Queries: Murder Most Foul!

A reader asks:

"Did Tiny Doom kill Ban in the bath with the Pink Pig?"

Short answer:

"No."

Long Answer:

As the Divine Robert Plant once wailed:

"All will be revealed!"

Corporate Shill: Minty Water!

Metromint, my favorite bottled water, has just introduced two new flavours: orange-mint and lemon-mint.

While I don't like either quite as much as I like the original spear/peppermint, no doubt they shall grow on me, as did their green and blue brethren.

Yes, I know bottled water is destroying the planet one drop of polycarbon at the time, but if your tap water was pumped out of Lake Michigan too you'd understand the appeal. No filter in the world can help that water. So solace my hydrated guilt, I do try to recycle the bottles.

And while I usually try to rise above corporate shilling, I really like this stuff, and, if it's a choice between Metromint and Dasani, well--the choice is clear. Trust Coke to put salt in their bottled (tap) water! Yuck!

Is Nothing Sacred?

Oh dear.

The only forum I read on Television without Pity is the Battlestar Galatica forum, but the BSG forum is the only BSG forum worth reading.

So while I don't blame the site founders for cashing out, I hope that Bravo doesn't kill the cash cow.

Wanna lay odds? The BSG forum is currently offline, which is not a promising sign, particularly the day after the season 3 finale.

Fan Girl Alert: Great Harry Ahoy!

Get yer PVR ready: Great Harry will be dropping by Showtime this Saturday, April 1st.

You can watch the first two eps of The Tudors here, but I'm going to wait for the full large screen glory. Califa politics in no small part were influenced by the Tudor court many of you will not be to surprised to hear, and, of course, I'd watch Jonathan Rhys Myers play a paper box.

To gear myself up, I think I'll go watch Titus again. One of the best adaptations of Shakespeare's most horrific play. Makes movies like Hostel and Saw look like playtime at the Sunnyside Day Care.

But it's literature!

Curiouser and Curiouser--Yet Compelling

Madama Tia Resleure is my kind of artist. She creates haunting artwork out of taxidermy. This may sound morbid, and perhaps it is, but it's also melancholy and very memento mori. And it's not a bad thing for us all to remember our own mortality and that even:

Imperial Caesar dead and turned to clay
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away

Check out Madama Resleure's Case of Curiosities here.

Spammy Names!

Recently I got an email from Tiarnach Dejesus, and then another from Ilya Grant, and then another from Attila Ottilie. Rabid fans? Old high school friends?

No--mysterious spammers!

Occasionally spam will slip through one of my filters, and I'll have to delete the sorry little bugger manually and I've begun to notice that the names on these emails are downright delightful. I have no idea where they come from--are they real addresses and names that have been spoofed, or is some spam bot just combing the Dictionary of Unusual Monikers and frankensteining names that way?

Either way, the end result is charming. I've started to keep a list of the best of them, 'cause you never know when you might have to draw a character name out of your hat, and so far, the spammers are coming up with a far more entertaining collection of appellations than I ever could.

So don't be too surprised if you see a Lieutenant Tiarnach Dejusus or an innkeeper named Attila in some upcoming Califa story.

theinferior4+1

Watch out, boys and girls, thar's a new blog in town! Me, Elizabeth Hand, Lucius Shepard, and the indefatigable Paul Di Filippo are teaming up to create a new joint blog. With that much talent, what else could we call ourselves but theinferior4+1?

Why the "+1"?

Well, comic book afficionados among you may recall the 60s-era superhero bumblers The Inferior Five (pictured above; from left to right: Awkward Man, Merry Man, The Blimp, White Feather, and the oh-so-politically incorrect Dumb Bunny). Since there are only four of us (which makes us even more inferior!), we decided to occasionally invite guest bloggers to chime in, bringing us up to the level of our models, much like Madama Wilce, who is inferior to no one, has allowed me to post occasionally here.

Taking out the Trash...

Ayah, so, this is just brilliant.

Unicat, the maker of expedition vehicles, has re-purposed a garbage truck into a stunning modern rv. It has all the comforts of home, including a kitchen and a washing machine. Sweeter than a Winnebago--and undercover too, which the ranger in me loves!

Unicat also makes something called the Maximog--which is like a Hummer only much much cooler. The Maximog can ford up to five feet of water, can operate in extreme temps, and handle very steep grades. Yeah, so can the Hummer. But the Maximog was designed so that it could actually be used on OTHER PLANETS. It's so tough that it has been displayed in the New York Museum of Modern Art and it's still cool. That's pretty tough, people.

Now I pine for a Maximog. No one would ever cut me off on Lakeshore Drive again if I were in a Maximog. Bothwell and I would ride serenely above the fray, and if we were suddenly kidnapped by space aliens and dropped on some far distant planet, we'd be totally prepared.

What's the Buzz?

• Cute Overload Alert: Gwenda has a new pup--ain't he anerable?

• I'm going to be at the American Library Association Annual Conference in June. More details as they materialize. Expect giant crowds!

• I just finished reading Out by Natsuo Kirino. Japanese crime noir--excellent, highly recommended. It's her first book to be translated into English, but I hope there are many more to come. I found it a fascinating depiction of a Japan that Westerners rarely see.

• Gama-Go!

• Primo Action Man gifted Devilman and me with Tiki mugs from Tiki Farm. We shall look so super cool sipping our Sidecars now!

• Get'em while they are young: Alpha Workshop is a SF & F writing workshop for writers 14-19! If that's you--check them out--great instructors and a good precursor to Clarion! (Link heisted from Madama Kushner!)

• The Interfictions blog is up and running. Go read, and commentate.

• Time for nuncheon!

Lineaments of Gratified Desire!

Several people have asked me where they can get a copy of "Lineaments of Gratified Desire", which appeared in F&SF last year.

I'm pleased to announce that it's been reprinted in both The Year's Best Fantasy & Horror Anthology and in Fantasy: The Year's Best. Neither book is currently available, but you can pre-order both.

So go, do that!

NB: It might actually be "Lineaments of Desire Gratified"--I can never remember which is right and I'm currently too decaffeinated to look it up.

Amazon Rankings!

The Wall Street Journal has an article today about how Amazon and other online sales rankings are meaningless, and PR firms that promise to drive up ranking numbers are big fat scams.

This is oh so true, but one thing the article doesn't point out is that for poor authors existing in a giant sales vacuum, Amazon rankings are the one tangible sign that someone out there is buying their book. Or not. After all, when you go into a bookstore you only see the copies that haven't sold (which, if there's no clerk watching, you immediately move to the top shelf and face out.) You can't see the copies that were there but someone bought (you hope.) But on Amazon, even though it's all psychological, it's very heartening to watch your Amazon number crawl out of the low millions into the low hundred thousands. Someone somewhere has bought your book. Yeeha!

