I do not have a single icon of architecture or a skyline. That needs to be rectified pronto, I think.

In the meantime, my short story “Light on the Water” is up at Fantasy Magazine! It’s about buildings in love.

Over the weekend I went to Capclave, and I finally hit my ceiling on the close-talker.

The close-talker is nothing new. It’s almost impossible to find someone who hasn’t been a victim. I really don’t understand why this is, except that maybe no close-talker has ever been informed how close, exactly, is too close. This letter, I hope, will be helpful in such cases.

(Please note that I am speaking only for North American and similar cultures, and am not trying to impose those cultural values on others of a different culture for whom this is not the standard. I am also not addressing those who are hard of hearing and need to stand closer in order to hear. I am ALSO also not addressing people who happen to be in close quarters because they’re standing in a crowd [though why you wouldn't leave the crowd to talk for any length of time is another question, because I'm an eighty-year-old grump]. This is just an open letter, not a Papal Decree.)

An Open Letter to Congoers:

I know that cons are crowded. Rooms are loud; hallways are narrow. You enjoy a good conversation. You want to seem personable. You want to catch what people are saying.

However.

Tell you what: Find a partner. Stand far enough apart that when you shake hands, your arm extends fully in front of you. This is pretty much the right distance between you and people you do not know well. Not one foot away, not six inches away, not so close that someone can count the capillaries in your eyes as you introduce yourself.

If someone steps back from you, it is a sign that that person considers you too close. Under no circumstances is that an invitation to take a step forward and close the distance. (Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen – nineteen capillaries, mwah ah ah! /The Count.)

I understand that in movies and ads and TV, people stand very close together, and that after a while that might look like a normal distance between people. It is not. All those people are being paid to stand close so that one camera shot can pick them up. Also, they probably hate each other. (This is speculation. I just enjoy thinking that people who play lovebirds on TV are waiting for cut so they can spitefully pelt each other with prop food.)

I also understand that sometimes other people stand close together and talk. Those people are probably friends with each other. This does not mean you can stand that close to them.

I ALSO also understand that sometimes someone is famous, or good-looking, or smells nice, or is carrying armfuls of twenty-dollar bills. You still do not get to stand close to them. Sorry.

When people want you to stand closer, they will lean in; they will shift their weight towards you; they will uncross their arms from their death grip; they will stop taking large side steps; they will wave you closer with semaphore flags. They will do SOMETHING to indicate it’s all good.

Until they do that, just step back, please.

So, remember that little Disney window I talked about with The Rocketeer, where they skewed for live-action and slightly more adult? This was part of that movement. This was just the part that was a terrible idea.

Let me tell you, this movie firmly deserves to end up on the WNT side of Questionable Taste Theatre. This would be true on its own merits; the fact that, during my middle and high school years, the teachers of three schools in three different states ALL had this as their default sick-day movie, cements the deal. THREE STATES, you guys. I have seen this movie approximately eight hundred times. It pretty much turned me off live musicals forever, and it wasn’t even one. Nice job, movie.

The worst part, though, is that I’ve been Brave New Worlded into knowing most of the lyrics. If some stranger shouts, “Try Bottle Alley or the Harbor!” I would shout back without thinking, “Try Central Park, it’s guaranteed!” I can never un-know what I know, don’t you understand?

It’s a fine life, carrying the bannah!
Continue reading

So, someday I will have to start a series of posts about movie composers I love – or rather, film scores, because there are scores I love more than The Lord of the Rings, but after listening to Howard Shore talk about writing this, he’s probably my favorite composer, personality-wise. I just want to buy him a beer, you know? He seems really chill.

I wrote it up for Tor.com, and included a little shout-out to linguist David Salo, who was seriously the shit. (Dude, if you have Google Alerts turned on, I would totally read that proof, for serious.)

The thing about the music is, I am not the biggest fan of the book(s). The movies I enjoyed more, but still, there are issues. (Oh, so many issues.) The score is pretty much note-perfect, and it made me care when I didn’t want to care. (Do I care about Frodo and Sam? No I don’t! Did I get chills when Frodo and Sam are waiting for the eagles and we get the Renee Fleming solo? Why yes, yes I did!)

This is the piece that Howard mentioned he stressed out about the most, and the bit from about 4:00 to maybe 6:30 (“The Destruction of the Ring”) is the piece he said he wrote in a single night before he had to give everyone the orchestrations.

In the context of the movie, even under the dialogue and the sound effects, this piece is still immensely powerful, but when taken apart and used in the Symphony, it lost none of its power and flow, which, you know, good job, Howard!

(Fun fact: Renee Fleming did her solo note-perfect and a capella after what looked like less than a day of rehearsal (, fact check?). If so, that is pretty well-played, madam.)

(Fun fact 2: In the theatre, I was totally going to be fine and not cry, and I was super-proud of myself, and then we hit the 5:11 mark in this movie where the tower falls and the chorus just goes up and up and up and I cried like a total weenie. In 2004, I did the same thing at that point in the Symphony. I have no excuse for myself. If you crank up a sad movie score, I am a total goner. It’s just science.)

So, there have been endless articles about how most Halloween costumes for ladies exist on a sliding scale of sleaze, with values from from Stripper to Really Stripper.

However, since I believe you don’t have to go naked this Halloween, I hit Target and looked for some decent costumes. There had to be some, right?

First, I found this, which baffled me then, and baffles me more the more I think about it. It’s part of a series called “Sinners” based on the Seven Deadly Sins (how ATNM of you!). This is Sloth.

I would have assumed that lazy people would be wearing much baggier pajamas and be a lot less toned, but I don’t want to be sloth-ist. Instead, I’ll just wonder how a slothful person can exert themselves to the point that they pull a Hulk and bust out of the front of their PJ pants.

Also, would a slothful person take the time to lace up the corset sides of their pajama top?

Also, seriously, what?

Sadly, since it covers more than eight square inches, it counts. For something.

To be fair, they aren’t all disasters. This is the cutest of the covers-more-than-your-nethers costumes, and a pretty decent approximation of the ST:OS uniform first season. (Well, right up until they started shrinking in the wash and cast members were carefully edging along the walls or fighting interstellar crime as gingerly as possible so they didn’t flash anyone.)

Looking for something a little more regal? How about THE WORLD’S UGLIEST QUEEN COSTUME?

I could point out the random skirt-bodice not-matching, or the collar that looks like an enormous version of a veggie steamer, but really, the model’s face says it all.

In fact, you know what? There’s no way to win with a store-bought costume. Either you make it yourself, or you slap on a tee shirt and go in this:

…good luck driving!