A Book A Week - Week 4: Willie Nelson

This week's book:
   Roll Me Up And Smoke Me When I Die   by Willie Nelson

Grade:
    A    if you're a Willie Nelson fan
    C    if you actually want to know something insightful about Willie Nelson

The subtitle of this book is 'Musings From On The Road' which tells you right there what you're getting into.  I expected more of an autobiography - and there is some of that in these pages - but mostly what you get is kind of an extended conversation, a dialogue with Willie as if you were riding in his tour bus with him, or sitting on his front stoop listening to him play Trigger and indulge in a 'bit of the herb.'

I think people will believe that this kind of collection of short anecdotes provides some insight into the man, a look at what makes him tick.  Not so much.  It's amusing, and there are spots, very short lines, where you get the tiniest glimpse into what makes a person like Willie Nelson successful.  When he was a struggling musician, for instance, he sold all sorts of things door to door, including encyclopedias.  Right there that lets you know about his never-say-quit attitude, selling door-to-door is an impossible job.  But those glimpses are few and far between, mostly there are toss-off lines that leave you wanting much, much more.  For instance:  "I've been beaten up a few times and I never learned to like it.'   And...?  I want to know who beat you up, when, why, and what you learned from it, Willie.  You can't just write stuff like that and not elaborate.

For all its shortcomings as an actual autobiography, though, this book does an absolutely fabulous job of making you feel like you've met Willie Nelson in person.  The thing is chock full of dirty jokes, and his musings on pot, and stories about people in his band and his friends in the music business.  Reading this I felt like I might have if I were the guest of one of his friends or children, taken into his home and showed a good time.

If you like Willie Nelson, I recommend this book.  If you like autobiographies about Willie Nelson, give it a pass, it's not an autobiography.
    Here's a dirty joke from the book to tide you over:
    A couple was making out on the second floor of a house of ill repute.
    They got a little too close to the window and fell out on the sidewalk, and just kept going.  A drunk knocked on the door of the house of ill repute and the madam came to the door.  The drunk said 'Excuse me, ma'am, but your sign fell down.' 
 

Next week:
   Good To Great   by Jim Collins
    In which I take on this management book from a small business perspective.

Dog In A Fireman Costume

I had lunch with my best friend yesterday, at his new job.  He's been working there for about two months, give or take, and he absolutely loves it.  The last place he worked was terrible, he was abused and underpaid and unappreciated, at least until they learned he was going to leave and they would be screwed.  This new job pays him what he's worth, they encourage him to take time off, and they seem to genuinely appreciate him and his contributions.  And, at first glance, the place is kind of cool.
   This new place is in a re-purposed shopping mall, which the company has completely taken over and made into their own.  Even the CEO and the other top guys sit in cubes like everybody else.  There are perks to working there, to wit: they have free soda in various kitchenettes scattered throughout the sprawling former-mall.  Every Tuesday and Friday they invite food trucks into the parking lot and let the employees and relatives loose to enjoy a grilled cheese sandwich or noodle bowl or chicken parts.  Their health insurance is so cheap it's almost free.  They have sections named after breakfast cereals or superheroes or some of the stores that used to be in the mall itself, back when it was a mall.  They have a slide from the second to the first floor.  They re-purposed gondolas from Brackenridge Park as small conference rooms.  They have a ping-pong table and encourage people to take a break and play.  It seems like a pretty cool place.  Which I suppose it is, especially coming from a world of abject corporate douchebaggery as my friend did.
    But it's really no different.  This company is traded on the NYSE just like Ford and Mattel and a few thousand other companies are.  As much as all the nifty signs and wacky names would like you to believe that this company is not like any other, it really is just like every other public company out there.  Sure they have a 'Snap-Crackle-and-Pop' conference room, but that's exactly the same as the 'Fiesta' conference room at another place, just with a picture of breakfast cereal pasted onto the window.
    It's like a dog dressed in a fireman costume.  It's cute, but there is no way anyone is going to mistake the dog for an actual fireman, especially when there's a building on fire.  This company used to be a start-up, they used to have only three employees, they used to be one bad month away from bankruptcy and living on the street.  Now they're a multi-billion-dollar enterprise, about as far from their scrappy, against-all-odds origins as they can get.
    Honestly, I don't know whether to be cynical and awful about this, or to give them points for at least trying.  It bothers me greatly when people try to pretend they're not who they really are, and when companies try that trick it makes me want to fly into a murderous rage.  They're a publicly-traded company, their employees are 'resources' the company officers have a fiduciary responsibility to exploit just like any other commodity.  This is the lurking, creeping evil of a corporation, the loyalty of the company is to making more money, nothing else, and no amount of free soda is going to change that.
    I think the window-dressing of it all is a desperate front, a way for the company to insist - despite all evidence to the contrary - that it's still cool, that it's still the same three guys who ordered in a pizza after work, and who are determined to do things 'their way.'  Except that way involved doing the same thing every other tech company did, going public the first chance they got, a money-grab by the principals.
   I don't begrudge my friend the improvement in his situation, but he didn't really trade up.  He's still working for a someone else, and that company will become more and more like his old company the bigger and bigger it grows.  But they'll still have that slide in the building, that's something.  Right?

