Mark L. Van Name's Blog, page 225
November 25, 2011
I screwed up
I recently made the mistake of glancing through my Amazon reviews for Children No More--something no writer should ever do with her/his books. Sadly, that is not the error I am writing about. No, I have to confess something worse.
A comment from Richard Brice pointed out that I screwed up the way parachutes work. In researching the scene, I had talked to a few folks who had gone skydiving, and I'd watched some videos, but I had failed to consult anyone who really understood the process. I consequently spoke of a lift occurring when the parachute opens, but in fact no such thing happens. It feels like you're being pulled up, but the sensation is inaccurate. On most videos it looks as if the skydiver is going up when the chute opens, but that's because the camera operator is usually falling without having opened his/her parachute.
No, you do not go up. Instead, you just slow your rate of descent.
I hate making errors, particularly those I could have prevented.
I will, as always, endeavor to minimize them.
My thanks to Mr. Brice, because I have learned something useful, and people should call me out when I screw up like this.
Now, back to the book in progress.
A comment from Richard Brice pointed out that I screwed up the way parachutes work. In researching the scene, I had talked to a few folks who had gone skydiving, and I'd watched some videos, but I had failed to consult anyone who really understood the process. I consequently spoke of a lift occurring when the parachute opens, but in fact no such thing happens. It feels like you're being pulled up, but the sensation is inaccurate. On most videos it looks as if the skydiver is going up when the chute opens, but that's because the camera operator is usually falling without having opened his/her parachute.
No, you do not go up. Instead, you just slow your rate of descent.
I hate making errors, particularly those I could have prevented.
I will, as always, endeavor to minimize them.
My thanks to Mr. Brice, because I have learned something useful, and people should call me out when I screw up like this.
Now, back to the book in progress.
November 24, 2011
A moment of Thanksgiving thanks
I am so very fortunate that I could write all day and still not be able to list all my blessings. Because this blog hangs off my writing site, though, I want to say thank you to a large group of people most of whose members I don't know: everyone who buys my books or comes to my shows.
It's amazing, really, if you think about it. I've been telling stories my whole life, writing and talking and generally taking an undue share of the attention space around me, and now people are kind enough to pay me to do so. Like every writer or performer or artist of any type, I always want my audience to be bigger, my books to sell better, my shows to require arenas, and so on; to steal a great line from my friend, Lew Shiner, there is never enough love in the room.
Sometimes, though, I manage enough perspective to realize that I am incredibly lucky that anyone is willing to read my words or listen to me talk.
Thank you, all of you, who do that.
It's amazing, really, if you think about it. I've been telling stories my whole life, writing and talking and generally taking an undue share of the attention space around me, and now people are kind enough to pay me to do so. Like every writer or performer or artist of any type, I always want my audience to be bigger, my books to sell better, my shows to require arenas, and so on; to steal a great line from my friend, Lew Shiner, there is never enough love in the room.
Sometimes, though, I manage enough perspective to realize that I am incredibly lucky that anyone is willing to read my words or listen to me talk.
Thank you, all of you, who do that.
November 23, 2011
The best Google doodle ever
It's not the turkey we're enjoying today, though that is fun.
It's the Stanislaw Lem doodle that Google is giving some Europeans for the sixtieth anniversary of Lem's first book. (Thanks to Allyn for pointing me to this.) You can read about it here, and you can see clips of just the doodle itself, which did not come with music, on YouTube on pages like this one.
It's not just a doodle, either; it's an animated game. Check out the Easter egg explanation here.
Well done, Google folks.
It's the Stanislaw Lem doodle that Google is giving some Europeans for the sixtieth anniversary of Lem's first book. (Thanks to Allyn for pointing me to this.) You can read about it here, and you can see clips of just the doodle itself, which did not come with music, on YouTube on pages like this one.
It's not just a doodle, either; it's an animated game. Check out the Easter egg explanation here.
Well done, Google folks.
