Ranty Time
//start rant//
How many people do you know who’ve said at some point “I’m going to write a book someday,” like they’re qualified to do so because they can almost, sometimes, spell difficult words like “the” and “and?”
You know a lot of those people. Because they’re everywhere. And a whole great horde of them actually compile those books. I’d say write, but that hurts my soul.
And you know what? It irks me. Because that’s my job. I take it seriously. I’ve worked hard at it, studied it, practiced it, failed horribly at at and discovered new things about it. I don’t pretend that it’s easy to do well.
But, apparently, because everyone learns how to “write” in school, anyone can do it, right?
Right?
So here’s what I’m thinking. I can cut a steak with a knife. That means I could totally be a surgeon, right? How different can it be? I’ve peeled the skin off a chicken breast. And I can count–mostly, but hey, that’s what calculators are for, right?–so I’m also going to someday be a banker–maybe on Wall Street! I’ve seen Fox News–all those guys do is buy Jaguars and make eleventy bajillion dollars a second.
Oh! My phone takes pictures. I’m totally going to be a professional photographer.
I can drive my car on the interstate, too–so I have a sterling future in NASCAR! I can learn to speak Tennesee, I’m sure, so I’ll fit right in. Y’all.
I have painted the wall of my house before–so I can be an ARTIST, too! This just gets better and better.
Fuck.
Here’s all I ask: I’m a firm believer than anyone can try to do anything, so long as they’re willing to work hard, learn, and accept that they might fail. But not everyone *can* do everything. I will never be an astronaut. I’ll probably never be a pilot, and I’ll for certain never play professional sports. I don’t pretend that I will, despite the fact that I write science fiction, have flown in a plane and understand the science, and have, in the past, played Horse with a basketball.
Don’t pretend you’re good at something you’re not. I can pick dandelions out of my yard and put them in a cup and set that cup on the table, but I don’t pretend I’m a florist. Knowing the motions does not make you a professional.
//end rant//
FY 2012
So. I have resolutions and shit…
(I know–you’re saying “… and shit? Really, Jason?” And it’s okay. Because really. And. Shit.)
I have simple New Years resolutions for 2012.
- I will exercise for one hour every day (60 minutes–maybe, hopefully even, 60 all at once). Cardio, weights, whatever. 1 hours. Every day. In this way habits are formed.
- I will, in addition the already-staggering amount of work-for-hire I’m contracted for, write at least 1,000 words of original material for eventual publication. Pages of a novel; pages of an ePub project; it doesn’t matter. It will be content not intended for any of the several work-for-hire universes I currently work in.
- I will hug Nora as often as I can.
Okay, that last one? I do that anyway. But it looks all pretty, there on the list.
Dropbox of DOOOOOOOOOM! (not)
I’m going to begin by saying that when I woke up this morning there was an email from Dropbox telling me they’d updated their terms of service (TOS) again. I have not checked to see if the wording that insp
ired the Saturday-afternoon ohmigodtheskyisfalling Internet shitstorm has been modified. It won’t matter, honestly. At this point they (Dropbox) have already incensed the Web-mounted legions of the batshit insane, and stupid childish concepts like reality and intent won’t dissuade the insane from ranting and screaming and the odd crucifixion.
The short version: Dropbox updated their TOS to say, essentially, ” we own and can do whatever the fuck we want with anything you put in our servers, whether you owned it or not to start with.”
And the Intarwebs, to say the least, went fucking batshit insane. In my abnormal corner of it, I saw the writers-and-publisher side of it.
And it made me laugh.
Writers were evil-Tweeting and blog-posting about how Dropbox had betrayed them, how they were pulling their content and writing sternly-worded letters of condemnation, and how the world was out to steal their shit. Many of the small-press publishers and periodicals I follow or get updates on were saying the same thing, because they couldn’t have their content–their stories, their billing invoices, their cached secret gay donkey porn–being owned by a file cabinet.
Because that’s what Dropbox is–a file cabinet you can check from anywhere. That’s why it’s awesome. And that’s why I don’t care. Let me spell it out:
- Even assuming, for the sake of argument, that a company can unilaterally assume ownership rights of intellectual content merely by saying so in their terms of service–which is stupid, because that’d be like me saying “Okay, you can ride in my car to lunch–but that means I get to go through your wallet and purse and all the ringtones on your phone are mine now”–the only company large enough that I might worry about them actually doing anything with my stored content is Amazon.
