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| Monday, December 21st, 2009 |
sbisson
|
9:35p |
Worst security breach ever?
We'd heard a few rumours from sources in the security community that something "really bad" was going down, but it seems that the news is out at last.Someone has leaked Santa's Naughty List to the Internet at large. Arweena, a spokes-elf for Santa Claus, admitted a few hours ago that the database posted at WikiLeaks yesterday is indeed the comprehensive 2009 list of which kids have been naughty, and which were nice. The source of the leak is unclear. It may have come from a renegade reindeer, or it could be the work of a clever programmer in the Ukraine. Either way, it's a terrible black eye for Santa. Arweena promised that in the future, access to this database would be restricted on a “need to know” basis. And you know who that means! So, are you on The List? Current Mood:  amused |
papersky
|
3:55p |
Telling the wrong story.
I was just in a shop and I heard a song which I assumed was a Christmas song. I mean it's the 21st December, and all the other songs were Christmas songs. I hadn't heard this one before, and it wasn't horrible on first hearing, fairly pleasant tune, which puts it well up on most Christmas songs I haven't heard before. It started off with the night wind telling a little lamb there was a star, the little lamb told a shepherd boy there was a song, the shepherd boy told the mighty king there was a child -- and I thought hang on, it was the kings who told Herod, not the shepherd, but OK -- and then: Said the king to the people everywhere, "Listen to what I say! Pray for peace, people, everywhere, Listen to what I say! The Child, the Child sleeping in the night He will bring us goodness and light, He will bring us goodness and light." What is this about, the conversion of Norway? Krishna and Arjuna? Siddhartha? Some story from Papua New Guinea? An alternate history song? I mean fine if it is, but... it isn't. How can anybody get this story wrong, my goodness that's not at all what the mighty king said in the story of Jesus, the mighty king Herod said "Send the soldiers, kill the baby" and the soldiers got there on December 28th, Feast of the Holy Innocents and killed all the babies in Bethlehem while Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus fled to Egypt. Yes, it would have been much nicer in the version in the song, especially for all the other babies in Bethlehem and their parents, but nice is not what it's about. It would make a fairly interesting alternate history, too. My objection to this is not religious -- I've mentioned before that Christianity is my ancestral culture religion but I don't believe in it. My objection is to getting the story wrong. There are any number of ways to tell a story, and any number of things you can change when you re-tell it, but you can't tell lies. You have to be true to the truth of the story you're telling, whether it's the nativity or Cinderella. |
sbisson
|
8:10p |
Quick Burn Notice thought...
If Michael Westin lived on a boat in Fort Lauderdale rather than in a loft in Miami South Beach, and if he drove Rolls Royce pickup rather than a Dodge Charger, and if Sam was called Myers, and was an economist rather than an ex-spy, wouldn't we be watching a Travis McGee series? So close. So close. |
sbisson
|
7:59p |
Crystal Towers
You can't take it with you. Take only photographs, leave as few footprints as possible. That's the message of the National Park Service, especially with regards to the crystal trees of the Petrified Forest. Like the lava of Kilauea, there's a purported curse, and you see letters on the walls of the visitor centre detailing the bad luck that's befallen those who've walked off with pieces of the brightly coloured rocks. Someone still wanted to make their mark on the park, and on the edge of the self-guided hike near the visitor centre we spotted this little cairn.  Petrified Forest National Park, Arizona November 2009 Current Mood:  busy |
e_moon60
|
9:50a |
Sunday Singing, with Adventures
The usual adventures were all generated by my being overtired already and headachy. I needed to take more things to the city than usual: my concert blacks, for the afternoon Messiah, and my choir robe, for church, and two sets of music--the folder for the church anthems and the Messiah score. This required two tote bags, not just one, and so--in the early dawn, because I needed to leave at 7 am--I stuffed the bags and left my choir robe in its usual "home" post-laundry location.
