Look out! Octopus!

Well, that was a week.

Fri, 26 Apr 2013 12:00:09 GMT

So, in the past week, I've been caught in an airline strike, and had all four of my wisdom teeth out. These are both terrible things, and if any of you were thinking of trying them recreationally, I'd recommend that you think harder. Admittedly, the wisdom tooth thing was something that I totally decided to do. I went to a guy, and without any sort of coercion, asked him to pull four teeth out of my head.

When he was done, I paid him a large sum for having done this to me, and I am not currently planning on lodging a complaint with anyone about it. Still, it was a very unpleasant experience, and also the lidocaine kept me from being able to focus my eyes for a couple of hours, which wasn't very nice either.

The airline strike didn't involve anyone pulling bones out of my head, but it did involve me missing one flight, and being uncertain whether I would get on the next one. Then I got on the next one, and went home, and they only lost one of my bags, which turned up the next day.

Those who know how I feel about travelling will know which I'd prefer to do again.

Before I got onto the plane in New York, the Iberia people reassured me that I didn't have to rebook, that El Al would probably have something waiting for me when I got off the plane, and everything would be fine. When I got to Madrid, the Iberia help counter told me, "this is El Al's problem, you have to call them. Here's their phone number in Israel, and you have to go through passport control in order to get to a phone which will not take any of the money that you have. Now go away."

There are people for whom being dropped in a foreign country with no local money and without the ability to speak the language would be a wonderful adventure. I am not one of those people.

So, of the two, of course I'd rather go through an airline strike again. I mean, seriously. I don't like uncertainty, and I'm sure that at some point in my life I'm going to lose my passport while in transit, and have to spend the rest of my life in airports. But those teeth just wouldn't come out. I'm actually not going to go into more detail, as it's gross, but suffice it to say: Dental surgery is really unpleasant. Way more than airports.

Notes from America.

Fri, 12 Apr 2013 19:19:40 GMT

I'm back in the US briefly, visiting family. Which is where I noticed the following:

A NYT headline which read, "Huskies Conquer Demons, Irish." It is probably for the best that this was in the sports section rather than the world news, but a small part of me wishes it weren't.

Also, on the box of some frozen blintzes, I got this: "Before machines, before mass production, before people began caring more about quantity than quality, there was only one way to do things.

And that was the right way."

Smash the looms, says Frankel's Homestyle Products Kosher for Passover Apple Blintzes (non Gebrokts).

Does everybody know about this but me?

Mon, 25 Feb 2013 10:57:04 GMT

The Taman Shud Case involves a guy whose identity still hasn't been determined killed in 1948 by an undetectable poison with a coded message on a scrap from a rare book in his pocket.

My theory is that he was Jack the Ripper.

So, Chazanut

Mon, 04 Feb 2013 14:48:47 GMT

You know how sometimes when you ask people what sort of music they like, they'll say something like, "oh, I like everything, except for rap and opera?" This is almost always a lie, and one of the fun things to do when someone tells you that particular lie is to play a form of music that they probably will not like, despite the fact that it is neither rap nor opera.

(As an aside, I think that the reason why those two genres are chosen is because they are music for poor people and rich people, and there is a sort of instinctive cringe on the part of those who firmly identify as middle class as being seen as belonging to either group. There's also the race thing, though I'm not sure that opera is linked to any particular race, with the possible exception of Italians and portly German ladies wearing horned helmets.)

(As another aside, it seems to me that the version of Les Miserables currently in theaters is an opera, rather than a musical. A lot of the singing is things like, "what will you have for diiiiiiiiiiner?" "I think I'll have some fiiiiiiiiish," where if it was a musical, they'd talk those parts, and maybe have a big song and dance number about halibut.)

(As an aside to that aside, seeing it without the soothing digressions about the sewers and the Battle of Waterloo and so on really brought home to me how the story is what I call a Pittsburgh plot—if the protagonist would just move to Pittsburgh, it would solve all of his problems, and there's no particular reason why he isn't moving to Pittsburgh. Beyond to have problems. Javert's legal authority doesn't extend beyond France, dummy. Just move to Belgium! Or America! They didn't have any laws limiting immigration back then or anything in America.)

