpful points
But he writes so dry
The Left needs a soul
'Cause they're splintered without sense
So they look at Noam
But Noam with his stance
Manufactures dull consent
No hero, oh dear
Where's an MLK?
An accessible BK?
Or even Yippies?
We can't be alone
And that's just how it feels
Yet we must protest
But we can't place faith
In a thinker without heart
Speaking technical
Someone's laughing now
At the deification
Of Noam's drone-like voice
"PI" can't help things
Politics reduced to blurbs
Cut to commercial
Bud Webster: you're mad
Almost cheating with the form
Now, an oblique grin
Heather: What a smack!
The seer can't anticipate
Surprises in yellow
Harlan: Thanks kindly
I listened but I regret
That I'm prone to verse
So I fear I'll slip
Into redundant meaning
Within syllables
Brian~
The reason one should hesitate to wish something horrible upon even the most deserving of souls is that those wishes just might come true. If all it takes is a butterfly farting in Beijing to create a hurricane in the Gulf, what if one random thought could put an atom in motion...
Someone once explained the effect to me this way: Your boss is having a shitty day and he takes it out on you, so you go home and yell at your wife, who then yells at the kids, who then take it out on the dog. And somehow, all of this venom ends up in the Middle East.
That, and having had someone I love dearly die in a cancer ward in the last year, his brain turned to a pulp as much by the ravenous beast as by the medicines they tried to kill it with, I would never wish that fate on anyone anywhere. It would be inhumane. All you need is one good bullet. And if you think that the deeds of a man somehow make your vengeance acceptable, somehow absolve you of any torturous act you might perpetrate on him, then you have allowed his hate and vitriol to color your world and the poison has not been erradicated, only passed along like a bad cold. Simple enough to get over, too easy to contaminate everyone around you.
Just my late night ravings. Tune in next week to watch me dangle a participle whilst suspended over the Grand Canyon.
Yours,
L.
You wimps ain't got nuttin' to complain about. If you want to bereave the lack of good deli food, move to Scotland. Even in Alaska we had the semi-successful attempt of Atlasta Deli (which was fine enough for my So Cal upbringing, having never pilgrimaged to a true deli). Here?? Pah.
I really enjoy the cultural experience of living in Scotland and in general the UK, but up here in the hinterlands, cultural food deprivation is one of the prices I've paid for it. [There was discussion about Japanese food in Atlanta. We don't have a *SINGLE* Japanese restaurant in Aberdeen. Not one, which is a crime considering the quality fresh seafood we get here.]
Maybe that's why I've so enjoyed the food topics on the board - savouring each electronic tidbit vicariously through your posts.
Harlan asked:
++Bud Webster, wherever did you get the weird idea I went to high school in Evanston?++
Dr. Shedd told me.
Actually, had I been thinking about it, I would have remembered that you were in Cleveland at the time, since that's where (and when?) you took over DIMENSIONS. My bad.
This might have been 'way after your time, but do you remember a collector in Cleveland named Wysocki?
To Jim Davis; I was lucky to start reading Woolrich when one of the paperback houses reissued about twelve of his books in the early 1980's. The covers were _gorgeous_; mysterious watercolors of the nighttime city with a Whistlerish haze, and Woolrich's name in red neon across the top. They might've been cheap paperback reprints, but the art director knew what he was doing when he did those covers.
As for the question of Helms and our fantasies... well, I don't see much of a problem with venting such fantasies on the one hand, and faulting Rob on that theater incident on the other. The reason is pretty simple. When we're talking about Helms, we're talking about things we _wish_ would happen, but I don't think any of us would actually _do_ such horrible things to the guy. We're basically describing how much Helms revulses us, and maybe indulging in the sort of violent fantasy we all have from time to time... but never actually perform.
With Rob's story, we're talking about something that did happen, and could happen to any of us, and maybe even _did_ happen to some of us. Very few of us discussed it as a _fantasy_; if we did, we'd be trading increasingly baroque tales of "whut I wooda done t'the guy." You could agree with Rob's take on the situation, or disagree, but neither position would have anything to do with the Things We'd Like to Have Happen to Jesse.
On a _much_ nicer note: Has anyone here been exposed to the lovely voice of Eva Cassidy? She'd been performing in Washington D.C. coffeehouses until her death from cancer a few years back. She'd recorded a pair of albums that went nowhere at the time. Then one day last year, a DJ at the BBC plays one of her songs, and suddenly she's become this cult figure in Britain. Her albums are available again, and try to get her versions of "Songbird" or "Over the Rainbow."
And while you're at it, try to find some Kirsty Macoll, too.
Harlan,
Damn 'ya, now I have an urging for a salami sandwich while I watch "Trainspotting."
Oh, and for anyone who has ever seen a Kevin Smith movie, "Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back" rocks. Except for Chris Rock. His lines are spectacularly unfunny.
Regards,
Joseph
Alex K.:
The great deli of my childhood in Cleveland was originally on Cedar Road. It was called Benkowitz's. Later, when the Heights Theater closed down, or got yuppiefied, or whatever, Benkowitz's moved out to Beachwood, and renamed itself Benky's. It was a great and aromatic wonderland--just like Brent's--and I worshipped regularly at that kosher altar of cholesterol and artery-cloggage. That was when I was in high school, in Cleveland. (Bud Webster, wherever did you get the weird idea I went to high school in Evanston? I never even HEARD of Evanston till I got mustered out of the Army in '59 and went to Evanston to work for Hamling on ROGUE MAGAZINE. I attended Cleveland Heights High for one semester after my father died in 1949 and we moved from Painesville to the Sovereign Hotel on 105th Street; and thereafter, when I got booted out of Heights High, I graduated from East High. It was either in Painesville, or in Cleveland, about 1950, that I discovered Nelson Bond in BLUE BOOK. At least ten years before I ever set foot in Evanston, Illinois.)