A Book A Week - Week 3: Twilight

This week's book:
   Twilight   by Stephanie Meyer

Grade: D-

Wow, I did not like this book.  At.  All.  If I had been reading this for my own enjoyment I don't think I would have gotten past the first few chapters.  But  I stuck it out to the bitter end.  For you.  I tried to clear my mind of any preconceived notions before I started, I wanted to give the author a fair chance; the critics have been wrong before.  Given the general disdain for this book and the subsequent dismissal of its fans, I half-expected the story to have been scrawled in crayon.

Well... it wasn't 'scrawled'... not as such...  Near as I can figure this is the story of how cool it would be to have Superman as your boyfriend, if he were also a mind-reading vampire.  And had a Super-vampire family that was, like, so totally much more cool than your own lame family.  Stupid non-super humans.

The prose is not good.  There's no other way to put it.  Inexpertly accomplished at best, glaringly amateur at worst.  I got the feeling that the author wrote an outline in one draft and stuck to it, no matter what, and stuck to a certain word count every day, no matter what.  Like her main objective was to get it done, not to make it good.  Her writing is flat and lifeless, and reading it felt like taking my medicine.  The biggest flaw I found was a marked tendency to dot all the i's and cross all the t's - meaning the author takes us through all of Bella's days.  Each.  And.  Every.  Day.  In.  Pointless.  Detail.  She eats breakfast cereal a lot.  And turns down normal boys at school.  And obsesses page after agonizing page over pretty Edward, who she decides very easily must be a vampire.  There's no build of dramatic tension, no release, no foreshadowing, no twist.  A novel is supposed to take readers on a journey, a trip through foreign lands past astounding vistas.  This felt like a high school Chemistry film, 'Our Friend Boron.'  In black and white.  From 1956.

I did not like the main characters.  I might have been inclined to forgive the poor execution and plodding pace if the author had given me lively, vibrant characters.  Nope.  Bella is awful, Edward is creepy, and everybody else is a cardboard cut-out.  Characters should reflect part of ourselves - good or bad - but these two have all the depth of lovers intertwined on the cover of a paperback bodice-ripper.  Except characters in 'Twilight' don't have sex.

If I were the editor faced with this steaming pile of prose, I would have required a page one rewrite, complete with new outline.  There's about 100 pages of story in this 500-page monstrosity, the rest is getting from place to place and padding and teen-angsty longing for a beautiful vampire boy.  Oh, and there's the last 150 pages or so where other vampires are introduced and decide to kill Bella, which felt like the tacked-on addition it clearly was.

By far my biggest complaint is that given the massive commercial success of 'Twilight' and its sequels, now a generation of young women thinks that this miserable excuse for a book is what a novel is.  They think this is how you write a story.  More than a few of them will try their hand at writing, and they'll imitate this, and then they'll wonder why no one appreciates their efforts.  At least one of them will have the potential to be a great novelist, but she'll be put off by the experience and quit, and never produce the work she was supposed to.  Society will be robbed of a future literary treasure because of this book.
     Yeah... that's how much I didn't like it.  Lots.


Next week:
   Roll Me Up And Smoke Me When I Die   by Willie Nelson
    I understand he's tried pot once or twice... 
 

Does Anybody Really Care?