But I am going to all the sides. The main point that I was trying to make is that if you did not grow up enjoying chazzanut, you probably will not like it. And in fairness to the anti-rap-and-opera crowd, while it's properly speaking Jewish liturgical music, a good deal of the early 20th century chazzanut recording artists were influenced by opera.

Well, actually that isn't my main main point. But I shall be getting to my main point any minute now.

(Actually, it's entirely appropriate that I'm wandering in this fashion; chazzanut is an art form particularly beloved of older Jewish folks, as is this sort of easily side-tracked narrative. My mother is, to my ear, particularly inclined towards this form of story-telling. And she has relatives who she will just lose patience with after a while, and try to get them to find a point somewhere. You can imagine the fun I have listening to those relatives.)

(In this case, I'm less sarcastic than I might appear. I genuinely do enjoy listening to rambling old people stories. That's why whenever I go to worldcon, I go to the "rambling old people stories" panel. It's usually got a title with something about timebinding, or first fandom, or whatever. My favorite was the time one of the panelists fell asleep during the panel.)

The thing is, as with Tuvan throat singing, or polka, or competitive yodeling, or with most other niche musical genres, while aficionados enjoy it a great deal, even kindly minded non-aficionados tend to get a little . . . stressed, when exposed to it for prolonged periods. Here, have an example. It's a playlist with some of the big names from the 20th century (though no Rosenblatt) and some of the more contemporary big names.

If you're like most people I know, one or two tracks would be sufficient for, "well, that's interesting, I suppose," and three or four would be, "now it is time for something else."

Although, honestly, if you like it, great, and if not, also great. The problem is that it's the sort of music that my father likes, and it is not the sort of music that my mother likes. In the past, my father would listen to his music on the record player in the living room, and my mother would absent herself. However, the living room was always a bit too centrally located, and also the record player died.

So I've been looking into online alternatives. There's youtube, of course, but there are a few problems with that—first off, there are ads, and then there's the copyright issue. Which is to say, most of the stuff on youtube is stuff people have put up without necessarily being the "rights holders" and that watching those videos might count as "committing felonies" which is the sort of thing that might cause you to be "arrested." This being internet o'clock, nobody really cares about that, but my parents are not yet entirely on internet time.

Next up is the Florida Atlantic University's Judaica Archives. Apparently, a university located in Boca Raton has decided to build an archive of things that elderly Jewish like. In addition to this being brilliant, the archive is large, if not entirely comprehensive. And it seems to be entirely legal, and it has things that are less aggressively chazzanut; something like Gerer Melave Malka Melodies is a bit more accessible than bits from the high holy days liturgy. And there's also stuff that's entirely not chazzanut—children's music, Al Jolson and Jascha Heifetz, Yiddish musicals and so on. But yeah; reasonably large collection, reasonably accessible.

However, it's streaming, and there are apparently some sort of network connection issues with the network at my parents where if one of the computers is streaming it uses all the available bandwidth, so if my dad is listening online, my sister can't tweet. And thus chaos ensues.

If you want to download music legally, there's archive.org, but they've got a very limited amount of chazzanut, which leaves spending money, like in olden times. Amazon goes without saying, and there's the Lowell Milken Music Archives, is making modern recordings of American Jewish music of various sorts, including some chazanut.

. . . that went a bit longer than I had expected. To summarize: Jean Valjean should have moved to Belgium, this one time someone fell asleep while on a panel, watching videos on Youtube is probably illegal, my parents' home network has some sort of connection problems, and you probably won't much enjoy listening to Jewish liturgical music.

The end!

Award season.

Mon, 17 Dec 2012 16:02:31 GMT

So, as we reach the end of the year, various author types are going to start putting together lists of stories they've written, or awards for which they are eligible, sometimes with specific instructions on how to nominate works for Hugos, and sometimes taking a somewhat more coy approach--"Since campaigning is frowned upon, I don't want to mention specific awards. I will mention that you should never trust a ________ award (not a Hugo), and that 90% of short fiction authors win a _______ award. (1)"

I've decided to be a bit more forthright. Based on the quality of my work in 2012, I think that I deserve both the Nobel Peace Prize, and the Nobel Prize in Literature, and I hope that those of you reading this who are qualified to nominate consider me for both those awards.