However...I drove off without the choir robe, realizing that only a mile away, so the drive back to get it didn't take that long--but did take more time. Still I made it to rehearsal before the first service on time, despite hitting every red light on the way in. I didn't realize--and wouldn't for hours--that although I had stuffed my concert blacks (Chico's wonderful travel knits) in one tote, I had not put in the short-sleeved black turtleneck that goes under the long-sleeved, longish, jacket-y thing that is worn open over the slacks and top. That made for an interesting discovery when I was changing for the concert. (Why, you may wonder, not wear the concert blacks all day? I had another plan, that's why, and it was not a smart plan, in retrospect.)
So...we had a decent-sized choir for the first service, and things were going smoothly until the sermon. Now that church does have a number of street people who come to services, as well as out of town visitors from other denominations (there's a hotel right across the street) and sometimes they're vocal at parts of the service where Episcopalians usually aren't, including during the sermon. So the loud "Amen!" and "Hallelujah!" and "Preach it!" were, though not common, not unknown and created no stir.
For those unfamiliar with Episcopal services, they follow a predictable order, both through the year and within a given service (it's why we're one of the "liturgical" churches.) After the sermon comes the confession of faith, in the form of the Creed. (From the Latin "credo," "I believe...") The whole congregation recites it together: "We believe in one God..." etc, and for Episcopalians, the Creed remains, as Cranmer wrote centuries ago, the Creed (and not the Bible) is the foundation of Episcopal theology. (Either the Nicene or Apostle's Creed--very similar but not identical)--counts.) This is why the Biblical literalists are so annoyed with us. There's no requirement to believe that every word was divinely inspired and represents absolute truth.
So we were a few phrases into it when suddenly the same voice that had shouted out before, shouted out much louder: "Liars! Liars! You're all liars!" There was a moment of stunned silence, and then (with what I consider commendable attention to what's truly important) the recitation continued, as did the accusations, which escalated from there. The person shouting was, from my position in the choir, out of my view unless I turned around (as I did, to check if he was displaying weapons, and then turned back.) He had climbed into one of the window niches. Like some others I talked to, we were praying that he didn't break that window and fall to his death--that window is high over a concrete-paved courtyard and falling backward his head would've burst like a melon. Meanwhile, a quiet but purposeful movement of personnel took place--from my position I could see only part of it without staring. Ushers moved up, clergy not actually speaking (one of the priests was leading the recitation) took the side exit out of the choir area to go help; one of the choir members, a psychiatrist, slipped out also and alerted the downstairs staff to call for backup and told the person in charge of the children's chapel (many children leave during the hymn before the Gospel reading so they don't have to listen to the sermon) not to send the children back until an all-clear.) The man was finally removed from the window niche and carried out, still yelling. I caught a glimpse of that. The service went on, with a prayer offered for his welfare.
By the end of the service, the rector had given the whole congregation what information he could--the man calmed down after a few minutes, drank a glass of juice, and admitted he had "episodes." Law enforcement finally arrived with their mental health officer (they had, apparently, told one of the church people on the phone that it wasn't a priority since the man hadn't injured anyone yet) and determined that he did, indeed, have a history of mental illness and was prone to violent outbursts. In the meantime, the choir had sung "This Is the Truth Sent from Above" and the service had gone on to completion.
A quick breakfast then, and into second-service rehearsal. In the interval there was discussion, of course. The habit of self-examination reacts to accusations of lack of faith, of dishonesty in matters of faith, with thoughtful internal inquiries...how much of that was true? Might be true? Then the second service (which I'd hoped to skip but there weren't enough altos) and then it was time to get ready for the afternoon Messiah performance (sing-along, at another church, but for me as part of the supporting choir.) I was already tired and craving a nap, but there wasn't time. By the time I got to that church, it was after two, and that's when I discovered the lack of a critical piece of black clothing. Luckily, that church's choir robes are black, so I suited up in one of them.
