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Reviews: Reviews of products and services. Increase productivity: use the Computer's opinions as your own!
Putting the 'dis' in 'dysfunctional"
Dec 08, 2007
Last night I went to see my friend in a performance of “The Lion in Winter”. It was funny as hell. It’s about as based on actual events as the film adaptation of Lawnmower Man is based on Stephen King’s short story of the same name; but it’s still funny as hell. King Henry II and his wife Eleanor of Acquitaine spent Christmas with their three sons. And Henry’s current mistress (this is Henry II - sooner or later, there will be a mistress). Oh, and did I mention that Eleanor was let out of prison for the holidays? Other than that, it’s fairly standard fare: kids come home for the holidays, family resentments brew, much pissing and bitching commences. Some of the best lines:
Henry: Shall we hang the holly, or each other?
Eleanor: We all have knives! It’s 1183!!
Geoffrey (to John): If you’re a prince, there’s hope for every ape in Africa!!
John: I went up in flames, there’s not a living soul who’d pee on me to put the fire out!
Richard: Let’s strike a flint and see…
The performers playing Henry and Eleanor did a spectacular job. Now I kind of want to see the 1968 movie, with Katherine Hepburn as Eleanor and Peter O’Toole as Henry.
This does put my own memories of less-than-fond family gatherings into perspective. I’ll have to put this DVD on my shelf next to Home for the Holidays.
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Who am I to go against the wind..?
May 02, 2007
Thursday Thirteen 91::27 — Book Recommendations
In the comments over on she's blog, I made some book recommendations...thirteen of them, as a matter of fact. I only realized this after I'd entered the comment. But, hey, I'm not one to sneer at serendipity! As I warned she, these will be heavy on science fiction, because I'm a big ol' geek.
- Foreigner — C J Cherryh (anthropological science fiction)
There are now nine books in this series. I own the first six, and enjoy the first trilogy more than the second, but they’re all quite good.
“I have an energy council meeting this afternoon.”
“You'll want to change coats, nadi. Wait here for Jago. She'll escort you.”
“What is this? I'm to have an escort everywhere I go? I'm to be leapt upon by the minister of Works? Assaulted by the head of Water Management?”
“Prudence, prudence, nadi Bren. Jago's witty company. She's fascinated by your brown hair.”
Bren was outraged.“You're enjoying this. It's not funny, Banichi.”
“Forgive me.” Banichi was unfailingly solemn. “But humor her. Escort is so damned boring.”
- Cyteen — C J Cherryh (anthro/sociopological science fiction)
Originally published as a trilogy, now available in an omnibus edition (the way it should have been in the first place).
And he still could not work out the ethics of it — whether it was right to make a Theta get real pleasure out of the work instead of the approval. There was something moral involved. And there were basic structural problems in linking that way into an azi psychset, that was the trouble with it, and YUanni was right. An artificial psychset needed simple foundations, not complicated ones, or it got into very dangerous complexities. Deep-set linkages could become neuroses and obsessive behavior that could destroy and azi and be far more cruel than any simple boredom.
- Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls — Jane Lindskold (science fiction/mystery)
shorter book, has recently been republished, very good characters and story
Looking around, I find myself alone and for the first time in memory there is no one to tell me what to do or where to go. The doors of the Home are locked behind me.
Staring out into the darkness, I start to cry.
- Changer — Jane Lindskold (urban fantasy/mythology)
“Hello, Tommy. I'm the person who left a certain...present for you at the club last night.”
“Yeah?” The tones on the other side of the connection are more alert now. Sven can almost taste the tang of cocaine that fuels them. “Well, hey! Come in, man.”
The man who opens the door for Sven is belding a silk tapestry-print lounging robe about his waist, but that is as far as he goes in the direction of the social graces. Sven doesn't mind. His earliest memories of this man reclal him draped in a leopard skin, dappled with fresh blood and red wine, his hair tousled, a wreath of vine leaves askew on his brow.
- Guns of the South — Harry Turtledove (alternative history)
What would have happened during the American Civil War if the Confederates had been given machine guns..? (And what would their leadership have done when they found out exactly where the guns came from?)
