What in hell?

My friend Adi was feeling down, so I wrote her this story. I hope you all love it.

( He was easily eighty feet tall, with feet over three feet tall and eight feet long.  )

Current Location: Fort Victoria

They are hard to program for a specific time but my god, get a big enough one on you and you are staying awake, my friend. I did not get a good look at this one - my "throw this horrible arthropod off of me" reflex is what woke me up, not the spider - but from watching it scurry away without glasses on in a darkened room, I would put it at at least two feet across. Or maybe an inch. Somewhere between those two. I wanted to get a better look at this grotesque parody of God's creation, so I looked for my emergency flashlight, which I keep in a secure, easy-to-reach place that I've entirely forgotten.

Just try putting on pants when you're tired and afraid of a spider. Just try. Go ahead, I will wait for you.

It sucks, doesn't it?

Cats are the natural predator of the spider, but none of the cats living here appear to have eaten my horrible new alarm clock. Some of you might be thinking that this is a sign that I dreamed the whole event, but actually it is a sign that cats are assholes.

The more I write about this, the more offended I am. I grew up in New Hampshire, where you expect crap like this, but I love in goddamn Massachusetts* now, and frankly I demand better from my adopted state's fauna. I don't think there are even supposed to BE spiders in Boston; didn't the pilgrims burn them all away when they blew up Plymouth Rock in 1932?

I'm very tired, but sleep can wait. I'm going to strap some cats to a broom or something and conduct a full sweep of the apartment. Until then, consider the Green Zone breached, and on high Arachnid Alert.

*I spelled this on the first try, at six in the morning. I rule.

Current Location: Fort Victoria

Friendly's kitchen, Ah, God, Friendly's kitchen, I do weep for thee.
Holy City,
Martial Empire,
Mecca of Culinary Grace,
Bastion of Freedom,
You
Are
My
World.

I weep for thee, Friendly's kitchen.
Freely flow the tears for those beautiful days
You nurtured me with kindness
as I nourished my hometown with home fries.
No experience approaches your ecstasy
No location resembles your radiance
No city can best your seraphic inhabitants:

Lord Fridge and Lady Freezer, stocked full with savory meats, cheeses, and veg.
Constable Cold-Tray, keeping bad taste at bay with his deputies: tomato, lettuce, and kale.
Mighty Stovetops, blistering hot, cooking the food of the righteous.
God-King Fryolator, twice-weekly anointed with fresh and holy oil.
Ice Cream Station, a frozen bounty of treasures both cream-based and fruitsome.
Employee Meal, spoken of in whispers, who gave of his hours that others might eat.

And the Attendants of the Court, chattering gaily as they casually turn the Wheels of the Universe
Nymphly coeds mingling happily with bitter lifers
Bringing food to the hungry as gasoline brings cars to the road.

In the midst of such great works walked unworthy I, gangly long-haired virgin,
Sailing from shore to shore in the Great Ship Friendly's Kitchen.
Gladly did I stock your pantries
Humbly did I follow your recipes
Vainly did I think to improve on them while on break
But if any goodness, any benefit, any positive outcome at all did come from my efforts,
It came solely from my contact with your nobility.
Everywhere I go in life I carry your Dream.

At the end of each shift, I walked out your door and died.
At the beginning of the next, I entered again and was reborn.
I weep for thee, Friendly's kitchen, nine years gone
Each day that I live, I live in the shadow of your passing.

(Dedicated to the memory of Matt Sweeney, who is still alive)

Current Location: Fort Victoria

Usually, these open letters are something political, or at least socially relevant. Now I'm just writing to ice cream companies asking them to keep making my favorite flavors. This is the beginning of my rapid slide into curmudgeonly irrelevance, and I will soon be writing letters to the editor decrying neighborhood kids with there hoop-hop rap music and their crocs and obesity rates in preschools.

It's been fun, y'all.

--

Dear Ben & Jerry's website comment reader,

Guys. Guys. Key Lime Pie. Oh my god.

It's not just the best flavor you've ever come up with, it's the best ice cream ever invented by man, god or science. Seriously, it's barely even ice cream; it's some sort of weird alchemy combining citrus, angel tears, and crack cocaine.

You can't keep this as a limited batch. Not now. I'm goddamn addicted to the stuff, and if you take away my fix, I don't know what I'll do.

I'm begging you, put this flavor into permanent circulation, at least until health care reform passes and I can get into a decent addiction counseling program.