We sang more choruses than we had in the symphony performance...the soloists were excellent, the orchestra was excellent, and the audience a) came and b) nearly all sang and c) most of them knew what they were doing. The music took over, and gave us the energy to keep going until the end. A feature of this particular Sing-Along Messiah tradition is that there's a raffle for a chance to conduct another Hallelujah Chorus at the very end. The winner has to wear David's sweaty coat, and get up on the podium and direct it. Some have done brilliantly. Some have been entered as a lark by friends and haven't a clue. (I found out yesterday that one who had seemed clueless, years ago, was the brother-in-law of one of my alto friends.) In that case, the orchestra and lead choir pretty much ignore the "director" and do it at the usual tempo in the usual way. Yesterday's pick was rigged, however--the vestry and music director of the church where it was held had determined to surprise their rector. He did quite well, though he wasn't looking at the music to cue that big long rest right before the final "Hallelujah" so when everyone stopped he looked around. Quiet, quiet,....we all waited. He finally caught on that he was going to have to cue that entrance, and did so with a big grin.
Then some of us stayed to help move things back as they had been in the sanctuary and finally I left with Michael and drove home. To pretty much collapse. Still tired today.
Current Mood: tired |
nwhyte
|
10:20a |
December Books 7) Mr Singh Has Disappeared: A Concussed Novel, by Horst Prillinger
This was pressed on me by the infamous quarsan, and his efforts have been duly rewarded; I really enjoyed it. It is a fairly short novel, told in fragmentary, disjointed style (150 chapters in 135 pages) about the narrator's investigation of the disappearance of the head waiter of his favourite Indian restaurant. He spends a lot of time stuck down a well, in hospital, and musing on the precise nature of the vindaloo, the biryani and other Indian recipes. It is a real classic of surreal style, very funny in places. Interested to note that it was originally published in blog format earlier this year; the hard copy costs €10 and comes from amazon.de among other places. |
| Sunday, December 20th, 2009 |
nwhyte
|
5:24p |
The overnights meme
List the towns or cities where you spent at least a night away from home during 2009. Mark with a star if you had multiple non-consecutive stays. ( 13" )A lot fewer than some years. But also addfour overnight flights - two transatlantic, two between Europe and Africa. |
nwhyte
|
3:19p |
I don't have a vote in this one...
...but like a lot of people I'll be watching with interest for the outcome of the selection process for the next Lib Dem candidate in Cambridge, now that David Howarth has announced his intention to return to his academic career (he is a specialist in tort, if that is the right way to put it). Of the six shortlistees (listed here and also here) the only one I know at all is Julie Smith. I know David Howarth rather better since we were actually next door neighbours during my second year, as well as being Lib Dem activists at the same college. David won in 2005 on his third attempt with a majority of 10%, having eaten substantially into both the incumbent Labour MP's vote and into that of the Conservatives who held the seat from 1967 to 1992. Assuming (as seems likely) that the Labour vote tanks, the Lib Dems hold steady and the Tories rise but not dramatically, the seat should be holdable in next year's election |
nwhyte
|
11:07a |
December Books 7) Doctor Who and the Invasion from Space [by J.L. Morrissey]
 I thought I was reasonably well-informed about the history of Doctor Who spinoff fiction, but was rather amazed to discover this 1966 46-page story, in the same format (and by the same publisher) as the Doctor Who annuals, in which the First Doctor prevents an invasion from the Andromeda galaxy with the help of a family who he has rescued (just before the story starts) from the Great Fire of London. Apparently the text is by J.L. Morrissey, who published half a dozen detective novels in the 1930s and 1940s; the artwork is by Walter Howarth, the World Distributors stalwart illustrator. The story itself is standard Who, let down by rather dodgy astrophysics and some awkward phrasing (note extract from first para here). But the characterisation of Hartnell's Doctor is bang-on. |