I lament for you, Alex. There were giant salamis in the land in those days.
Yr. pal, Harlan
Mein gott, look at all the posts that have accumulated during my absence. No matter--I will gird my loins (has anyone on this board actually DONE this?) and soldier on.
Harlan: Believe me, I am listening. I know the grammatical howlers in my posts must make you bleed from all orifices; I promise to do better.
Lynn/All: The orgiastic death/torture fantasies written about Helms give me pause, too. I agree that he is a pernicious, bigoted fuckface who has blighted the American political landscape with his racism, homophobia, and errant stupidity. He is one of those unique individuals who can claim that they have made the world a more dangerous place for their having lived in it. To put it judiciously, I will not miss him.
Just the same, I've known too many people who have perished from the Crab, and I just don't have it in me to wish such a death on even Jesse Helms. I can only hope that future generations will look back on his career, and find it as abhorrent as the acts of Gilles de Rais and Pol Pot. (IF the human race is still around and has advanced even one iota, of course. I have my doubts.)
Amy: I feel your pain, darlin'. I can only conclude, from the dearth of real delis around here, that there are no Jews in Tampa Bay. Again, who'd a thunk it?
I've already defended John Simon, so I can't really get my dander up for Camille Paglia (a friend to the downtrodden and misunderstood, that's me). I WILL note that she has the rare ability to perceive the classical undercurrents in modern popular culture, and for that, she deserves at least ONE huzzah.
(HUZZAH!)
I will now demand that everyone who has not done so already, MUST hunt down and buy the Cornell Woolrich reprints published by ibooks. THE BRIDE WORE BLACK, PHANTOM LADY, and REAR WINDOW are classics that deserve the widest readership possible; get 'em while they're still available.
I've just learned, from reading the obituary list in the Fourteenth YEAR'S BEST FANTASY AND HORROR, that the artist Eyvind Earle died last year. I'm a little shocked--one of his paintings hangs in my living room.
Harlan (one more time): Ok, you had to know I would ask: What exactly was the nature of the dust-up between you and Brian Jones?
I'll leave you with these beautiful words from Raymond Chandler: "The things by which we live are the distant flashes of insect wings in a clouded sunlight."
Finally glare-free,
Jim
Re: "off of." No offense taken, and the rant was taken with affection, but I was sorta hoping you'd _giggle_ at how remote I had to get to find one possible exception. Aye, weel...
Re: Chomsky. One of my heroes, an utterly brilliant man whose fealty to reason, logic, and humanism and whose record of work for all the Good Causes is hard to match, let alone beat. I'll admit that he's not the most exciting writer in the world, and I think that's deliberate; Chomsky's said that he doesn't trust speakers who try to win over audiences, so he probably focuses on substance at the expense of style. His early essays (try to find _American Power and the New Mandarins_) have flashes of style that are pretty much absent from more recent works like _Rogue States_.
Anyway, I figure, if I'm going to demand spectacular writing with my politics, why demand it from Chomsky when Christopher Hitchens and Gore Vidal roam the land?
I'm of two minds on Paglia. On the plus side, I knew someone who was a student of hers, before she became famous, and he reported that she was probably the best teacher he'd ever had. She has shown some growth, now that she's fulfilled some of her ambitions, and she can be fun to read as long as you keep in mind that, most of the time, she's wallowing in her ability to riff on culture.
On the minus... well, she's fun on the classics, but once she opens her mouth on something more recent-- like feminism, economics, date rape, or anything more recent than the Crusades-- watch out. She doesn't make arguments, she throws insults, and the latter without the former ain't much better than Rush Limbaugh. Even when presented with such a deserving target as Catherine MacKinnon, she couldn't bring herself to address MacKinnon's arguments, and squanders ink on calling her names. She doesn't seem to even _try_ to rectify certain areas of genuine ignorance, and she's exceptionally prone to making embarassing or ridiculous claims. (Some people recall her praise of the Spur Posse, but for me, her calling the eminently sane and incisive Katha Pollitt a "Stalinist Bitch" and denouncing Chomsky as being a representative of the old-line establishment rank Right Up There as prime Paglia gaffes.)
The standard line these days for would-be writers seems to be don't worry about the first draft; fix it later. The problem is--few people do the proper repairwork. Besides, in writing or speech, is it ever good to encourage sloppy thinking, even the first time around?--John (trying his best to heed the sage advice of foremen Strunk and White.)
Hmm, shoulda run the whole board before posting. Harlan, my apologies for stepping on your promise to post subscription info. If I'm out of bounds, feel free to rip me a new orifice.
Re: Delis. We used to have delis in Cleveland. Not incredible New York or L.A. class delis, but, hell, at least delis. No more. Now all we've got are a few dismal leftovers from more ethnic days, barely qualifying for the title. Maybe you think Canter's sucks, but I'd give a year's worth of latkes for something that good around here.
Sigh.
Sorry, folks, I wasn't hitting on all pistons earlier. I gave the wrong "The Week" URL. Should have been more careful, but I had a weird day. Anyway, the _American_ version of "The Week" is to be found at http://www.theweek.ws/thisweek/
But if you're going to subscribe, think about checking out some of the online magazine subscription venues, rather than doing it direct from the publisher. If you use the webpage for The Week, you'll pay around 75 smackers for a year's worth. If you go to, say, magazinecity.net, you'll pay just under $50 for the same year's worth of issues.
Damn it, Harlan, NOW you've made me hungry for deli food and there is none to be had here in the vast wasteland of North Central Texas. Ask for a knish and they say "God bless you, honey." You want HOT pastrami? On rye? You'll get turkey bologna on soft white bread and they'll ask if you want ketchup with that.