It's Bookscan's world now--we poor writers just live in it, hoping that our life's work won't be consigned to the free book box of literary history or that we won't sell the next book, no matter how wonderful, because the last book didn't do so well. Sometimes it's better not to know the day-to-day cold hard solid sales figure facts. There's time enough to face those truths later.

Sometimes it's better to be blissful and ignorant and rejoice when your Amazon ranking suddenly jumps from 50,002,001 to 50,002,021. Whoo--hoo--New York Times Bestseller List Here I Come.

As The Oscar once said: "Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit. Touch it, and the bloom is gone."

And so, I think I'll go check my Amazon ranking right now.

NB: (Actually I don't check my Amazon ranking at all; Devilman found an online program that automatically checks the numbers and makes them into a little graph that looks super cool and very official. When the little line goes up, I feel Important. When it goes down, I cry and Devilman gives me chocolate. It's a win-win!)

Tira Lirra!

Haven't you always dreamed of being a leaping stag in a mysterious endless forest?

Watch out for the hooded man.

Bourbon & Branch!

You can't just walk up to Bourbon & Branch, knock on the (unmarked) door and expect to get in. Bourbon & Branch is a modern day speakeasy, and, just as the bartenders exert extra effort in ensuring that the cocktails the bar serves are perfect, so too patrons are expected to exert a little effort to get inside. Effort that includes reservations and passwords.

Now some may consider this policy elitist and snobby, and frankly it is. However, I don't care, as when it comes to cocktails, I'm elitist and snobby, too. When I have a beautifully crafted cocktail before me, I want to be able to enjoy it leisurely, at a table, with convivial friends, whose scintillating conversation I can actually hear, and without drunken yabbos dribbling two dollar Pabst Blue Ribbon and cigarette ash upon me, while techno music drills out my eardrums, and there's no place to even stand, much less sit.

And any bar that ensures no drunken yabbos, no techno music, and no Pabst Blue Ribbon has my undying gratitude and support. Even if I do have to jump through hoops to get in. The hoops that Bourbon & Branch asks its customers to plie through aren't that onerous really, nor are they insurmountable. And they are well worth the spring.

Once you've found the location (no address, but clear directions), rung the buzzer, whispered the password, and been ushered inside, you find a beautifully decorated 1920s style space, with dark red wallpaper, chummy little booths, a gorgeous bar, and very polite servers. Not a trace of snobbiness did I detect. Indeed, the server was gracious and charming.

Bourbon & Branch's drink menu is large and almost overwhelming, but our choices were lubricated by tiny glasses of a liquid amuse-bouche--some sort of delicious fruit beer. The bar's juices and infusions are all made from scratch--no crappy pre-mixes here--and the ice comes from a special super expensive ice machine that guarantees purity and the proper shape.

I had a Blackberry Bramble, Madama Sister-in-Law had a French 75, and Sieur Hermano had the house special which had whiskey in it, and I'm not sure what else. Alas, poor Devilman, who was driving, had to stick to Diet Coke, but it's a testament to Bourbon & Branch's dedication to quality liquids that said beverage arrived bottled--bar soda out of a wand is notoriously bad. The drinks were all delicious--perfectly mixed, carefully poured, and nicely presented. I usually like to sit at the bar to watch the bartenders in action, but due to there being four of us, we were at a table, so I missed that part of the show. I did notice that the bartenders were using Boston shakers, which they should be doing but not everyone does.

Some reviews of Bourbon & Branch have complained about drink prices and elitist attitude. All I can say is that I am willing to pay the price for a well made cocktail--good liquor isn't cheap and neither is a skilled bartender. And mixing a cocktail does require skill--any one can snap the top off a beer bottle, but there's an art to a good pour. There's no smoking section--hooray--and the neighbourhood is sketchy (don't go alone). But the cumulative experience is well worth it.

If you are over 21, of course. Those of you who are under 21--your day will come, I promise!

Ut!

My Last SFWA Speech!

I realize this topic is of no interest to most of you, so I shall probably make this my last post on the matter--but for those who do care, I have this little speech to make:

I was a bit discouraged reading all the commentators on Scalzi's blog who are saying: I would vote for you, but, though I qualify, I never bothered to join SFWA.

Back when I first qualified, I wasn't going to join SFWA either, but then a very wise gentleman (Paul Park) told me I should, noting that then I could nominate for the Nebulas, and would get an invitation to the SFWA Editors reception held every October. Of course, you can go to the reception without being a member of SFWA, but receptions are expensive things, and it seemed to me that rather than freeloading year after a year, I should be chipping in somehow. And having the option to nominate for the Nebulas is always nice. I don't nominate often, but when I do, it's heartfelt.

So I joined SFWA, expecting to get those advantages, but none other. Alas, SFWA didn't seem to have any other relevance to me. However, those advantages mentioned above aside, it also seemed to me that SFWA, for better or worse, is the professional Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers organization, and being a professional fantasy writer, I should support them for that reason alone.

Now I'm glad I did join SFWA, and I can't help but wish that others had done so as well, rather than remaining aloof. The only chance of change is from within.

Of course, until now, I didn't try to do much to change from within, but it's hard to muster up a solo effort. Now that a movement is under way, I'm delighted to be able to participate.

And I urge those of you who can qualify but haven't, and who want to see change, to get your paperwork in the mail ASAP and join the Revolution!

Back to regularly scheduled programming.

Pendomonium!

Not only does Pendemonium carry super cool pens, but they have blotting paper, too. Do you know how hard it is to find real blotting paper?

It's not easy.

SFWA Elections!

If you are a member of SFWA, please read this.

If you are not a member of SFWA, and yet qualify for membership, please read the above, and consider becoming a member post haste, so you can vote in the upcoming officers' election.

If you are not a member of SFWA, and have no idea what I'm talking about--never mind. In this case, Ignorance truly is bliss.

More Japanese Pens!

And if you just happen to be in Tokyo, and in need of some pens, here's a handy guide on where to go.

Perhaps I'll try to talk Devilman into going to Worldcon after all.

Thank you, Sieur Witcover!

Alas, I am home from the Left Coast, trading yellow and blue for grey grey grey. I'd like to thank Sieur Witcover for managing things in my absence, and keeping the flag flying.

It was very fun to be able to check my blog while I was gone and see blog posts magickally appearing!

If only Pig could type...

Until he learns, I guess it's up to me, with the occasional pinch-hitter. I hope everyone enjoyed my special guest star as much as I did.

Now sweeps week is over, and back to regularly scheduled programing...

Pens & More Pens!

Whenever I'm in the City, I make a beeline for the Kinokuniya Stationery store in Japantown Mall. They have a fantastic selection of Japanese stationery, pens, pencils, and notebooks, and let me tell you, as in soft-drinks, cell phones, cosplay, and kawaii, the Japanese are light-years ahead of us when it comes to office and school supplies.