Your pal,
Eryk Nielsen

Current Location: Fort Victoria

Inspiration struck on the couch this evening, in the form of a game for bored intellectuals. The challenge is to take a great dramatic work - play, movie, radio drama, what-have-you - and, using the most talented actors you can, make the worst fantasy cast possible. Age, race, and possibly gender can be ignored, as long as it's funny. Bad Hamlet, a game of mis-casting.

The original cast is, of course, Hamlet. Here's what we came up with:

Claudius: Morgan Freeman. MF is a charismatic, talented actor, and also completely non-threatening.

Hamlet: Toby McGuire. This is borderline, as I don't think he's that good an actor in the first place. Hamlet is such a broadly interpretable character that it's hard to find someone good who couldn't play him.

Polonius: Harrison Ford. "OK, kid, listen up: never a borrower nor a lender be..."

Laertes: Hugh Jackman. Jackman is actually very good for this role, except that it's too much of a background part for someone with his screen presence. Playing opposite Toby, he'll dominate every scene.

Horatio: Sean Penn. See Laertes, but with more scenery-chewing.

Ophelia: Hillary Swank. Someone much smarter than me could make a case that draws parallels between Hamlet and Boys Don't Cry, but I wouldn't listen.

Gertrude: Nathalie Portman. I really wanted Edie Falco for this, but the more I think about it the better she seems for the role, so that's no good. By the time Nathalie is old enough to play the Queen, she may well have the range to pull it off, but right now I don't see her doing it at all well.

Rosencrantz and Gildenstern: Young Clint Eastwood and John Wayne. Wayne has already been famously mis-cast as MacBeth, and he would certainly be terrible here. Eastwood is debatable; he's not known for his subtlety, but I could see him playing one of these two as a "wait-and-see" kind of character, who talks like an ass but is actually pretty calculated. Maybe he should be replaced with Ronald Reagan?

Anyway, this is the original Bad Hamlet, my lasting gift to the world.

Current Location: Fort Victoria
Current Music: Stravinsky - Symphony of Psalms

A few days ago, I told you all about "What's UP: Balloon to the Rescue." Today, I watched it. I was a little nervous, loading up the DVD.. could this awful knock-off possibly live up to my crapspectations? The answer is yes. So much yes. Everything and more. Let's talk about it. The whole movie is on YouTube, so feel free to watch along.

( 'You numbskull! How can you drop a super-energized rock?!' )

So, I have mixed feelings about this. I mean, it's a terrible fucking movie, which is good, but I wanted more shameless ripping-off. There's a house with balloons on it, but that's the only real resemblance. A few of the jokes were actually pretty funny, but mostly you get the impression that nobody cared. This wasn't a soul-crushing experience for the writers; their souls were already crushed by the time they got here.

If anyone can track down the direct-to-DVD feature where they DO get their souls crushed during production, though, I'll be delighted to watch that one.

Current Location: Fort Victoria

So, um, this. It exists. If you don't care to follow the link, it's a DVD called "What's Up: Balloon to the Rescue!" and it is exactly what you think it is. It's a short cartoon feature that exists entirely to make money off of nearsighted people, who think they are buying a copy of Pixar's "UP" instead. And that is awesome.

Every review I've seen of this on Amazon or Netflix is an angry rant about how they were fooled by the DVD, or how awful is it that the DVD tried to fool them, but.. man, I'm in awe of this. I can't wait to see it. Once you get past the awfulness of the packaging (and seriously, click through just to see the box art), you're left with what I can only imagine is an existential symphony of horror and delight. The decision to make the knockoff is the easy part; some sleazy studio boss green-lit it and then went off to smoke cigars off of asian prostitutes or something. But then, someone had to actually write the thing. And a team of animators had to produce it, painstakingly, frame by frame. Some team of artists spent months of their lives making a product that they had to know would be universally reviled. And that's beautiful.

So naturally I ordered it from Netflix. After weeks of sitting at the top of my queue ("Very Long Wait"), it's coming tomorrow. I can't wait. On the surface, it's a shitty movie for six-year-olds whose parents don't know that DVDs usually come out after the movie leaves theaters. But below that, it's a celebration of mediocrity. The movie wasn't made to be good. It was made to barely resemble a different film that is good. I am dizzy with anticipation.

Current Location: Fort Victoria

So I'm watching this week's Mad Men, and it's one of those stories where they follow several groups of people over the course of an evening. One group is working late in the office, and another is going to an outdoor soiree.. they cut from the office, where it is clear that they've been working well past normal quitting time, to the party, where it's very bright and sunny out. There's a moment of dissonance, and then I think "ahh, it stays light out late. It's a subtle way of letting us know it's summer."