One thing I miss about NY ever so much is the delicatessens...kosher OR Italian. But I guess I gotta live the rest of my life like a schnook.
Not sure what time Ben & I will make it into Atlanta, but we'll drop you a note fer shur. Your ruggies will be waiting.
amy
Lynn: Neither one. Brent's. Out in the valley. A bit of a drive--somewhere near Tampa and Saticoy, I think--but the best in the state. Better even than Nate'n'Al's in Beverly Hills, which (until I found Brent's) was the #1. Far outstrips Canter's, which mostly sucks; and isn't even in the same universe with shitholes like Jerry's and Solley's, which stopped making delcos and decent rugala because "the demand wasn't great enough." If you prefer, Art's Deli in Studio City is still fine, and Mort's out in Pacific Palisades is to die for, but...
The BEST DELI in Los Angeles is, hands down, Brent's. Their noodle kugel is not only humunguous enough to feed the entire Duke University football team and marching band, but it comes in its own crock, and the taste is olympian. You need crampons and an ice-axe to surmount their lean pastrami on corn rye. Susan goes cockeyed for the skirt steakand eggs (yes, I said Argentinian skirt steak, hola!) And every other dish on their Titanic-sized menu is merely only unfrigginbelievable.
I live to serve yr. needs. Culinarily kosher, I remain, Harlan.
Frank Church:
Noam Chomsky puts my ass to sleep.
As for Jacques Barzun, since we're in the Venue of Great Minds of Our Time--though the new book was catnip to Susan--one of the ugliest brief periods in my life was when I was locked up in NYC's penal hell, The Tombs, and a friend--who had a devilish streak in her--picked four or five books out of my apartment, to keep me entertained while I was in stir. One of them, gawd save my rotting soul, was the Anchor Books trade paperback of Jacques Barzun's TEACHER IN AMERICA. There were moments, after I'd read the other four books, and had nothing to keep me from hysteria but Prof. Barzun, that I contemplated letting the thugs in my holding block beat me into unconsciousness, as a pleasant respite from the metallic drone of one of the most brilliant minds of our time.
Does that answer your Chomsky query?
Debbie, Amy, Joseph and any other Webderlanders who'll be at Dragon*Con: Susan and I get in Thursday evening, around Eightish. If you haven't already gotten in the wind at that hour, you might leave a note for us at the desk of the Hyatt Regency, and if you have no strong objections to intruders...and we can do it...
(Brian Siano. I don't expect you to love me for the previous post.)
HE
Mr. Siano:
I will now rip you a new asshole.
Yes, how damnably clever of you, you delicious li'l jackanapes! You found a totally unlikely, moronic possibility in which "off of" works. The phrase "He did a flip off the high board" would certainly have been too easy to have considered, because we would see that "off of" STILL doesn't work, but no, you have to postulate someone turning off a tv set, flipping it the bird, or (I'm sure we all have experience of this in our daily lives) Ms. Komeniche performing her Olympic gold medal-winning routines using a 36" Sony Trinitron instead of a balance bar.
When I sadly suggested it would be swell if a few someones were listening, it was to the Brian Sianos of the world to whom I was speaking. By manipulating language idiotically, for the asinine and sophomoric pleasure of "picking the nit" with me, the same jerkazoid behavior I inveighed against when I pointed out that there's always at least one smartass who has to show how much cleverer he is than the Prof., Mr. Siano has reduced himself to yak vomit in my eyes. At least for the nonce. How, you may ask, did I know in advance that a smartass would interdict the flow of transference of information with dopey shenanigans? Because I've been doing this shit for FIFTY FUCKIN' YEARS!
And sure as mangos in the Maytime, big goddam outta the blue surprise...NOT...there's a Siano, grinning like a jackass, offering himself up as The Horrible Boob Example. I have got to ask you, kiddo, WHY the hell would you do precisely what you were warned against doing, Brian? What did you achieve. Yes, you found a weird, useless, non-viable and utterly mad exception to a perfectly good rule from which people might benefit. And exactly how does your donning the cap and bells, jamming the big red clown-ball nose on your online persona, puking on your shoes,
wearing the lampshade on your head, coming downstairs into the middle of Mommy&Daddy's party in your Dr. Dentons and peeing for the crowd...in any way benefit this crowd, or yourself?
I urge you to take as your life role-models Louis Pasteur or Ogden Nash or Katherine Anne Porter; not Pauly Shore, Adam Sandler, David Spade or Chris Farley.
Not amused, Harlan.
Amy: You are absolutely right, I AM A GOOB. If I ever actually knew it was salt, not rice, it fell outta my head. And if I just never knew it at all, it only enhances by goobishness. I always feel like such a jerk when I don't know something everybody else knows.
For those of you interested in THE WEEK, when the next issue comes in, a few days from now, I'll transpose the contact and/or subscription information here for you. It's that worthwhile that I'm pleasured to do the line-work for those of you considering.
yr. pal, Harlan
Bob: Congrats on the new editorial position. I've been reading their sister 'zine for over a year now. They're good folk and some of the best content I've seen online.
L.
Rick: from the Little Picky Pain In The Ass Dept: I noticed on the main Visitor Forums page, it says "Weberland Visitor Forums," with the "d" left out! Heh heh...unless you're planning on doing a forum for Steven Weber from "Wings" and "The Weber Show..."
Harlan, re your writing 101: I'm glad you wrote that part about writer's block. I was going to say something similar, but I'm glad you beat me to it! And I second your recommendation of "The Week."
David: As you know my copy was grabbed, so I'm not sure what you mean about "The Essential Ellison." Can't seem to remember anything that was odd, though admittedly I only glanced at it for a few minutes. What is it?