I've been sick the past two days, not ill enough to require medical attention, not well enough to be in the company of other human beings.  So I'm cranky.  Crankier than normal, I mean.  Plus I had a lot of time on my hands, which I spent watching television.  Or falling asleep on the couch while pretending to watch television.  Whatever.
   I tried to watch the Golden Globes last night.  I started during the 'red carpet' portion, where celebrities arrive to have their pictures taken and to gab innocuously with people who purport to be news presenters.  Didn't make it more than five minutes.  Same thing with the regular show, I just couldn't gut it out.  I have to say, either I'm getting smarter or these programs are getting stupider.
    Does anybody care anything at all about the Golden Globes?
   I'm talking about the general public.  I'm sure it makes a great deal of difference to a nominee if he or she wins or not - I assume - but does anyone watching give a hairy rat's ass?  Because I found I did not.  It was like I was tuning into a channel in a foreign language, where the program could either be an infomercial, a game show, or a shopping channel.  I just was not invested enough in any of it to find it in the least bit interesting.
   Which raises the question:  are the various media 'news' outlets giving us something we asked for, or are they telling us what we asked for?
    I think it's the second option.  I think that people in charge of networks aren't listening to demand and filling it, they're taking pre-existing content and generating 'demand' for it.
    While I do find this objectionable - I'll tell you what I'd like, thank you very much - this practice is also basic to marketing.  People don't know what they want until you tell them.  Where this veers into shady territory is when news outlets cover these shows as if the winners were as important as a do-nothing Congress or 60,000 dead civilians in Syria.  I'm sorry, Ben Affleck, you're a great director, but your win does not deserve more precious air time than the Debt Ceiling discussions.
   We're being manipulated, and while a network like Fox is more crass and obvious about its pandering, all of them do it.  There's not enough time in the day to find all the stories that pertain to you, so you rely on the news programs to tell you what you need to know.  Honestly, I believe you can be a perfectly productive citizen without knowing the first thing about the Golden Globes.  Or the Oscars.  Or the Emmys.  Or the Grammys.  Those things are the modern version of 'bread and circus games,' gimmes to the great Roman unwashed to keep them from rioting.  Think about the hours you spent watching the Golden Globes last night and tell me you couldn't think of one more productive thing you could have been doing with that time.
   Yeah, I didn't think so.

A Book A Week - Week 2: Neuromancer

This week's book:
   Neuromancer   by William Gibson

Grade:  A

Do you know I had never actually read this book all the way through? I bought a copy in... we'll say 1989... and read dribs and drabs, a page here a chapter there, but I never sat down and read it from the beginning to the end.  I'll tell you why not a little later.  This is the seminal cyberpunk work, the granddaddy that started it all.  Gibson is credited with coining the term 'cyberspace' and he also originated the Japanese-influenced post-apocalyptic wasteland of corporate supremacy that seemed to be the rage for a while in the 80s and 90s.  So I need to give him mad props for that, it's not easy to invent an entire genre from nothing.

I gotta say, it was an enjoyable read.  It kept my attention as I slowly became invested in the characters who are, let's face it, an entirely unpleasant group.  I thought the plot was moving at a herky-jerky pace until I realized that it was following the Hollywood three-act structure.  I don't know if Gibson meant to do it or if it just happened that way, but you can set your watch by the script beats in this novel.  I tried to temper my criticism with the realization that most people won't see the structure underneath.  So, absent that, I did like it quite a bit.

But I had one thought while working my way through the first chapters - it must have been exhausting writing this.  There is so much mood, so much atmosphere so much painfully self-conscious metaphor that the author must have needed a nap after a few hours' work.  For example:  'Beyond the neon shudder of Ninsei, the sky was that mean shade of gray.  The air had gotten worse; it seemed to have teeth tonight, and half the crowd wore filtration masks.'  And that's on page fifteen of two-hundred-seventy-one.  After a while it's just too much.
   About halfway in I finally recalled why I never had read it all the way through before:  I never had the patience.  It's as tiring reading it as it must have been to write it.

 If 'The Hobbit' was a kid's book, 'Neuromancer' is a young man's book.  It's all front, all style without enough substance to match, the hat-sideways gang-sign-flashing suburban white kid trying to make a point he doesn't understand.  It's well-done, and like I said it kept my attention, but there are a few things that nag at me.  Like the question 'why Case (the main character)?'  It's established on the first page that Case is a burn-out, he can't jack into cyberspace any more, and then he's fixed and the plot continues on.  But why him and not any of a billion other 'net jockeys?  Or why Armitage/Corto?  He has an incredible back story, but it's never clear why he and only he can serve his place in the novel.

Still, even for its shortcomings, I'd recommend anyone read it.  Or give it the old college try.

Next week:
   Twilight   by Stephanie Meyer
    I'm not bullshitting, I'm really gonna read it. 

