Nov. 21st, 2014 11:33 pm
rinue: (Cathedral)
I've been corresponding a bit with a writer named Gabriel Squailia (this guy), who is working on a novel series called Claw and Fist that involves some magically-denominated currency. Interesting stuff. I can't say much more about it because it's not my story, but I've had fun poking around and saying "what about..."

Ciro and I are seeing very little of each other right now; his school hours and my day job hours don't overlap much, and we each have a lot to take care of when we're nominally "off the clock." It's like being briefly long distance again but in the same house. Many houseguests coming for Thanksgiving; maybe they can carry messages.
rinue: (plunge)
I've stepped down as poetry co-editor of Strange Horizons after a couple solid years with increasing operational budgets and 2 Hugo nominations (which we didn't win and the poetry department likely had little to do with). I still like the magazine and will probably be tangentially involved for another few months, in that I've accepted works that haven't run yet.

I think in my secret heart of hearts I aspire to be the eccentric wealthy shut in from A Little Princess, who mainly prefers to withdraw from the world except when he whimsically decides to lavishly remodel a total stranger's attic without warning or explanation. This is a tricky aspiration as concerns longstanding institutional power.
rinue: (Default)
It's been a while, no?

Kissed any one of your blog friends? — Yes
Been arrested? — No; I'm a rich white shut-in.
Kissed someone you didn't like? — Probably?
Slept in until 5 PM? — I think I don't go much past 3:30.
Fallen asleep at work/school? — Yes. Prior to film school, one of the hypnotic cues I used to put myself to sleep was picturing a small movie theater with a blank screen and dim lights, which was a problem when I started going to class in a small movie theater with a blank screen and dim lights. A classmate was kind enough to discreetly kick me in the ankle every so often until I adjusted.
Held a snake? — Yes
Ran a red light? — Not in a car
Been suspended from school? — No
Experienced love at first sight? — No
Totalled your car in an accident? — No
Been fired from a job? — No
Fired somebody? — Yes, many times
Sung karaoke? — in a dive bar in Japan, even
Pointed a gun at someone? — rubber band gun, water gun, capgun
Did something you told yourself you wouldn't? — I don't talk to myself
Laughed until something you were drinking came out your eyes? — I accidentally inhaled a teacup of water. Thomas Stoddard's fault. It hurt.
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? — Yes
Kissed in the rain? — Yes
Had a close brush with death (your own)? — No
Saw someone die? — Yes
Played Spin-the-Bottle? — No
Smoked a cigar? — a cheap cigarillo we needed half-smoked as a prop on Imaginary Friends. We figured I could burn through it fastest because I can do circular breathing. (Not that I was ever a good oboist.)
Sat on a rooftop? — Yes
Smuggled something into another country? — No? But I don't keep much track of the rules.
Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? — No
Broken a bone? — No
Skipped school? — A bit. Openly and with authorization.
Eaten a bug? — I don't remember. I would like more opportunities.
Sleepwalked? — No
Walked on a moonlit beach? — Yes
Ridden a motorcycle? — Not since I was perhaps 6, a gentle ride around the block of our subdivision courtesy of my friend's dad. We all took turns like a roller coaster.
Dumped someone? — Yes
Forgotten your anniversary? — Yes
Lied to avoid a ticket? — It's more accurate to say I avoid giving out information
Ridden in a helicopter? — No. Seems unpleasantly loud.
Shaved your head? — Yes but not to the skin
Blacked out from drinking? — for a few long blinks
Played a prank on someone? — it's more like conceptual art
Hit a home run? — Only in the back yard with my dad and a plastic bat and ball.
Felt like killing someone? — Only when I was 15 or so.
Cross-dressed? — My halloween costumes have included Sherlock Holmes and Ford Prefect.
Been falling-down drunk? — No
Made your girlfriend/boyfriend cry? — Yes
Eaten snake? — can't remember. Every time I try to remember I instead remember aligator.
Marched/protested? — I'm more of a letter writer
Had Mexican jumping beans for pets? — No
Puked on an amusement ride? — No
Seriously & intentionally boycotted something? — Yes
Been in a band? - I work solo. (I am perpetually in bands, but we wind up not playing anything.)
Knitted? — Yes
Been on TV? — Yes, in more than one country
Shot a gun? — Not with gunpowder
Skinny-dipped? — No
Given someone stitches? — No
Eaten a whole habanero pepper? — I don't think so, although I've eaten a lot of peppers
Ridden a surfboard? — No
Drunk straight from a liquor bottle? — Yes
Had surgery? — Yes, inevitably dental
Streaked? — No
Been taken by ambulance to a hospital? — No
Tripped on mushrooms? — No
Passed out when NOT drinking? — I faint maybe once every five or ten years. No idea what triggers it; not consistent. I had a theory once it was orange juice, but it isn't.
Peed on a bush? — No. A few times on the ground not far from a bush.
Donated blood? — Yes, but I'm not allowed anymore because of mad cow disease
Grabbed electric fence? - Not that I recall
Eaten alligator meat? - Yes
Eaten cheesecake? — Yes
Eaten your kids' Halloween candy? — No
Killed an animal when NOT hunting? — No
Peed your pants in public? — No
Snuck into a movie without paying? — No
Written graffiti? No
Still love someone you shouldn't? — remains to be seen, I'd think. Unknown unknowns.
Think about the future? — Yes
Been in handcuffs? — No
Believe in love? — context dependent
Sleep on a certain side of the bed? — No
rinue: (Best friends)
Found out via facebook that Val, Acevedo, and daughter KL have mono, and the first comment (from somebody I dont know) was "on the plus side, best diet ever!! [smiley face smiley face]". Val and KL have both had trouble keeping weight on this year, to the extent that it was really worrying Val even before now, and Acevedo has celiac disease, which means eating enough/well is difficult without complicating matters further. Yeah, I'm sure they're thrilled by the great new diet option that is starvation.