Re: ATMs and PINs: I've even seen bank literature and ads with the phrases "ATM machine" and "PIN number." Weird how things like that can infiltrate American language and become the daily norm. Though I don't see anything wrong with using them in dialogue, as long as it's consistent with the character saying it.
Oh, and if you'll permit me a little shameless plug: I'm one of the new editors over at Strange Horizons, a speculative fiction and science fiction magazine. Take a look when you get a chance: http://www.strangehorizons.com
What's so bad about grass huts? Um, no running water? No PC (or any peripherals) No cable modem? No A/C?! (Or heat, for that matter.) No fridge, no microwave, no stove, no oven, no television (specifically no Discovery, no Sci-Fi Channel, no History Channel, no EMERIL).
And when was the last time you saw a grass hut with a library's worth of bookshelves.
David. Remember that Harry Lime/Graham Greene/Orson Welles quote I referenced awhile back? It's lingering somewhere over my left shoulder.
Harlan. You can settle a bet for me. Solley's or Jerry's? And yes I know they're owned by the same folk. Any opinions?
L.
(who personally prefers Café 50's across the street from Solley's. Mmmmm. Cheese fries.)
Hey everybody. I just got off of school.
BAHAHAHAHAHA!
Heh heh. Kidding. God damn I'm hilarious. Anyway, I just wanted to say hi. I'm still watching. I'll post something of substance again when I can find the time, and a subject that's good for the incisors.
David, how about those observations regarding the educational issues I raised a few posts ago? I'm all ears.
By the way, my first impressions were off. The Army program here is looking pretty damn good. Hoo-ah! *grunt*
J
It's easy to quote Paglia out of context and to loathe her flair for drama and overstatement, Frank, but have you actually READ her books?
I'm not here to defend her -- for the several years I was on the Paglia discussion list (which appears to have gone moribund), I played the role of Honorable Opposition, in fact -- but she can be quite entertaining and challenging, if you look past the noise.
Consider the inflammatory passage you just quoted, for example. What if it might just be true? And what's so terrible about living in grass huts?
"If civilization had been left in female hands, we would still be living in grass huts".
Camille Paglia.
This is why I loath Ms. Paglia..
Someone was mentioning, Manufacturing Consent, the Noam Chomsky film. There is a pungent part in it, where Jeff Greenfield; pundit for Nightline and others talks about why Chomsky is never on the chat shows. He basically makes the absurd remark that either Chomsky is not quite "consise" enough, or that Chomsky is not good on tv, if you can believe that! By the way Chomsky is on Television quite a lot in other countries. Our media is just becoming ever more closer to Soviet style propaganda.
Harlan, I notice you have never mentioned Mr. Chomsky. What is your take on the noted linguist/political marvel?
Harlan, I believe THE WEEK is based on the Saturday Guardian's THE EDITOR, which was a news staple in London.
I had steered clear because I heard it was "brought to you by the people that publish Maxim" but I'll give it a look.
-AW
Harlan,
Thanks for the tips. As Lynn said, we are listening.
I've got a copy of Fowler's Modern English Usage but I don't have Strunk & White. I'll get it.
-AW
I hate perl. Have I mentioned I hate perl?
That wabbit cwap warnt too bad NEITHER.
::sigh::
L.
Heather:
"That wabbit cwap warnt too bad either." I do believe that the correct dialect would be "warnt too bad >N
Oh and Bud, thank you. You made me snort milk all over my keyboard. Classic.
L.
Heather,
Ooooohhh. A kiss from a lovely young lady. My heart goes pitter-patter. Don't tell my wife, okay? :)
"My bad" is a slang way of admitting fault without apologizing. Pretty crappy phrase.
Debbie,
I won't be in Atlanta until 1:00 on Friday. Perhaps we should wing it and leave messages on the noteboard?
Regards,
Joseph
JOSEPH!:
Sorry.. owe YOU a kiss. Can you live with that?
David:
You now have a spare one, okay?
And Bud:
That wabbit cwap warnt too bad either. In fact it war NEAT! (Gee, can you tell what era I'm from? -- "neat")
Please, people, I don't know this phrase. What is "MY BAD"?
Out da door. Home to latsa books.
H
Amy and Joseph (and anyone else who may be attending Dragoncon next weekend),
I suggest that we meet Thursday night for dinner, if y'all have arrived by then. If not, then Friday at lunch. Or maybe we could all sit together at the banquest, if y'all are going to it.
The schedule has been posted on the Dragoncon site, and after looking at it, I'm not sure when I'm going to sleep, much less eat. Great schedule, many panels with Mr. Ellison, and ALICE COOPER WILL BE THERE!!! HE WILL BE THERE ON PANELS!!!
I am very excited that I will be hearing Mr. Ellison on panels, but I am jumping up and down and screaming (in my mind, of course, as I'm typing this at work)to be able to see Alice Cooper. I have been listening to him since high school, and that was a long, long time ago. Actually, I've been reading Mr. Ellison's works since high school, too. Coincidence?
I am so psyched about Dragoncon I can hardly wait!
Anyway, I've read this 3 times and I think it's grammatically correct, so here goes.
(Scurrying back into lurkdom)
Debbie
By the way the Salon piece is satire, but I do wonder how much of it is actually true.
-Andrew
As far as I'm concerned the news media is the worst mangler of the english language. Dan Rather's use of "new-cue-lar" instead of the correct "new-cle-ar". When JFK Jr.'s plane went down I actually heard several talking heads use the phrase (cringe) "such deep depths" (shudder). Making matters worse is good ole Dubya making up new words and mangling old ones. There is actually a linguistics professor in Texas who thinks "Bushonics" is an acceptable dialect.
The article appears in Salon at http://www.salon.com/politics/feature/2001/03/19/bushonics/index.html
Some days I wonder how I ever got edjamucated.
