[entries|1 degree of separation|Book of days|Omphalomancy|Recherche du LJ's perdu]

Say 'Friend', and enter [17 May 2008 | 03:14am]
A major security vulnerability in Debian (and Ubuntu, and probably all the other many Debian-derived distros) has been discovered, and (belatedly) fixed. No damage has been known to be have been done, but everyone involved is still sniping nervously at each other.

It's interesting that, as with airplane crashes, this was not the result of a single error, but a coincidental concatenation of multiple errors, of different sorts, by many individuals. In a way, that's reassuring.

I know, you probably don't run Debian, (unless you're [info]midendian?), and don't care about this. But you might be amused by:

the translation into lolcats;

xkcd's take on the rumpus.
[ mood | scared ]
5 deep thoughts|Think, think, think!

[11 May 2008 | 10:06pm]
via [info]robotazalea
[ mood | bouncy ]
3 deep thoughts|Think, think, think!

[11 May 2008 | 08:35am]
Why isn't a 'pansexual' someone who is erotically oriented towards cookware?








































Actually, I suppose a pansexual does find cookware erotic. Also elephants, Buicks, the state of Rhode Island, the numeral '7', the tau lepton, two Thursdays ago, the Sloan Great Wall, those drawn with a very fine camel's hair brush, and pretty much everything else.
[ mood | dorky ]
10 deep thoughts|Think, think, think!

Now I've heard there was a secret chord that David played, and it pleased the Lord [11 May 2008 | 12:26am]
A couple of days ago, [info]ktnflag asked this question.

I remembered it when I came across this dictum in a list of proverbs for entrepreneurs.
If you keep your secrets from the market, the market will keep its secrets from you -- entrepreneurs too often worry about keeping their brilliant secrets locked away; we should all worry much more about springing a surprise on a disinterested market (anyone remember the Segway?). To quote Howard Aiken: "Don't worry about people stealing an idea. If it's original, you will have to ram it down their throats."
I also like this line, in the next proverb: "[W]hen the New York Times Magazine puts out its annual "Year in Ideas" issue, is your idea in it? Then don't do it. You're already too late." Are you writing the same stuff that everyone else is writing? Don't do it. Yes, editors are still buying it -- from the writers who invented it, five or ten years ago. They already have a fanbase, and can continue to milk that fanbase, perhaps for many more book-years. You can't. You have to come up with your own stuff.

But what if people don't liiiiiike my stuff?!

Yeah, there's that risk. You can spill your guts on the page, and sometimes the readers' reaction is, "Ewww, guts." But there's really no other way.

In a sense, writing is a good bit like being an entrepreneurial engineer, isn't it? We're building these machines of spinning gears and flashing lights, hoping the reader will be thrilled, happy that he bought the gadget, and on the lookout for the next spinning, flashing machine from the same shop. And the reader didn't even know he wanted the thing you made, until he read the story. Ten years ago, who knew that anyone wanted blogs? Fifty years ago, lasers were dismissed as 'a solution in search of a problem'. Now I've got half a dozen lasers in my house, in everything from the DVD player to the garage door. In 1997, who knew we wanted Stalky & Co. with magic wands and ghosts? Who knew we wanted cyberpunk before Gibson, or retellings of the Edda before Tolkien?

Everyone, entrepreneur or writer, has to figure out what might resonate with the buyer or the reader, before they know themselves. What do you have, what do you know, that would fascinate others? It may be something completely new. It may not be new, it may be something that everyone knows (or loves, or fears, or desires) deep down, but has never heard articulated. Every famous jazz player of the 1930s and 1940s had his own unique riffs, that he used again and again, through many variations. Every successful rock and roll band has invented its own signature chords. A writer must do this, too. A writer must bring something new and intriguing to the table, something the reader can't take their eyes off, something they have never seen the likes of before, something they can't get anywhere else.