Per fairly firm standing instructions from Ciro that it's bad social form to use my vast base of knowledge to burn other people's acquaintances like ants without at least trying first to be gentle, I only went out of my way to make that person feel bad a little bit, as a sort of side trip while I accomplished the more important errand of checking on Val.

Had Sylvana over for coffee and poundcake during a break at work. Nice way to spend a few minutes.

Been playing a lot of Dragon Age II (where "a lot of" means an hour right before bed for the last few days), which Ciro checked out from the library. I don't care about the combat, but I really enjoy the character interactions. Good voice talent, good writing. As always, I'm playing a rogue who talks big. As always, Ciro is playing a wizard who shoots lightning.
rinue: (Default)
Haven't posted in a while. Combination of travel and not liking how I sound when I talk about my personal life (fustian/cavilling). Still alive.
rinue: (Default)
Cold today, near record lows for this time of year I think. Tired from staying up late and getting up early; friend Elena from film school was able to stay the night here in transit from London to a wedding in Vermont. Hard to believe it's been four years. She is the same as ever in all the right ways, but more confident about it.

Halloween makeup is in stock already at the drug store. Bought a glow-in-the-dark "body crayon," only to discover a disappointing warning not to apply near eyes. I wanted you to see me peering at you from the dark.
rinue: (Default)
Probably every tenth poem submitted to Strange Horizons in August was about either cannibalism or killing a child. Not uncommonly both. If you've slush read, you're used to these micro trends (one month it's all fairies, another month Snow White). In this case, I think my liklihood of publishing any of them is pretty slim. I'm particularly annoyed because baby eating seems to be all they've got. If you're going to send me a poem that isn't about anything real, your description of a cigar better not be a description of a cigar.
rinue: (Default)
Went in to Cambridge today because Adrienne was launching her new book at the Grolier. I wore my new hand-me-down fox sweater and Ciro bought candied violets at Cardullo's.
rinue: (Default)
Perhaps inspired by a meme going around about "10 Books That Have Stayed With You," my co-worker and general cool person Angela asked me to give a "Top 10 Video Games as Art," which I can't do anymore than I can tell you the 10 best albums of all time, or 10 best movies, or 10 best paintings. So instead I present 10 games that have particularly contributed to my personal development (as among other things a multimedia artist). In my list, I sometimes say "we." This tends to primarily mean me and my sister, and usually my cousin Scarlett, but often also includes ancillary friends.