As far as the peace prize goes, I will note that I'm responsible for far fewer deaths than previous laureates, such as Henry Kissinger, and that as a result of mononucleosis I've spent much of the last few months sleeping, a reasonably peaceful activity.

In literature, I've written a few things, most notably, "Between the Dragon and His Wrath," a hilarious bit of writing that appeared in the issue of Scintilla that papersky put together for Worldcon, assuming that she actually put it together. I've also written some Facebook comments that are worth serious consideration. (2)

So, assuming (as I do) that you are all members of national assemblies or international courts, university rectors, past recipients of the Nobel Prize for either peace, literature, or both, active and former members of the Norwegian Nobel Committee, members of the Swedish Academy and of other academies, institutions and societies which are similar to it in construction and purpose, professors of literature and of linguistics at universities and university colleges, and so on, I urge you to get your nominations for me in before the deadline--they have to be postmarked by February 1st.

Thanks for your support and I hope to see you all in Stockholm! (3)

(1) I am aware that you can't actually nominate people for a Sturgeon Award. I am also aware that very few people have won Sturgeon awards, and that the number is certainly lower than 90% of short fiction writers. I just thought it would be a funny thing to say.

(2) Earlier today, I made a trenchant remark that really helped put an ongoing discussion into perspective. "But Yossie, I know what things designed for killing look like. They look like giant heads with tiny little hands and feet."

(3) Except you, Kissinger.

Still monoed.

Tue, 11 Dec 2012 11:22:48 GMT

The thing about mono is that sometimes it's hard to tell whether I'm tired because a) I have a disease that makes me tired, or b) I am a naturally indolent person who is in terrible physical shape because I have a disease that makes me tired. If it's a, then I should lie down and watch some cartoons or something, if it's b, I should push a little. Problem is that even when it's b, pushing a little doesn't actually do the thing it normally does, where I have a bit more energy the next day. Instead, I'm more tired the next day.

Also, it turns out that writing takes more mental energy than I mostly have. Same applies to answering emails and comments and such. Sorry, everyone to whom I owe an email! And anyone who might decide to comment!

I do have the sense that I'm recovering, and hopefully I'll find a way to do some work soon, but for the moment, I can just about manage doing the shopping and occasional other similar activity, and watching cartoons and so on.

Mononucleosis is disease that if you're going to get it, you want it around junior high school, when you can really appreciate it.

Oh, and also--I've got a story up: America Thief is on Strange Horizons in two parts, here, and here. It's 1920s Jewish gangsters with magic, for those that were looking for more 1920s Jewish gangsters with magic.

A journal of woe.

Thu, 15 Nov 2012 16:16:26 GMT

So, earlier today, I went shopping. When I came back after this exhausting effort, I sat down in my chair, and rubbed the sweat from my brow. Also, there was a crushed spider there, which had apparently been on my brow without my noticing it.

Shortly afterward, I noticed that the part of my forehead where the spider had been was hurting. Looking in the mirror, it looked sort of like I had been stung by several mosquitoes, which was about what it felt like. Also, in the middle of the bumps, there was a small hole, which oozed a clear liquid for about an hour.

I had a doctor's appointment for other reasons, and I mentioned it, and he sort of shrugged and said that it looks fine. And by that point, it more or less felt okay, so I decided to go with the professional medical opinion and ignore it. However, if at any point, my head cracks open and a mass of spiders comes crawling out, that's probably why.

I had meant to mention, but I forgot.

Fri, 09 Nov 2012 13:51:31 GMT

I've got a story in this month's F&SF. Which has been reviewed, as part of reviews of the issue!

Locus
SFRevu
Tangent.

I think this one came out pretty well, really.

Mononucleosis

Thu, 08 Nov 2012 18:37:51 GMT

I, as the internet would put, can has. I didn't particularly want it, but I have it.

Now, those of you who know me might be aware that in my natural state, I'm a pretty lazy guy. But mono really adds a whole new level to that. I've actually looked at a water bottle, thought, "you know, I'm kinda thirsty," and then thought, "ugh, reaching my hand out, picking up the bottle, and drinking? That's way more effort than I'm willing to put in. I'll wait until I'm thirstier."