Dirty Pretty Money

I was going through some stuff this evening and I came across foreign currency.  A lot of it, actually.  I used to travel quite a bit and although you can use a credit card almost everywhere, sometimes when you're in another country there's no substitute for cash.  I found British pounds and pence, Canadian dollars, Australian dollars, and Japanese yen.  These I could take to those countries now and spend.
    But I also found Italian lire, German duetschemarks, French francs, and - somehow - a couple of Spanish peseta coins even though I've never been to Spain.  These notes and coins are now worthless, all gone the way of Confederate money, replaced by the Euro.
    I liked the old money better.
   Especially the Italian lire, those Italians made some beautiful money.  I loved the coins too, like little bits of art you kept in your pocket.  The German duetschemarks not so much, it seemed like they added artwork at the end instead of at the beginning.  I thought the French francs were ugly, which is probably why I don't have more of them.  One of my peseta coins has a hole in it - on purpose - and the other one looks like it should be a part of a board game.
   Anyway... the point is that these four currencies have all been replaced by the Euro.  Good for Europe, bad for pretty Italian money.  I know, the Euro has country-specific versions, kind of like the US State quarters, but it's not nearly the same thing.  It used to be that when you traveled around Europe you picked up all different denominations, types, and sizes of local currency, a rainbow in your wallet.  Sure, it was kind of a pain, and you'd always get screwed on the exchange rate, but honestly, it was kind of fun trying to figure out a 1:1363 exchange rate between the US dollar and the Italian lira.  How do you do that math in your head?  You don't, you just hold out a wad of bills and let the cashier take enough to pay for your lunch.
   I haven't been to Europe since the conversion to the Euro.  Not sure I want to go back now.  Well, sure, to England, since they kept the pound, but I'd think twice about anywhere else.  I wouldn't want to offend the memory of the pretty, pretty lire.

A Book A Week - Week 1: The Hobbit

This week's book:
   The Hobbit  by J.R.R. Tolkien

Grade:  A-

It's been a long while since I read this book last.  Like almost 30 years.  The first time I read The Hobbit was in fourth grade, when I was relegated to the library during reading class.  Evidently I was so far ahead of my peers the educators thought it best to leave me to my own devices and send me to the library instead of allowing me to disrupt class.  Good call on their part, I can be extremely disruptive when I'm bored.  On to the novel.

You know... I didn't enjoy this as much as I thought I would, and it wasn't as good as I remember it being.  But then again I'm much older than I was when I used the Dewey Decimal system to learn my way around the library stacks.  I don't know if it's a newly-critical eye, or tastes changed by decades of experience, or pointless cynicism, but The Hobbit was not as good as I hoped it would be.

This is a kid's book, it's very clear to me now.  The pacing, language, and plot are for kids.  Which means, alas, it's not really for me as an adult.  That's a shame because I love the book, it's what drew me into sci-fi and fantasy in the first place, it's what gave me a point of view and the first glimmerings of an independent identity.  It was something I had that very few others did, and when we found that shared interest we were instant friends.

I have to say, if The Hobbit were queried to agents or publishers today it would probably not make the cut.  The narrative is too jumbled, the action too spotty.  It reads like it didn't go through a second draft.  It's the moth-eaten cardigan of British kid lit, too lumpy in spots and threadbare in others, yet still comfy and warm and familiar.

I'm giving it an A- because I really do love the book, though I think if I were being honest I should have given it a lower grade based on execution and pacing.  But it's The Hobbit, for God's sake, it started a genre, it deserves some respect.

Next week:
    Neuromancer   by William Gibson

Over There... NOW!!!

I have posted from time to time about my mother's horrible cat.  And he is horrible, moody and cranky and vicious and bitey, the dictionary definition of a 'no-touch kitty.'  He's in his declining years now, so he's not quite so awful as he once was in his prime, but he's still not a friendly cat.  At all.
   He is still a cat, though.  He does that baking-bread thing, but since he's not friendly he doesn't do it on a person, he does it on a blanket on the floor.  And since he only has 3 1/2 feet (congential defect), he's not very good at it.  He also rubs up on you when you feed him, and he gets in the way when he wants something so you trip over him, and he wants to be in the same room as you, but not so close that it looks like he's hanging out with you.  He also does that 'run over there' move from time to time.
   If you've been around cats at all you know this move.  All of a sudden they decide they have to be 'Over there... NOW!!!'  They tear off for another room like something's after them.  Then after a few seconds in that room they tear off for another room.  Or for outside.
   I've never seen any explanation for why this is.  At least none that apply to my mother's horrible cat.  He's not an indoor cat, he has a cat door that he uses all the time to go outside.  I mean 'go' outside, he really hates his cat box and does his dirty business out of doors. So he's not trapped inside, and he does hunt - he still brings my mother 'presents' of birds and vermin from time to time - so he's not working off nervous energy.  He's the only pet in the house and so rules the roost, nothing to fear there.  But he'll still go tearing off every so often, with wide eyes and his ears back, his fur bristling.
   I've compiled a list of possible explanations for this 'cat emergency' behavior. 