FaceMaker (Commodore64, 1983) - My first computer game. The first one I remember, at least. It's what it sounds like from the title - you pick a face shape, then eyes, hair; sort of a cross between paper dolls and police ID sketches. I could play it all by myself without help or needing anybody else in the room. Doing so is one of my earliest memories, although by the first time I remember is when I was four, and in the memory, playing the game was already something I'd done a lot of. I seem to recall I particularly liked the blue eyes with blue eyelashes.

Fly Swatter (?, sometime in the 80s. DOS system. 8 bit) - Not to be confused with Splat. This was a bit like three-card monte, but not entirely; a fly jumped back and forth between three positions on the screen, beeping each time it changed position, and then three orange flyswatters slapped down. You had to click on the one the fly was under.

This started out very easy, but the metronome cranked up with each level, so very quickly the fly was flickering back and forth at a rate possibly exceeding screen refresh and the movement beep became a steady squeal. You kind of had to unfocus your eyes and trust that you'd unconsciously picked up on where the fly was. My sister and I played this a lot, even though we had much better games. We are both now create somewhat inscrutable art and have a high tolerance for randomness and aggressive music.

Prince of Persia (Broderbund, 1989; the version I owned was the 1990 DOS port) - This would definitely be on my games-as-art top 10 if I made one. The structure is perfect and the movement is beautifully rotoscoped. The moment when you crash through the mirror and your reflection runs off in another direction is sublime. (The game was created by Jordan Mechner, who is also responsible for The Last Express, itself exquisite and tragically underplayed due to unfortunate marketing/merger timing.) If you haven't played it, I recommend you find a download; the game only takes an hour to play. (You are not allowed to take more than an hour. You have infinite lives but limited time.)

Prince of Persia is on my list because it's a platformer which is not side-scrolling. It is not uncommon to have to jump off the edge of a screen without being sure whether you'll have anything to land on. My sister, cousin, and I referred to this as "the leap of faith." When I need to push forward with maniac confidence into a situation that is highly uncertain (which most often has to do with launching a project that may not find an audience), I still refer to it as leap of faith time. I don't mean it religiously. I mean it Prince of Persia style.

Conquests of the Longbow: The Legend of Robin Hood (Sierra On-Line, 1992) - Sierra text adventures were a staple of my childhood, starting with Kings Quest I on my PC-Junior. (The Sierra credo of "save early, save often" continues to influence my real-world thinking, maybe including my tendency to keep a public diary. And document backups.) Roberta Williams was something of a role model, although her sense of humor was a lot cornier and more referential than mine. However, this title had a different designer, which I didn't realize until I looked it up just now: Christy Marx, who also created the TV series Jem and the Holograms.

That explains why the sensibility felt so different - not corny at all, but rich and literary, with characters who seemed human - who seemed to have lives and pasts that did not revolve around interactions with the player. And it made you want to be noble: there was a depth to the moral questions in the game that resonated beyond just the game. It's possible I'm over-elevating it in my memory, but I can't think of a game since which has had the same feeling of the importance of your actions; maybe Shadow of the Colossus. In particular, the portrayal of Marion was fascinating; she was a person who had no trouble reconciling druid beliefs and Christian worship, but knew nobody else was likely to feel that way and that her beliefs put her at risk.