I'm not quite at that stage at the moment, which might mean that it's getting better, or which might be yet another false dawn sort of thing. But after having had mono for the better part of a month, it's gotten hard to tell if my fatigue is because of the disease, or because I've been almost completely sessile as a result of the disease for most of a month.

In conclusion: I strongly recommend against mono, and if you're waiting for an email from me, or something, it'll um . . . it might be a while. And now, I will get up and get more water. Soon. Maybe when I'm a little thirstier.

For the Israelis.

Mon, 22 Oct 2012 18:09:22 GMT

In Syria there is a region known as Phœnice, adjoining to Judæa, and enclosing, between the lower ridges of Mount Carmelus, a marshy district known by the name of Cendebia. In this district, it is supposed, rises the river Belus, which, after a course of five miles, empties itself into the sea near the colony of Ptolemaïs. The tide of this river is sluggish, and the water unwholesome to drink.

From Plin. Nat. His. 36.65

Apparently, the water in the Kishon is unwholesome to drink. Who knew?

Am at Kibbutz Revadim.

Mon, 02 Jul 2012 12:50:56 GMT

(I'm writing this on a netbook, with terrible keyboard. Letters and spaces may fall out of posts from here on it.)

The dig is starting up, and looks to be great fun. On the other hand, there isn't currently internet in my room, which means that I feel somewhat self conscious about posting to LJ and playing facebook games on the patio outside the office, together with all the other wirelessless.

Things I have meant to say, but have not yet said.

Sun, 01 Jul 2012 05:58:33 GMT

1) Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine 54 is . . . well, it has been up for some time, and I didn't notice. But now I have! I have a story in it, but you will have to buy a copy to read it. It's a moderately funny science fiction story, if that's an inducement.

2) I've sold a story to Strange Horizons. When it appears, I will try to mention this in a somewhat more timely manner.

3) I will not be at Farthing Party this year. I almost was, but then I couldn't find a good plane ticket, and the timing would have been tough, because I'll be coming back from my dig like three days before I'd have to leave, and being away for a month on a dig, plus another three weeks in the US and Canada (the three weeks are because of a nephew's wedding in the middle of August) seemed like a bit much.

Which brings me to 4) I'm going to be excavating at Tel es-Safi this year, and will be leaving for said Tel some time in the next half hour. If you want to get in touch with me, email is probably the way to go.

Commerce!

Mon, 11 Jun 2012 17:05:10 GMT

I've got a story, "Sundogs," in the current issue of Flagship.

They've got the story in both text and audio formats, so for those of you who like to listen to things, it is a thing to which you can listen.

Oh, Internet

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 19:57:00 GMT

So, I play facebook games, from time to time. There's a certain sort of satisfaction that I get from getting all of a set of things, and improving things as far as they can be improved, and there is a genre of game that shows up on facebook which scratches that itch.

I'm not going to say I'm proud of that, but that's who I am. My current game is Marvel Avengers Alliance (I have unlocked Mockingbird. Mockingbird, people! That's hard to do.) Recently, in the interest of game balance, they made Captain America slightly less powerful than he had been. This has led to approving quotes of previous complaints, including:

The important thing is that consumers let corporations know that we're not just a bunch of mindless idiots who will shell out our hard earned money to them without thinking about what they're doing to trick many of us out of said money. An honest company just offers a quality service and profit comes to them, whereas a company engaged in bad business practices to exploit their customers will gain short term profit at the consumers' expense, but if the consumers recognize they're not being respected as customers, all loyalty to that company will, and should, be lost, and the company will just wind up screwing themselves out of the long term gains of having happy, satisfied and loyal customers.

There are larger issues involved, and each protest against corporate exploitation adds up.

Apparently I'm not getting that message across to you, the consumers, who would rather flame someone with a legitimate complaint than thing about how these kinds of practices effect you, and what the long term impacts are as a company following this kind of approach to marketing and keeps trying to find ways to trick you out of your money.

Too many people don't think about these issues, and that's why America is controlled by corporations now, and why you're all brainwashed by the media until you don't even recognize how you yourselves are being screwed. They even trick you into thinking that legitimate movements against corporate control are a bunch of wack jobs (like occupy wallstreet), because they don't want you to see the truth of how they're controlling you and exploiting you on a daily basis.