Some recent quotes 'n' stuff about fiction writing:

Suzy Charnas, [info]suzych, on the wrong way vs. the right way to reveal character, and why the writer must not have contempt for any character, even the evil ones:
For example, the thought "I hate X because he makes me feel stupid" is way too self-aware for the mentality at issue, which is far more likely to be expressed, IMO, in these terms: "X thinks he's so smart! All he knows is a lot of high and mighty bullshit he read in a bunch of crumbly old books, but he doesn't know anything about the real world that real people like me have to live in, because he's so ancient and stuck up and high on himself!" We get the author's assessment of the character's view of other-character X, not the baby celeb character's own view of him at all.

In other words, the problem is that the author not only doesn't like her witless celeb characters -- she despises them; and she lets it show, mainly by not bothering to actually get in there and *be* them, which is an author's job. An old friend and colleague of mine recently remarked that good writer knows that she must *love* all her characters, even the dimmest and dullest and meanest of them, to make them work. I wouldn't put it that way, myself; I don't think love is the point. But you do have to lay down your superiority, moral and otherwise, and step into their minds with a willingness to actually see the world through their eyes, self-justification and all.
From Margorie Liu's, [info]webpetals, LJ:
Most people, after one success, are so cringingly afraid of doing less well that they rub all the edge off their subsequent work. ~ Beatrix Potter
Frankly, I'd love to have this problem.

Cheryl Klein, a YA editor, collects a few good quotes on the subject of sentence-level prose.
Think, think, think!

I ache in the places where I used to play [05 May 2008 | 11:30am]
Department of Gobsmack, Facepalm, and Head Explode:

1. Vegetable Rights. Not endangered species. Just plain old plants. Step on the grass unnecessarily in Switzerland, Bunky, and before you know it, you're being arraigned in the Hague.

Next: rights for metamorphic rocks, noble gases, and Bratz™ dolls. Oh, you laugh, but you laughed at human rights for asparagus, too, and now look.

2. Politics makes strange, strange bedfellows, but... conservatives start to like Hillary? No, this not just Rush's 'Operation Chaos': "A tactical hope to see her campaign flourish--to keep the brawl going and knock dents in Obama--has changed to, at least in some cases, a grudging respect for the lady herself."
One observer once said that the main importance of PT-109 in the life of John Kennedy was that it was the only time in his life (until he was murdered) when the power and wealth of his father couldn't help him at all. Hillary in February 2008, after Obama's stunning string of 10 victories, was like JFK in the water--everything she was used to relying on had proved to be useless... In these dire straits, Hillary channeled her inner survivor, and, like John Kennedy, became a Gut Fighter writ large. She fought her way to an island, dragging her crew mates behind her, fed them on coconuts, and sent word for rescue. And then it came. "This one's for you!" she cried out to her base in hard-pressed Ohio as she pulled out the Big One, to their riotous cheers.

It was about this time that her presentation, and her persona, underwent notable change.

After March 4, she suddenly seemed to look and sound different: She began to seem real. The shrillness was gone, and so was The Cackle, and so were the forced southern accents that once caused so many so much merriment. Hillary!--whoever that was--never really cohered as a character; her previous poses--the Perfect Wife, the Aggrieved Wife, the Empress-in-Waiting--were all unconvincing, but in her new role--the scrapper, forced to the wall, and hanging in there with ferocious and grim resolution--she is suddenly all of a piece.
You know, this year I don't it think it would be a disaster if any of the three current major candidates were elected. I'm not all that enthusiastic about any of them, and I think all would be likely to make major errors (McCain would make different errors than than the Democrats, of course), but America would survive the experience. This is a large improvement over 2004, when both candidates were simply awful.



Remember when I threatened to buy all the Leonard Cohen CDs I had missed since the mid-70s? Well, I'm not there yet, but the first shipment from Amazon just arrived. OMG, no one can write lyrics like that man. Or sing them. I generally prefer female singers to male, by a ratio of at least 20:1. But I'll make an exception for Leonard.

See, what my life needs is backup singers in little black dresses, going "Ooo, na-na" when I say poetic and signficant things.
[ mood | weird ]
[ music | Leonard Cohen - "Tower of Song" ]
4 deep thoughts|Think, think, think!

