Have a Nice Holiday: a Holiday From Being Nice
Well, everybody's wishing me a nice holiday, so I'll start right in on my "nice" holiday: HEY YOU CATS, GET OFF MY XERISCAPE. That dry clay gravel stuff is for the PLANTS.
Since this is Labor Day, and running for State Assembly is in some sense my "job" (although I'm certainly not getting paid) today I'm staying home, not doing my hair, not putting on a suit jacket and heels-- in fact, it's bathing suit time! Yeah, the neighbors are invited, but that's not being "nice", it's just having fun. Today I'm not circulating through any rooms full of strangers, sticking out my right hand to shake and my left hand with a business card in it, and smiling perkily. Frack perky. I'm on vacation.
Since today is my holiday from being "nice", I'm going to get out all that accumulating snark that's been gradually filling up in my brain like ten-legged bisexual frogs in a factory pond.
Rant #1. What ever happened to the idea that inviting someone to something meant they were actually invited? A facebook or evite invitation is just a different format for an invitation with the same content. An rsvp link is no different from an rsvp card, an addition to formal invitations created in the age when etiquette started breaking down and people had to be reminded they were supposed to tell the host whether they could attend or not. So if someone sends me an invitation by email or evite or whatever, with an rsvp link, and I respond yes, why is it that a couple of times I've received "oops, not really, yeah I invited you but I didn't really mean it" replies? Not just once but twice. The first offender was Mark Ciavola of Right Pride. "Oops, yeah I invited you to my Candidate Day but you're not allowed to hand out campaign materials like all the other candidates I invited." Yeah, whatever, I have something else to do that night anyway. Once is a fluke, twice is, I don't know, Flukeman from the X Files? Flukeman's secret identity, apparently, is Fiore. She send me a formal looking invitation to her show with an rsvp link, and when I responded Yes I will come, she replied that I'm not actually invited to be a guest on her show. What the frack? What kind of weird universe have I landed in? If your mother failed to teach you etiquette, you can learn from the newspaper's Miss Manners column, and if you can't afford a newspaper, there are books on it in the public library. I can't think of a better use of our tax money than to supply free etiquette instruction to these "oops oh wait you're uninvited" people.
Whatever. Who'd want to be on the show of someone who calls herself a Tribune anyway? Yes, there are eerie parallels between modern America and ancient Rome, but none of them are things I'm proud of. Ancient Rome didn't last too long after it started using mercenary soldiers to fights its Imperial wars. And how about them bread and circuses? Isn't it sad that more people know in intimate detail what Lindsay Lohan is doing than know that the Assembly GOP minority leader proposed a tax on food? In ancient Rome, you couldn't get anything done without a patron. Ever try to get a business license around here without a patron? (When I got my business license for The Science Fiction Store lo these many years ago, my patron was Bob Coffin. Nothing could be done until my patron made a phone call, and then it was all set. That's how you do business around here.) Anthropologists say you can tell when a society has reached the decadent phase and is about to fall when the society starts preferring asymmetry over symmetry in its art. Have you taken a look at CityCenter and the Lou Ruvo Center? They both look like snapshots of an implosion, a moment frozen in time of a building falling down like the World Trade Center on 9/11. Looking at them literally makes me sick. Motion sick. I get that the Ruvo building is supposed to represent a diseased brain, but what's CityCenter's excuse? If I wanted to film a scene about a character having hallucinations, that's where I'd want to film it.
But enough about the Roman Empire. Time to move to the beat of a different accordionist with some escapist reading. No Werewolves Allowed by Cheyenne McCray. Great title. The opening couple of pages where the "paranorm" types were listed was pretty funny. The actual book does not live up to its title, much like the book Helluva Place to Lose a Cow. No Werewolves Allowed is dreck. Bad fanfic about somebody's role playing game characters. I kid you not, the main character is a half-Drow elf. Where's the 50 foot rope? I'd like to string up the editor who bought this stuff and put it on the shelf.
I can't say this is the worst dreck I've ever read. After all, I read stuff on fanfiction.net. But I can say that I've read better stuff written in English by an 11 year old Japanese girl who learned our language by watching TV and really really hopes to hear the language spoken in person someday.
Knock knock. Who's there? Land-snark!