- The Serpent’s Tooth — Diana L. Paxson (historical fiction)
The story of King Lear…from Cordelia’s point of view
- The Firebrand — Marion Zimmer Bradley (historical fiction)
the story of Kassandra, princess of Troy
- Parable of the Sower/Parable of the Talents — Octavia Butler (dystopian/post-apocalyptic fiction)
An interesting philosophical exploration of the nature of God, woven into a post-apocalyptic story of survival and rebuilding, horror and hope.
I've seen religious passion in other people, though — love for a compassionate God, fear of an angry God, fulsome praise and desperate pleading for a God that rewards and punishes. All that makes me wonder how a belief system like Earthseed — very demanding but offering so little comfort from such an utterly indifferent God — should inspire any loyalty at all.
We do not worship God
We perceive and attend God
We learn from God.
With forethought and work,
We shape God.
In the end, we yield to God.
We adapt and endure,
For we are Earthseed
And God is Change.
- The Gate to Women’s Country — Sherri S. Tepper (post-apocalyptic science fiction)
The little boy started to turn, started to cry out “Mommy”, but Michael seized him up lifted him high, high above his head, high above his dark eyes and laughing mouth, high above his gleaming white teeth and his cruelly curving lips as he cried, “Warriors! Behold my son!”
Then there was a wild outcry from the warriors, a hullabaloo of shouts and cries, slowing at last into a steady, bottomless chant: “Telemachus, Telemachus, Telemachus,” so deep it made your teeth shiver. Telemachus was the ancient one, the ideal son, the one who defended the honor of his father, or so Joshua said. The warriors always invoked Telemachus on occasions like this.
- Marianne, the Magus, and the Manticore — Sherri S. Tepper (fantasy)
May be VERY hard to find, but well worth it
The woman fled toward them; behind her the Manticore pursued with a roaring howl of madness, tail flicking steaming drops of venom onto the pavement where she ran, her hair streaming behind her and her face distorted in fear. As she ran past, she dwindled, became two-dimensional as though made of paper, a fluttering tissue which then appeared whole once more as it ran away from them down the endless street.
Then the papery figure turned its head, stared over its own shoulder, neck folding oddly, pleating upon itself. The figure swerved close to the wall across the street, opened its mouth to scream once more and collided with the wall to hang there, a pasted-up poster figure, mouth forever open, arms forever outstretched, dress forever twisted and hiked up by the act of running.
- Gnome Man's Land/Harpy High/Unicorn U — Esther Friesner (humor/fantasy)
Sarcastic/comedic fantasy. Very 1980s, very funny. For instance, meet the ancestral guardian spirit:
Lightly scummed teeth glittered greenly at me from beneath trailing black moustaches. A face only a mother sea slog could love, if bribed, solidified at eye-level, followed by a stocky body redolent of horse, dog, goat, and maybe yak.
“Greetings, revered wussy! You had sex with my honored granddaughter yet, or all these months you lying about being gelded?” He made a grab for my crotch, just to check.
Yang was back.
- I'd recommend Knight Life, by Peter David…but on the 20th anniversary of the book’s publication, the author released a “rewritten” version that, to me, just isn’t as enjoyable. It sucks out all the funny and tries to take itself a shade too seriously. Some people love the new version, though; so YMMV
- Genius: a biography of Richard P. Feynman — James Gleick (biography)
Richard Feynman was viewed by his contemporaries as a genius, a magician, a clown, a buffoon, an artist, a visionary, and an astonishing scientist. He won a Nobel Prize, he participated in the panel that examined the Challenger disaster. Richard Feynman's official web site lists more information, and has photos of the physicist...but Gleick's book examines Feynman's life in an extremely approachable, entertaining way.
Nature uses only the longest threads to weave her patterns, so each small piece of her fabric reveals the organization of the entire tapestry.
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The darker side of perfection, and the brilliance of us all.