As opposed to, you know, looking at the green grass and bright flowers, and knowing what a season looks like. Well played, brain, well played.

EDIT: Oh goddamn it it's on a Saturday. And it's probably November or something. Blarg.

Current Location: Fort Victoria

THE INCOMPLETE LIST OF ANIMATED FILMS ON THE TOPIC OF CROSS-DRESSING

(In rough chronological order)

Snow White and the Seven Very Surprised Dwarves
Mantasia
Bambenis
Slung in the South
Alice... I Wonder... Man...?
Cinderfella
"Lady" and the Tramp
The Sword of the Stone-Cold Fox
Asterix the Girl*
The Bro-Wristed Cats
Robin Drag
Raggedy Ann is Andy: A Musical Adventure
The Fox With a Hound
Heavy Metal
The Flight of Drag Queens
The Secret of HIMH
Mickey's Christmas as "Carol"
The Wand in the Willows
An American (Tucked-Back) Tail
Alvin and the Chick-Monks
The Little Mermaid With The Unsightly Bulge
Beauty and the Beast of a Surprise the Next Morning
Aladdinadress
Lolahontas
The Hunchback of Not-A-Dame
Stanastasia
Princess Mononotwhatyouwereexpecting
Stulan
The Queen and I
The Emperor's New Hobby
The Triplets of Ballville
Howl's Moving Bustle
Man in Dress, Car
Beowulfinsheepsclothing
The Fantastic Musical Adventure of the Attractive Young Woman at the Bar Who Secretly Has Male Genitalia

Current Location: Fort Victoria

..Having written this big cathartic anti-Republican screed, I should clarify a bit. Yes, I'm angry, and yes, I can't help feeling superior to the angry screaming mob. But.. this is not something to be enjoyed. Get it out of your system, sure, but don't laugh at them. Be scared, maybe, or feel pity, but don't be smug, or at least not for long. I don't like feeling this way, and I hold out hope that sanity will return and I won't have to feel it any more.

Current Location: Fort Victoria

OK, so, in certain areas I'm kind of full of myself. I can be humble a lot of the time, and I try to give praise where praise is due, but when it comes to some areas - science, public policy, and the like - I've still got some ego going on. I am super brilliant and how can anyone else understand this like I do, etc. It's a dreadful habit, and I try to fight it whenever I can.

Naturally, this is not a mindset that lends itself to happiness or enlightenment in a country as politically polarized as the USA. We don't just disagree, we FUCKING KNOW BETTER, YOU UNAMERICAN ASSHOLES. This is not easy for me! I'm here trying to fight my "I am smarter than you about this" tendency, by looking for balance, assuming that the other side is based on reasonable assumptions, and doing everything I can to find fairness in their viewpoint. With that in mind...

Thanks a million, town-hell protesters. Really. Thank you so goddamn much for making this impossible.

I spend all this effort trying to see that the other side is real people, not just strawmen, and the Right's new plan is to MAKE EVERYONE ON THEIR SIDE A FUCKING STRAWMAN. Thanks guys. Now for the next twenty years, I'm going to try telling myself "no, no, they just disagree with me, but they're still informed and reasonable people," and then I'll remember "Oh wait, tens of thousands of them got all unhinged and chanted complete falsehoods and joked about killing senators and blocked vital reform based on made-up horseshit that one time," and that'll be it. I'll never be able to get around thinking that I'm smarter than you guys, because jesus, you guys are fucking idiots.

Does writing this help the debate? Of course not. But then, there's not really a debate on this, is there? I mean, there is a debate to be had on Obama's health reform plans, but this sure as shit ain't it. This is thuggery, a proud public demonstration of exceptional ignorance. There's no exchange of ideas here, just "Ugly American" syndrome at its worst. So if that's how we're going to do things, well, fine. You guys can keep getting up in arms about fabricated nonsense, and I'll sit here at my desk feeling smarter than you, because there's really no choice. I can't argue with a position that contains no facts, so what's left? If you don't want me thinking I'm better than you, don't be a public asshole.

Maybe reform will still pass, and shockingly, none of the crap you're afraid of will come to pass. I don't expect an apology, but your children will thank us. Or, more likely, reform won't pass, and America will be incrementally weaker and stupider, and the world will shake its head a little more and ask, "This bunch of screaming yahoos is the leader of the free world? Really?" In a country where education and critical thought are not given priority, the loudest guy wins. Until we can get our heads out of our collective asses, and stop celebrating ignorance and mediocrity, facts will never triumph over fear- and hate-mongering. If we want to be a strong country, we have to do more than just shout "America America America." We have to do better than to repeat "greatest country on Earth" and ignore the fact that, in a lot of areas, other countries are doing a hell of a lot better than us.