[04 May 2008 | 06:35am]
Lovely Plumage: A Blasphemous Christian Fantasy For Young Readers



I took Lovely Plumage out for a walk in public for the first time yesterday. It was treated nicely by the Nameless ([info]filomancer, [info]pointoforigin, Ef, and Ricardo), critted gently, and survived the experience.

Food was consumed. Deer were spotted. The toilet did not run backwards. No one was deathly allergic to the cats. All are signs of a successful crit meeting.

I urged [info]filomancer to commit her thoughts about writing fiction to her LJ. They seemed penetrating at the time, but I had been up for 21 hours, and I fear they have skidded off my brain.
4 deep thoughts|Think, think, think!

I know thee not, old man [30 Apr 2008 | 10:38pm]

Enter BARACK OBAMA and his train

REV. JEREMIAH WRIGHT
God save thy grace, King Hal! my royal Hal!
BILL MOYERS
The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame!
REV. JEREMIAH WRIGHT
God save thee, my sweet boy!
BARACK OBAMA
My lord chief-justice, speak to that vain man.
ARIANNA HUFFINGTON
Have you your wits? know you what 'tis to speak?
REV. JEREMIAH WRIGHT
My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart!
BARACK OBAMA
I know thee not, old man: fall to thy prayers;
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
I have long dream'd of such a kind of man,
So surfeit-swell'd, so old and so profane;
But, being awaked, I do despise my dream.
Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace;
Leave gormandizing; know the grave doth gape
For thee thrice wider than for other men.
Reply not to me with a fool-born jest:
Presume not that I am the thing I was;
For God doth know, so shall the world perceive,
That I have turn'd away my former self;
So will I those that kept me company.
When thou dost hear I am as I have been,
Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast,
The tutor and the feeder of my riots:
Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death,
As I have done the rest of my misleaders,
Not to come near our person by ten mile.
For competence of life I will allow you,
That lack of means enforce you not to evil:
And, as we hear you do reform yourselves,
We will, according to your strengths and qualities,
Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my lord,
To see perform'd the tenor of our word. Set on.

Exeunt BARACK OBAMA, & c

REV. JEREMIAH WRIGHT
Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound.
[ mood | enthralled ]
Think, think, think!

[26 Apr 2008 | 08:58am]


It was early evening when she got into the tumbril that would take her
to the guillotine. Refusing both the services of a juring priest and a seat, she
stood upright, steadying herself over the cobbles by leaning her knees on
the back of the cart. A large crowd, curious to see the virago who could
have perpetrated such a crime, pressed into the rue Saint-Honore to see her
pass. Pierre Notelet's house gave on to the street and he noted, as she passed,
that the skies suddenly darkened and a summer storm shook heavy drops
of rain into the dust. In seconds she was soaked, the scarlet shirt worn by
assassins of the "representatives of the people" clinging to her body. "Her
beautiful face was so calm," he wrote, "that one would have said she was
a statue. Behind her, young girls held each other's hands as they danced.
For eight days I was in love with Charlotte Corday."

—from Simon Schama's Citizens
[ mood | nostalgic ]
6 deep thoughts|Think, think, think!

Primary day in Pennsylvania [22 Apr 2008 | 09:00am]
Nora Ephron on the PA primary:
But now there are two and we're facing Pennsylvania and whom are we kidding? This is an election about whether the people of Pennsylvania hate blacks more than they hate women. And when I say people, I don't mean people, I mean white men.
I am a white man. I voted today. I don't hate blacks or women. I hate racists, and holy rollers, so I didn't vote for Ron Paul or Huckabee. I voted for McCain.

Win!

BTW, do read the whole Nora Ephron piece. It's remarkable. And when I say remarkable, I don't mean remarkable, I mean venomous and bigoted.
[ mood | busy ]
1 deep thought|Think, think, think!

The sky above Georgia was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel [21 Apr 2008 | 08:52pm]
Faces of death:



The whole story.

But what's with the static at the end? Georgia uses analog video transmission for their UAV's? Really?
[ mood | anxious ]
2 deep thoughts|Think, think, think!

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