-Andrew
Er, I meant http://www.theweekmagazine.com Not "this." Argh.
My boss, his boss, and her boss were all fired yesterday, so I'm just passing through (no, I haven't been fired...yet), but I thought I'd post this tip: To check out THIS WEEK, go to http://www.thisweekmagazine.com
But note that if you choose to subscribe, you can get better deals than the magazine itself offers by searching around the web a bit.
--alex
Lynn - "Othello" with Patrick Stewart was staged at the Shakespeare Theater - I missed my shot at tickets by about 24 hours. There was much consternation over THAT little debacle...
And my mother told me every day that the accordion was the MOST hated musical instrument at Stately Finder Manor. Of course, we didn't have a piper. But the Feeneys did... brrrrrrrrrr.
Time to play the game "Nitpick with Harlan!" (For entertainment purposes only.)
I think I have an example-- one example only, probably the exception that enforces the rule-- regarding the use of the words "off of." It can be used, but only to differentiate the use of the word "off." Remember, "off" can mean "not on" as well as the power-switch meaning of "not active."
So, if "Jack flipped off the television," did he throw a switch, make a rude gesture, or perform some gymnastics in his living room? For the latter meaning, "off of" seems to be an appropriate choice of words.
I remember an interview with Samuel Delany where he talked about how SF introduces some ambiguities of grammar. Take the sentence "Steve turned on his left side." In most fiction, that means that he rolled around on his bed. But in SF and fantasy, that could also mean that he reached down and flipped a switch.
Or, let's say we're describing travelling down a freeway where the traffic is administrated by a system of computers, electric signs, and perhaps robot "sheepdogs." If we write "Frank turned off the freeway," there'd be some ambiguity. Did Frank direct his car onto an off-ramp, or did he shut down the freeway's administration system? Seems that using the phrase "Frank turned off of the freeway" would be a little clearer.
But as I said, this is a really exceptional case, and one could probably avoid the whole issue by writing "Frank turned onto an off-ramp" and avoiding "off of" entirely.
Harlan: Oh, my lord and wise one, forgive this humble country girl for expressing her surprise at your interest in sumo wrestling. Not being as worldly as, well, most of the world, I thought I might've missed some other use for the word "sumo." It's sort of a weird interest, but one I share.
And they throw SALT, not RICE, ya goob!
Lynn: Darlin', I checked out that little tea tray of an automobile BEFORE I chose my wonderful (not to mention economical--it's nice to have a sporty car that doesn't spend all its time getting fixed by the necessary pet mechanic you MGers employ) and adorable Miata. It's possible that you just haven't taken a good look at Miatas, since all you usually get to see is their cute li'l rear end and a cloud of dust as they blow by you in the fast lane. While you're overheating, my dear, I am ACCELERATING. Hard to dust me in the curves when you can't get your car to run properly. I suppose being slightly larger has its advantages...at least you can store all those parts that fall off when you try to whip through the curves. (p.s. - this is fun!)
Adam: Geez, you've got patience. I would've broken that asshole's kneecap and spent the night in jail. I can take all kinds of crap--if it's directed at ME. My family or friends? I'll kill ya or die trying. Don't know why I flip out when it isn't me, but I do.
amy
I'm listening. I know Lynn is too.
Question: What is Follett nor Fowler? I'm not sure if this is grammar book names or authors.
Thanks. I'll get it Monday.
Heather
So. I check out this Bread and Circuses job. Neat place, neat job, neat woman who interviewed me.
But weirdness (though I understand the reason): the job's been filled; they're already training two new people.
Never mind, Sundance. At least I got 'seen' and 'talked' to and am more than a resume to these folks. Onward and upward.
Have a great weekend, kiddies. Do some shoeshowing, skiing and moutain climbing with your thoughts and deeds, okay?
Heather
Joseph,
If I spot THE WEEK, I'll give ya a holler.
But we IZ Professor Harlan!
With dunce caps in ready position and an apple on the desk we IZ listenin'. Our ears is open like th'Grand Canyon herself.
General Grocery Item:
I watch Bill Maher almost every night. Sometimes it's a very frustrating experience. Last night, as on occasions, Maher asked a question that seemed clear, yet NO one on the panel could follow. He asked about the presumption of one religion - one myth - regarding itself as the correct one over another (the ever-present historic self-delusion that has marked every written century), referring to the Christian missionaries stupidly marching into Afghanistan in hopes of proselytizing the Taliban (lotsa hysterical laughter comin' from THIS corner of the room). "Don't you realize how wicked the Taliban are?" the panel would keep responding, spending the whole evening missing the point. "You retards, why don't you get it?" I was practically crying out. It seemed so OBVIOUS to me what Maher what was saying that I wanted to go to that studio and kick their asses for being so dense. With the right follow-through the topic could've taken so many interesting directions. It IS frustrating when he's making a good point - superseding the mundane - and he rams into a solid wall of dumbness...just in time for the next commercial.
Realizing my previous statement has nothing to do with "extra words," I append...
Emergency Situation & Boarding Process
Harlan~ You are absolutely correct, and YES WE ARE LISTENING. No one feels more ridiculous than I who insisted one of my contributors go out and *buy* a copy of Strunk & White last Tuesday. Your examples remind me of Carlin's diatribe against "extra words." Yes, I'll confess it. Napalm & Silly Putty is on my bedside table right next to the EE Rev & Exp.
"Please get *on* the plane."
"Fuck you, I'm getting *IN* the plane. There's less WIND in here."
L.
God, I really hope I'm not starting a whine thread:
Could everyone on the planet stop using the phrase "PIN number?" Please? If everyone would elimate that phrase from their vocabulary, I'll try to reform my own bad grammatical habits (of which there are probably 15 in this post alone).