We're a nation of immigrants. We import people from around the world, and you know what? Those damn Mexicans sneaking over the border, they believe in the American Dream a lot more than you do. So does Europe. We accepted people from their countries, and became stronger for it. Why is it so hard to accept ideas from those countries as well? Why does every wave of immigrants settle, and two generations later become entitled pricks who can't stand outsiders? And let's be honest, that is what this is about. Obama can't be President, because he's secretly a Kenyan. We can't reform health care, because that's the way they do things in scary France. We can't stand anyone who disagrees with us, or doesn't look like us, because we're Real Americans, and what the fuck right does anyone else have to tell us what to do? Hell, it's not just foreign countries.. compare "Red" and "Blue" states, and across the board you'll find that Blue states have lower divorce rates, lower teen pregnancy rates, lower infant mortality, longer lifespan, lower obesity rates.. but of course we're not Real Americans, because Taxes Elitism Heartland.

Look, I don't need people to agree with me. As long as what you're saying makes sense, I'm happy. If your assumptions are different from mine, that's great. All I ask is that you use some goddamn sense. If your argument is based on lies, then I'm not going to listen to it. If your method of debate is to shout loud and say nothing, I'm not going to respect you. You don't need to be a debate team captain. You just need to use your fucking head. If you can't explain from Point A to Point B, then nobody should listen to you. If you don't know what words mean, don't shout them in public. This fucked-up wreck-the-game movement by Republicans, the misinformed led by the disingenuous... well, OK, maybe you're not all complete shitheels. But you are saying and doing exactly what a complete shitheel would say and do.

Current Location: Fort Victoria
Current Mood: annoyed

I saw an old friend and his wife (who by now is also an old friend in her own right) last weekend. It was a good occasion, a concert at Tanglewood: big enough to be noteworthy and not so large that it would drown out the better pleasure of reacquaintance. We sat in a faux frontier lodge and caught up, which was one part exposition, four parts gossip, and two parts staring at our food. There was very little talking about the old times, and it was good.

There is nothing wrong with the old times, of course, or at least nothing that newer, better times cannot remedy. It was there at the table - all the old joys, tears, jubilations and recriminations. We remembered them. We thought about them. Past a certain time we no longer need so badly to speak about them at dinner.

They spoke about milestones, degrees earned, new jobs and houses. I searched for milestones and realized I have not had many: I have not been back to school, my jobs were not to my liking, I did not buy a house. So I spoke instead of contentedness, that I (and I should hope, they) have gradually found myself living the life I want to live, without really knowing how or when this came to pass. There comes a time when we have lived and fought for long enough that we find rest.

I don't have much in common with my old friends anymore. They married, I did not. I moved to the city, they did not. I can't speak for them, but I have certain assumptions - they want to live where they grew up, they crave some measure of stability, they want a family. I don't want those things. While I described my happiness, a part of me felt almost smug, that I should have the things I prize (my city, a safe degree of uncertainty, and above all the ever-present feeling that each year will be better than the last), and how can they not be jealous? But of course they are not.

The friends who swore they would never change, change. They do not often want what we want. Our interests diverge, icebergs calving away as we drift from life to life. And this is as it should be. This is a proper sadness, that should be welcomed. We meet our old friends, echoes of former selves in their new bodies and new identities, and the sadness of nostalgia carries us back and forward like the tide. It is a reminder that we live many lives in each life, that we should hold each one dear even as we let it go. I am not the angry, unstable youth that I was, but I was him, and I love him. I love his friends and his tragedies. I wish he had dressed better, and done something about his hair.

We grow up, we leave our homes, and the friends who we leave behind, we bring with us. Everyone from that first circle of friends, the adolescent crucible that informs our first adult identity, everyone I disappeared from, came with me, frozen in time. They will always be young, and I will always be young when I think of them. Meeting them in the flesh, older and calmer and evolved, does not change the younger thems I keep in my pocket. How could it? How can one afternoon change the indelible past?

They say that the Buddha told us that life is suffering and suffering is to be overcome, but I do not think that this is so. There is great and precious suffering in life, in now and then and later, and this is right. We cannot transcend sorrow, or sadness, or pain, and still be human. Rather, we stand in them, let them pass over us and through us like a wave, and when they are gone we find that we remain. We are all our own selves, passions and points of view encased in flesh, withstanding the erosion of memory and time, and always are we our own selves.

I will be here until I am gone, and then I will be elsewhere. That is the way.