Apr 04, 2007
James Alan Gardner, a science fiction author, went onto my “buy on sight” list in 1997 when I picked up the book Expendable. It sounded interesting, and had a lead-in recommendation from another of my buy-on-site authors, Robert J. Sawyer. The known universe was united under a governing body known as the League of Peoples. There is no war. There is no crime. All life is sacred, and all people are valued. Most any disease, including congenital birth defects, can be easily corrected, ensuring healthy, happy people...except for those people who show an early promise, an early tendency toward self-reliance. They're the ones whose birthmarks are left glaringly visible. They have speech impediments. They have nervous tics. They're 'eccentric'. They're given special training that allows them to have a little more initiative than the average Technocracy citizen. They're the Explorers. (See, someone saw how hard crews took it when a popular, well-liked crewmember was killed. But if someone who were less perfect died...they may grieve, but they weren't crippled by depression. Productivity wasn't impacted. And an unspoken caste system was in place.)
Gardner's Technocracy universe draws parallels and makes comparisons between social conventions, economic and political systems, philosophies, and religions. The books don't just deal with the story of the main character, but the history of their world...and of our own. I love books that do that without beating me over the head with the Obvious Stick, and these books do a wonderful job of taking a particular idea or thought further along in its evolution, then letting the reader examine the resulting society from inside and out. It's very cool (at least, I thought so.) Here are excerpts from four of the books: Expendable, Vigilant, Hunted, and Trapped. The links above lead to Powell's, an independent book store chain headquartered in Oregon.
- From Expendable: Chee blinked at all of us for a moment, then waved his hand dismissively. “Piss on saluting. I'm here incognito. I don't haveto salute if I don't want.” “Of course not, sir,” Yarrun said, smoothly changing his salute to a hand extended for shaking. “Welcome to the Jacaranda. I hope the ride over was pleasant?” “The only fun I've had in thirty years. Can I do it again?” “I'm afraid not...”
- From Expendable: “The other Explorer is dead,” I answered softly. “He was very old, and he just—” “He is not dead!” The woman was suddenly on her feet, glass fists clenched in fury. “Do you think you are sacred? Do you think you are holy? Fucking Explorers are not such things as can die!” And she stormed over to Chee's corpse and kicked it hard in the side.
- From Expendable: “Do you feel sad when you look at me, Oar?” “I am not such a person as cares how others look,” she answered. “But there may be people who see you and feel like crying, because it is wrong for the only nice Explorer to look so damaged.” Ouch.
- From Vigilant: I want to tell you everything, everything at once. I want to explode and leave you splattered bloody with all the things I have to say—kaboom, and you're covered with me, coated, dripping, deafened from the blast. A flash of instant knowledge: knowledge, not information. Burning hot. Blinding bright. Blasting down the walls of carrion-comfort cynicism. How can I do that? How? The peacock can show its whole tail at once; but I can only tell you a story.
- From Vigilant: “Dipshit is a technical term...at least, I'm trying to make it one. Short for diplomat. Officially, these gentlemen belong to the Diplomatic Corps...which is mostly a cover for the High Council's dirty-tricks brigade.”
- From Vigilant: “The family drew lots,” Lynn explained as she poured. “Who would keep poor Faye company in quarantine? I won.” “You always win when I'm not there to watch you.” “Not always. Only when I want to.”
- From Hunted: The more I thought about it, the more I saw what was really going on: the Mandasars here weren't just twenty-something-year-old kids, they were children. No matter how grown up their bodies got, their house was like a tree fort filled with a hodgepodge of valuable junk they'd pulled out of trash heaps or bought for a penny. None of this was sad or pathetic, or even noble; it was just what youngsters did while rehearsing to own adult things. (Even if a Queen Wisdom table was still tacky, tacky, tacky.)
- From Hunted: Every now and then, a puff of breeze brought the burning-wood smell of Musk B. The warriors behind me were keyed up, just itching to fight something. If I were a worker or a gentle, I'd be heading fo rhome real fast—warriors would soon be swiping at trees just to work off their tension. It wouldn't surprise me if they hauled the escape pod out of the canal and tin-snipped it to ribbons, with so much musk in the air, they'd be looking for anything to fight.
- From Hunted: “Come on, Kaish, cut the inscrutable alien crap. Either give me a straight answer or stay on Jacaranda.” “Sorry,” Kaisho replied, “but the Balrog loves watching lesser beings get smacked in the face with surprises. Just between you and me, I think the damned moss really gets off on human astonishment.”
