The Arrival
By some guy named Tan (who's fucking brilliant).
Arthur R. Levine, November
A graphic novel without words, and the most sophisticated I've seen. A refugee flees to a New York-like city. Only it's a city with strange servant-creatures and transportation systems resembling late-19th c. fantasy. He meets other immigrants, many who've fled ridiculous ideological wars.
The most pro-immigration book of the season has no words at all.
The Squandering of America
Robert Kuttner
Knopf, October
The Editor-in-Chief of American Prospect has another diatribe. He talks about how hedge funds and derivatives are probably ruining the American economy, perhaps irrevocably. Makes a good case, and unlike a lot of people who discuss free-markets, his words make sense.
Look Me In The Eye: My Life with Asperger's
John Elder Robison
Crown, September
Memoir - rather eloquent - of living with Asperger's Syndrome. Reading it, it came to me that Aspies, like ADDers, don't need manuals to understand how we work. We know how our insides work. We have to, because it's so damn hard for us to get what we need from a world not set up for our minds.
What's needed, actually, is a handbook for how normal people's minds work. Perhaps it needs to be different for each culture, who knows. Here's why:
A) Most normal people don't know how they work.
B) Because of this, normal people tend not to realize when their unconscious actions are cruel (not just to Aspies, ADDers, and other people with disabilities, but to people of other races and shapes).
C) Because most cruel actions are unconscious, confronting someone about their unconscious action either boggles their mind (it's like talking about the purple Snufalufagus, because they didn't see that, either) Orit angers them, because you've suddenly pulled them out of the flow of their life. And pulling a person out of the flow of his life to force introspection - that will make most people really mad.
Books by ADDers, Aspies, and high-functioning Autistics often touch on how normal people work - usually with a mind-boggling jolt at the illogic of NTs (neurological typicals) - and therefore are the best thing we've got to manuals for the normal mind.
You see, we're on the outside (I'm an ADDer), so we know how screwy you all are.
Love and the Americans with Disabilities Act,
The Red Pooka!
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Book publicists don't get it...
Current t-shirt: punk skull with heart-eyes
Current music: Elvis Costello, "Spike." (Okay, everybody who's wondering why it's not "Blood and Chocolate," get with it. Yes, that's a punk classic, but it's not his only good album.)
Ok, a lot of publicists get it, but a significant subset don't...
Last night, I found a 3+ minute message on my cell phone from a publicist, wondering if I'd received the galley (generally the question is a pretext for asking if I plan to review it), and elaborating on what, according to her, were the extraordinary merits of the book.
My Dad is going in for major surgery on Oct. 15. My mom recently hurt her back badly. Yet they've decided that, despite health issues, they're going to renovate the house. Meanwhile, I'm playing phone tag with one of my editors (read someone who may eventually send me a check).
The last thing I need is some damned publicist clogging my cell phone in-box with messages - messages that, quite possibly, might fill up the space so that I can't hear the latest message from my Dad.
My Dad is one of the people I love most on this earth.
So I left a firm message telling her never to do this again.
I don't know of a reviewer who wants unsolicited messages from publicists on their cell phone. And actually, we aren't supposed to talk about reviews before they run. This is standard practice. Editors don't like it, and a reviewer who pisses off her editors is a reviewer who doesn't get a paycheck.
And I resent anyone who gets between me and my paycheck. (Wouldn't you?) Therefore, I get kinda mad when publicists call, asking if I'm going to review something.
Furthermore, reviewers aren't really supposed to have much contact with the people putting out the book. When we're pitching reviews on our own, we have to, but we're supposed to limit it. This barrier is to avoid conflict-of-interest issues, and as such, is a deeply sensible wall.
Good walls make good neighbors.
Love and stones,
The Red Pooka!
Current music: Elvis Costello, "Spike." (Okay, everybody who's wondering why it's not "Blood and Chocolate," get with it. Yes, that's a punk classic, but it's not his only good album.)
Ok, a lot of publicists get it, but a significant subset don't...
Last night, I found a 3+ minute message on my cell phone from a publicist, wondering if I'd received the galley (generally the question is a pretext for asking if I plan to review it), and elaborating on what, according to her, were the extraordinary merits of the book.
My Dad is going in for major surgery on Oct. 15. My mom recently hurt her back badly. Yet they've decided that, despite health issues, they're going to renovate the house. Meanwhile, I'm playing phone tag with one of my editors (read someone who may eventually send me a check).
The last thing I need is some damned publicist clogging my cell phone in-box with messages - messages that, quite possibly, might fill up the space so that I can't hear the latest message from my Dad.
My Dad is one of the people I love most on this earth.
So I left a firm message telling her never to do this again.