- If I’m a writer, and suddenly Dropbox claims they own all the drafts of my short story saved on their server, what am I afraid of. Is there an executive at the Dropbox World Headquarters (which is obviously like, Trump Towers or that new huge building in Abu Dhabi, right?) sitting there with a memo thinking “You know, I’ve always wanted to write a paranormal historical slash story, about Sherlock Holmes having light-night trysts with the the ghost of Marilyn Manson–let’s just grab all those fiddly bits in our file cabinet. I’ll sort through the literally billions of files that must be there, which I’m sure are clearly named and organized so anyone can decipher my folder hierarchy, so I can just take the one I want and make it a book and a movie and have all those millions of dollars for me!”
- Seriously–what the hell is a file cabinet company going to do with your manuscript?
“But Jason,” you might be saying, “I’m not taking the chance–even if it probably won’t happen, it could happen.” Yes. It could. You could also win the lottery. Or get abducted by aliens. Or abducted by Albanians. Or hit by a car. Or fall in love. Or be struck on the head by a meteor. Develop cancer. Have sex. The odds are all pretty much in the general area of not fucking likely.
I’ve also heard this one: “But Jason,” you might be saying, “if Dropbox has claimed first-exclusive rights to my story, no editor will buy it.” Of course not–because I’m 100% certain Gordon van Gelder is going to accept your story for The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction but then retract that acceptance. “Oh, I’m sorry–you stored this on Dropbox. They own it. I’ll have to send the contract and the check to them.” You’re right. That’s totally going to happen.
Relax, Internet. Take two moments, rub some neurons together, and realize what they almost certainly meant: that you’re granting them the right to distribute your uploaded materials as you dictate–publicly to public files, privately to password files, etc.–and they’re making sure you understand that allowing a professional company the right to distribute your material is probably, in some states at least, a method of publishing and they have to protect themselves against lawsuits. There aren’t two guys at the Dropbox building who have “Department of Stealing and Exploiting People’s Shit,” written on their door. They’re not secretly sending your novels out to Hollywood to get the movie rights. You won’t see the new Dropbox SF imprint publishing your novel.
Oh, and if you read this far? Go ahead and zip up the contents of your hard drive and email it to me at ha-ha-you-fell-for-it@suckitbitches.com. Because I’ve recently upgraded this blog’s TOS to say that I now own the complete life’s work of anyone who reads this post. You totally believe me, don’t you? Of course you do–this is the Internet. It must be real.
ps–if there really is a ha-ha-you-fell-for-it@suckitbitches.com, I apologize for all the large spam you’re about to get.
In which our hero looks inside…
… and finds his soul a seething cauldron of contradictions.
Somwhere, right now, a psychologist is reading this post and rubbing his hands together with Scrooge McDuck dollar signs in his eyes. I know it. You know it. Accept it.
Ah, shit. I had a long list of shit typed out. Never mind. I’m messed up. Doc, someday when I have excess cash we’ll sit down and hash it out. I promise.
What the…
I’m sorry–I’m a little confused. Why the fuck are we negotiating with pirates? I mean, are these the “listen, I promise after you give us our citizen back, we’ll just shoot you in the head, rather than take you to Bagram and pull your fingernails and teeth out with pliers” kind of negotiations?
I guess it’s only in the movies that we don’t negotiation with terrorists–or pirates. Because here in the real world, we fly the fucking FBI across the world to deal with four guys with rifles.
What. The Fuck!?
I mean, I like my rum and Captain Jack as much as the next guy, but some shit you just don’t tolerate. I understood when the Navy couldn’t go after pirate who hijacked, oh, Russian and Indian ships. Those countries have their own navies. But this is an American ship, with (I’m almost certain) an American citizen as captain, who is being held hostage. We have a big shiny Navy, and since a cruise missile is a bit of overkill we have these dedicated guys called SEALs, who swim really fast with sharp knives and shit.
In there honestly someone in America who would be upset if tomorrow Obama was on the news saying “Listen, they kidnapped our people. So we killed them. Now, I’m getting back to the economy.” Because the economy, that’s a complex situation that requires finesse. Piracy? Four guys with guns? That’s a simple problem, with a simple solution. It’s hardly news.
*shakes head*
Dammit
I subscribe to I think it’s ten magazines at the moment… off the top of my head:
- GQ
- Details
- The New Yorker
- Men’s Health
- Esquire
- Maxim
- Wired
- some others I can’t remember right now
I haven’t read an issue of any of them in at least three months. Gawd, I’m so busy. In fact, I don’t think I’ve yet read a single issue of The New Yorker since I subscribed. Blimey. A bit knackered in my reading habits, I guess. I miss my glossies…
ohai
Hey kids… no, I’m not dead. Ridiculous busy, is all. Let’s see, drive-by blog post…
- I refuse to track the status of the stimulus package–its so full of retarded pork that I can’t stand it, and when I do try and research the details I want to drive to the Capitol with a truck bomb. Seriously–when you’re elected to Congress is one of the job requirements a lobotomy, or do you just have to not understand what debt is to even be elected?