nwhyte
|
10:35a |
ርሑስ በዓል ልደትን ሓድሽ ዓመትን
A friend of mine sent me this greeting:  which apparently means "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year" in his native language. A special prize for the first person to identify that language! (And a very special prize for anyone who knows how to pronounce it...) ETA: Well done ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) bugshaw! Others may guess anyway by clicking on "reply" without reading what others have written. |
e_moon60
|
3:01a |
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| Saturday, December 19th, 2009 |
papersky
|
9:17p |
And even cooler
I mentioned a little while ago that "Three Twilight Tales", my short story from Firebirds Soaring is going to appear in the Strahan and the Horton Year's Best volumes. I've now found out that Escape to Other Worlds With Science Fiction, which appeared on Tor.com and which is set in the US in the Small Change universe, is going to appear in the Dozois Year's Best. This is incredibly cool, partly because I very seldom write short stories and therefore it's lovely to have two different ones in three different Year's Best anthologies, and partly because I've been buying the Dozois anthologies every year for at least twenty years. So appearing in that is extra exciting because it feels... canonical. Also, in addition to whatever I get paid, I'll save the money I'd otherwise have spent on buying it. So that makes me feel all happy and bouncy. |
papersky
|
7:41p |
Acorns, trees, or possibly very obvious jokes
Yesterday, Z made the exact same joke that I made in this post in 2003. "I don't know much about Art... except about the time he went off to Egypt and bought a bunch of papyruses," he said. Also, he spontaneously made carandol's pun where I say "We need [something we happen to need]" and the response is "No, we knead bread." Then there's a thing I read on the back of a matchbox when I was a kid. (Can you imagine being desperate enough for things to read that you'd read the back of a matchbox? Or if you did that it would have anything worth remembering?) The joke was two people on a pier. One says "Isn't it windy? The second says "No, I think it's Thursday." The first replies "So am I, let's have a cup of tea." I told Z this joke when he was a child of an age to appreciate it, and he took to it, and so occasionally when it's windy (though not usually windy enough that you can't hear what the other person's saying) and one of us remarks on it the other will respond with "No I think it's Thursday" and so on. The thing is that both his girlfriend and rysmiel have picked this up -- it's odd to think of this little bit of a matchbox joke lasting so well and gaining a wider audience after so long. You never know what people will remember, and take up. I imagine someone paid to write matchbox jokes and having six to do before knocking-off time scribbling that one down and being mildly pleased when it passed muster and was printed and never imagining that more than thirty years later it would be appreciated by a new generation. I mean it's not Shakespeare or Douglas Adams, it was only a matchbox. |
| Sunday, December 20th, 2009 |
nwhyte
|
12:04a |
Gibbon, Chapter XIII
-
Another very long chapter, but an excellent read, full of incident and character. Diocletian comes over as one of the best emperors so far - a slave from Illyria who rose to the top, managed it well, and retired in time to enjoy his later years plating cabbages by the Adriatic. In the meantime he puts down Carausius' rebellion in Britain, wins a war with Persia and sorts out the empire by dividing it into four. Of course, that simply meant new structures that could go wrong; but it was a good solution to the problem of unmanageability.