November 22, 2011
On being grateful
Dave forwarded me this New York Times article. Go ahead and read it. I'll wait.
What I find most interesting about the article is not just the attitude it espouses, which I believe is a good one, but the fair amount of science behind it. The bottom line seems to be that we are wired to be grateful--and to benefit from expressing that gratitude.
That's very cool.
I'm always grateful when people do things for me, even small things. I try to express that gratitude, and I'm a big believer in the basic social niceties.
As I've thought more about my behavior, however, I've had to admit that I need to become much better at showing my appreciation. I need to both feel the gratitude and express it.
I'm going to do my best.
What I find most interesting about the article is not just the attitude it espouses, which I believe is a good one, but the fair amount of science behind it. The bottom line seems to be that we are wired to be grateful--and to benefit from expressing that gratitude.
That's very cool.
I'm always grateful when people do things for me, even small things. I try to express that gratitude, and I'm a big believer in the basic social niceties.
As I've thought more about my behavior, however, I've had to admit that I need to become much better at showing my appreciation. I need to both feel the gratitude and express it.
I'm going to do my best.
November 21, 2011
On the road again: Houston, day 2
Everything went well until I hit the airport for the flight home.
I stepped to the side to open my suitcase so I could take out the book I'm reading and change into more comfortable shoes. The lock was stuck and would not open. No, I didn't forget the combination; I have it noted in another place just in case. The lock simply wouldn't open.
Stuck in the suitcase was my small baggie of liquid items, each in the TSA-approved size. So, I passed through security nervously, but after some discussion about whether the liquids looked to be the right size, the TSA folks let me through.
The airport's only bandwidth on offer was a Boingo hotspot that was temporarily down. So much for work there.
Dinner was a bright spot: a very large and very tasty hot dog.
My seat on the plane proved to be on the bulkhead row in coach. It was at least an aisle seat, so I was hoping to be able to work. Alas, no bandwidth on the plane. No problem: I'd have some concentrated quiet time to write.
No such luck. A father filled the window seat to my left, and he completely covered the middle seat with baby stuff. His wife and two kids were in the three seats across the aisle.
The row behind me held a father and two kids, with the mother and their other two kids on the opposite side.
The row behind that one held the same arrangement: two parents, four kids.
No kid in any of these rows was older than six.
All of them went off at once during take-off. We had an earache, several bored boys, and a variety of fights.
At no point during the next two and a half hours was there ever a single second when we didn't have at least one kid crying and two others fighting. Not once.
My favorite parent line: "No, Michael, I don't believe that Joey hit your thumb with his eye."
My favorite conversational snippet:
When we landed in RDU, I called the TSA airport office, which Gina had found and which is open around the clock. The guy there graciously said he would indeed try to open my bag with his TSA key. Of course, his office was in the farthest point in the opposite terminal from where I was.
When I got there, courtesy of Rana picking me up and looping around, the guy came out, put in his key...and nothing happened.
"That's strange," he said, "I've never seen it fail."
We tried many different combinations, but nothing worked. Eventually, we set the combination correctly, he held the key in the open position, and I pounded on the lock with the side of my fist--and one of the two zippers came free. A little more pounding freed the other.
I am so very glad to be home.
I stepped to the side to open my suitcase so I could take out the book I'm reading and change into more comfortable shoes. The lock was stuck and would not open. No, I didn't forget the combination; I have it noted in another place just in case. The lock simply wouldn't open.
Stuck in the suitcase was my small baggie of liquid items, each in the TSA-approved size. So, I passed through security nervously, but after some discussion about whether the liquids looked to be the right size, the TSA folks let me through.
The airport's only bandwidth on offer was a Boingo hotspot that was temporarily down. So much for work there.
Dinner was a bright spot: a very large and very tasty hot dog.
My seat on the plane proved to be on the bulkhead row in coach. It was at least an aisle seat, so I was hoping to be able to work. Alas, no bandwidth on the plane. No problem: I'd have some concentrated quiet time to write.