I don't know of a reviewer who wants unsolicited messages from publicists on their cell phone. And actually, we aren't supposed to talk about reviews before they run. This is standard practice. Editors don't like it, and a reviewer who pisses off her editors is a reviewer who doesn't get a paycheck.
And I resent anyone who gets between me and my paycheck. (Wouldn't you?) Therefore, I get kinda mad when publicists call, asking if I'm going to review something.
Furthermore, reviewers aren't really supposed to have much contact with the people putting out the book. When we're pitching reviews on our own, we have to, but we're supposed to limit it. This barrier is to avoid conflict-of-interest issues, and as such, is a deeply sensible wall.
Good walls make good neighbors.
Love and stones,
The Red Pooka!
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Life's been strange
Current t-shirt: Happy Sushi Family.
Current music: Joan Osborne, "Crazy Baby" (concert version). Ok, it's really '90s, but then so am I.
Some things that only happen to me:
I sit in a hot plate of soup and burn my ass.
I had my husband take pictures of my poor burned butt to send to my sister (she's a doctor, and we were deciding whether or not I should go to the emergency room - we decided not to).
While I was interviewing a chinese herbalist and he was getting to the part about using wingless cockroaches on ankle injuries, I look over, and my husband, who's working as my photographer, has the pictures of my burned ass up on the digital camera - frantically scrolling to get to the end or something. (David's technologically disinclined.)
Almost get to interview Bill Clinton, but then don't get the interview, possibly because that particular boss is a crook, and certainly because the Clinton people are difficult, to say the least.
Learned campsongs about Wehrner Von Braun and dropping nuclear bombs as a child.
All true. All me. Latest is that I was hanging out with this theater group called Vampire Cowboys, and went out later with the entourage of one of their actresses, Melissa Roth. (She's a good actress.) Turns out ths group won some contest on MySpace and are now shooting a feature film produced by Spike Lee. The director, Mitch Gettleman, and two other actors, Joe Pacillo and Keenan Moynahan where also there. Keenan feels like someone who might be going places.
Love and extended warranties,
The Red Pooka!
Current music: Joan Osborne, "Crazy Baby" (concert version). Ok, it's really '90s, but then so am I.
Some things that only happen to me:
I sit in a hot plate of soup and burn my ass.
I had my husband take pictures of my poor burned butt to send to my sister (she's a doctor, and we were deciding whether or not I should go to the emergency room - we decided not to).
While I was interviewing a chinese herbalist and he was getting to the part about using wingless cockroaches on ankle injuries, I look over, and my husband, who's working as my photographer, has the pictures of my burned ass up on the digital camera - frantically scrolling to get to the end or something. (David's technologically disinclined.)
Almost get to interview Bill Clinton, but then don't get the interview, possibly because that particular boss is a crook, and certainly because the Clinton people are difficult, to say the least.
Learned campsongs about Wehrner Von Braun and dropping nuclear bombs as a child.
All true. All me. Latest is that I was hanging out with this theater group called Vampire Cowboys, and went out later with the entourage of one of their actresses, Melissa Roth. (She's a good actress.) Turns out ths group won some contest on MySpace and are now shooting a feature film produced by Spike Lee. The director, Mitch Gettleman, and two other actors, Joe Pacillo and Keenan Moynahan where also there. Keenan feels like someone who might be going places.
Love and extended warranties,
The Red Pooka!
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Photo-shooto!!
Current t-shirt: snowy owl and autumn leaves (gray background)
Current music: The Decembrists "The Tain," rock song-cycle based on the Tain Bo Cuailnge "The Cattle-Raid of Cooley."
I went to my first photo-shoot today. No, I wasn't that subject. The subjects were Anita Durst and Leslie Hampton. Leslie is one of the artists who has a studio in Anita's arts organization, Chashama. The piece is for Contribute Magazine.
Ok - now that I think of it, it wasn't my first shoot. That was for a piece on The Joy of Cooking, where I went to The Joy of Cooking test kitchens. A freelancer took a lovely picture of some barbecue-style baked ribs.
The photographer's main talent, and most necessary one, seemed to be to lower the temperature of the room, and to put people at ease, which he did mightily.
I did some interviewing afterwards. Found out that artists often spend a third of their 'art-time' off chasing grants to enable the to - do - their art. This strikes me as wrong. Being an artist is about playing with paint, or sculptural items, or whatever. It's not about writing grant proposals. As far as I know, no grant proposal has ever been exhibited at The Whitney.
But that's what they have to do: write extensive project plans, come up with budgets, give out personal information about their finances. One of the things the two artists liked so much about Chashama was that the application process took about twenty minutes and six slides.
Twenty minutes, six slides, and Leslie Hampton has a studio for $130 a month for a year.
Kewl.
