Joe Haldeman's Blog, page 17
June 3, 2014
Ginsberg speaks well
Allen Ginsberg on poetry
He said, "Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does."
He said, "Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does."
May 23, 2014
lower than worms
Gregory frost has forwarded a humbling view of humanity's place in the universe . . .
www.theonion.com/video/study-finds-earth-located-in-lamest-part-of-univer,35687/?playlist=newsroom
makes me feel good al over . . .
Joe
www.theonion.com/video/study-finds-earth-located-in-lamest-part-of-univer,35687/?playlist=newsroom
makes me feel good al over . . .
Joe
May 22, 2014
A gift of prophecy
Came across an interesting, maybe charming, paragraph in the collected letters of Ernest Hemingway yesterday. He's twenty years old and writing to his beloved (slightly) older sister from the fishing cabin the family maintained in Petowski, Michigan. "I hate to leave here," he says, "Because I've had a bludy good time and written some really priceless yarns. You know sometimes I really do think that I will be a heller of a good writer some day. Every once in a while I knock off a yarn that is so bludy good I can't figure how I ever wrote it. I'll bring the carbons down to show you all. Everything good takes time and it takes time to be a writer, but by Gad I'm going to be one some day."
He's about to move to Toronto and start writing for the Star, but his first book is still four years away.
He's about to move to Toronto and start writing for the Star, but his first book is still four years away.
May 21, 2014
Those Brits!
There's an unintentionally amusing review in the Publisher's Weekly that came today, concerning a book called When Britain Burned the White House: The 1914 Invasion of Washington. I'd just been reading the fiction reviews and thought, okay, a WWI-era alternate history. But the review made less and less sense, and about halfway through I realized there was a typo in the title. It was supposed to be "1814," which rather changes its genre.
It does look like a good book. Sorry if the typo costs it some sales.
Joe
It does look like a good book. Sorry if the typo costs it some sales.
Joe
May 19, 2014
biking buff
A friend sent me a few pictures of the World Naked Bike Ride in London. .. . I googled and found a little movie of it at
http://vimeo.com/68432868
I wonder why almost all the women are attractive and almost all the men are quite not – and I don't think that's just guy talk. It's a self-selection process for both genders. There would be an easy master's thesis in that.
Several, perhaps. Psychology, sociology, art, anatomy, bicycle design. Maybe aerodynamics. Gender studies.
(Though I have to admit I did ride a bicycle naked once, and felt that women would be better designed for the project. The best-looking guy really has one part too many.)
Joe
http://vimeo.com/68432868
I wonder why almost all the women are attractive and almost all the men are quite not – and I don't think that's just guy talk. It's a self-selection process for both genders. There would be an easy master's thesis in that.
Several, perhaps. Psychology, sociology, art, anatomy, bicycle design. Maybe aerodynamics. Gender studies.
(Though I have to admit I did ride a bicycle naked once, and felt that women would be better designed for the project. The best-looking guy really has one part too many.)
Joe
May 12, 2014
Hot sex and cold blood
We had a kind of non-star-party night before last. Our astronomy club arranged a big picnic and public observing night at Kanapaha Gardens, just outside of town, but it clouded up before sundown.
As an observing night, it was a bust. All we could see in the sky was unbroken slate, a little brighter where the moon was hiding. But the practical benefit was that I realized how much equipment was not just sitting out to be tossed in the car. Like the transformer that delivers power to the telescope mount; that would have been missed. If there had been anything to look at.
We mostly sat in the dark and chatted with pals Chuck and Judy. Good Cuban sandwiches and slightly illegal beer. It was pleasant weather, cool and only a little muggy. Quite a few mosquitoes, but the "Off!" kept them at bay.
We took a crowded walk along the moonlit trail, downhill through the woods to a pond, and back up.
That was a pleasant and mysterious environment. It would have been a little bit spooky of you were by yourself, with no company except nocturnal predators . . . a couple of years ago an employee was clearing out some brush and a large alligator chomped down on his arm and pulled him toward deep water, which is how they feed – drown the prey and dismember it at leisure, sort of like an unscrupulous vanity publisher. The man was able to pull free, leaving his arm in the alligator's mouth. (The state then shot the alligator, which is state policy if not law. Once they have a taste for human flesh, you never know. They might dress up in garish shirts and funny hats and start harvesting unsuspecting tourists. I thought it was a cruel reward for being a successful reptile.
For the record, so did the human victim – "It was just being an alligator."
(I think if they put it to a vote, Floridians would endorse the gator ten to one, and maybe pin an award on his leathery hide. If they could get a volunteer.)