As for THE WEEK, I'll check around and see if I can find it out here in the hinterlands. Ray, let me know if you see it, would ya? I'll do the same.
Regards,
Joseph
Re: Prof. Ellison's Grammar Lesson
I humbly and respectfully bow to the wisdom of the Man as He is correct. I may or may not have committed these grave grammatical errors in my posts, but I have committed these sins in the past. I offer my apologies and genuflect and kiss your rings as I will sin no more. Maybe.
I would say, though, that dialogue is up for grabs. If they say it like that, write it like that. (Of course, my own pet peeve is "ATM machine". People do say that and I do correct them if done in my presence, but it should never be written even as dialogue. Hmmm. I guess I'm invalidating my previous point. Oh, well. Whattaya gonna do?)
I kept waiting for somebody else to say something, but maybe I'm the only one.
Now, understand that I'm not complaining, and I don't want to get anybody in trouble -- it's mostly just amused curiousity -- but does anybody else have a copy of the new Essential Ellison that has something ... funny ... about it? Up at the front? (Or anywhere else, I suppose)....
Harlan said:
++Gee, I wish someone were listening.++
Folk, take it from me. This is the guy who called me on his own nickel to tell me (amongst other things) "Webster, of COURSE the flying saucer 'dropped down' behind the Bowl-A-Rama, it can't drop UP," after he read my first pro story. He's serious.
And right, even if I do stumble all too frequently.
Cut superfluous redundancies... Got it, check.
Actually, I have one question. What if a redundancy makes rhythmic sense? What if it adds that missing beat that keeps the sentence flowing?
---Peter
Harlan,
Thanks for the tip of THE WEEK.
Re: Valeries
This is just to inform everyone that not all Valeries are evil and selfish succubi who will drink your spirit before leaving you hollow and in pain on the floor.
I have a Valerie of my own, and quite frankly, while I might have made the decision anyway, I credit her with my escape from the self and societally imposed path to mediocrity that I had so far embraced with all the enthusiasm of the chronically apathetic. Ya see. She was one of the few engineering students around who genuinely and without reservation loved, and I mean LOVED engineering. It was seeing her in action that made me realize that I'd got the wrong end of that particular stick and if I kept at it, I was likely to lose my sanity.
It helps that me and her have remained close, and have gotten closer over the last couple of years. Yeah, she's had a hard life, but instead of turning the furies against herself and others, she's used them to better herself, to drive herself in a direction she wants to go, on her terms. She's finishing a masters and then going for a PhD in engineering.
I don't know where I would be right now if I had never met Valerie. I don't know what direction my life would be heading. I don't know if I could have seen the opportunities I have since chosen to pursue if I had never met her. So I thank goodness for every day that my Valerie is in my life. She was a catalyst to change for me, and for that I am eternally grateful. To top it off, she is a good person with a good heart.
So, yeah, my experience is personal to me. I just wanted to refute the idea that all us writer/fan types have a Valerie in the negative sense implied earlier.
---Peter
To all of you fed up with Newsweek, Time, etc.:
The answer is called THE WEEK. It is a newsmagazine that, in 30-something pages gives you virtually everything of note in that week just past. I recommend it in the strongest possible terms.
It is a mini-marvel of succinct journalism.
Inexpensive, timely, and it has become, in less than a year, my staple news-source, along with the CBS news station on LA radio.
THE WEEK. Go find a copy. Try it. You'll thank me.
Or I'll punch you.
Yr. pugnacious pal, Harlan
Lynn & Adam: It is ungrammatical to say "off of," as both of you did in your latest posts. It's a double negative, and what is commonly referred to in writing workshops as "schoolgirl grammar." So many of you talk about being writers, and lament "writers' block" (which I shan't go into now, though most of your musings do make me hide my mouth behind my hand so you won't perceive that I'm giggling), yet you apparently have not rubbed Strunk & White into your pores, and neither Follett nor Fowler seem to be your bosom companions, or even on your must-read lists with the shoals of contemporary fictioneers.
"Off" is sufficient. "Off of" is wrong. Oh, and Adam, when you speak of "skimming off the top," it's the equivalent of saying, I live in a big house home." Skimming MEANS across the surface.
The top, that is. Even if it's at the bottom of a filthy pond, and you're skimming the crud off (not off of) the bottom, you're STILL skimming off the top...of the bottom surface. Many of you use unthinking redundancies that are a dead giveaway to editors who KNOW good writing, that the person submitting the manuscript is an amateur, a parvenu, a tyro. I'll give you a few examples, and a way to avoid them:
"He looked up at the sky." No shit. You cannot look "down" at the sky. (Now, let's get something out of the way from the git-go. Yes, I suppose if you were seeing the sky's reflection in a pool, a mirror, your highly-polished parochial school Mary Janes, you might conceivably be smartass--but no less rdundant--in rationalizing the postulation that one of these rarest-of-the-rare exceptions will justify your gaffe. That is what assholes who don't really want to learn, but need desperately to justify their errors, do. They think the exceptions, no matter how convoluted and improbable, get them off the hook, and prove what a dolt the teacher is. Yeah, sure, if you stretch the rationale till it creaks, you can probably find some convoluted "what-if" bullshit reason for your redundancy. But those smartass exceptions only muddy the water for your understanding of this common flaw in most people's speech and writing. So don't be a smartass.)
He knelt down. No shit. You can't "kneel up."
The snow fell to the ground. No shit. Unless you're living on the planet Zxymllll in the anti-matter galaxy of GHtyrl, that's what happens when gravity rules. Snow falls. To the ground. Or the tabletop. Or the ragtop. Whatever the object of the sentence is. It falls to it.
He shook his head no. No shit. Try shaking your head yes.
He used his mental telepathy. No shit. Since telepathy MEANS mind-to-mind, I challenge you to use your "physical telepathy."