No such luck. A father filled the window seat to my left, and he completely covered the middle seat with baby stuff. His wife and two kids were in the three seats across the aisle.
The row behind me held a father and two kids, with the mother and their other two kids on the opposite side.
The row behind that one held the same arrangement: two parents, four kids.
No kid in any of these rows was older than six.
All of them went off at once during take-off. We had an earache, several bored boys, and a variety of fights.
At no point during the next two and a half hours was there ever a single second when we didn't have at least one kid crying and two others fighting. Not once.
My favorite parent line: "No, Michael, I don't believe that Joey hit your thumb with his eye."
My favorite conversational snippet:
Child: Are we going to get a van?At least that part of the trip was fun, though it would have been more fun if the baby across the aisle hadn't been crying. If all the other kids had been quiet and just let this one grill his father, I would have been happy the whole flight. Alas, the conversation ended when the cartoons took over.
Father: I'm not sure. We're going to get a vehicle of some type, maybe a van, maybe an SUV.
Child: What's a vehicle?
Father: Like a car or a van.
Child: Why didn't you say so?
Father: [sigh]
Child: What's an SUV?
Father: A sports utility vehicle.
Child: What kind of sports does it play?
Father: No, you use it for sporty things.
Child: What kinds of sports do you play with it?
Father: You don't play sports with them. You do things like drive off-road with them.
Child: Aren't you supposed to stay on the road?
Father: Yes. Don't worry about SUVs.
Child: What's u-til-i-til-i-tee?
Father: It's like a usage, a way you use something.
Child: But you said you don't use it for sports.
Father: Would you like me to buy you the cartoons they're playing on the screen here?
Child: Okay.
When we landed in RDU, I called the TSA airport office, which Gina had found and which is open around the clock. The guy there graciously said he would indeed try to open my bag with his TSA key. Of course, his office was in the farthest point in the opposite terminal from where I was.
When I got there, courtesy of Rana picking me up and looping around, the guy came out, put in his key...and nothing happened.
"That's strange," he said, "I've never seen it fail."
We tried many different combinations, but nothing worked. Eventually, we set the combination correctly, he held the key in the open position, and I pounded on the lock with the side of my fist--and one of the two zippers came free. A little more pounding freed the other.
I am so very glad to be home.
November 20, 2011
On the road again: Houston, day 1
What is it with me and row-mates on flights? Today's flight found me on an airline with which I have no privileges but in an exit row window seat--not ideal, but pretty darn good.
An older couple were seated next to me, man on the aisle, woman in the center.
The woman's right arm was sprained and heavily bandaged. When the flight attendant came for the mandatory "can you open the emergency door?" question, the woman hid the bum arm under a jacket and lied that she could open and remove the emergency exit door should the need arise. I didn't call her on it because I was right next to the door, and I'm damn sure her arm wouldn't slow me.
The moment we took off, she and her husband brought out the snacks. A few seconds later, she started elbowing me in the ribs.
I moved as close to the bulkhead as I could and pulled entirely off the armrest.
She elbowed me some more.
I put my arm between us.
She pushed on it with her arm and elbowed it.
People have asked me why I don't verbally complain when these things happen. My answer is that nothing good comes of doing so and that I fear losing my temper. Recalling those questions, though, I decided to try today. I faced the woman and said, "Please stop elbowing me."
Her response: "Well, how else am I supposed to eat my popcorn and read?"
Her point was that with her hurt arm, reaching the popcorn bag between her legs meant her arm had to hit me.
I considered her answer rude and offensive, but I tried to rise above my initial reaction. I considered the question and after a few moments said, "I'm sorry for the difficulty, but I don't think it's reasonable that you keep elbowing me, particularly given that I'm as close to the bulkhead as I can be. Perhaps you could put down the book while eating the popcorn and hold the bag in your right hand."
She shook her head. "I don't like that. I want to read while I eat."
At that, she returned to her book and to elbowing me.