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| Saturday, December 19th, 2009 |
nwhyte
|
10:10p |
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nwhyte
|
6:43p |
Snowbound, and social media
It won't have escaped notice that the weather has been a bit cold round here of late. Some (including one who works in the same building as me) think we should take it in our stride, and to an extent I agree that one should try and be slightly Zen about it. But sometimes this is not easy. Thursday night was a bad night. I was rather enjoying myself at a Bosnian embassy reception when I bit awkwardly on a (really yummy) piece of Baklava and my tooth, re-filled only that morning, began hurting like the blazes. I made my excuses to the ambassadors (the one I was talking to at the time, and the one hosting the party) and hurried as fast as I could to the tram and the Gare du Midi / Zuidstation. Less than 40 minutes later I had reached Leuven station, only 7 km from home. But Leuven was snowbound; the rest of the journey took over two hours, as buses failed to show up and trains were cancelled; eventually I trudged to the warmth of the Novotel and called a cab from there, jaw still aching. Since then it's been OK here, but we were really alarmed to hear of the Channel Tunnel being closed - and 2000 passengers stuck inside it! - since we were due to head over to the in-laws' tomorrow for a couple of days before Christmas. There is no reliable information available on the Eurostar / Eurotunnel site; but in the Twitter era, you cannot escape instant and public consumer feedback. It is clear that traffic is backed up for hours around Calais and Dover / Folkestone, and there are worrying reports of chaos at the loading ramps. There is no way we can take the risk of travelling with a severely autistic child (who will turn seven on Monday) and being stuck in traffic for hours, so we are not going tomorrow - particularly since the forecast is for more heavy snow precisely in western Belgium and the Pas-de Calais overnight - and quite likely will not go on Monday either. Alas, no pantomime for F, and no reunion with Anne's cousins either. But sometimes you have to accept force majeure.  |
nwhyte
|
12:11p |
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nwhyte
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11:19a |
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e_moon60
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3:01a |
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sbisson
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6:55a |
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| Friday, December 18th, 2009 |
nwhyte
|
10:05p |
Most commented posts of the last year
Posts since I last counted that got more than 20 comments - 42 in total, top 21 bolded, top 14 and top 7 in larger fonts. ( 42 most commented posts out of about 1100 )So it's polls, controversial science fiction, and real life evil scientists that generate the most comments here. One interesting thing (well, interesting to me) is that as Facebook starts to devour the internet, my posts of LJ entries to there are starting to spark discussion as well - and it is a completely different set of posts which get the most attention. More than ten comments were made on the following (there may have been others, but it is very tedious to chase these things down on Facebook): ( ten posts with ten or more comments )Now, six of these are fairly hard politics posts, and I guess my facebook readership, being more reflective of my professional environment, is more likely to comment on those. But I find it peculiar that of the various posts I made about Torchwood: Children of Earth, two scored high on Facebook but a completely different one scored on Livejournal. I guess it is sometimes just a matter of the post catching the attention of potential commenters; a matter more of luck than judgement. |
timill
|
3:38p |
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brisingamen
|
7:14p |
50 Book Challenge #63 ~~ Biography: A Very Short Introduction – Hermione Lee
Biography: A Very Short Introduction – Hermione Lee  (Oxford: OUP, 2009) There is, I think, an idea that biography is an impartial, objective presentation of facts about a person, as though the writer has had full access to everything about a person that has ever existed. This is far from any kind of reality so far as biographical or life writing is concerned. As the dust flap on this VSI points out, biography 'is by no means a fixed or stable form of literature. Biography has gone through many centuries of change and exists in many different versions.' Having said that, when I was young I never really gave it a thought, happily devouring biographies and assuming I had some grip on the person as a result. I continued in this vein until Iain Hamilton wrote about the difficulties of trying to write a biography of J.D. Salinger, famously private, who refused Hamilton access and cooperation, and most importantly, the right to quote from his works. Peter Ackroyd suffered similarly in trying to write a biography of T.S. Eliot, but managed to circumvent the quotation restrictions imposed by the Eliot estate through some ingenious and very stylish paraphrasing. Instances like this remind us that writing a biography is not a right; by the same token, writing an authorised biography is not the easy ride it might seem to be. Beyond that, authors write biographies because they want to explore a theory, because they have an axe to grind, because they think a previous biographer got it wrong, or because new information has come to light, or because a new generation may see a person's actions in an entirely different light. And so it goes on. Lee's Biography raises these and other issues involved in the writing of biography in what is, in my view, an extremely neat and informative introduction to the study and writing of biography. Out of 5 **** 63/50 bookss. 126% done! |
sbisson
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1:27p |
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nwhyte
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11:28a |
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