The game was well-researched, and as parts of puzzles I wound up learning various real-world lore like the druidic names of trees, hand code, the supposed mystical properties of gemstones, and how to play nine men's morris, which was directly useful since it gave me something to do if I was stuck waiting outside for something. I haven't had cause to do so recently, but I would still feel very comfortable scratching a morris board into the ground and grabbing some pebbles and acorns as counters. (I've also done this on paper and used pennies and nickels.) Like Prince of Persia, I'm fairly confident you could find a free download of this.

Star Wars: X-Wing (LucasArts, 1993) - I played this for many, many hours. It may be my favorite game of all time. I found it unsettling that your characters could die - that you couldn't revert to a saved game. That's the first time I think I'd run into a game like that, a game which in some sense punished you for risking too much. I game to get away from that kind of thing, so I spent more time playing the "simulator" missions than the campaigns that took you through the actual game arc. Another contributor to this impulse was the notion of playing a simulator within a simulator, which made the game more "real" because it was supposed to feel like a simulator; that's what it was simulating.

But more than anything I loved the maze, a series of gates that light up when you fly through them and add time to your clock, sort of like three-dimensional slalom crossed with target shooting. Flying through light-up gates for hours at a time while orchestral music plays (first use of the iMuse music system) and visual cues trick your inner ear into thinking you're weightlessly suspended (this only worked if the room was dark) is probably the most relaxing thing I have ever experienced. I don't know how you'd top that.

Opening Night (MECC, 1995) - One in a long line of games that let us write absurdist stories and add music and animation (or clip art illustrations). We still quote parts of our Cartooner (Electronic Arts, 1989) cartoons, which were not uncommonly about flying objects going the wrong direction and Storybook Weaver (MECC, 1994) stories, but Opening Night, which had video capture of human actors in 19th century costumes, plus a comprehensive library of score music, was the pinnacle. It was the pinnacle because the computer would do the voices for you if you wanted. Badly. I don't think it gets better than hearing a vocoder say "Gasp. This must be the kingdom of the snaky lady."

A reasonable percentage of our gameplay was creating onomotopoeic dialog for the computer and stringing together physical actions that couldn't smoothly follow each other, "breaking" the humanity of the humans so they no longer read as video. This managed to be simultaneously funny and frightening, as you might imagine since you are an adult, but which felt (and really still feels) illicit, exciting but sickening. I didn't see any David Lynch until a few years later, but when I did it immediately felt familiar.

GoldenEye 007 (Rare, 1997) - I never owned this (although I did play it, and later played a lot of TimeSplitters2, which was by the same team but even sillier), but it makes the list because I believe the first machinima I ever watched was a video recording of a kid in my junior-year high school English class playing two characters split screen to re-enact "The Most Dangerous Game" as a class project. Said kid and I later teamed up to make a supercut of a bunch of King Arthur films for a Once And Future King book report. (I believe this was also the year of my first short film based on Frankenstein, by no means my last.)

Grim Fandango (LucasArts, 1998) - It is hard to overstate my admiration for LucasArts point-and-click games during their heyday, 1990-1998. The SCUMM interface was a thing of beauty, and the marvelous silliness of games like Monkey Island, Day of the Tentacle, and Sam and Max was transcendant. I still consider Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis to be the actual Indy IV instead of Crystal Skull. But when I'm sitting in a room with game designers (which happens not irregularly), Grim Fandango is the one that tends to come up the most, and with the most reverence. It's a film noir set in the afterlife, and unfortunately it somewhat marked the end of the era; after that, LucasArts became mostly a clearinghouse for Star Wars tie-ins, not all developed in house, many of which had quality control issues. (Some of which I had glitchy fun with.)

In a weird way, the trajectory of LucasArts mirrors (or informed) my optimism about and then disappointment with the information economy, the internet, and geek culture. It could be so good, comrades, and instead it's a lot of rushed sequels and linkbait. At least I'll always have the ability to menace pidgeons with a balloon animal Robert Frost. And I'm mildly optimistic that the point-and-click genre will be resurrected now that people are gaming on tablets; they were never a fit for consoles.