Good job being mindless sheep maintaining the status quo which slowly drives us all into slavery.

To be absolutely clear here, Captain America's Shield Guard can now be used every other turn, rather than every turn, as had previously been the case. If you're okay with that, well, good job being mindless sheep.

Ghost in the Writer.

Sun, 03 Jun 2012 15:27:10 GMT

So, this: http://youtu.be/bLlj_GeKniA was mentioned in an old XKCD which I recently came across, as one does. After watching it, I have decided two things.

1) As soon as I figure out what Dreamwave should be, I will try to write some Dreamwave stories.

2) I am going to replace the phrase, "messing around on the internet," with, "jamming with the console cowboys in cyberspace." The same substitution will apply for, "checking my email," and "playing facebook games."

And now, back to jamming.

The wonders of Wikipedia.

Wed, 16 May 2012 06:15:22 GMT

From Fin Fang Foom:

"Foom appears in the limited series Nextwave as a pawn of the Beyond Corporation©. He is now back to his original size. Despite having no genitals, he wears purple pants."

From the talk page to the same article:

"This article falls within the scope of WikiProject Buddhism, an attempt to promote better coordination, content distribution, and cross-referencing between pages dealing with Buddhism. Please participate by editing the article Fin Fang Foom, or visit the project page for more details on the projects."

The danger of writing for anthologies.

Mon, 14 May 2012 18:00:59 GMT

So, last year, I started selling stories, and as a result, started paying more attention to lists of markets and so on. There was a call for submissions for this one anthology which wanted stories about zombie King Kong. "Ha, ha!" I thought to myself. "What a silly idea for an anthology! I mean, how many stories can you even find in that premise."

Then I wrote one, of course.

Unfortunately, I wrote a thousand word story, and the call for submission had 2500 words as the lower limit. So, I added bits and pieces, and came up with something. Which got rejected, and fair enough.

Unfortunately, I'm left with a Zombie Kong story; in theory, I could keep shopping it around, and maybe get someone who hadn't heard of the anthology (which is most people, I assume--no offense intended to the publisher and editor, but this is not exactly a heavily promoted offering from a major press.) to buy my story.

But, honestly, Zombie Kong is this other guy's idea, and I'm not sure that I want to try and sell a story whose selling point is someone else's idea. Also, it's a thousand words long, so there's really not a whole lot of money on the table here.

So, here you all go: Legend of Screen and Stage

"Clear the set," one of them starts shouting. It seems like they're always shouting. Except when the cameras are rolling, when they always mumble. Didn't use to bother with that, either, but they talk now, when they're filming.

"It's on in fifteen minutes," another one says to Sidney. Sidney nods gravely, his comb-over flapping down over his face. He brushes it aside. He's the who brought me back from the grave, the man whose dark wizardry keeps me suspended on the brink between life and death, who keeps my soul in endless, pitiless thrall. Or, as they call him in the business, my agent.

They undo the latches on my cage, which is just there for show, really; I can't even support my own weight, with my muscles rotting away in my legs and my back, but they've made so many of these movies that they know in their bones that if I was given half a chance, I'd kill them all.

I'd like to, of course. I mean, who wouldn't? Have you ever listened to these people talk? But I can't even move without help. Sidney shuffles his cards, says his incantations, and I rise to my feet, slowly, like a puppet whose strings have been pulled, or like a mass of clay, pushed into motion by an invisible hand.

I don't know what today's shot is. It's not like they give me a script. They used to. Five months before Sarnoff got in front of a Congressional Committee, and described me as a, "perfectly harmless, gentle ape, with no more intelligence than a well trained dog, or horse," he was having people draw up scripts big enough for me to read them. Could be that's why I got that crate of bad melons. Or it could have been the mob, or Jack Warner, or maybe it was just a crate of bad melons. Either way, I wound up dead, until Sidney changed that.

It's getting late in the filming. I only hope that today isn't the death scene. You'd think it wouldn't, after all of these times, but being killed hurts, and being brought back hurts more. If my muscles were more than rotted cords, if my teeth were more than wood and painted canvas, they'd see my name in Variety again, right at the top of a whole bunch of obituaries.

