stillsostrange

I'm sure most of you have by now heard how the Susan G. Komen Foundation has pulled far ahead in the douche-canoe races by stopping its funding to Planned Parenthood. I mentioned on Facebook yesterday that part of my publication check for Kingdoms of Dust (minimum of an entry fee for the Race for the Cure) would be donated to Planned Parenthood, and that stands, but today I had another idea.

Anyone who donates at least $8.00--the price of an MMPB--to Planned Parenthood and sends me a copy or screen cap of the donation receipt will get a signed copy of Kingdoms of Dust. These will be coming out of my stock of author copies, which means you may receive them before the official pub date. I also have copies of The Drowning City and The Bone Palace available.

Two things to note:

1. I don't have my copies of Kingdoms yet. I expect them in the next week or two, but I have no firm ETA.

2. I don't yet know if I'll be selling my own copies at my signing, so for the moment the number of donation copies is capped at 15. (With 10 copies remaining now.)

It's only reasonable to wait till I have prizes in hand before participating--although anyone who wants to donate sooner is certainly welcome to--but I wanted to make the post now while I'm thinking about it.

You can donate here.

So, this amazing vicissitude* of literature as performed by Orson Scott Card (link provided for context--I don't encourage actually reading it unless you like the taste of shit and increased blood pressure) was just brought to my attention, and while I won't comment on the work in question, this prompted me to reaffirm a manifesto of mine.

Every time bigots like OSC open their mouths--or set fingers to keyboard--in public, the healthiest nonviolent response I can muster is to write something really fucking gay. So congratulations, bigots: a few more fictional queers have just been born because of you.

Another reasonable response is to take a few moments to (belatedly) celebrate Freddie Mercury's birthday.



And my favorite tribute:





* I mean that more in the White Wolf sense than the dictionary's.

I got stood up by my gaming group tonight, so in a fit of book-avoiding masochism I turned on G.I. Joe: Rise of Cobra. Oh, reader. Why do I do these things?

The first two thirds of this movie weren't actually as bad as I'd expected. Chris Eccleston was as adorable as ever--with bonus Cobraspotting accent--proto-Cobra was remarkably competent, and there was a hot Destro/Baroness/Storm Shadow vibe going on. (I am an oldschool Destro/Baroness shipper, and normally nothing could fuck with that OTP, but for Byung-hun Lee I'll make an exception.) And Joseph Gordon-Levitt seemed to be having fun with his lines, which is all you can do in that situation.

But, oh, the horrible, awful, nogood backstory they slapped on the Baroness. The only thing worse than killing the bad girl is to "redeem" her in a way that removes all of her agency. I hope the writers can feel me force-choking them, wherever they are.

And goddamn it! I want Cobra Commander screaming "DESTRO!" That is what he does. I wonder if JGL would do that for me, if I ever meet him...

This affront to the Baroness and my childhood must be answered. It'll have to get in the queue with the other angry refutation novels I need to write.

Before I get to the bullet points of fail, I must say that Heavy Rain has its moments. The graphics are beautiful and atmospheric, the story has some good ideas, the mystery does a few clever things, and I appreciate all the different possible endings, several of which are downright satisfying. The good parts only make the failures more disappointing, though, and I come not to praise Heavy Rain but to kick it bitterly.

(N.B., Steven played the game while I watched. I will not offer any comments on the gameplay itself, since I wasn't the one with the controller.)

( Spoilers lurk amongst the bitching )

My final verdict: a fun story hampered by sucktastic writing.

Hot damn, The Thing passes the test! A black guy survives*! This places it with such company as Ghosts of Mars, Deep Blue Sea, Death Race, and Event Horizon. Oh, and Predator II. Movies like Leviathan and Doomsday are in the hall of shame.

Can anyone think of any other horror/SF movies in which the black guy survives?


*Up until credits, at least, and I'll take what I can get.

This time it's not titles that irritate me, but cover art. Particularly the art of the Venus Prime books. Exhibit A:



Seriously. That's a doped-up 10-year-old's face and a huge pair of tits, belonging to--I presume--the "beautiful and mysterious" main character. And all the covers are some variant of the same tits and glazed childlike expression. Reader, I squick. Squick squick squick!