I stuck my arm between us and let her elbow it until she finished the bag of popcorn and took a nap.
I fought my anger the entire time.
The flight was otherwise good, though I greatly missed having an Internet connection.
After landing and getting the rental car, a process that is always slower than I like, we successfully navigated to our hotel. The bandwidth here is great, the best I've had this year from a hotel--and this is the least expensive hotel at which I've stayed for business. Bandwidth is frequently and frustratingly in direct inverse correlation with hotel price.
Dinner was at a nearby Rudy's, which admittedly is a chain but quite a decent one. We enjoyed brisket and jalapeno sausage, both of which were yummy.
I'll be here only until tomorrow night, when I fly home, but any trip that includes Texas barbecue is already a decent one.
An older couple were seated next to me, man on the aisle, woman in the center.
The woman's right arm was sprained and heavily bandaged. When the flight attendant came for the mandatory "can you open the emergency door?" question, the woman hid the bum arm under a jacket and lied that she could open and remove the emergency exit door should the need arise. I didn't call her on it because I was right next to the door, and I'm damn sure her arm wouldn't slow me.
The moment we took off, she and her husband brought out the snacks. A few seconds later, she started elbowing me in the ribs.
I moved as close to the bulkhead as I could and pulled entirely off the armrest.
She elbowed me some more.
I put my arm between us.
She pushed on it with her arm and elbowed it.
People have asked me why I don't verbally complain when these things happen. My answer is that nothing good comes of doing so and that I fear losing my temper. Recalling those questions, though, I decided to try today. I faced the woman and said, "Please stop elbowing me."
Her response: "Well, how else am I supposed to eat my popcorn and read?"
Her point was that with her hurt arm, reaching the popcorn bag between her legs meant her arm had to hit me.
I considered her answer rude and offensive, but I tried to rise above my initial reaction. I considered the question and after a few moments said, "I'm sorry for the difficulty, but I don't think it's reasonable that you keep elbowing me, particularly given that I'm as close to the bulkhead as I can be. Perhaps you could put down the book while eating the popcorn and hold the bag in your right hand."
She shook her head. "I don't like that. I want to read while I eat."
At that, she returned to her book and to elbowing me.
I stuck my arm between us and let her elbow it until she finished the bag of popcorn and took a nap.
I fought my anger the entire time.
The flight was otherwise good, though I greatly missed having an Internet connection.
After landing and getting the rental car, a process that is always slower than I like, we successfully navigated to our hotel. The bandwidth here is great, the best I've had this year from a hotel--and this is the least expensive hotel at which I've stayed for business. Bandwidth is frequently and frustratingly in direct inverse correlation with hotel price.
Dinner was at a nearby Rudy's, which admittedly is a chain but quite a decent one. We enjoyed brisket and jalapeno sausage, both of which were yummy.
I'll be here only until tomorrow night, when I fly home, but any trip that includes Texas barbecue is already a decent one.
November 19, 2011
Tower Heist
is one of those movies that you can enjoy as long as you never engage your brain and just go along for the ride. If you think at all about it, however, you will be sorry.
The trailer tells you the whole basic story: nasty Wall Street trader steals gazillions of dollars from unsuspecting clients, a group that includes the staff of the luxury apartment building where he lives. One of them (Stiller) decides to assemble a team to steal back their money. It's a decent structure for a story.
The cast is full of good actors delivering good performances. I particularly like Alan Alda playing a bad guy; his normally smarmy nature works extremely well when he's saying evil things. The only actor whose performance was, as always, a vast empty sucking void of nothingness was Tea Leoni. I have never understood her appeal, nor can I recall a decent performance from her.
The problem with the movie is that it can't decide whether to fully embrace its unrealistic nature. Consequently, it alternates scenes of real people facing real issues with those of completely impossible action. The result is jarring, with the ending being the very most troubling part of the movie. I won't give the spoiler here, but suffice to say that after embracing its fantasy side for almost the entire last half hour, the film suddenly decides to hand us a token bit of realism at the last moment.