1.  The Big Idea
   Cats can plan, they can anticipate consequences, so they can think.  They have a lot of free time in the day to ponder the big questions, so from time to time inspiration must hit.  They have a Big Idea - the solution to scientific puzzles or societal ills.  Problem is... they have no thumbs and no way to write anything down.  They dash from room to room in frustration.
2.  Ghosts
   Cats can see ghosts.  But ghosts are boring, and cats don't want to talk to them.  So they're running around trying to avoid having a conversation with spirits.
3.  Hot Feet
   They've been smoking, and they dropped a cat-sized Zippo lighter onto their feets.  They're running around to put out the butane flames, which burn almost invisibly.
4.  They're Screwing With Us
   They do it to make us wonder what's going on.  Plain and simple, cats are jerks.
5.  Quantum fluctuation
   Schroedinger's thought experiment was real.  Except you don't need a box.  If you stop thinking about a cat it could blink out of existence. So cats run around the house like maniacs to make sure you know they're still there.

Gym Noobs

I try not be judgemental.
   Hey, quit laughing, I said I try, not that I succeed.  So shut the hell up.
   I know a new year is time for change, time to try resolutions, time to try to put aside old bad habits and pick up new good ones.  But jeez... do you all have to do that at my gym?
   Since I moved back to San Antonio I've been going to the closest gym to my house.  It's not the best, but it's big and it's clean and it's cheap.  I recognize a few people who are there the same times I usually am, I'm sure they recognize me, and I go about my business and get my workout in and then skedaddle.  Usually.  In January things change.
   Now is the time of the year for the annual migration of the Gym Noob.*  This is the person who wants to make a change and is motivated enough to actually go to a gym and sign up for a membership.  And 'good on ya' for doing it, as the Aussies might say.  Way to take charge and make it happen.  However...
   You're getting in my way.
   This is not to imply that I rule the gym and everyone needs to consider my needs first.  Though that would be cool.  There are plenty of times when I have a workout plan that I need to reconsider because someone's using the equipment I need or the equipment needs repair, whatever.  When I say you're getting in my way I mean you're really getting in my way, often and repeatedly and needlessly.  You're actively screwing me up, in other words.  But I think it's not because you're trying to be a jerk, it's because you really don't know.  So I've put together a few bits of advice for the gym noob.

1.  There is no shame in asking.
   If you don't know how to use a piece of equipment there are usually directions on it, and if not, just ask.  Either the gym staff or someone near.  People really are nice, they'll help.   And you won't run the risk of injuring yourself.  I've heard bones snap in a gym before, it's really, really gross.
2.  If you won't ask, then at least watch how someone else does it.
   I've seen people watching me as I start up the treadmill or the elliptical machine, and I don't mind.  You learn by watching.  Just quit watching once you learn what you need to do it yourself, I can feel your eyes on my ass, you perv.
3.  Five minutes on a machine doesn't do you any good.
   If all you can do is five minutes you're going too fast or too hard.  Or both.  Slow down, you have to be on it at least 20 minutes to start burning fat.
4.  Don't drop the weights. 
    If it's too heavy for you to lift safely it's too heavy to work out with.  You might think you're cool but you're really just a poser, and you're gonna break the weights.  Watch a real bodybuilder, guys who really do use the 90 pound dumbbells.  They never drop them.
5.  Just because you're by yourself doesn't mean you're alone.  
   It's really annoying when you talk on the phone in the middle of the gym.  And it's not only ladies who do this, plenty of men do too.  Even worse are the yapping conversationalists who talk loudly to their friends instead of focusing on the workout.  If you need constant company and stimulation then you have problems working out isn't going to solve.
6.  For God's sake, wipe down the equipment when you're finished.
   Nobody likes getting a handful of someone else's sweat.  Wiping down the equipment is a habit, like putting the dishes in the dishwasher instead of in the sink.  Once you do it right for a while it's impossible to do it wrong.
7.  When you're done with a piece of equipment, move on.
   Almost no one forms a line in a gym, but that doesn't mean there aren't five people waiting on you to get the hell out of the way so they can do their thing.  A little consideration goes a long way.
8.  Don't hog the water fountain.
   Take a drink and move on, don't practice your French kissing technique on the spout.

--  This last one's for guys in the locker room --

9.  Don't use the blow dryer on your balls.
   Seriously.  It's just gross and is an hilarious tragedy waiting to happen.



*  pronounced 'new-bee' not 'noob.'  It's from L33t, or 'elite' the hacker/phreak/BBS alternate alphabet from decades ago that unwitting dolts have appropriated inexpertly.  Learn your hacker history, jerks.