Oh, nifty new book:
Lost Paradise, by Cees Nooteboom (Grove Press, October)
One of those cute, slim European books that never got fat thighs, only this one isn't tragically chic and really works. Based in Brazil, two friends of German extraction fantasize incessantly about the dreamtime of the Australian aborigines, and one of the two girls gets raped...
That's as far as I've read, but it's really good. Ms. Nootebeem's paragraphs keep my mind thinking and have great depth of heart.
Love and Gazpacho,
The Red Pooka!
Current music: The Decembrists "The Tain," rock song-cycle based on the Tain Bo Cuailnge "The Cattle-Raid of Cooley."
I went to my first photo-shoot today. No, I wasn't that subject. The subjects were Anita Durst and Leslie Hampton. Leslie is one of the artists who has a studio in Anita's arts organization, Chashama. The piece is for Contribute Magazine.
Ok - now that I think of it, it wasn't my first shoot. That was for a piece on The Joy of Cooking, where I went to The Joy of Cooking test kitchens. A freelancer took a lovely picture of some barbecue-style baked ribs.
The photographer's main talent, and most necessary one, seemed to be to lower the temperature of the room, and to put people at ease, which he did mightily.
I did some interviewing afterwards. Found out that artists often spend a third of their 'art-time' off chasing grants to enable the to - do - their art. This strikes me as wrong. Being an artist is about playing with paint, or sculptural items, or whatever. It's not about writing grant proposals. As far as I know, no grant proposal has ever been exhibited at The Whitney.
But that's what they have to do: write extensive project plans, come up with budgets, give out personal information about their finances. One of the things the two artists liked so much about Chashama was that the application process took about twenty minutes and six slides.
Twenty minutes, six slides, and Leslie Hampton has a studio for $130 a month for a year.
Kewl.
Oh, nifty new book:
Lost Paradise, by Cees Nooteboom (Grove Press, October)
One of those cute, slim European books that never got fat thighs, only this one isn't tragically chic and really works. Based in Brazil, two friends of German extraction fantasize incessantly about the dreamtime of the Australian aborigines, and one of the two girls gets raped...
That's as far as I've read, but it's really good. Ms. Nootebeem's paragraphs keep my mind thinking and have great depth of heart.
Love and Gazpacho,
The Red Pooka!
Saturday, July 21, 2007
To-do list
New batteries for CO2 alarm. My landlord broke city laws and put it in three months late.
Laundry.
Empty post box. (Haven't been in a few days. Expecting an avalanche.)
Transcribe tape from Chashama.
I sent one of the tapes off to my boss's transcriber. It was a group tape where everyone introduced themselves. The tape came back, and the reviewer failed to distinguish between the different people talking. It was all:
Interviewer...
Female voice...
Male voice..
Luckily, I made a transcript beforehand, but if I have to go from the professional transcript, I won't be able to quote.
I'm a little miffed. Am considering buying a tape-dubber, so I can make copies. Also looking into a way to record phone conversations directly onto my computer for phone interviews. But these problems with the transcriber have me rattled. My tapes are precious. I don't like surrendering them without backup. And suddenly, just to feel safe, I'm looking at a $300+ dollar system.
Love and wretchedness,
The Red Pooka!
Laundry.
Empty post box. (Haven't been in a few days. Expecting an avalanche.)
Transcribe tape from Chashama.
I sent one of the tapes off to my boss's transcriber. It was a group tape where everyone introduced themselves. The tape came back, and the reviewer failed to distinguish between the different people talking. It was all:
Interviewer...
Female voice...
Male voice..
Luckily, I made a transcript beforehand, but if I have to go from the professional transcript, I won't be able to quote.
I'm a little miffed. Am considering buying a tape-dubber, so I can make copies. Also looking into a way to record phone conversations directly onto my computer for phone interviews. But these problems with the transcriber have me rattled. My tapes are precious. I don't like surrendering them without backup. And suddenly, just to feel safe, I'm looking at a $300+ dollar system.
Love and wretchedness,
The Red Pooka!
Epistle from Redstone Arsenal
Current t-shirt: lavender with green sloth hanging from my neckline. From Squidfire, http://www.squidfire.com/Results.cfm?category=8.
Current Music: Winterpills again.
There's a new Von Braun biography by Michael J. Neufeld coming out with Knopf in September. For those of you who don't know, he was a nazi adopted by the U.S. government to head our rocket program down in Alabama. One might wish the U.S. had adopted something cuter, maybe a puppy (Laika was a stray), but Von Braun, who designed the rockets that took the U.S. to the moon, also designed the ones that that made messy craters in London.
Messy with bits of people and burning houses.
