serious

Which one was smarter - the traitor or the martyr?

Another frosty morning - the third in a row, and the hardest. I came to work under a cloudless and glassy blue. I went home from the pub last night in sub-zero temperatures, with Orion huge in the south ahead of me. Sirius was low on the horizon, and the Pleiades high to the right. I don't remember Mars, but it had been hanging low earlier. I love the winter sky.

So. Conrad Black as well, eh? The Great and the Good are getting careless.

Gordon was right again? Christ, this is getting tedious. Fuck up, man, for Gods sake!

Irving's likely to be held in the cells for at least a week, apparently. Right treatment, very possibly, but the wrong charge.

Gene Wolfe may be or possibly has been writing Soldier of Sidon.

The Guardian today says "Little Britain is now indistinguishable from its true ancestor, The Dick Emery Show."

There's a documentary on BBC4 tonight about Josephine Baker.

I'm in two minds about these circulating memes, but this one was too obviously written to appeal to my inner grandiosity:

you are Nick Cave!
Nick Cave... dark and creepy. You're a bi-polar
genius, with equal passion for the most
degrading aspects of humanity, as well as the
beauty & wonder of God and Heaven.


Which fucked-up genius composer are you?
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Yeah. In my dreams, mate.


You can stop reading here. It would be wise.

There was a discussion in the pub last night about Sf and fantasy books with titles that can be usefully combined with the names of their authors - such as The Sheep Look Up John Brunner or The Power That Preserves Stephen Donaldson. Because I was very bored today (can you tell?) I tried to find a few more.

In the same vein as those two, there are The dark beneath Alan Gibbons and The realm beneath Brenda Clough. A certain horror writer is very generous, contributing both The burrowers beneath Brian Lumley and The caller of the black Brian Lumley. These weren't as intriguing as The I inside Alan Dean Foster, though, or The enemy within L Ron Hubbard.

The pair A Time to Hate Bob Greenberger and A Time to Love Bob Greenberger is surpassed by A Time to Heal David Mack and A Time to Kill David Mack, but even better is a License to kill John Gardner.

Single-verb titles seem fruitful. We can Burn Bill Ransom, Bite Laurell K Hamilton and Charlaine Harris, Curse Alan Grant, Chase Dean Koontz or even Squeeze Ellen Steiber. But Don't tell Elizabeth Chandler.

The dread trilogy is well-represented by The Gods awaken Alan Cole, The warrior returns Alan Cole, and The dragon in the stone Alan Cole, inwhich presumably it hides inside a statue. More involvingly, we can read The ship who won Anne McCaffrey and Jody Lynne Nye (in a raffle, one presumes), The ship who searched Anne McCaffrey and Mercedes Lackey (what for?), and The city who fought Anne McCaffrey and SM Stirling (very wise).

Some authors resort to self-description. Howling mad Peter David and Beyond the pale Mark Anthony. for instance, as well as the frankly puzzling A clockwork orange Anthony Burgess, which sounds like something out of the Innovations catalogue. I will fear no evil Robert A Heinlein, however, is both sinister and perceptive. A Brit supasses it, though, with the frankly precognitive Last Chance To See Douglas Adams & Mark Carwardine. Those struggling with the loss of literary heroes, though, can console themselves with a copy of We can build you Philip K Dick.

The last word, though, goes to the frankly boastful - the author of Betcha Can't Read Just One Alan Dean Foster.
  • Current Mood: ready to go
  • Current Music: Cop Shoot Cop - Traitor/Martyr
Having seen the WorldCom case from start to finish on the inside and the outside, I'm quite skeptical about the real crimes of any executive the USA prosecutes. There's a lot of hanging people out to dry without fixing the fundamental problems of corporate governance in the USA - even more convenient if they're not actually American, since then they can blame Johnny Foreigner and hang him out to dry with their convenient one-sided British extradition treaty.
Sounds fair. It should get some evidence made public, though, regardless of whether it actually solves anything.
A week in the slammer for being a total git - schadenfreude wins out for me I'm afraid. But a twenty-year sentence for Holocaust denial? Sign me up to the Free David Irving campaign right there.
I got Mr Cave too. I suspect it's wearing black and err... selecting the Joe Strummer lyric?

I suppose that the Chancellor ought to be right about the economy most of the time. I mean, you'd hope that they have access to the fullest information, at least. You'd also have to assume that they generally mean well. Which, in Brown's case, I'm prepared to go with, mostly. At least there's been none of this "have to take us into recession" bollocks (yet) that you may recall from Lamont's days.
I've been doing the happy dance in my head ever since I heard about Conrad Black.
I have to agree about the sky. It was also surprising last night that I could see so much from North Bridge. The street lighting isn't too bad in Edinburgh. Hopefully in May, when I move out of this dump, I will have space for my telescope...
Beyond the pale Mark Anthony is my favourite. Very fine. Could almost be a Nick Cave song?
I'm Tom Waits.

I must listen to that Tom Waits CD Jon sent me in the post last week, then.
Hmmmm.....
you are Shane MacGowan!
Shane MacGowan... unconsciously brilliant. You
can intelligently debate any topic from
theology, history, literature and philosphy...
though only while you're out of your skull on
booze.


Which fucked-up genius composer are you?
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The Light Fantastic Terry Pratchett?
The Feersum Enjin Iain M Banks?
Oh and in other genres:
The Liar Stephen Fry
The Impossible Virgin Peter O'Donnell
Where would one look in the sky for Mars? I was up in Fife last night and there was a very bright blob that had an orange hue to it - it was in the East, and I wondered if it was Mars.
Slightly bemused to find I am Shane Macgowan since I don't drink. I do have Irish background though...

As for titles...

Mary Gentle Grunts (though I believe she denies this and says she only moans a little...)
The Stars Compel Michaela Roessner
titles
consider iain m banks
a transatlantic harry harrison, hurrah!
the stainless steel harry harrison
do androids dream of philip k dick
the philip k dick in the high castle
a cure for michael moorcock
we can remember it for you philip k dick
i, saac asimov
the rest of isaac asimov
isaac asimov and empire
william gibson recognition