- One of my nagging projects is done, which is good. What’s not good is that that project took so much extra time that I’m now way behind on the other looming-deadline project. Also, I’m getting quiet inquiries about availability for other new short-deadline projects. So I think I’m going to have to give up sleep and television and blogs and maybe breathing to get all this done.
- I’ve succumbed to the mind-softening horror of Hulu (great commercial, btw) and picked up some new TV. “Lie to Me” is (I think) a little soggy on the actual science, but entertaining as hell. “Burn Notice’s” return is quite nice (I want to be Michael Westin when I grow up), and I’m still deciding about “Trust Me.” I like Tom Cavanaugh and Eric McCormack, and the cast is playing moderately well together, but I really can’t stand advertising, so the content is difficult to get behind. I’ve also been watching the end episodes of BSG, and I think the online geeks are right: this has turned into “The Young and the Restless” in space. Bleh. They should stick to flying around and blowing shit up. We watch skiffy for the pretty, Mr. Moore–not so you can “explore the social issues of the day.”
- I watched the Super Bowl and–to my surprise–felt a little bad that I hadn’t watched more football this year. That’s never happened before.
- I have a story in this book. I don’t particularly like it, but Ms. Klausner liked the title at least, so I guess that’s something.
I’ve got to get back to work… this morning is grading morning. And writing moring. And laundry morning. Sheesh. Can’t wait for the afternoon!
FYI
A clean house is oh-so-peaceful, so much more so than a cluttered, ow-I-just-stabbed-my-foot-on-an-Ariel-doll’s-stillettos apartment. And the laundry is done. And now I shall go fold it and put it away. And then I shall sleep.
And in the morning, I shall finish cleaning (master bath, Nora’s room) and then–MAYBE–shopping (squee!).
Oh. And werds. Lotsalotsa werds.
LOLZ (again!)
How freakishly accurate is this!?
Smartass
You are 100% Rational, 57% Extroverted, 100% Brutal, and 71% Arrogant.
To put it less negatively:
2. You are more EXTROVERTED than introverted.
3. You are more BRUTAL than gentle.
4. You are more ARROGANT than humble.
Compatibility:Your exact opposite is the Emo Kid.
Other personalities you would probably get along with are the Capitalist Pig, the Braggart, and the Sociopath.
Take The Personality Defect Test at HelloQuizzy
Your result for The Personality Defect Test…
LOLZ
Your result for Reincarnation Placement Exam…
Reclusive Artist
56% Intrigue, 80% Civilization, 34% Humanity, 38% Urbanization.
We think we’ve found a place for you.
Your answers indicate that you’re very fond of the fruits of civilization… for example, education and technology. But, in some twist of irony, you’re not too fond of the pressures of civilization… you know, human beings and crowds and working together. We found you a place where you could enjoy an erudite existence, live a life that’s intriguing and not entirely secure — but far from the madding crowd.
Removed from civilization and humanity, yet educated and sophisticated, you’ll make the perfect reclusive artist… An eccentric that produces irresistibly attractive masterpieces. Your art will make people swoon, and yet you will despise your audience. Your audience will probably dislike you as well, though they will go on admiring your work. So it all balances out, and your patrons will leave you alone to shape beauty in the wild, dangerous parts of the world where people won’t pester you so much. Probably, you will write under a pseudonym, and mutter a lot when a rare admirer comes calling. If you feel really adventurous, you can pursue the role of a political dissident.
As you age, you will grow into the role of an incorrigible curmudgeon.
You artists, you’re all the same.
Damn the Cost…
I’m going to spend the morning of Thanksgiving with my family, and then get in the car and drive for four or five hours and spend the next three days here in Chicago. With friends, who cook like freaking magicians, and are absolutely whimsical to relax with.
Oh. And I’ll probably shop. I mean, there’s his place nearby called the Magnificent Mile (or something like that) and it’ll be some odd day called “Black Friday” or something… so I suppose I might be convinced to hit the little places… you know, Burberry, Johnston & Murphy, places like that. If I must.
Oh. And being single means I don’t have to worry about La Perla… although, now that I think about it, perhaps that’s not a good thing?