Their pens are cooler, and more varied, their notebooks come in all sorts of marvelous sizes and shapes; they have erasers shaped like sushi; and pink staplers that look like eggs. Pen cases of every shape and size, tiny stickers, even their post-it notes are cute. Totoro stuffies, post-cards, and decorative tape.

But it the pens that I long for. Though I don't write fiction in long-hand, I do write lots of other stuff, and I am very peculiar about what I write with. For a long time, I wrote with a dip pen, but that's not very portable. I can't stand writing with anything other than a fountain pen, and even then, only certain pens will do. Fat Mont Blancs--bleh. I like sharp nibs that will continue to write even upside down. I do not like calligraphy nibs at all. Give me a blue Pilot Petit1 pen and I'm happy. For some reason, Americans don't seem to use fountain pens much, so the everyday fountain pen is hard to find. Kinokuniya has an excellent selection, along with refills. But alas, they do not ship.

Jetpens, however, does.

They also have minipens, folders, lettersets, and, of course, fountain pens. Jetpens office supplies are not quite as spectacular as Kinokuniya and you can't get a crepe with ice cream and strawberries when you are done shopping, but certainly they are better than nothing.

So, if you don't use a fountain pen, here's your chance. I promise you that once you get used to the smooth feeling of real ink flowing across the blank page, you shall eschew gel and ballpoint pens forever.

And speaking of crepes--the concept of filling a crepe with fruit and whipped cream, folding it up like an ice cream cone, and filling it then with ice cream is such a wonderful idea that I don't understand why the US is not blanketed with Sophie's Crepes.

Pigs!

Ever since the Badtz Maru mersh got thin on the ground, I've been feeling pretty pouty. Hello Kitty et al. are fine and dandy, when you are feeling pink. But when you are feeling both Cute and Evil, there's nothing like an angry penguin.

Well, now I feel a bit better.

Monokuro Boo aren't quite as menacing as Badtz, but they are black and white, and there are two of them. Double the trouble. Their expressions are ambiguous. Are they waiting to be sure? Are they thinking about eating your liver? Are they bored? And they've got quite a bit of mersh.

So, I'll make due with the pigs, until Badtz gets out of lock-down and is strolling down the streets of Gorgeoustown once more.

Psycho Killer

Better run run run run run run run awaaaaay . . .

I was a bit dubious about going to see David Fincher's Zodiac, afraid it would be just another slasher pic, but it turned out to be a smart and provocative study of obsession -- that of the eponymous serial killer himself, as well as those who pursue him, with exceptional performances from Jake Gyllenhaal as Robert Graysmith, a San Francisco Chronicle cartoonist whose peripheral involvement in the case ultimately leads him to write the books on which the movie is based (whether Graysmith's theories are reasonable, I gladly leave to others to decide), Robert Downey Jr. as Paul Avery, a reporter on the Chronicle whose descent into drugs and drink never quite erases his mordant intelligence, and Mark Ruffalo as Detective David Toschi, the lead investigator on the case. All these men become sucked into the dark vortex that spins around the enigmatic figure of Zodiac -- whose identity has never been established, despite the movie's attempts to finger a particular suspect.

This got me thinking about serial killers, whom I'd really only known about through films like Silence of the Lambs and Neil Gaiman's Sandman comics, wherein the famous "Cereal Convention" takes place, featuring one of Gaiman's most frightening creations, The Corinthian, and also one of his most noble, Fiddler's Green.

A cursory search led me to H.H. Holmes -- and if you don't know anything about this truly terrifying individual, the subject of Erik Larson's The Devil in the White City, I commend him to your study. The book, incidentally, is in development as a movie directed by James Cameron's ex, Kathryn Bigelow.

Cute Overlord

This is my cat, Beamer, whom I neglected to mention in my earlier discussion of evil. Beamer exemplifies the wise words of Madama Wilce, from a previous comment: "the most awesome kind of Evilness of all--the Cute Kind."

"Thar She Blows!"

San Francisco, where Madama Wilce is currently soaking up sunshine and cocktails, is without question a great city, but there are certain advantages to living in le Grande Pomme even in the very midst of winter: to wit, the theater. Where, last night, I saw an incredible performance of Orson Welles's Moby Dick -- Rehearsed.

Apparently, in the fifties, around the time that he played Father Mapple in the John Huston-directed film of Melville's classic novel, Welles became obsessed with the idea of adapting Moby Dick for the stage, and starring in the same (no, not as the great white whale, as the snarky-minded among you were thinking -- shame on you!): that is the version I saw last night, performed by Twenty Feet Productions.

According to the review in the New York Times, Welles, still later in life, recorded excerpts of theatrical readings of the novel, some of which can be found on YouTube -- with subtitles in Italian, bizarrely enough -- but these give some sense of the power Welles would have brought to the role of Ahab. (Well, okay, maybe not that much power!)

The play is actually a "play within a play," as the actors are gathered to do a reading of King Lear, and only incidentally, it seems, take up an adaptation of Moby Dick prepared by the son of the theatrical troupe's somewhat megalomaniacal "governor," who reserves the role of Ahab for himself. The linking of Lear and Moby Dick is an inspired one, for of all American novels that I know, Moby Dick is the most Shakespearean in the reach of its language and drama, and Welles's adaptation, running about two hours with a 15-minute intermission, is astonishingly seamless. The play is running through March 25, so there's still time for New Yorkers to see it.

Watching, it occurred to me how much of the structure of a classic horror novel or movie is there in Moby Dick, and it struck me forcefully that if Poe is one forefather of the horror genre in this country, then Melville must be another.

The cosmic horror that Melville introduced in parts of Moby Dick seems to me to be the abiding characteristic, distilled and purified, of Lovecraft's fiction. And in fact, I've been thinking a lot lately that Lovecraft is turning out to be this decade's P.K. Dick; that is, more and more his peculiar insights seem to capture, for increasing numbers of people, aspects of the world in which we are living today, just as Dick's work did for people in the nineties. I'm not sure what this means, but it's kind of scary.

It also occurred to me that Moby Dick would make a terrific musical! But it seems I'm not the first to come up with this idea. "Thar she blows" indeed!

Speaking of World Domination...

I'm happy to report that Flora Segunda is an Editor's Choice in this Sunday's New York Times. Our girl, Udo, and Flynn are doing pretty good for themselves.

(NB: The link above only goes to the Editor's Choice list; you have to scroll down to see Flora Segunda!)

(NB2: For those who've already forgotten, the NY Times review of Flora Segunda is here.)

(NB3: Thanks to the Insightful Reader who pointed out the link confusion--you know who you are!)

Ooh-rah!

Evil Overlord Guidelines!

While we are on the subject of Evilness...

Here are a few things to keep in mind should you desire to undertake the quest for World Domination.

The Problem Of Evil

Happy St. Patrick's Day! On this and every other day, it's important to be able to know good from evil and choose accordingly. I found this test, composed by Professor Stampede, to be most helpful, at least as far as my own nature is concerned. Lest there be any doubt, the result:

How evil are you?