Karaoke Revolution (Harmonix, 2003) - I was introduced to this game at a cast party, with the guide vocals turned off. (I have since always turned the guide vocals off; it's a better game that way.) I was not necessarily the person with the best voice at the party, but I realized pretty quickly I was getting the highest scores, for two reasons. One, the note tube interface was intuitive to me in a way that retroactively made me realize I was a much better sight reader of vocal music than I gave myself credit for (the note tubes closely resemble Gregorian chant notation), and two, it turns out the overtones of my voice are extremely recognizable to computers.

Knowing that second thing is what made me absolutely sure a few years later that I'd be an incredibly successful closed captioner (which involves voice recognition software), which I was. Getting a computer to accurately interpret what I'm saying? Easy. Consequently, the IT guys at my current workplace sometimes use recordings of me to test new captioning software baselines. Meanwhile, I played enough of Karaoke Revolution and its sequels that I expanded my vocal range probably half an octave, developed better breathing and projection techniques, and got more confident about improvising unwritten harmonies. (Which is not part of the game, but there are two mics and only one person needs to hit the right note for it to score.) Choir taught me how to blend; Karaoke Revolution taught me (somewhat) how to not blend.

Portal (Valve, 2007) - I sing "Still Alive" at least monthly, maybe weekly, as something like a personal anthem. A fake Voight-Kamf-ish personality test was part of the viral marketing before the release; Patrick pointed it out to me after we hadn't talked in a while, and it's one of the things that re-normalized our friendship. The conservation-of-momentum aspects of the game remind me of Incredible Machine (Dynamix, 1993) in the best way.
rinue: (Default)
A friend of a friend on tumblr has proposed that we drop Myers-Briggs and all forms of astrology and go back to the tried-and-tested four humors. If you've ever wondered, I'm choleric. Choleric as a boiling cauldron of yellow bile. According to ancient Greek medical tests, this means I will never get rid of my gum problems and also that the best way to calm me down is to offer me a digestif, maybe some antacid and antihistamines.

I would also accept pickles.
rinue: (eyecon)
From today's Wall Street Journal...

"The researchers found that soccer crowds were more likely to become disorderly when there was a "high-profile" show of force by police, such as when they dressed in riot gear. It was more effective when police engaged in friendly conversation with the crowd.

These research insights led to more training in the "friendly but firm" approach, which was used by the Portugese police in 2004 at the European Championship."

("Scientists Question When Deception is OK; Ethical Uncertainty in Varying Degrees," Shirley S. Wang. In other words, an article not remotely about Ferguson, MO.)

It's amazing to me that this still isn't common sense, even without (ample) research. Of course a threat display to assert territorial ownership of shared public space would provoke a reciprocal threat display.

I suppose there are people who don't accept that humans are apes. (Hooray for Hominidae!) But one should still grasp the relevant principle. I'm a nonviolent person, but if somebody menacing stands too close to me in a space I don't want to leave, I'm going to do my best to knock them down.

Not your sidewalk, shieldface. Not your sidewalk.
rinue: (Default)
Just learned the "for girls" expansion of the Expendables franchise is called the Expendabelles. Because god forbid we just put some women on the Expendables team; they'd sap the manliness of the male action stars and turn them into incompetent weaklings because of all the estrogen leaking from their pores, polluting the air. As a woman, I know I only feel empowered if I'm given my own seperate woman space, where it is clearly understood that although I can kick butt I also eat hamburgers while wearing makeup and trip a lot, because I'm relatably clumsy.
rinue: (Default)
Welp, looks like the piece for The Review Review is dead. The interviewer had not one but three reading comprehension fails and wound up offending basically everybody enough that none of us wanted to deal with finishing it out. I did my best, but there's only so far one can go while being asked to generalize about the demographics of a group while also being attacked for not treating every individual as a special snowflake. Here's the stuff I wrote that I thought had any value. So if somebody not me later quotes me out of context, there's this context.