- From Trapped: “Are you sure it's safe?” Annah asked. “A girl alone at this hour...” “I'll take my sword,” Fatima said. She turned back to me. “Can I take my sword?” “As long as you don't stab the town watchmen. You'll recognize them; they're the ones asleep in the gutters.”
- From Trapped: “Our psionics teacher says Sebastian can talk to the world: as if land, sea, and air are full of happy puppies, eager to fulfill the boy's tiniest wish. So his powers cover the whole spectrum.” “The boy talks directly to nanites? And he's headed for Niagara Falls?” Dreamsinger's voice had gone shrill.
- From Trapped: “Has anything unusual happened today?” “No, sister, it's been some quiet. You're the first folks who weren't regulars.” “I wasn't asking about your tavern,” Impervia said, making an obvious effort not to sound snappish. “The town in general. Anything notable? Fires? Fights? Sorcerous explosions?” “No, sister, nothing like that ever happens here.” Under her breath, the Caryatid said, “The night is still young.”
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Caffeine...mmm...
Feb 14, 2007
I'm playing around a bit behind the scenes, changing a few things here and there. Do folks listen to the weekly songs I usually post on late Wednesday/early Thursday? If people do listen to them, I'll keep posting new ones. If not, I'll just add them in the member jukebox.
T13 80:16: My Own Personal, Rather Subjective Review of Coffees
I like coffee. I like my coffee black, like the depths of my soul: no cream, no sugar. (There's a story behind this, and I'll tell you that another time.) Keep this in mind as you read through my list: while I do go to Starbuck's now and then, I drink coffee every single day and I don't add anything to it. I know that many people add all kinds of stuff to their coffee, so that pretty soon they're having a glass of sugar and milk with a dash of caffeine. I am pretty much on the opposite end of that scale. I also tend to prefer unflavored coffees, though a few are on my regular list.
Here's a little note to head some folks off at the pass: I didn't profile "arabica" coffee because arabica is a type of bean. Saying "coffee - now with arabica beans!" is like the early 1990s web designers who advertised "web design - now with links!"
- Any kind of coffee that comes in a single serving bag — oh, the horror! It has no style. It has no panache. It has no -=flavor=-. This is less thrilling than actual instant coffee, and should only be used in dire circumstances. (I know. I've had to have both types, when things were dark. Events, that is...not the coffee.)
- Any coffee in a bulk can (Yuban, MJB, et cetera) — not all that good for drinking, but will provide the necessary caffeine buzz. Also good for feeding to roses or scenting your rug. (Dump the can, wait 30 minutes, vacuum up the grounds)
- Sumatran — dark, medium/medium-light flavor. Often described as "earthy". This is because it tastes vaguely like dirt.
- Kona — Medium flavor, good color, decent aroma. Can make a good base for adding flavored syrups, if you want to taste the syrups as much as the coffee. The Garfield of coffees: it's around all over the place, it's offensive to no one, and it sells well. I have yet to taste kona coffee that really, truly knocks my socks off; though one particular brand of Kona coffee outstrips the others I've tried (and as soon as I can remember the brand name, I'll post it.)
- Celebes Kalossi / Sulawesi — medium-strong flavor with a very faint underlying sweetness. A friend of mine must have a little coffee with his morning sugar — he loves the smell of coffee but not the taste — and he actually drank a cup of this without any cream, sugar, or anything.
- Italian roast — very dark color, very strong aroma, tastes nearly burnt. As it should: the beans are roasted for quite a long time to get this "burnt" quality. Don't ask me why. (Possibly coffee became diluted as it headed further north. Certainly, Greek or Turkish coffee will strip the chrome right out of the mountainside. I admit, I am not daring enough to try straight qawhi. I might need to cut it by adding some water...which would probably make the brewer laugh, weep, or roll their eyes far enough back to give themself a concussion.)
- Colombian — another staple which has not left a strong impression with me. I have not drunk too much straight "Colombian" coffee, but I also haven't tasted any Colombian coffee that made me grimace in disgust (except perhaps Yuban, which I suspect of using hulls and floor-leavings to stretch their product further) or take a quick side trip to the Happy Caffeinated Place.