For the record, I do not and never have worked directly for AOL. However, considering that I did once work for Time-Warner, which was purchased by AOL, this is really an impressive result. I had suspected for some time, but it's good to know.

I believe very strongly that evil exists and is present in our world, working toward its evil ends.

What?? Not Sanrio's beloved icon of penguiny cuteness, "Bad" Badtz-Maru! Surely you jest, Mr. Witcover!

Would that it were so! Look again:

Why, he's even got his own "Quality Web Site"! If that's not evil, I don't know what is.

As we all know, St. Patrick was responsible for driving the penguins out of Ireland, which is why this day is celebrated the world over with prodigious bouts of drinking and vomiting, for evil penguins like Badtz-Maru feed their young by a similar method; yet another example of how the Catholic church is not above taking its rituals from penguin (or "pagan") sources.

Still, it's debatable whether even Badtz is as evil as this or this.

Or this.

And It Ain't A Fit Night Out ...

...for man nor beast. And I oughta know, being both a man and a beast, because I've just come out of it, pausing only to snap this picture on the way -- that's the view from 29th Street and 3rd Ave., with the Chrysler Building all but obscured by sleet.

The picture comes from my LG cellphone, which I must confess to being gravely disappointed with. On Wednesday night, my buddy Dan and I went to see the Shins at Madison Square Garden Theater (one sweet venue, so much cooler than the Garden itself, which IMO swallows up bands and then spits out their bones), where I whipped out my cell, already thinking of my duties as a guest-blogger, and took the following shot.

Okay, if I found that picture in a year or two, not only would I have no idea who it was; I wouldn't even have any idea what it was. The view from the bridge of the Enterprise upon entering the Horsehead Nebula? A late-night shot of the Brooklyn Bridge?

The Shins, by the way, are a wonderful but strange band. They seem to have at least two distinct sides. Sometimes they are capable of rocking out, as they did in their encore, a terrific cover of Jonathan Richman's "Someone I Care About" (but don't take my word for it), and then sometimes they are so freaking mellow that it just doesn't work live. So about half the show was dancing in the aisles, and half was wondering if I had any e-mail messages waiting . . . On the other hand, this did make it easy to decide when to go for beer.

Unaccustomed As I Am . . .

. . . to public blogging, a big thanks to the generous and talented Ysabeau Wilce for trusting me not to screw up her soapbox too badly while she's away conferring, conversing, and otherwise hobnobbing with her fellow wizards in Alta Califa. As the temperature plummets by the minute here in fickle NYC, with snow on the horizon for tonight, and neither cocktails nor golf in my immediate future, it's comforting somehow to think of Ysa and Pig sipping Sidecars at Bix while whispering doubletalk in Barbarick.

I'll try to have more of interest to post tomorrow, but I do believe in closing on an uplifting note. Every so often a story comes along that makes one proud to be an American, the kind of story that renews one's faith in good old American ingenuity and inventiveness. As long as this country is capable of producing men like John W. Cornwell, I have no fears for its future. Sieur Cornwell, I salute you -- huzzah!

Califa Vocab: Made Up Words!

By the way, a recent review accused me of using "made up" words in Flora Segunda. I'd like to state for the record that, with only one or two exceptions, I did not use any made up words in Flora Segunda!

Some of my vocab may be arcane, out-of-date, or just plain obscure, but I promise you (almost) none of it spilled forth from my imagination. Most can be found in the Dictionary of Record, the OED. Some it requires Partridge's Dictionary of Slang. Some sources are even more arcane. But it's all real. Being not even a teeny tiny bit of the linguist that other much more august writers might be, I wouldn't dare to embark upon making up my own words. If you aren't an Oxford don, therein lies Trouble.

Besides, with all those lovely words out there waiting to be used, why would I want to make any up?

So next time, watch those mingy howlers, pluggy, or we might be coming to milvads, or worse, I might erucate into fulginous fury and after clocking you in the eyghen defenestrate you.

Special Guest Star: Paul Witcover

Later today, I'm sloughing off this Porky coil and jetting off to the Coast for some R&R. In my absence, the ever accommodating Paul Witcover will be our special guest star.

In addition to being a dear friend, Paul is also an excellent writer whose oeuvre includes Waking Beauty, Tumbling After, Dracula: Asylum, and a forthcoming volume of short stories, alas, name and publisher I have forgot. Sieur Witcover also writes reviews for Realms of Fantasy, and, with Elizabeth Hand, co-authored the "gonzo-feminist" comic Anima. And he edits. And he sometimes curates reading series. And he plays golf. And he drinks cocktails. He's a man of many talents.

Additionally, Sieur Witcover is witty, debonair, clever, and has been known to wear a fedora. What more introduction do you need? You'll be in good hands. Or capable hands. Well, let's just say, you'll be in hands. What kind of hands, we shall see, we shall see. (Cue maniacal laughter.)

Anyway, I'm sure Sieur Witcover shall keep you amused.

I'll still be checking in occasionally, lording it over everybody that I am in California and most of you are not; describing in great detail all the cocktails I am drinking, and how bright the sun, and blue the Bay, and generally rubbing it in. You can always count on a gloat.

So, handing over the mic to Sieur Witcover, and let's hear a big round of applause!

Melted Cheese!

You know what's great when it's cold outside and sleeting and still winter even though it's March and yesterday was 75 degrees?

Paninis!

A wise wise friend of mine once said: everything tastes better warm. And this is true if you omit ice cream, sushi, and a few other foodstuffs from your definition of everything. Which I do here. Particularly yummy is hot bread, melted cheese, and other sandwie type stuff. Layered, squashed and grilled--delish.

The panini, for any readers who've just stopped in from the Klingon Homeworld or other parts quite distant, is a sandwich of various yummy ingredients, including meat, cheese and sometimes veggies which is placed on a double-sided grill, pressed down hard, and toasted. The panini originated in Italy, long ago, when a returning Crusader stood too close to a fire in his chain mail, then accidentally sat down upon the sandwie his granny was making for him. No wait, a minute--that's how waffles were invented. I know not the actual origin of the panini but I know this: I love them.

We got an electric panini grill for Christmas, which is by far the easiest way to make a panini. But those who are still slaving solely over a stove top, do not despair, you can press and toast your panini the old fashioned way.

Make like you are grilling a grilled cheese sandwie, only heat up two skillets, the second being preferably heavy and made of iron. Then, put your sandwie inside the first skillet, a la usual, and place the second skillet, now super hot, bottom down on the sandwich, and press. Baring a second skillet, you could use a brick wrapped in tin foil and heated in the oven. Or a bacon press works too. (NB: if you burn your finger or annoy your mother with these tricks, don't come running to me. I shall deny having ever heard of you.)