It's long, though. And obviously I'm cutting out not only the questions, but anything anybody else said, some of which was more interesting than what I said. (I'm also cutting out my direct responses to that stuff.) Otherwise, this is pretty unedited (i.e. rambling). And gets more hairsplitty as it goes on, because I was asked to be increasingly hairsplitty.

Read more... )

Dude Haiku

Aug. 18th, 2014 06:52 pm
rinue: (Yes Thanks)
I'm participating in a roundtable for The Review Review which is not going to run for another month or two, and one of the questions for discussion concerns whether as a poetry editor I've noticed a difference between poems submitted by women and poems written by men. To which the answer is, not really, not in the genre I work in. Both men and women are sending me feminist revisions of fairy tales. Both men and women are sending me stuff about space exploration. Both men and women are sending me ghazals, surrealist humor, doggerel, zombie stuff, dissection stuff.

Poems about sexuality involving water are more likely to be from women, but this is not foolproof.

But the following phrase drifted to the front of my mind: dude haiku.

I think just about every haiku submission I've seen has been from a guy.

I don't know why this would be true; I don't think haikus are especially masuline. But it is true.
rinue: (Default)
I continue my self-amusement side project wherein I post an incredibly short SF flash piece every day, Postorbital. I'm up to not quite 140; it started at the beginning of April. Here are some of my favorites recently.


Half her head was missing, but her remaining eye was as friendly as ever, and the processor in her chest was none the worse for wear. “Just some sensor loss,” she said, waving her hand in the empty space where an ear and cheek should have been.


The candidate’s face was tattooed on each potato in squid ink, with the words “I live in you.”


The news had to be embarrassing, or they would have delivered it in person. Instead, they had sent a blinking, big-eyed, baby-voiced cat hologram. “A special message for MEW!” enthused the cat hologram.
rinue: (plunge)
In my anectodal personal experience, I'm a white person (a pale and small female white person, and someone bland enough looking I can work as a film extra when I want to) and I get hassled by cops when I'm in majority white places in the U.S. but not when I'm in racially diverse places in the U.S. There doesn't have to be a dramatic cultural difference; when I lived in the Dallas area, if I was on foot in a majority white neighborhood police were going to stop and ask me what I was up to, and if I was on foot in a majority hispanic neighborhood police were going to slow down, look at me, and then keep driving.

This holds true in my experience outside of Texas, and I've been more likely to get hassled outside of Texas because I've been in more majority-white places outside of Texas. I just think Texas provides a particularly clear example because I could lay two extremely similar towns or neighborhoods side by side, where the police forces draw from the same employment pool.

People who want to express their authority are going to go after somebody, just like rapists are going to go after somebody and bullies are going to go after somebody. If there's a black person around, they "win" and get to be the person to hassle. But once you've filtered out black people and hispanic people, eventually you get to a point where I'm the weirdest seeming one (whether because I read as slightly queer, or because I'm out of work at an unusual time of day, or because I pause to look at something nobody else paused to look at) and I get hassled and ordered around for no reason by loud-voiced armed people a foot taller and two feet wider than me.
rinue: (Star)
I'm feeling very intellectually lonely lately for a lot of reasons, but one of the main ones is that I've recently had a lot of interactions which go like this:

Friendly Aquaintance: Compared to me, you're an expert in [subject area]. Could you tell me more about how [subject area] relates to [idea I had]?

Me: Sure! I don't know how much you know, so here's some basic stuff and then if you're interested here's some weird details you might find fun.

Considerably Less Friendly Aquaintance: It's offensive that you act like you know more than me.