He waved his hand goodbye. No shit. Try waving your adenoids goodbye. He waved goodbye. Period. End of sentence.
The examples go on and on and on. Just go back and reread any contemporary paperback, or one of your own postings, and ask that "reverse" of each redundancy: "he turned around," for instance. If he turned "around," he spun 360. If he "turned," which is precise and correct, he need only rotate sufficient for your purpose as a storyteller. Ask the reverse. He sat down. No shit. How can he sit "up," unless he's on the ground or in bed or lounging on the sofa. When someone standing sits, he or she only sits. Down is the only way s/he can go. He cannot--ask the reverse--sit up on a chair. (Unless he's in an Amish or Mennonite household where they raise the chairs onto wall-pegs after the meals; and our protagonist has developed the amazing Olympic competition ability to fling himself upward and backward, plonking onto the wall-ensconsed seat. I am smartass, hear me bleat.)
This has been Harlan Ellison's Writing Lesson #8,000,001.
Gee, I wish someone were listening.
Ray,
You're not crazy. Time, Newsweek and US News & World Report are, in my oh-so-humble opinion, at a real nadir of reporting and editing. They've become sensationalistic to a bad extreme, crowing out serious reporting. Personally, I think they should stop trying to compete with daily newspapers and tv news, and return to their considerate reporting and elucidating of the past. Retro and over-idealistic of me? Perhaps. They won't because their advertising would plummet, but I can dream.
Regards,
Joseph
Oh, and for those taking recommendations for anime, I heartily advise you to avoid "X." Now THAT'S incomprehensible. Pretty, though.
Dave and Deity:
Kiss and Kiss!
Harlan:
Writing love letters online. Kiss. Hug.
Rob:
See, I told ja. Open yer damn mouths, people. Tell us who you are and suddenly Lynn NEEDS you. Thank you Lynnster! (Lorin, where are those URLS, womanski!)
Neat. Off to check a bakery job. I'm talking REAL bakery. Fell across it this a.m. while in search of food. (Now I know what this term, "starving artist" is about. *yeeeks*)
I have McDonald's to thank for this. Ain't THAT ironic? Mickey D's was SUPPOSED to direct deposit my cheque. They didn't. I went down there to chew off some heads. They had the cheque. Deposited it. Passed by a yuppie, high-traffic bakery called "Bread and Circuses" to grab some bread or summat. (They have musicians on weekends too!)
They are advertising for counter help. The guy said, "come back this a.m." I'm outa here.
Gotta a job already? True. And it STARTS in two weeks. Thought I'd try eating in the meantime -- a reasonable idea -- and paying rent. Also getting trained evenings for a burger joint job. Small business, the burger and bakery joints. NOT a franchise. These people seem more 'real.' I could be wrong, but what the hey! (Just a story folks. Such is life. I'm in the acid-rain and enjoying it. Sure beats outpost secretary in a business management seminar abyss.)
Hello, my name is Heather. What's YOURS?
Just asking... has Newsweek magazine become a nearly worthless rag of trivialities, PR spin and pop culture, lacking any REAL news value, or is it just me?
Regarding the growing proliferation of assholes. To quote local artist, raconteur, tough guy, Tony Fitzpatrick, "Ya can’t kill ‘em all."
(I attempted to reply to this last night, hit the wrong key, and my responses disappeared into the aether; I gave up and went to bed. This never seems to happen to notes I don't care about.)
Harlan:
Billy Hale. I have not read the essay you mentioned, and so was unaware that you had a connection with Hale. Nevertheless, it was insensitive of me to post as I did, knowing full well that you've been in and out of Hollywood for the past 40+ years and almost certainly had had some contact with the man. I am ashamed, and I offer my apologies, not for the news itself, but for my ill-mannered and ham-handed tone. Me mudder brought me up better than that.
Nelson Bond. "Gee, Bud, I'm up to my ass in alligators right now, I can probably only give you a couple of lines," he says. So here I'm expecting a short, generic note in the mail, and BOOM!
Handsomely done, Harlan, and I certainly appreciate it. I've seldom seen an olive branch offered with more aplomb and sincerity, and I think Nelson will be pleased as well. If he is, in fact, willing to sign your copy of Mergenthwirker - and I can't imagine he wouldn't be - I'll send you his address.
Folk, for those of you who are unfamiliar with Nelson Slade Bond, and I suspect most of you are, he began writing for the pulps in the '30s and stopped in the '50s. In that time, he wrote in excess of 500 stories, including one a month in Blue Book - the biggest market of its day - for a decade; wrote every conceivable kind of story with the possible exception of the confessional; broke into the slicks before anyone else in the field; and managed to garner as fans such divergent personalities as Ray Bradbury, Bennett Cerf, Roger Zelazny, James Branch Cabell (on whose death Nelson became his literary executor) and some kid in Evanston named Ellison.
Relatively few of his stories have ever been collected, in spite of his having published five books of short stories and having been anthologized countless times. Peter Ruber of Arkham House approached Nelson about reprinting a story in their 60-year retrospective, and ended up offering to publish a brand new collection; it will be out later this year.
Wildside has reprinted one of his collections, _Lancelot Biggs: Spaceman_, and is getting ready to do the first book publication of one of Nelson's few novels.
He has one extremely annoying habit: he's thin ehough that he can cross his legs *twice* - once at the knees and then again at the ankles. Disgusting. When we stand next to each other, we look like the number 10.
All that to say, seek out his work, especially a copy of _The 31st of February_ (if you can find a copy - it's pretty rare), or just spring for the Biggs book from Wildside; I don't think you'll be disappointed.
Harlan, several years ago you paid me a very high compliment; I'd like to return it now. Youse is a mensch.
Time for the fanboy to babble about them Japanese cartoons!