Traditional paninis use ciabatta bread rolls. You can get them at Trader Joe's. Cut the top off, and then cut them in half. I like to use a good heavy multi-grain sandwich bread, 'cause it seems healthier. What goes inside a panini? What have you got?Traditional paninis contain Italian cold-cuts like mortadella, prosciutto, mozzarella cheese, etc. I use whatever cheese I have got, ham sometimes, sometimes turkey slices, and I like to slice an apple really thin and put that in the middle. Basically, you can use whatever you want. That's the beauty of sandwies--if you can fit it between two slices of bread, then it's cool.

Two tricks: make sure you put cheese against the bread, this will help the sandwie hold together. And lightly brush (or spray) the outside of the bread with olive oil. You can use butter if you've got it. Don't use margarine, please. It's totally pointless. A tiny bit of fat shall not kill you.

That's all there is to it. Your mileage may vary, but I doubt that your enjoyment will. Remember--a panini a day will keep the doctor away.

Next time, we shall discuss another grilled wonder: waffles!

Mr. Death!

John Waters as the Grim Reaper?

This I gotta see.

(It's kinda type-casting, innit?)

Query: Wer-Flamingo Bites!

Several readers have asked me if wer-flamingo bites are painful.

Yes.

Yes, they are.

But what price pink?

Books Not Read!

Somewhere today while wasting time reading blogs, I came across an article claiming that someone somewhere had done a poll asking people if they had actually read some of the best sellers they had bought.

Answer: Many of them had not.

Now I can't remember what blog I read this on.

Boooo.

Anyway, I seem to recall that Bill Clinton's memoirs were mentioned, and so too DBC Pierre's Vernon Little God, which won the Man Book Prize some years back. To my complete un-surprise Ulysses was also mentioned. Now, I pride myself on being able to wade through some pretty sticky prose--I have read The Worm Ouruboros twice and E.R. Eddison's prose style could have sunk the Titanic if the iceberg hadn't gotten it first--but I have never managed to get more than three pages into Ulysses, and I've always been a little suspicious of people who said they just loved it best book ever. Huh. If you say so. Perhaps I shouldn't project my failing on others, but still...

Anyway, the article struck me because Ulysses is not the only book I've always suspected more people bought than read. There are a lot of Important Books out there, well celebrated, that, in addition to being important, are also Turgid, Obtuse, Pompous, and Flat Out Boring. I have oft wondered how many people, suckered by glowing reviews, have purchased said tomes, read two pages, and then put the book away, convinced the fault lies with them and not within the book.

Mentioning no names, of course!

But, dagnabit, I wish I could remember where I'd read that article.

LATER: Literaticat has kindly reminded me that the article was in the UK Guardian. Link in comment below! Muchas gracias! (Check out Literaticat's blog--fabulous Tiki graphics--now I'm jealous!)

Alas, Gender Stereotypes in Kidlit

Here's an interesting article that details gender stereotypes in children's literature. This study only covers kidlit through 1991.

In the last fifteen years, things have changed, no?

Actually, no.

Maybe they've changed a little, but not so very much, conclude the authors of "Gender Stereotyping and Under-Representation of Female Characters in 200 Popular Children's Picture Books: A 21st Century Update" recently published Sex Roles: A Journal for Research. The study only covers picture books, not novels, but I strongly suspect if Drs. Anderson & Hamilton had looked further into that age group, they would have reached the same conclusions.

I tried super hard not stereotype characters in Flora Segunda. Or at least not to gender stereotype characters. In fact, I tried hard not to gender any of the characters in Califa. Of course, imagining a world without gender stereotypes is a rather utopian pipedream, and I'm sure that if I examined my gendering carefully, I'd probably still find stereotypes. But at least, on the surface, people in Califa order their lives, their clothes, and their occupations via their inclinations and not because of their sex.

Flora's problems stem from her own desires, not from her sex. She's not trying to over come being a girl, or becoming what she wants to be despite being a girl. There's a long tradition of heroines trying to overcome the "disadvantage" of being girls, from Jo March on. And it's a good tradition, but not one that I wanted to add to. I found it more interesting to try to mix things up, to give "female" qualities to men (fancy clothes and makeup) and "male" qualities to females (military power).

Sometimes I think I might have overdone a bit--I've had several people ask me if Califa is (Warlord aside) a matriarchal society. It's not. Though it wasn't happenstance that the Hadraada family ordered itself through the female line only, it's just happenstance that the last two commanding generals of the Army of Califa were women. I wasn't trying to imply that Florian was the lone male in a matriarchy.

At least, I don't think I was.

Almost Instant Karma!

Remember that sorority at DePauw University that expelled all the non-blonde, non-white, non-thin members?

Now DePauw is giving them the boot.

What goes around doesn't always come around, so all the more sweet to savour when it does.

Shiny Happy Teddies!

When was the last time your teddy had a bath?

Maybe he's a bit over due?

Surrealism is Back!

Or so says The London Times, detailing various surrealist fashion designers, musicians, and department stores in example.

You gotta love a girl who describes her look as "Bassett’s Liquorice Allsort meets Josephine Baker”! And her music--she rocks out with sitar! Super cool.

Sometimes life today seems inherently dada; how refreshing to get a good dose of dada, by design. It's comforting to know that sometimes things don't make sense on purpose. Makes the random senselessness a bit easier to bear. You think?

Flora Redux!

So, I've finally started working on the final draft of Flora Redux (working title, of course), which first draft I finished at the end of the December. My Divine Editrix has informed me that Flora's further adventures, along with the paperback of Flora Segunda, should arrive in bookstores Spring of 2008.

Which only seems far away. In book production time, that's not so far away at all. One of the many mysteries of book publishing to which I was not privy until recently is that it takes quite some time to go from manuscript to hefty volume. Sometimes as long as year. In Flora Redux's case, the final draft needs to be finalized by July. So I have to get cracking.

I'm super excited about this book; in some respects I think it's ages better than Flora Segunda. That book had a rather long and torturous path from my imagination to printed page. The first draft was only about 3/4 as long as the final, and I had to retro fit an entire subplot into the main plot, and cut quite a bit of extraneous stuff out (including Udo's younger brother--oh Gesilher, we hardly knew ye!), and it was a painful process. While I believe that the Flora Segunda that is in stores now is the best Flora Segunda that Flora Segunda was ever going to be, I couldn't help but feel that I could do better.

Viz., Flora Redux.

Though I initially had a hard time picking up Flora's voice, once I gathered steam, and Flora settled back in, the story really chugged along. The dangers are far more dangerous; the enemies far more devious; and the stakes far higher than they were in the first book. This time, it's not just Flora herself who is threatened, but the entire City of Califa.

Flora Redux picks up a month or so after Flora Segunda ends. Much at Crackpot Hall has changed, and yet, alas, much remains the same.