Things are what they are. It's a high place again, and a blonde. Sidney puppets me up there, and the director scowls at me. "I don't like the left shoulder," he says. "It's still not right. Get some more fur on there." Then he goes to drink coffee and eat bagels.

Few years back, there hadn't been much demand for me in the pictures, so Sidney had me warehoused. Turns out, there were moths in the warehouse; the fur on my left side has been spotty ever since. They've tried sheepskins, and synthetics, and what was probably the fur from smaller gorillas. Nothing has ever been quite right, and it sure isn't growing back. Anyhow, Sidney crouches me down, and they tack on a few more sheepskins.

Back up, pose, and then the crane lowers the blonde into my hand. Used to be that I'd carry her up, but as the decay progresses, my fine motor control is going, despite Sidney's best efforts. Crush one ingénue, and nobody wants to insure your pictures for a decade.

It's the death scene. I had hoped it wouldn't be, but I knew it would. Fewer trailers on the lot, and the bit players were already rehearsing lines for other parts. Which they weren't going to get. You know the old saw, that there aren't small parts, only small actors? It's true; I should know. This production was small actors.

I know it as soon as I start swatting at planes that are going to be added in post. I try and will my mouth to speak, will my hand to crush the screeching blonde, but, of course, none of that happens. The fall isn't a long one—I'm a story up, tops, but I'm big enough that even a little fall will do me. A few more swats at invisible planes, a few more gape jawed shots for the stills.

Then it's time to set things up for the fall. They set up the lights, pump a tanker full of fake blood into my dessicated veins. There are barricades thrown up near where I'm going to fall, warning people not to get too close, where they might get hurt.

The blonde was back in her trailer. I had put her down on a ledge, or something. Just one twitch of my own, just one little movement. I didn't have blood in my veins, but maybe the tomato juice or whatever it was would suffice. One last swat at an invisible plane, and then the charges go off, singeing my fur. Sidney would charge them extra for that, and they'd pay it.

I let go of the plywood tower, fling myself backwards. I couldn't say if it was because the barricades were too close, or if Sidney hadn't been careful enough in his control, or if the tomato juice did it. But my left hand extends outward, and the steel barricade cuts through the sheepskins and skin and rotten bones and flesh. It doesn't hurt any more than the rest of me; lungs and heart and brain all scrambled and shattered.

As the lights fade, I can hear Sidney swearing about that hand coming off, and I can hear the director swearing right back, about the shot being ruined. And then I couldn't hear anything. It wouldn't last, I thought, as I died. They'd stitch the hand back on, replace broken bones with wood and aluminum, tendons with cables.

Each time, though, there'd be less and less of me. Until, in the end, I was just a prop, and then, not even that. Just an effect, to be added in post production.

For just a moment, as it all went away, I was back on my island, roaring defiance at the leaden skies, strong and whole and wise.

I don't really consider myself an expert, but.

Wed, 09 May 2012 10:16:03 GMT

Poking around online in an attempt to avoid writing, I came across an article about the recent European elections in the Guardian.

This bit stood out, for me:

For the past four years, the crisis has culled incumbents without discrimination, from the Republican George Bush and conservative Nicolas Sarkozy to Labour's Gordon Brown and the Spanish Socialist José Luis Zapatero, while the far right has advanced across Europe by preying on anti-migrant insecurities and posing as anti-establishment outsiders.

I realize that not everyone pays that much attentions to foreign elections, and that the US is quite a long ways away from Britain. I also realize that quite a lot has happened since the most recent American elections, and it's unfair of me to expect the details of these transatlantic affairs to stick in people's memories for so long.

And yet, even though it would have interfered with the balance and flow of that paragraph, I cannot help but feel that the author should have noted that George Bush's failure to continue as president after 2008 was not solely because of the state of the economy.

America, and so on.

Wed, 02 May 2012 11:51:12 GMT

As promised, we were in the US for a good chunk of April, and now we are back. It was nice to see those of you who we saw, and sorry about missing those of you we didn't get a chance to see. The trip was pretty great; Uriel has gotten interested in chemistry, and I got a new suit. A suit with a vest. It's pretty awesome, and now I need a pocket watch.

Also, on this trip, I sold a couple of stories. One to the Lovecraft eZine, which is forthcoming, and one to Redstone SF, which is now up.