I still have the equipment packed in the car, waiting for a clear night that is not Sunday, Game of Thrones night. George Martin has a lot to answer for, to amateur astronomers. Though in ranking heavenly bodies, Daeneyrs would be close to my number one.
There are only three or four episodes left, and everybody was speculating on which characters are going to be sacrificed before the end of the season. It's impressive that they've been able to keep it secret. I seem to recall that in a previous year, the cast didn't know until the day of shooting.
You reach into the secret chalice and a fucking alligator takes off your arm. That's show biz.
Joe
As an observing night, it was a bust. All we could see in the sky was unbroken slate, a little brighter where the moon was hiding. But the practical benefit was that I realized how much equipment was not just sitting out to be tossed in the car. Like the transformer that delivers power to the telescope mount; that would have been missed. If there had been anything to look at.
We mostly sat in the dark and chatted with pals Chuck and Judy. Good Cuban sandwiches and slightly illegal beer. It was pleasant weather, cool and only a little muggy. Quite a few mosquitoes, but the "Off!" kept them at bay.
We took a crowded walk along the moonlit trail, downhill through the woods to a pond, and back up.
That was a pleasant and mysterious environment. It would have been a little bit spooky of you were by yourself, with no company except nocturnal predators . . . a couple of years ago an employee was clearing out some brush and a large alligator chomped down on his arm and pulled him toward deep water, which is how they feed – drown the prey and dismember it at leisure, sort of like an unscrupulous vanity publisher. The man was able to pull free, leaving his arm in the alligator's mouth. (The state then shot the alligator, which is state policy if not law. Once they have a taste for human flesh, you never know. They might dress up in garish shirts and funny hats and start harvesting unsuspecting tourists. I thought it was a cruel reward for being a successful reptile.
For the record, so did the human victim – "It was just being an alligator."
(I think if they put it to a vote, Floridians would endorse the gator ten to one, and maybe pin an award on his leathery hide. If they could get a volunteer.)
I still have the equipment packed in the car, waiting for a clear night that is not Sunday, Game of Thrones night. George Martin has a lot to answer for, to amateur astronomers. Though in ranking heavenly bodies, Daeneyrs would be close to my number one.
There are only three or four episodes left, and everybody was speculating on which characters are going to be sacrificed before the end of the season. It's impressive that they've been able to keep it secret. I seem to recall that in a previous year, the cast didn't know until the day of shooting.
You reach into the secret chalice and a fucking alligator takes off your arm. That's show biz.
Joe
May 8, 2014
post-Mexico
Truth in advertising . . . I did love Mexico, beer and all, but paid for it as soon as we got back, with a pretty dramatic case of Montezuma's Revenge. Unfortunately, we were only home for a day, and then went off to Iowa as the disease took over reality. A kindly fan physician wrote us a prescription for antibiotics, and a week later, we're both All Better. But whew. Next time I'll try to stay at home for that particular trial! Some of the people at DemiCon must have wondered what my qualifications were for "special guest." Bad example?Joe
April 29, 2014
last day
Another wonderful breakfast yesterday, with molletes – open-faced sandwiches of melted cheese and ham over a layer of frijoles; student food. José says he lived on them in college.
Good conversation with the other writers, politics and art. After breakfast I'd planned to go out and paint a watercolor, but it rained, so I just napped. Probably needed it.
Noonish, we went to the feria, where I had an interview with a popular radio station, with a pretty good-sized audience. The woman who interviewed me, Fernanda Tapia, was very professional and enthusiastic, and José translated well. I had about fifteen minutes of a two-hour show.
Then off to another good lunch at the greasy spoon just off the fairgrounds.
After six days, I'm still gasping in the thin air when I lie down. It's not so noticeable when I'm up and around, thank goodness. ("Goodness has nothing to do with it," says Mr. Oxygen. "It's me! All me, you silly fool!")
Evidently I'm in less good shape than most of the people who post about it; the consensus seems to be that you won't notice it after a couple of days. It may be more the pollution than the altitude in my case. Sometimes I have difficulty in New York's sea-level soup.
I think Gay managed to get me first class for part of the return, though, so I can gasp a higher quality of oxygen.
Just home for a day. Throw the clothes in the washing machine, then repack and get in another fucking airplane. Just to Des Moines, Demicon, though, which is all of a thousand feet above sea level. A mere pittance.