- Irish Creme — I said I don't really drink flavored coffees, and that's true. Irish creme is one of the few exceptions to this. It smells wonderful, and tastes good — though if you need a bit of sugar to drink any coffee, you'll still need to add something to Irish creme. Irish creme is one of the few coffees that, when packaged in pods or single-serving pouches, still tastes halfway acceptable.
- Spiced buttered rum — another flavored coffee I just had to try. Rich, buttery, a good aroma, and a nice bite.
- Jamaican Blue Mountain — this has long been touted as an absolutely amazing coffee. It's *very* good coffee, but I won't call it the end-all be-all of the coffee experience. I actually prefer Celebes Kalossi, and Celebes Kalossi costs less.
- Hazelnut — this is a bit too bitter for me. The few times I've been able to successfully drink and enjoy hazelnut coffee was when I *ghasp* added eggnog.
- Decaffeinated — I list this specifically because while many people will call it a variant of coffee, this is not real coffee. While some decaffeinated coffees have a wonderful aroma, and some can taste nearly as good as the real thing...it's just not real. Decaffeinated coffee is the dildo of coffees: when you're in the mood it leaves you vaguely unsatisfied, and when you're hard up and desperate, it only blunts the edge. (Does anyone but me think that Decaffeinated Dildos could be the name of a garage band? ...just me? Okay. Just checking.)
- Kopi Luwak — I will not touch this on a bet. Starting at around USD$75 per half pound and going as high as USD$500/lb, this coffee is incredibly expensive. It is billed as being incredibly flavorful, smooth, mellow, and wonderfully piquant. It also gets this flavoring from the digestive tract of a civet cat. That's right: Kopi Luwak is cat shit coffee. I'm a zealous caffeine addict; but there are just some lines I will not cross.
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Linking to a local-to-me online bookseller, rather than Amazon. (Changing a-a-all my affiliate links is going to be a chore, though.)
Nov 18, 2006
I’ve started switching my book and DVD links from Amazon to 
Powell’s. Powell’s is an independent bookstore headquartered in Portland, OR. Their RL store sells new books as well as used books (so you can go there and resell your books you’ve outgrown…or never liked much in the first place…and get some that you *do* like.) Powell’s is closer to where I am, geographically, than Amazon’s shipping-center in the middle of the continent. Thus, things shipped to me from Powell’s warehouse will use less fuel as well as generate less heat and pollution. Little, tiny, possibly infinitesimal things; but every little bit helps. (The fact that their selection and prices are comparable to Amazon’s…doesn’t hurt.) I test-ordered a book from them, and it arrived just as promptly as a similar order would have arrived from Amazon.
I’ve chosen to be paid in store credit, rather than cash - since some of the cash I’d receive would undoubtedly end up back in their hands, anyway. This just keeps things neater. (Besides that, Amazon has enough PR. They will not exactly be suffering by this change of mine. And switching affiliate links, on fits my contrarian nature well enough.)
I’ll still be linking to CDs on Amazon (because Powell’s sells DVDs and books, but not CDs), but all movies and books will gradually be linked from a different online store.
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The 1998 movie about abstraction, distraction, media manipulation, and substituting your own reality.
Nov 05, 2006
With two days to go until election day in America, today seemed like a good day to rewatch Wag the Dog
. Campaign season is always full of distractions, mudslinging, and plenty of noise. By the time voting day comes along, many of us are so dragged out, so tired, so drained that we either vote halfheartedly or don’t vote at all.
And that’s the whole point.
The story: With eleven days to go before the presidential election, the current president is accused of sexual misconduct with a minor girl. The spin doctors go into damage-control mode, hiring a Hollywood producer (Dustin Hoffman) to produce “a pageant”: a war with Albania, the B-3 bomber, a hero left behind. They use the newspapers, television, radio, any and all mass media to plant and spread their rumors. They have slogans, songs, merchandizing, the works. And they use every tool they have to redefine reality.
Ignore the propaganda. Focus on what you see.
And (if you’re a registered US voter) vote on Tuesday.
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Iteration 04/04/07: Books