For those of you keeping track at home, which is nobody, this is the forth story that I've sold to a pro market, and the second one to be published. I'm currently trying to work on other things, but unfortunately, there's this video game. . . yes, there is a connection between the story and not being able to think properly because of a video game. No, you do not need to point it out.

And now I must go level up Captain America. For those of you wondering when, exactly, Captain America throws his mighty shield, it is when he reaches level 6. Until then, he cannot throw his mighty shield, so, for the moment, many of those who chose to oppose his shield need not yield. For the moment.

I came to say, I cannot stay, I must be going.

Fri, 16 Mar 2012 13:02:57 GMT

For the last couple of days, I was on a hike up in the North. This was a fundraiser for Tsad Kadima, which works with kids with cerebral palsy, and while it's a worthy cause, I haven't entirely made the connection between "going for a nice walk" and "people should give money to charity." But if you'd like to give them money, I'm certainly not going to stand in your way.

Also, I lost my hat.

In other news, we have about a week to pack our bags and clean for Pesach, because we're leaving in a bit more than a week. And we all have passports, so we should be able to pass through ports, which is an exciting development.

Finally, Uriel was Iron Chef Chen Kenichi for Purim.

Here is proof:

Well, that seems ominous.

Sun, 11 Mar 2012 13:08:25 GMT

One of the things that gets done on Purim is that people give each other presents of food, often horrible junk food.

This year, we got something called "Maya Corn Cones" which doesn't really sound like a food, but that's not my point. My point is that if you look at the packaging, it says, "Keep away from sunlight" in bold letters.

This strikes me as worryingly similar to "do not get wet", or "do not feed after midnight."

In the final analysis, whether or not they're vampires, Maya Corn Cones are tasty, in a highly chemical flavored fashion.

Purim!

Fri, 09 Mar 2012 13:50:13 GMT

For reasons that I do not intend to explore at the moment, Purim is celebrated today in Jerusalem, rather than yesterday, as in most of the rest of the world. And, as I mentioned in 2006, one of the traditions of Purim is to say something that looks like Talmudic exegesis, but which isn't.

So here's this year's edition:

Many times, when you get gifts of food for Purim, you don't necessarily know if the food is dairy or not; as Orthodox Jews don't mix milk and meat, this can be a serious question. So, if you don't have information one way or the other, how do you treat hamentashen (Yiddish for "Haman pockets". In Hebrew, it's "Oznei Haman", or "Haman's ears")?

I'd argue that you should consider them to be dairy, because, as the book of Esther says, "vayimalei Haman cheimah"

(The actual translation there is, "and Haman grew angry," but it's within punning distance of "And Haman was filled with butter.")

Attention, people of New York! Soon I shall walk amongst you!

Thu, 08 Mar 2012 12:23:24 GMT

Assuming that everything works out with passports and travel and so on, Naomi, Uriel, and I are going to be in the New York area from March 29th until April 18th. If people would like to get together and do things, there are many days in that range where things can be done. I'm hoping to do a bunch of tourist stuff with Uriel—specifically, the Children's Museum, the Museum of Natural History, the Bronx Zoo, the Intrepid, at least one visit to the main branch of the NYPL, and so on.

For those who are interested in things which do not involve trying to wrangle an excitable child through crowded tourist spots, maybe lunch at one of the kosher Indian places downtown or something at dba, or maybe someone wants to volunteer to host a bad movie night perhaps?

Anyhow, my point is that this is probably the time to arrange things, for those of you with interest and time.

Just for the record.

Wed, 29 Feb 2012 08:28:07 GMT

In one of the conversations about discrimination against disabled people that I've read recently, someone said something along the lines of wanting to live in a world where everything about who we are is accepted and celebrated.

I don't know if I've posted about this here, but I've had issues with recurring ulcers; they're mostly under control, but sometimes not.

Anyhow. Should the millennium wished for above come to pass, I'd like to state that I'd rather not have a "you have some problems with your poop" party. If you really feel the need to celebrate that part of who I am, maybe go with a card.

Signs that I am not a normal person

Sun, 26 Feb 2012 17:44:22 GMT

Way to spend a lazy afternoon:

Sit in a comfortable chair, and flip through Fowler's A Dictionary of Modern English Usage. Read the funny bits aloud!