I'm pretty sure this is a coincidence rather than a difference in how I'm behaving, but it makes me not want to talk to anybody ever again. Especially since sometimes [subject area] is me.
rinue: (Aperture)
I have an extraordinary amount of sympathy for gun rights activists, because I am a supporter of nuclear power. It's a miracle of our time, and instead of using it to the fullest, we have to kill ourselves with coal plants, because there's some small portion of crazies that will turn enriched uranium into weapons and try to murder everyone on the planet.
rinue: (Best friends)
Because I wrote a play about it, I'm somewhat associated with the fallacy "correlation is not causation." However, if I could choose to eliminate one bit of muddy thinking from the world that's not what I'd pick. (I mean, at a certain point, you haven't proved anything, but eventually there's a preponderance of evidence. See also: climate change.) I'd get rid of "no true Scottsman."

If you're not familiar, the no true Scottsman fallacy is a way to ignore a counterexample by redefining the in-group. For instance, I could say "no Scottsman spells whisky with an e," and a Scottsman could say "well, I do, though," and I could switch and say "I mean no true Scottsman."

In essence, no true Scottsman is a way to claim you speak for all people similar to you. And it's wonderful if you're using it for humor or hyperbole, but it's less wonderful if you seriously believe it, and use it to stake a claim to a greater principle - to say not only "I think I'm right," but "it's impossible to disagree with me, and if you do, you're not just wrong: in some fundamental sense, you don't exist." The "no atheists in foxholes" problem that ignores all the atheists who have been in foxholes by saying they secretly believe in God and just don't realize it.

You may yourself have come across people on the opposite end of the political spectrum who don't feel they have to compromise with you because you're not "really" American, despite being an American. If you're a churchgoer in the South you're guaranteed to have been told at some point you're not a "real" Christian, even if you're the minister. I have lately seen a few of my friends claim all jews think one thing or another, and any jews who don't think that thing must be brainwashed and/or made up by propagandists.

It drives me up a wall. It is one of the surest ways to get me to stop listening to you, even if I would otherwise be on your side. I mean, I dislike Phyllis Schlafly profoundly, but that doesn't change the fact that she's a woman. I can say I don't think Phyllis Schlafly is in the majority. I can tell you a personal narrative about the ways being a woman shapes my thoughts, but I can't assume being a woman affects everyone in the same way. It evidently doesn't. Look at Phyllis Schlafly, for instance. She exists. I can't speak for all women.

There was a longstanding running joke between me and Chad that I had a superpower known as "The Romie Exception," which was a shortcut to avoid my having to say "well, except me" to everything that came up. This always works, except if you're Romie. This always fails, except if you're Romie. Everybody likes this, except Romie. Even though most of the time I agree with you, I probably have a different reason for thinking you're right than you do.

I can point at the harm done by no true Scottsman, which is easy to do because it's really poisonous. But even in cases where it's harmless, I'm still mad about it. It bothers me that muddy thinking bothers me as much as it does. But it really does.

I think that despite myself I have some kind of entrenched religious belief that holds, for no reason other than that it does, that the main goal of life (or a main goal of life) is to perceive reality clearly. Which is a terribly difficult struggle and likely a pointless one. Yet why else are we here, if not to be here? I say this with a great love of imagination and escapism, but only because I know (or try to know) when I'm doing them.

It is therefore deeply, deeply offensive when I see someone else deliberately denying a reality which would not require them to change anything. You can spell whisky without an e! You can think it looks stupid and wrong to spell it with an e! But you can't tell me no Scottsman does it. Some of them do.


Aug. 9th, 2014 10:59 pm
rinue: (Default)
For some reason, I just got a Google alert about something I did at the Dallas Museum of Art in 2010, and on the page is an artist's statement I'd totally forgotten which is still probably the most accurate summary of what I do as a filmmaker:

"Romie Faienza is a director, producer, photographer, and screenwriter who combines traditional and experimental film techniques to tell semi-fictional and semi-autobiographical stories of love and technology. Her work employs humor, narrative, and bold visuals to explore contemporary existential debates."

Not that I've had a chance to do much filmmaking lately, but there it is.
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