I like the biography and I don't. Good historian writes well-researched book. Fine. But Neufeld seems far, far too intent on painting Von Braun as a nazi, and guilty as hell. As far as most people who know about Von Braun are concerned, he - was - a nazi and guilty as hell. It's a bit like reading a detailed argument that the sky is blue.
Personally, I find people intent on grinding the old axes of the 20th c. to be uncaring toward present needs. Yes, please, we need to know about Von Braun. Yes, please don't forget to mention he was a nazi. Don't refight the case again, please.
Please.
What we need to know about is the early culture of NASA, why it felt - alright - to a lot of people to have a nazi (actually several nazis) on board to build rockets for us. That's interesting. That's useful knowledge.
When black and white exists, it's easy. And after the battle's won, it's not useful outside of Hollywood.
Pity, because the author knows German, German history, and rocket science. Feels like he's been at whetting this ax for at least a decade, probably two. Mr. Neufeld, I'm here to inform you, you have a nice, shiny ax.
Why didn't you find useful wood to whack it with?
Love and Rockets,
(apologies to the Hernandez Brothers)
The Red Pooka!
Current Music: Winterpills again.
There's a new Von Braun biography by Michael J. Neufeld coming out with Knopf in September. For those of you who don't know, he was a nazi adopted by the U.S. government to head our rocket program down in Alabama. One might wish the U.S. had adopted something cuter, maybe a puppy (Laika was a stray), but Von Braun, who designed the rockets that took the U.S. to the moon, also designed the ones that that made messy craters in London.
Messy with bits of people and burning houses.
I like the biography and I don't. Good historian writes well-researched book. Fine. But Neufeld seems far, far too intent on painting Von Braun as a nazi, and guilty as hell. As far as most people who know about Von Braun are concerned, he - was - a nazi and guilty as hell. It's a bit like reading a detailed argument that the sky is blue.
Personally, I find people intent on grinding the old axes of the 20th c. to be uncaring toward present needs. Yes, please, we need to know about Von Braun. Yes, please don't forget to mention he was a nazi. Don't refight the case again, please.
Please.
What we need to know about is the early culture of NASA, why it felt - alright - to a lot of people to have a nazi (actually several nazis) on board to build rockets for us. That's interesting. That's useful knowledge.
When black and white exists, it's easy. And after the battle's won, it's not useful outside of Hollywood.
Pity, because the author knows German, German history, and rocket science. Feels like he's been at whetting this ax for at least a decade, probably two. Mr. Neufeld, I'm here to inform you, you have a nice, shiny ax.
Why didn't you find useful wood to whack it with?
Love and Rockets,
(apologies to the Hernandez Brothers)
The Red Pooka!
Friday, July 20, 2007
T'was a Cold, Cold War
Current t-shirt: Intfiniit, (a little winged guy in big, big tennis shoes). It's an art site that's submission only, but anyone can come and vote on what art they like. (Has a lot of comics!) http://www.infiniit.net/
Current Music: Silence, oddly enough.
Two great little graphic novels are coming out in September:
Laika
by Nick Abadzis (First Second)
Reagan
by Andrew Helfer (Hill & Wang)
Laika is the story of the sad, sweet little dog the Russians threw into space to make Khruschev happy. Not a whole lot was learned from Laika, and she's somehow a stand-in for all those shipped off to the gulag. Another soul lost to a five-year plan.
Reagan is the story of the Gipper. A lot of kids are going to learn about our fortieth president from a comic book. Somehow it's really appropriate.
Nostalgia for the 20th century? Golly, but yes. It was a safer time. I think, for all of us. At least it felt safer. No, actually it didn't. But it felt like people cared that there was danger. Doesn't feel like danger really impresses people anymore. Something got lost, that idea that people are precious. I'm just old enough to remember it.
Helps that I can remember back to when I was two.
Love and a little sugar,
The Red Pooka!
Current Music: Silence, oddly enough.
Two great little graphic novels are coming out in September:
Laika
by Nick Abadzis (First Second)
Reagan
by Andrew Helfer (Hill & Wang)
Laika is the story of the sad, sweet little dog the Russians threw into space to make Khruschev happy. Not a whole lot was learned from Laika, and she's somehow a stand-in for all those shipped off to the gulag. Another soul lost to a five-year plan.
Reagan is the story of the Gipper. A lot of kids are going to learn about our fortieth president from a comic book. Somehow it's really appropriate.
Nostalgia for the 20th century? Golly, but yes. It was a safer time. I think, for all of us. At least it felt safer. No, actually it didn't. But it felt like people cared that there was danger. Doesn't feel like danger really impresses people anymore. Something got lost, that idea that people are precious. I'm just old enough to remember it.
Helps that I can remember back to when I was two.
Love and a little sugar,
The Red Pooka!
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