What else we got? Well...dragon-horse cars; earthquakes; ruined bath-houses; extremely loud rock bands; Hotspur-Sober-Now-A-Stickler-For-Rules; deserter sisters; more rangers; a horrible secret hidden deep beneath the City's crust; a riot; bear-headed girls; phosphorescent bullets; revolutionaries; oubliettes; Udo's new hat; and, of course, snacks.

I think Flora Redux is pretty good. I hope you will ditto.

Starbuck!?

No spoilers here, but here: yes.

And I concur with Madama Havrilesky's sentiments, exactly. Not my favorite, Starbuck, by a long shot, but about the best we've got. And definitely Nini Mo-ish.

Please, Ronald D. Moore, don't blow it.

Califa Vocab: Sangyn

The Alacran Regiment is the only regiment in the Army of Califa which does not wear black uniforms. In keeping with their reputation, their regimentals are sangyn colored. What color is sangyn?

Sangyn is red. But not just any red--a good true bluish blood red.

The word sangyn, of course, is a derivation or alternative spelling of sanguine, which the OED defines as "blood red." The first written record of its usage as a color came in 1500, but in 1386 Chaucer described a character "In sangwyn...he clad was al." These usages all come from a time before spelling was standardized, and people tended to write words out phonetically (how they sounded.) Different accents resulted in different spellings.

The particular spelling that I use comes from the Elizabethan era. This was a great time period for color names. The Elizabethan Costume website has a long list of fabulous colors, including popinjay, incarnate, puke, dead spaniard, and the delightfully named goose turd. (Gee--wonder what color that is?)

The Alacran Regimental uniform has argent (silver) facings, and argent aigulettes, and looks a little like this. The skirts are shorter, of course, and the weskit not so tightly cinched. The dress wig is also sangyn, and the gorget is argent, and embossed with a stylized scorpion, the animal, from which, of course, the Alacran take their name.

1 God-King, 300 Spartans, & 50 Zillion Arrows

Last night, Devilman and I drove miles and miles and miles into Suburbia to attend a midnight IMAX showing of The 300.

I will leave it to others to give a more thoughtful accounting of the film, which proposes to be the story of the Battle of Thermopylae, and just say that visually the film was quite fantastic. I've not read Frank Miller's graphic novel, but I am familiar with his style, which at times seems to be a cross between Maxfield Parrish and Frank Frazetta. Very stylized via a somber palette, with magnificent use of CGI to great backdrops that looked like paintings. The story itself, historical accuracy aside, was thin, ditto the characterizations, but subtle nuance of personality wasn't really the point of the film. The point of the film was to use modern special effects technology to bring alive a visually dynamic graphic novel, and in that, the film succeeded very well.

Though the real Spartans were proto-fascists, the screen versions are represented as a sort of Classical Minutemen, spouting much rhetoric about freedom and liberty, yet dying to protect a society that lacked the greatest qualities of a truly free people: generosity, compassion, and tolerance. The Persians were represented as Salammbo-esque degenerates, deformed or overly made-up, whose evil attack rhinoceros were no match for the Spartans' shield-wall. The battle sequences were long and acrobatic, but oddly bloodless. Body parts flew about, and spears were piercing, occasionally the blood went psst, but the battleground was mostly pretty gore free. The violence was too comic book to actually be disturbing.

Worth seeing if you care for visually arresting movies. Definitely probably plays better on the big screen. If you are looking for subtle characterizations, look elsewhere. To say, oh, Conan the Barbarian, perhaps.

"Excellent use of eyeliner to denote evilness." The Warlord's Wear Daily.

"Didn't the Spartans ever get cold?" The Alta Califa

"Where's my juggernaut?" The Author

Gobsmacked!

I am marvelously happy to report that Flora Segunda has a full page review in this Sunday's New York Times.

Needless to say, I am thrilled, excited, and super surprised. Never in my wildest imaginings (and those who know me well know well my wild imaginings!) did I hope for such an honour. And it's a good review, too! Icing in my cupcake...

Many huzzas and much celebration here.

Whoo--hoo!

Redingote...

What does a redingote look like?

Like this.

Flora's redingcote resembles most closely the 1790 version.

Oh and...

Did I mention that the hero in "I Know Where I'm Going!" is named Torquil?

That alone should be enough to make you want to see the film.

That, and the promise of men in kilts.

"I Know where I'm Going!"

Last night, I collapsed upon the USS Sofa and watched an utterly charming movie on TCM that I've never even heard of before.

"I Know Where I'm Going!" was filmed in 1945, but not released in the US until 1947. Written and directed by the estimable Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, who jointly called themselves The Archers, the film follows Joan Webster, a rather domineering young lady, on her journey from London to a small island in the Hebrides, where she is to marry a very very rich man.

Needless to say, Miss Webster's well laid plans gang agley when a huge gale storms up out of the north and cuts her off from her bridegroom's island. While she waits for the storm to subside, Miss Webster meets a charming young naval officer who is also bound for the island, and she begins to wonder if she knows where's she's going after all.

The film was actually made on location in Western Scotland, and the Archers were masters at capturing the nuances of light and shadow, so the movie, even in black and white, is gorgeous. There's lots of Highland atmosphere, including a raucous ceilidh, a John Bullish colonel who is trying to train an eagle to hunt, and lots of locals speaking Gaelic. There's a touch of humor, more than a touch of atmosphere, and while the heroine starts out a bit unsympathetically, she grows through the course of the film, and the viewer ends up liking in her in the end. The hero is dashing and genial, and looks extremely good in a kilt.

And there are three pipers. And an ancient curse. And a dangerous whirlpool. And a pack of staghounds. And lots and lots of fog.

"I Know Where I'm Going!" is available on Netflix. Get it, watch it, and wonder why they don't make movies like this anymore.

Query: How to Pronounce Gramatica?

Madama Hamerquist has asked me what I do about the Gramatica vocab when I read aloud...

Good question--wish I had a good answer!

So far I've actually never read any section of the Califa stories that had Gramatica in it...thus, have avoided facing what is arguably a difficult question. Since I am not a magician, I certainly can't speak Gramatica myself, and even if I could--would not--oh too dangerous. I might mispeak and turn someone into oatmeal. Oops, so sorry.

When Flora Segunda was being turned into an audio book, this question came up. Poor audio book people sent me a huge list of weird words that needed pronunciation guides, and then asked me what I wanted to do about the Gramatica. I told them to use their best judgement--as long as the vocab was not readily identifiable as words, they could scramble the narrator's voice, or use musical notes, or whatever they wanted to do. I haven't listed to the final product, so I'm not sure what the end result sounded like.

As for me, I have tentatively decided that if I ever do have to read Gramatica aloud, I shall warn the audience ahead of time that I will not going to speak the magickal words, but instead, will, when I come to them, use some sort of noise-maker as a stand-in. A bell, perhaps. Or maybe, a horn. Or maybe the crack of a whip...The options are endless...