It's a huge mistake. The film should have stuck to it unrealistic roots and embraced them fully and unashamedly.
Still, I had a pleasant enough time watching it on a night after a good meal. I just can't recommend it unless you're jonesing for a movie, are in need of something mindless, and have a couple of hours to kill.
The trailer tells you the whole basic story: nasty Wall Street trader steals gazillions of dollars from unsuspecting clients, a group that includes the staff of the luxury apartment building where he lives. One of them (Stiller) decides to assemble a team to steal back their money. It's a decent structure for a story.
The cast is full of good actors delivering good performances. I particularly like Alan Alda playing a bad guy; his normally smarmy nature works extremely well when he's saying evil things. The only actor whose performance was, as always, a vast empty sucking void of nothingness was Tea Leoni. I have never understood her appeal, nor can I recall a decent performance from her.
The problem with the movie is that it can't decide whether to fully embrace its unrealistic nature. Consequently, it alternates scenes of real people facing real issues with those of completely impossible action. The result is jarring, with the ending being the very most troubling part of the movie. I won't give the spoiler here, but suffice to say that after embracing its fantasy side for almost the entire last half hour, the film suddenly decides to hand us a token bit of realism at the last moment.
It's a huge mistake. The film should have stuck to it unrealistic roots and embraced them fully and unashamedly.
Still, I had a pleasant enough time watching it on a night after a good meal. I just can't recommend it unless you're jonesing for a movie, are in need of something mindless, and have a couple of hours to kill.
November 18, 2011
Not a bad answer
As many of you know, one of my favorite films is Richard Curtis' The Boat That Rocked, which appeared here in the U.S. in a shorter (and inferior) version as Pirate Radio. What many of you may not know is that the deleted scenes from the film are often as good as anything in it.
In the deleted scene below, a rather pompous character, the DJ Gavin, explains the end of his quest to find the meaning of life. What Curtis offers isn't an answer, of course, but it'll do nicely on many days until something better comes along.
Enjoy.
In the deleted scene below, a rather pompous character, the DJ Gavin, explains the end of his quest to find the meaning of life. What Curtis offers isn't an answer, of course, but it'll do nicely on many days until something better comes along.
Enjoy.
November 17, 2011
Great cheeseburgers
Cheeseburgers, really good ones, are among the many reasons I can't seriously contemplate becoming a vegetarian, as good as that would be for me.
In a few weeks, I'll be in Las Vegas again for the UFC show and our annual celebration of Kyle's birthday.
The combination of these factors led me to this article on the top five burgers in Las Vegas. I've eaten only one of them, the amazing FleurBurger (the regular one, not the $5,000 one made so pricey by a $4,929 bottle of wine), so clearly I have a lot to do.
Given that we're eating at Mesa Grill one night, I think a second of these will soon be in my belly.
Oh, yeah.
In a few weeks, I'll be in Las Vegas again for the UFC show and our annual celebration of Kyle's birthday.
The combination of these factors led me to this article on the top five burgers in Las Vegas. I've eaten only one of them, the amazing FleurBurger (the regular one, not the $5,000 one made so pricey by a $4,929 bottle of wine), so clearly I have a lot to do.
Given that we're eating at Mesa Grill one night, I think a second of these will soon be in my belly.
Oh, yeah.
November 16, 2011
Two reasons you need to buy Gift Horse
Gift Horse, if you don't already know about it, is the new album from Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers. It's a very strong album, with a lot of great songs. Rather than hit the first single they promoted, let me point you to two others, both via YouTube videos.
Start with this admittedly so-so video of "My Favorite Place."
Then, move to this stronger video of "Roots and Wings," which Sarah also touted on her travel blog.
Yes, you need to get this album.
Start with this admittedly so-so video of "My Favorite Place."
Then, move to this stronger video of "Roots and Wings," which Sarah also touted on her travel blog.
Yes, you need to get this album.