It's true that EVANGELION was a landmark series-- it pushed the envelope in terms of what could actually be SHOWN on television in Japan, and it tried (only half-successfully, IMO) to posit a story that jerry-rigged obscure religious tidbits onto an otherwise mundane super robot plot. My problems with it stem from the fact that there wasn't a single character in the cast that I identified with or even liked. I also thought the religious elements, while interesting, weren't well-used-- the whole show still felt like a high-gloss remake of MAZINGER Z (TRANZOR Z to us yanks), and I also wasn't impressed by the usual pandering to the audience in the form of the cutesy, unnecessary mascot animal and the improbably well-endowed 14-year-old female protagonists.
My absolute favorite anime is GIANT ROBO, a 7-part OVA (direct-to-video) series that took almost 8 years to create. If you can rememeber Johny Socko and His Flying Robot, you've got the central idea-- boy + giant robot-- but the GIANT ROBO animation puts it on a scale that would make THE TEN COMMANDMENTS seem like CLERKS in comparison. As if that weren't enough, the cast of characters is assembled from the ENTIRE BODY OF WORK of a single, very prolific comic artist (Mitsuteru Yokoyama)-- in his career, the guy drew sci-fi yarns, magical girl adventures, and several adaptations of famous Chinese fables-- and EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER is represented here.
It's a great adventure story with eye-popping visual design (picture Hieronymous Bosch and Frank Lloyd Wright and Alexander Rodchenko getting in a 3-way collision), terrific animation, and a thunderous orchestral score. It's what Roger Ebert would describe as an "out-of-body experience"-- a story so engaging and exciting that you'll forget everything else and get completely wrapped up in it.
Have I gushed enough? Well, it's gotta be seen to be believed. (Fair warning, though-- the dubbed version is very silly, and has some grevious translation mistakes.)
If you want something recent and "hot", I'd recommend COWBOY BEBOP-- ignore the silly title, the show itself is a fusion of Hard Boiled, Fist of Fury, and Starsky & Hutch-- all set in a very seedy version of outer space, with a surging jazz soundtrack. It'll be on Cartoon Network (edited, though there's no telling how much) in September, and it's already out there on DVD, uncut. (And unlike GIANT ROBO, the dub on this one is fantastic-- better than the Japanese version, if you ask me.)
I could go on about the subject of children's cartoons made in Japan (okay, EVA and BEBOP aren't *really* for kids), but you'd save time just by visiting my website:
http://www.animejump.com
Signed,
--Nerd
Adam,
When you’d taken SOME martial arts as a teen, when you’d learned a bit more from a friend who was an instructor in two styles for five years, when you’ve worked out most of your life to keep in shape...and when you were once attacked and belted while face down in bed almost asleep...you tend to be stalwart in an aggressive defense. Yet even I have my limits! (g)
I can only draw from your description what these brainless spit bucket Java men looked like; but the presence of anyone well over 6’2" and who makes the gym their second home would probably hold me at careful discretion even as I try to drive my point. I would never have backed away, though. I’d have done as you did. Especially when it’s a relative or someone close to you being harassed. THEN all bets are off. There’s no comparison between that kind of harassment and the idiot I had to deal with; whatever form of organisms you were confronting evolution hadn’t even started on THEM yet; MY adversary, at least, was a lower hominoid. Throwing yourself in front of an oncoming vehicle is our job once someone close or a loved one is jeopardized. In any other instance it is only your ego you’re fighting for. I toast to your resolve, man.
The reason it makes sense to take your stand against thugged-out fucks (gauging the circumstances; I mean KNOW when your only option is to take off. But if you DO run, make it look like it’s because you’re late for an interview with Connie Chung to save face; fortunately, I haven’t had to fall back on that one yet) is because at least some may learn from it once they understand the threats don’t get them what they were after. It worked for me a few times. But that was more possible with the guy I dealt with than YOUR goons.
Finally, I’m really, really sorry that had to be a Tom Petty concert. He’s great and his stuff is great and it’s a damn shame to have such an event ruined.
This sort of thing depresses me: it reinforces the concealed pockets of misanthropy in the chasms of my soul. I iz SADLY confessin' to you I believe the better people who walk the earth are outnumbered by those much closer to our ancient ancestors. I AM convinced of it. Science and art take a back seat to the slime and fungus.
We’re running shadows on a landscape, man.
Harlan,
Incidentally, I jotted down James Morrow’s name as a reminder. I’ll look for him. And thanks for that tip-off, that was damn nice of you. He sounds...pertinent.
Maybe Bob and I will have some feelings to volley once we both read some of Morrow's titles. And I'LL sure as hell have some once I'm reading 'Sleepless'.
Rob,
A little less than a month ago, I experienced something quite similar to your theater incident. It's 1am here and I need to get to sleep so I'm going to skim the details off the top and just leave you with the meat of the story. I took my step-father to Tom Petty's concert as a belated father's day gift. During the show a group of 20-something pricks start harassing my step-father. One of them starts rubbing my step-father's gut like he's the buddha and asking, "How did you get a stomach so big?" I'm not paying careful attention at first so I'm quiet. When the prick comes back & does it again, I tell him simply, "Hey, fuck off!" This incenses him and his friend lays his hand on my chest and tells me to mind my own fucking business. Now, these guys are big, fit guys. They pumping iron when they're not crushing aluminum cans against their heads. So, I calm down and just take the guys hand off of me. He over-reacts and spills a few drops of his beer. (I still don't know whether he was uncoordinated because he was sauced or if he purposely spilled a little of the beer so that he could have a beef with me.) To use your verb, the prick starts barking at me. I owe him seven bucks for another beer and he'll beat the shit out of me, etc. etc. I refuse and send my dad to get security. Now, I'm freaked out - don't want to get my ass