And tooting my own horn, some time ago, the magnificent Delia Sherman posted a very nice review of my KGB reading on her blog...I've never had a problem reading aloud, residual high-school theatre training still lingers, and who doesn't like to be the centre of attention? Not me!

Query: Weird Califa Names!

At the school visit I did last week, several kids asked me to pronounce some of the weird Califa names. Some of the pronunciations are standard, but some are mine own...

Fyrdraaca = Fur-draaca.
Landadon = Land-athon
Huitzil = Weetzil
Axacaya = Ashakaya
Paimon = Paymon
Valefor = Valayfor
Hadraada = Hathratha
Axila = Asheela
Sangyn = sangin

How do you pronounce all those Gramatica words? Ah, now that would be telling...

Weather Continues Charming...

How charming?

So charming that Bothwell and I found ourselves planted in front of the telly yesterday, watching Teletubbies.

So charming that Bothwell and I actually enjoyed watching Teletubbies. There's something soothingly Orwellian about that show. The cerulean blue sky, the glossy green grass, the hoppy bunny. The bossy intercom that pops out of the ground and tells you what to do. The laughing baby in the sky. Tubbyland is a peaceful and quiet place.

And I think it's time for Tubby Pudding right now.

The Elegant Variation

Uh-oh.

Is that a dagger I see before me, the handle towards my hand?

Butter!

In case you needed another excuse not to go to Starbucks--in case burned coffee and too-much-sugar drinks weren't enough reason--here's another one for ya:

The New York Times reports that since Starbucks has decided to become a No-Trans Fat shop, they are demanding that all their food vendors remove the evil substance from their baked goods. But the kick is that a small amount of natural trans-fat is found in butter--so the companies that bake for Starbucks are being forced to cook with margarine or palm oil instead. 'Cause you know, margarine and palm oil are so much better for ya.

This is just plain silly. You know what also has small amounts of naturally occurring trans-fat? Milk. How is Starbucks going to make all those fancy sugerfied grande double decaf caramel triple coconut frapichiato with a twist of lemon meringue drinks without milk.

Wait--I don't want to know the answer to that. I suspect it lies somewhere very close to Wendy's Frosty. Yuck. Now, I'm not saying that trans-fat is a good thing. Clearly, it's not. But there's a huge difference between gobbling down pounds of stale cookies filled with whipped trans-fat creme, and eating a delicious pastry that happens to have trace amounts of naturally occurring trans-fat in it.

I'm sorry, but a croissant made without butter is not really a croissant. It's an oily crescent shaped bread product, and should be legally obligated to be labeled as such.

Last time I was at the Wisconsin Historical Society, I saw a t-shirt that said: "No thanks, I'm having butter."

My sentiments exactly!

(Though I do have to admit that Starbuck's little breakfast sandwies are pretty good. And, if I have to choose between coffee from Dunkin Donuts and from Starbucks, I'll take the Starbucks anytime. But it's definitely the lesser of two evils choice...)

Califa Vocab: Geas!

Readers with good memories will remember that more than one character in Flora Segunda spent time under a geas. Valefor, of course, was under a geas not to speak Gramatica and the Dainty Pirate was under a geas not to practice any magick at all.

What's a geas?

Originally, to be under a geas meant that you were required to do something, under pain of horrible dire consequence if you did not. Later, the word morphed into the idea that you were required not to do something, under pain of horrible consequence--usually death. In Irish mythology, geasa are oft laid upon people un-awares; they don't know they are under a ban under they've already broken the ban--which seems a bit unfair. (No one ever said obligation was fair.)

The word is of Celtic origin, and I first came across it in the Táin Bó Cúailnge, (The Cattle Raid at Cooley), the great Irish epic, where various heroes, at various times, end up under various geas. Cuchulainn, for example, is at one point under a geas not to eat dog meat, but he's also under a geas not to refuse food. So when he is offered dog meat to eat--well--he's in a bit of a pickle. (No one ever said obligation was easy.)

By the way, if you haven't read the Tain, I recommend it highly, particularly Thomas Kinsella's translation. Though the hero of the story is Cuchulainn, The Tain is full of wonderfully furious women, including Queen Medb, whose desire to acquire the famous bull Finnbhennach kicked off the cattle raid; Scathach, the warrior who teaches Cuchulainn how to be a hero; Aife, the equally kick-hinder fighter who becomes Cuchulainn's lover; and Badb, the Scald Crow goddess of war. It's a vigorous story, full of incredible language and lots of bloody action. Just as good as any Greek epic--maybe even better.

Califa Shout-out!

Sandhya over at WORD: The Official Blog of Read and Writing Magazine just posted a hot diggity dog good review of Flora Segunda. Of the kind things she said, the most pleasing was that Califa seemed so real. It's a real place to me, so I am glad I was able to convey that verisimilitude to others.

WORD is running a contest, too--if you are a kid and send her your guess on what city the City of Califa is modeled on, you can win a free signed copy of Flora Segunda. Note that I said you need to be a kid--in years, not in mentality--so keep that mind if you should decide to play.

WORD is a super cool site, particularly if you are still in your salad days (i.e., still green in years and heart) and I urge all budding young writers to check it out. They have lots of great writing tips, cool contests, and great interviews. Check out this Q & A with China Mieville, whose new book, Un Lun Dun, is getting fabulous reviews. I haven't cracked it yet, but the review was a reminder to me that it's on my to read shelf, and I should get to it.

Thanks, Sandhya!

The Jolie Laide Aye-Aye!

Salon has an article about how the endangered Aye-Aye is too ugly to generate any enthusiasm for saving it.

Ugly?

The Aye-Aye is cutastic! It's what the French call jolie laide, or pretty-ugly. Which does not mean "pretty ugly" but rather "pretty AND ugly." That is to say the Aye-Aye's quirky ugliness creates a unique magnetism which transcends mere prettiness.

The French, of course, appreciate the jolie laide more than just about anyone else, which is why they invented a term for ladies who do not not fit the standard cookie cutter definition of beauty, but whose style, charm and chicness make them truly stand out. Famous jolie laides include Maria Callas, Anne Boleyn, Barbra Streisand, and (dare I say it?) Angelina Jolie. I wouldn't go so far as to say that these ladies are "so ugly that to imagine them as beautiful is an act of transcendence" but certainly they do not fit easily into the pigeonhole of beauty. Yet they are fascinating and unforgettable.

As Proust said: "Let us leave pretty women to men devoid of imagination."

Metacool points out that jolie laide can be applied to objects as well as to people. Mere beauty is soothing and safe; it creates a sense of security and comfort. Jolie laide, on the other hand, is all about tension. It's off-kilter and makes you think. It's interesting. Metacool asks, "why be beautiful when you can be interesting"? Good question.

I'll take the Aye-Aye over an adorable koala bear any day.

Dog Days of February Linger!