<squee!>
And to celebrate…
…the happiness of last evening, I woke up with a splitting headache, fierce pinkeye, a nearly-closed throat, and the prospect of having infected my five-year-old with it last night before I realized what I had. So now Nora is at school, where she will hopefully NOT develop a redness in her eyes, while I sit at home, losing money not being at work, counting the hours until I can redose my eye with Visine (Visine rawks, btw), eating ice cream alternately with hot mint tea for my throat, and disinfecting my hands about every two minutes in the hopes of not scattering conjunctivitis viruses about the place.
Oh, and between my head, my eye, and my five-year-old, I got in total about three hours of sleep last night.
Goddamnitmotherfuckingbitchtohellcocksuckerrag.
…and it’s over
I think the right man won the election yesterday. I voted for him, so I’m hardly objective… but I’m so thrilled that we’ve kept Palin away from power in any real sense that I don’t care about my lack of objectivity.
If you haven’t watched the acceptance speech yet, go do so. I won’t go so far as some and start screaming about the historic moment and the parallels to Kennedy’s speeches (yes, it is inarguably an historic moment, but as eloquent as Kennedy? Not yet… maybe in January), and if you need a reality check, go see Scalzi’s Reality Check and start thinking about the future.
Me, I’m just glad the fucking campaign is over and I can stop fearing for McCain’s health and the prospect of the most ignorant woman in politics in a position of power.
I have committed prose…
…and added a thousand or so words to the Projekt-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named (me and my stupid “What? You’ll pay me? Hell yes I’ll do that!” reflex) were added today, on day two of my Nora Twoadays. Nora at full-steam when she’s used to being at school is exhausting.
But there was pizza. So while the diet is screwed for the night, I feelz better, if a bit full. Did I mention there was pizza? And that it was made of good?
‘Cause it was. Made of good.
I’m not giving you a Progress-o-Meter for today’s writing. At this rate I’ll be done sometime around Armageddon. Or Christmas, which is much the same thing. Meh. Holidays. You can keep ‘em.
LOL
Your result for What Your Taste in Art Says About You Test…
Balanced, Secure, and Realistic.
9 Impressionist, -9 Islamic, -6 Ukiyo-e, -10 Cubist, 2 Abstract and -13 Renaissance!
Impressionism is a movement in French painting, sometimes called optical realism because of its almost scientific interest in the actual visual experience and effect of light and movement on appearance of objects. Impressionist paintings are balanced, use colored shadows, use pure color, broken brushstrokes, thick paint, and scenes from everyday life or nature.
People that like Impressionist paintings may not alway be what is deemed socially acceptable. They tend to move on their own path without always worrying that it may be offensive to others. They value friendships but because they also value honesty tend to have a few really good friends. They do not, however, like people that are rude and do not appreciate the ideas of others. They are secure enough in themselves that they can listen to the ideas of other people without it affecting their own final decisions. The world for them is not black and white but more in shades of grey and muted colors. They like things to be aestically pleasing, not stark and sharp. There are many ways to view things, and the impresssionist personality views the world from many different aspects. They enjoy life and try to keep a realistic viewpoint of things, but are not very open to new experiences. If they are content in their live they will be more than likely pleased to keep things just the way they are.
Take What Your Taste in Art Says About You Test at HelloQuizzy
Oooh, shiny!
Just saw this… as if I don’t have enough comics. Had to share.
Disclaimer: if you’re not a soldier, or you don’t know anything about the military, it may not be funny. But if you are, or you do, chances are you’ll laugh your ass off. 
Sojourn In Progress
So I think I’ve got this sucker figured out.
I’ve liked the aesthetic of the WordPress blogs for a while, so I think I’ll mover over here for a bit. I’ll be keeping the LJ blog, mostly because the one flaw I have with WordPress is that it doesn’t have a compilation page like the LiveJournal friends page. On the plus side, I can do more with the images on this blog, and since I do love me my pictures, that should be fun.
In case you’re interested, this is a snippet of a Sinfest comic. If you’re not reading Sinfest, I’m quite upset with you. Go, now. Read. Giggle. Snort.
Working out the kinks…
Okay… it’s coming. Bear with me. I know you’re all excited. At the moment I’m testing inserting images into posts… since I miss my userpics from LiveJournal.
Does anyone know if there’s a way to file all these and call them from a library? There probably is, of course… I just need to keep poking around.
![Trolltunga extreme [explored]](http://static.flickr.com/7082/7263574706_ae04cd869d_t.jpg "Trolltunga extreme [explored]")
