Sing Shenandoah For Joe
Joseph Jennings, having built the Best Choir on Earth, is stepping down as leader of Chanticleer.
(As a bonus, the word "horripilation" gets used and defined in the comments.)
Labels: The Best Choir On Earth
Joseph Jennings, having built the Best Choir on Earth, is stepping down as leader of Chanticleer.
Labels: The Best Choir On Earth
Today I address you, gentle reader, in my role as an aspiring but, for now, frustrated science fiction writer. First, I direct you to this wonderful bit from Nielsen Hayden, a slush pile reader. You'd think such an avenging angel would derive sufficient spiteful satisfaction from writing all those rejection letters, but no: upon discovering a website exists for disgruntled and rejected authors, the angel turns demonic:
What I find weirdest about their take on rejection is that it's all completely personal. I don't just mean the rejection itself, which they're bound to take personally, being writers and all. They take things personally which have nothing whatsoever to do with them [. . .]and then he tears the authors to shreds. For example, to the person who was insulted because the rejection came typed on a half-sheet of paper:
Right. I can just see the staff at Prominent Science Fiction Magazine doing the slush, with all their different-size rejection notes stacked up in a little row in front of them. If your story really sucks, you get a rejection note that's mimeographed on a sheet of paper the size of a large postage stamp. If you've got strong writing but defective storytelling skills, you get a half sheet. Acceptances come on foolscap. And so on.Great stuff. Read and savor the whole thing. Thanks to the ever-fascinating John C. Wright for the link. John has his own list of authorial boo-boos, and his commenters (why can't I seem to attract dozens of clever, literate commenters? No offense, Steve) riff at length on his "empirical storm troopers." Not to be missed.
[. . .] French industrial designer Bruno Delussu's rendering of a modern Bugatti Type 57 is so far removed from reality that the mind is free to conceive of anything. Say, a France removed by tractor beams from the way of an imminent Nazi invasion. Then allowed to grow in isolation for decades, acquiring high technology on the border of magic, to come up with this thing. A modern take on the Bugatti Type 57 Atlantic, powered probably by ion cannons instead of the original's clockwork straight-eight.Not to mention that this princess has a chassis clearance so minimal, she would crash if she hit a rock the size of a pea.
Another one! I guess I'll make this a regular feature, called Five Words I Never Expected to See Combined Into One Sentence. Here's today's unexpected headline:
Stoned Wallabies Make Crop CirclesAnd there's even a science fictional angle. How nice.
Labels: fun, Words of Power
I can honestly say this is one headline I never expected to read:
Hindu Monkeys Target Charlie ChaplinThe Little Tramp has been called many things down through the years (e.g. satyr, commie) but this is probably the first time he has been denounced as a Christian.
Labels: Culture, Little Tramp, Religion, Words of Power
Patiently unwind the slender tendril binding you to me.Thanks to Ben and the musicians of VAE for this fine and enthusiastic rendition. The performance was in March, 2009. Enjoy.
Drift away but cast a backwards glance until the sun grows cold. [. . .]
Labels: Composition, SoundClip
Julie and I took the kids to New York. Here's my diary.
Friday I move my car to a parking garage to
avoid weird NY fines for parking on the street on Friday morning. The
lot attendant is one of the few genuine rude New Yorkers I encounter. I
love it when they reinforce my prejudices! It's raining and this is the
day we have tickets for the Statue of Liberty (the Maharincess'
chosen destination). This is not a good combination. I even forget my
hat. We purchase outerwear for me and the kids on Liberty Island. This
means wearing glorified trash bags labeled "ponchos." A street
vendor also sells us umbrella hats for the kids. Nothing says
"sophisticated New York native" like an umbrella hat. The wifeösphere
locates her grandparents' names on the Wall of Honor at Ellis Island.
They both came over as young children as part of a group of
Wolgadeutsche (Germans living in the Volga River region of Russia). We
postpone our trip to the top of the ESB and go to MoMA instead,
spotting a subway rat along the way. He lacks the typical New Yorker
sense of urgency. In NYC, only the rats can afford an andante.
Speaking of music, I do not see either Alex Ross or Terry Teachout no
matter how hard I
look, but what are the odds? Der Drübermensch goes ga-ga for
MoMA; the Easter egg hunt quality of the kid's audio tour plays a big
part of the appeal. Smart move there, mister museum curator guy! My fav
is Rousseau's
Sleeping Gypsy. Our lunch in the museum cafe is easily the best
food we eat in NYC. Notice I did not say cheap. Meanwhile, it just
keeps raining. We return to the hotel and lie about exhausted for two
hours, warm and dry. The sister-in-lawösphere (hereafter SILöS) takes
us to an Italian restuarant in Astoria for pizza. The owner is
gregarious, helpful, teasing, and very very old school. NYC
pizza is, admittedly, superb. Admittedly as good, in its way, as
Chicago-style.
Monday we eat our free hotel breakfast while watching some infotaining
show called Good Morrow or some such. The hosts debate the virtues of crunchberries
vs. waffle crisp. You can't parody this stuff, but you can thank it for
confirming yet another prejudice! We drive to Fallingwater. At the
cafe we pay ten bucks
for some turkey and lettuce on two uninspired cantilevers of bread. The
house, however, is yummy. All of Wright's usual virtues and vices are
on display, in extreme. The tour guide plays just the right mix of
reverent courtier and court jester, and she and I share a laugh over
the Wright Attitude. The gift shop's powers are too much for us, and we
buy some stuff. The kids claim to enjoy the visit. We drive home. Today
is Frank Lloyd Wright's birthday.Labels: Architecture, Frank Lloyd Wrong, Holiday
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Umie the Umlaut says, "ask your doctor about the Fredösphere!"