Joe Haldeman's Blog, page 16

Silly sex farce?

Hum.  I read some other reviews, and everybody apparently hates the movie, although one of them does admit that Cameron Diaz is gorgeous with her clothes off.

I will grant that it's a stupid movie.  But I knew that from the trailers, and went anyhow.  There were no surprises, except perhaps the German Shepherd.

So I'm an old-fashioned lecher.  If the film had advertised itself as having ninety minutes of silly demented rom-com with a few minutes of Cameron Diaz nude and laughing, I would be first in line.

Joe
 

the assets of Cameron Diaz

I very much enjoyed the goofy-funny-sexy film SEX TAPE, starring Cameron Diaz and her naked body.  But then I read the review from the India film censors' board, which said "There is male and female nudity with visible posteriors. How on earth can the CBFC certify it?" but a source from the production house told Mirror, "We will not go to the Tribunal if the Revising Committee rejects it too, since Sex Tape is not a culturally sensitive film. It does not have any social message either."

That seems to me a narrow definition of "social message," and I encourage anybody who is culturally sensitive – i.e.,  in favor of free speech and beautiful posteriors -- protest by going to the movie at least once.

Joe

Ray Bradbury R.I.P.

Ray Bradbury came up in an sff.net conversation.  I added a couple of paragraphs --

"All Summer in a Day" was a great story.  Ray wrote a lot of stories that didn't do much for me, but a couple of dozen were wonderful, unique, not replaceable.  Guess I read him first in junior high, where he flat changed my life.  I became a science fiction writer anyhow.

Never knew him as well as I would've liked to.  He famously never left California, and I'm kind of a Right Coast guy.  But the few times we did hang around together were more than fun.  He loved telling jokes and stories, and I think he liked an audience of other writers best.

Joe

Food, cont.

Tonight it's more conventional.  We're taking dinner over to Brandy & Christina's for a night of feasting and TV.  Got some good salmon and bake/broiled it at 475 degrees, coated with pesto sauce and lime juice.  Split palm hearts alongside with the same marinade.  Plain white wine and fresh bread.

Oops . . .before I leave I'd better sort through the freebies and find a movie nobody's seen.


Joe

boing boing munch

Yesterday I made some truly good frog legs, from a guy at the local market who has them every now and then.  I just put some flour, garlic salt, paprika, and pepper in a paper bag, and shook the legs up in there until they were lightly coated.  Fried them up in a mixture of light olive oil and butter.

Just like fried chicken legs, if chickens were small amphibians.

Usually you get flash-frozen frog legs from Japan, or somewhere else in Asia, frozen for the Japanese market, weeks or months old.  These are local and fresh, and the difference is profound.

Of course I did hop around the kitchen for awhile . . . .

Joe

about Heinlein

This was in answer to someone's query about the Heinleins and me and Gay --

It was hard to get alone with Heinlein.  At SunCon in Miami, Gay and I did manage a foursome for lunch, I think with the help of the convention committee. 

It was a lot of fun.  I was no beginner by then (I got my second Hugo that year, for the short story "Tricentennial") and Heinlein was pretty much at ease with other successful writers.  We talked about his Navy and my Army, and about the processes we used for writing.  At that time, I think he was writing for about six months out of the year, and otherwise travelling.  He and Virginia were about to leave on an around-the-world cruise, not their first.

The conversation rolled around to firearms, and Heinlein said "Show him your new gun, honey."  She picked up a large square purse and I braced myself for an Uzi or something, but in fact it was just a brochure for a gun she had just acquired.  He said she had bought a "snake gun."

"It's not a snake gun, Robert," she said, smiling.  "It's a people gun."

It was what I would call a sawed-off shotgun, the smallest possible legal configuration -- .410 gauge cut off at the pistol grip.  Sort of spells "Don't mess with me."

It wasn't the last time we met the Heinleins, but it was probably the most dramatic.

Joe

writing and living

After about a half-century of observing the species, my wishy-washy conclusion is that some writers mine their own lives to such an extent that you wonder whether they could handle happiness -- their muse would dry up for lack of material.   "How happy it is to be miserable," quoting the Limeliters' parody of Russian literature; "How miserable it is to be happy."
  A corollary that's usually unspoken is the idea that one must suffer in order to create effective art.  Ergo, a happy writer is doomed to mediocrity.
  I don't think it's universally true, of course, and a large percentage of people who make a good living from writing lead happy and sane lives.  This profundity may conceal the subtle truth that people who don't worry a lot about money are happier than people who do.
  My own experience is that the two variables, success as a creator versus happiness as a person, correlate only weakly.  Too many exceptions on both sides.
Joe

pain and memory

I can try to empathize, Dave, but I don't go that deeply into my own memories.  I think I have unverbalized cognitive strategies that block off some parts of my past.  I do remember having depressive episodes and panic attacks that once seemed inescapable. But through whatever coping mechanisms the body and mind bring to bear, I've learned to put one foot in front of the other and push on, and look forward to the places I'm going to.

I would characterize myself as very much at peace with my world, which may just be an artifact of the ageing mind.  And the company of a sympathetic companion.  Whatever, I wish I could share the peace with you.  Everyone should have the gift of waking up ready to take on the world.

Joe

What do you call this?

Searching for a literary term . . . something more specific than "catch-phrase" – this is something my mother and father both said, which I think they picked up in Oklahoma and/or Idaho in the twenties:

When someone made an inadvertent rhyme in conversation, my mother or dad would always say "He's a poet and don't know it, but his feet show it:  They're long, fellow."

Do any of the linguists in the company assembled know what you call an automatic paranomasia like that?

Joe
 

Daniel Keyes, R.I.P.

Daniel Keyes died. Not unexpected; he was pretty old. But such a loss.

I've been traveling and just found out about his death. What a remarkable man.

One work of genius makes a man a genius. But it takes a combination of accomplishment and genuine humility to make a man a mensch. Dan had that in such a graceful and charming and funny way.

We conventionally say of such people that they will be missed. Of Daniel Keyes it is literal and visceral. Fort Lauderdale without Dan? I will ever be looking for him there -- an elf among men. Among mere men.


Joe