Current Location: Fort Victoria
Current Mood: calm
Current Music: Berlioz - Requiem - Hostias

Yes, it's the first-ever ounceofreason Tattoo Post. As I understand it, blogging is a key part of the tattoo process, and it takes at least three posts before a tattoo can be applied. So, this is number one: The Background Post.

I've been wary of tattoos until now, because I have terrible taste in lifestyles. My rule of thumb is to pick a design and then wait a year to see if I still like it, and the last two choices have lasted about six weeks. Giant celtic knotwork dragon? I am very glad I didn't get you. Two lines of a musical score? It's an OK concept, but my favorite score is about as constant as my favorite everything else, so the best I could do is just get the bar lines inked, and then draw in notes with a magic marker depending on what mood I was in.

Actually, that's pretty awesome.

The current candidate is this guy:



The designer is an animal-rights activist, so what the drawing means to me is a lot different from what it means to him. Like most "deeper meanings," I'm afraid that it will lose something in translation if I try to explain it here (so, get me drunk, I guess), but the gist is it fits in with the Taoism. I'm still not sure what I think about the idea of Enlightenment*, but the idea of breaking the cycle of birth and rebirth resonates very strongly with me. I don't quite have it in words yet, but I equate freeing oneself from doubt and uncertainty with freeing oneself from death. Hence the caption "Liberation," which I've considered changing but can't find anything better.

It's here where I realize I don't know anything at all about actually getting a tattoo. How do you pick an artist? Where should it go? Etc, etc. So, in a year or so, I'll probably be needing the advice of more experienced tattooees who can help me find a good place, and then tell me how brave I was for only screaming a little bit each time the needle goes in.

Thanks Internet! I know I could count on you.

*My current take is that focusing on Enlightenment will not bring it any closer; rather, Enlightenment is reached by living life. The better you get at being human, the closer you become to Enlightenment, although being a great person may just be a way station, one step on a larger journey.

Current Location: Fort Victoria
Current Music: The Decemberists - The Crane Wife

Or I may have done something horrible.

It's a new word: "Weblish", which means to publish online, usually in an official or paid capacity. As in "Hey, McSweeney's finally weblished my SotW profile!", or "Sally writes a lot of slash. Most of it just goes on fetish sites, but her Batman/Jack Shepard story got weblished on the Wall Street Journal site."

So it's kind of useful, as a contraction for online published, which will become more useful as time goes on. It's a portmanteau, which I generally like but I know some people hate them. It's also kind of horrible. I made it up, but I also think I hate it. So I'm putting it to a vote.

Poll #1383591 Moment of Truth
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 14

Should "weblish" be a word?

Current Location: Fort Victoria
Current Mood: creative

Look! My favorite magazine likes me too! You can see proof of this on the bottom right corner right now, and for posterity (if they ever update the Subscriber of the Week again) here.

This is less random, but much more awesome, than the unexpected CS assignment that someone wrote about me ten years ago.

Current Location: Fort Victoria
Current Mood: Important!

Dear Gatorade,

Please, oh please oh please oh please, please make it stop. Stop airing that god-awful cartoon Tiger Woods commercial. It's horrifying. It's somehow worse than the Burger King mask guy rapping about Spongebob. Every time it airs an angel catches fire. Please, I'm begging you, I will buy any Gatorade product you want. Just stop airing it. Forever.

Clinging to sanity,
Eryk Nielsen

Current Location: Fort Victoria

So I made an error on my taxes, and my $430 refund has turned into a $170 deficit. Gaaaaaaaaaaaah. I will be able to eat and pay bills and whatnot, so all of my physical needs are met, but this basically destroys my discretionary spending for May (and possibly June, depending). It's amazing what not having spare cash does for one's sanity/outlook.

Seriously, does anyone want to hire a researcher for.. anything?

Current Location: Fort Victoria
Current Mood: Smooshed

I've been a fan of things since I was a kid, but only in the last few months have I started actually sending fan mail. I don't know what changed, or if awesome people even like reading how awesome I think they are, but it's awfully fun to write.

Current Location: Fort Victoria
Current Music: Dan Savage - Savage Love Podcast

Has anyone written a parody of the old Disney number "Zip-e-dee-doo-da" about wealthy moderate conservatives, that features the line "There's Mr. Bloomburg on my shoulder"? I don't know how the rest of it should go, but I feel like that line writes itself.

Current Location: Fort Victoria
Current Mood: Bloomburgian

Because she is awesome, Amanda has summed up my disappointment in Obama's handling of the banks very, very well.

Current Location: Fort Victoria