Honestly, Devilman promised me that as soon as March 1st arrived it would be Spring.

Liar, Liar, Trews on Fire!

The calendar may say March 6th, but it really is secretly February 18th. We've had snow, and rain, and thunder and snow, and on Friday we drove to Mad City in an Arctic blizzard. Cars were strewn by the side of the highway, over under sideways down, all the way from Rockford to Janesville. Lake Monona was frozen solid--Bothwell was amazed. He stood on the shoreline and looked out, and you could almost hear him thinking: this giant white field--it wasn't here last time I was here. We had one day of sun and relative warmth. Then, it snowed more last night, and now it's 18 degrees.

This is Not Fair.

I want the global warming to come back. It's hard to summon up any energy to care about melting ice caps when its 18 degrees. No ice caps are melting here, let me tell you.

No doubt in five months I'll be sweltering in 105 degree 100 percent humidity summer and being frozen will sound fun. Right now it's just plain cold.

What Would Oscar Do?

I believe he would howl with outrage when he saw this cinematic abomination that dares call itself The Importance of Being Earnest. Well, maybe not howl--it's hard to imagine the Oscar stooping to such vulgar histrionics. But certainly he would have raised one eyebrow and then uttered a cutting bon-mot that would have proven once and for all--don't mess with the master.

But mess with the master, they did and with predicable results. The movie is a complete and utter bomb, which takes a hatchet job to Oscar Wilde's clever dialogue--and let's face it--the play is all about the witty bon mots. Sure, the movie has good costuming and very well done scenery--but all of that merely serves to detract from the elegance of Wilde's acid wit. Innuendo flashbacks and tattoo parlors do not serve to further the ideas of the play at all, for the play is not about reality, it's about artificially. It's a drawing room farce, perhaps the drawing room farce, and removing it from the drawing room was a grave mistake. The play's dialouge was already rarified; cutting and pasting mere served to suck its archness right out of it. I never thought it would be possible for some of Wilde's most exquisite lines to fall flat, but oh they did, oh yes they did.

It is to weep.

The movie's excruciations were not the fault of the actors, troopers all. Rupert Everett made an excellent Algy, Colin Firth was appropriately stodgy at Jack, and Judi Dench as Lady Bracknell--what other modern actress could embody the role with such bombastic dignity? I lay the fault directly at the feet of director Oliver Parker, who not only had the effrontery to butcher Wilde's masterpiece, but also claim screenplay credit. Go back to television acting, Sieur Parker, from whence you came, and leave the direction to those who know how.

"The unspeakable directed by the inedible." The Alta Califa.

"An epigram is like a delicate exotic fruit. Touch it and the bloom is gone." The Angeles Angel.

"After watching this horror, I fear my hair has gone quite gold with grief." Colonel Azul Pescado, Film Critic, The Warlord's Wear Daily.

Considerations...

Need a new sack coat? I think you do--the one you've been wearing is a bit shabby around the elbows.

While you are it, I'd also consider replacing your bucket. The last time you brought in water for the necessary, you dribbled all over the front hall.

And lastly, I'm so sorry to have to point it out, but your boots are so last season. Time to consider a new style, I do believe. You'll feel so much chipper if you know you aren't so out-of-date.

Now, don't pout like that, you know I am only critical to be kind--it's all for your own good.

Jake Leg Stompers!

When I was working on Flora Redux, I was doing a little research on Jake and the jake leg, when I came across the band The Jake Leg Stompers.

First some history stuff: for those of you not around during Prohibition, Jamaican Ginger was a patent medicine that caused paralysis in those unfortunate enough to drink copious amounts of it. Despite it's high alcohol content, Jake's supposed medical qualities had exempted it from the Volstead Act, and thus made it very attractive to imbibers. Previously safe, a change in the medicine's formula in the late 1920s adulterated the liquor with a compound that caused the drinker's legs to be come partially paralyzed and floppy. When the effects of Jake became widely known, it caused a great scandal, and the medicine was outlawed. Still, this was a bit late to help those who were now permanently paralyzed. (In 2003, Dan Baum published an excellent article on Jake Leg in The New Yorker.)

The affliction spawned a series of blues songs about the Jake Leg. Which brings me back to the Jake Leg Stompers. They're a band of musicians out of Tennessee, who play old timey instruments and sing old timey songs in old timey harmonies. Or, as they describe it: Chicken-fried, Pre-war, Hokum-billy jug music. And Jake Songs, too, from which they take their name.

And they are super fantastic wonderful!

I picked up their first cd, Guaranteed Absolutely Pure, last summer and I've probably played it about a zillion times since I got it. One of the super cool things about the Jake Leg Stompers is that they don't just play old timey music; they also try to duplicate old recording techniques and instrumentation. So their songs sound like they are broadcasting out of some far distant swampy past, where the stockings are rolled, the fans are waving lazily, and the revenue man is looking to spoil every one's fun. Their cover of Fats Waller's The Viper's Drag is sure to get your heels a-clacking, and their rendition of the traditional blues song The Saint James Infirmary makes me want to howl with despair every time I listen to it. And yes, that's a good thing!

My only complaint about the Jake Leg Stompers is that they only had one cd. But now, with the release of their latest disc, Hot Feet, my feverish prayers have been answered. Bring out the jug, and bring on the band. I'm there.

And I urge you to get yourself over to cd baby and be there too. Bands this good, whose music is an obvious labor of love, deserve our support. (And while you are at cd baby, check out their other bands--great stuff.)


"Masterful, mysterious, and melodious--music that seems to have drifted out of a swamp fever dream, the aural equivalent of a will-o-wisp, frightening yet irresistible." The Arivaipa Jump-Up

"Rhythms for the snake-bit, guaranteed to get yer poison pumping." The Califa Lyric Opera Revue

"Yee-fracking-ha!" The Pudding Pie Conniption.

Book Plates

Finally, I have gotten my act together and finished the Crackpot Hall book plates.

What do you think?

I'm still undecided about how to distribute them. I don't desire to make a killing from them, but it would be nice to cover costs. So I'm thinking I'll probably set up a paypal account and charge maybe about a buck per. Does that sound fair?

If you see me in person they would be less, cost only minus postage, which I judge to be about fifty cents. Kids free 'cause they got better things to spend their money on than my bookplates!

I'll probably redo the plate for each book; possibly even more often. I'm also going to number them because it's nice to know where they've gone.

Fonts are Cool!

I love fonts and typefaces. It's so cool to be able to a typesetter without having to be able to spell words backwards. I have a hard enough time spelling words forwards...

Anyway, I love to collect fonts to use in my Bilskinir Press projects, and my latest find is Walden Fonts. They have several super cool old timey font sets, including the Civil War Press, so you can make your recruiting posters non-farby: Magick, so you can make your nomicons super boo-spooky; or Divers Handes, so your handes can look very divers.

So order up a few fonts from Walden, and put your cyper print devil to work!