Another good restaurant for dinner last night, Argentine, Eldiez. Beef two nights in a row? More than I normally have in a week. Really good ice-cold beer to go with it. Appetizers of baked cheese and chistorra, a delicious sausage.
Everyone was speaking Spanish, but that didn't make any difference; it was so loud I couldn't have understood English. But beef to die for, as the cardiac people say.
Joe
Good conversation with the other writers, politics and art. After breakfast I'd planned to go out and paint a watercolor, but it rained, so I just napped. Probably needed it.
Noonish, we went to the feria, where I had an interview with a popular radio station, with a pretty good-sized audience. The woman who interviewed me, Fernanda Tapia, was very professional and enthusiastic, and José translated well. I had about fifteen minutes of a two-hour show.
Then off to another good lunch at the greasy spoon just off the fairgrounds.
After six days, I'm still gasping in the thin air when I lie down. It's not so noticeable when I'm up and around, thank goodness. ("Goodness has nothing to do with it," says Mr. Oxygen. "It's me! All me, you silly fool!")
Evidently I'm in less good shape than most of the people who post about it; the consensus seems to be that you won't notice it after a couple of days. It may be more the pollution than the altitude in my case. Sometimes I have difficulty in New York's sea-level soup.
I think Gay managed to get me first class for part of the return, though, so I can gasp a higher quality of oxygen.
Just home for a day. Throw the clothes in the washing machine, then repack and get in another fucking airplane. Just to Des Moines, Demicon, though, which is all of a thousand feet above sea level. A mere pittance.
Another good restaurant for dinner last night, Argentine, Eldiez. Beef two nights in a row? More than I normally have in a week. Really good ice-cold beer to go with it. Appetizers of baked cheese and chistorra, a delicious sausage.
Everyone was speaking Spanish, but that didn't make any difference; it was so loud I couldn't have understood English. But beef to die for, as the cardiac people say.
Joe
April 27, 2014
cerveza mas fina
This is no doubt partly rumor elevated to history, but the story as I learned it was that Mexico's leader (perhaps Maximilian?) was concerned about the prevalence of public intoxication, and decided that beer would be a better national drink than tequila and pulque. So he (or his ministers) imported a crew of German braumeisters to engineer a beer industry from the bottom up. Part of the success was that even the cheapest beer is pretty good, and the better beer is really good.
Nowadays a lot of good European beers are available. When I first came here, in 1970, it was mostly Corona, Tecate, and Dos Exes -- ambrosia to me, just back from Vietnam. In small towns, refrigeration was hit or miss, so the beer was often sitting in a washtub full of ice, delivered regularly by horse cart or asthmatic truck.
I was also impressed back then by the orange juice, which merchants sold on street corners, squeezing it in front of you from a tub of ice-cold oranges.
It's good to be back.
Joe
Nowadays a lot of good European beers are available. When I first came here, in 1970, it was mostly Corona, Tecate, and Dos Exes -- ambrosia to me, just back from Vietnam. In small towns, refrigeration was hit or miss, so the beer was often sitting in a washtub full of ice, delivered regularly by horse cart or asthmatic truck.
I was also impressed back then by the orange juice, which merchants sold on street corners, squeezing it in front of you from a tub of ice-cold oranges.
It's good to be back.
Joe
no bad beer in Mexico?
This is no doubt partly rumor elevated to history, but the story as I learned it was that Mexico's leader (perhaps Maximilian?) was concerned about the prevalence of public intoxication, and decided that beer would be a better national drink than tequila and pulque. So he (or his ministers) imported a crew of German braumeisters to engineer a beer industry from the bottom up. Part of the success was that even the cheapest beer is pretty good, and the better beer is really good.
Nowadays a lot of good European beers are available. When I first came here, in 1970, it was mostly Corona, Tecate, and Dos Exes -- ambrosia to me, just back from Vietnam. In small towns, refrigeration was hit or miss, so the beer was often sitting in a washtub full of ice, delivered regularly by horse cart or asthmatic truck.
I was also impressed back then by the orange juice, which merchants sold on street corners, squeezing it in front of you from a tub of ice-cold oranges.
It's good to be back.
Joe
Nowadays a lot of good European beers are available. When I first came here, in 1970, it was mostly Corona, Tecate, and Dos Exes -- ambrosia to me, just back from Vietnam. In small towns, refrigeration was hit or miss, so the beer was often sitting in a washtub full of ice, delivered regularly by horse cart or asthmatic truck.
I was also impressed back then by the orange juice, which merchants sold on street corners, squeezing it in front of you from a tub of ice-cold oranges.
It's good to be back.
Joe
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