the girl who played with fire

Was briefly talking books with folks yesterday, and The Girl who played with Fire came up.
actually, the trilogy came up, and I likely confused titles with plots, but.... just continue reading.


I recalled that I forced myself to finish it, whilst one of the people I was talking to, admitted that she didn't finish it.

I know I frequently miss why a mediocre-at-best book is actually secretly a brilliant work of fiction; so it was good to know that at least one other person didn't get into this one, either.


Here's my review / plot synopsis for the book.

Some little tiny girl named Svenson, with a big tattoo and a brand new boob job, has a troubled past, and is treated poorly by men, all of which were named Svenson, or perhaps Sverngensen. She's framed for a crime against someone named Svenson (or perhaps Svergensen, a writer who was about to release an expose about someone named Svenson, and is pursued by the local police, all of which were named...Svenson. There was a dirty cop, however. His name might have been Svergensen.

The lead male protagonist, Svenson, does not believe that Svenson / Svergensen the tattoo'd girl committed the crime against Svenson, and does what he can to help prove this, whilst nailing his boss, Svergensen. He thinks she's troubled, and maladjusted, and maybe dangerous, but not a killer of anyone named Svenson. Oh, he nailed her, too, before he started nailing his boss. The bosses maiden name? Svenson, I believe. They work together at a newspaper or magazine, which I'm pretty sure was called Svenson Weekly.
Their office was located on Svergensen Blvd.

Oh, and the dwarvish tattoo'd chick with new boobs? all she has to do is put on a wig, and she's unrecognizable by the entire population of whatever country she lives in.

And there was lots of stopping off at 7-11 for random meals, and a trip to Ikea to furnish a big, shiny apartment, likely located on Svenson street. Noone knows she lives there.
We spend more time reading about the Ikea trip, than we would actually spend... in Ikea.

And then Svenson Svenson Svergemsen Svenson Svergensen Svenson Svenson......

The book was at it's best early on, before the plot moved back to whatever scandinvian country in which the main plot took place. Early on, there was action on a tropical island, populated by people with different, non-interchangable last names. I could keep track without graph paper.
And the author didn't feel it was necessary to mention that they all stopped off at the island's convenience store for food.

Of COURSE I exaggerate.

But only a little.

If you're going to translate a novel into a different language, spend more than 5 minutes @ babelfish.com to do it.
Having it properly edited up front would help a great deal as well.

The US equivalent would have been set in Atlanta. All the characters would have had the word "Peach" or "Peachtree" in their names, their addresses, etc.
At least one of them would have had the nickname "Peachy" or "Peaches". There would have been many random, non-plot related mentions of stopping off at the Piggly Wiggly for vaguely named food items.

And after it became huge, it would be translated into many different languages, and some snarky, lazy-minded reader will mock it.

And rightfully so.

Smashing Pumpkins video shoot

I've learned something in the last year.
If someone you know says "hey, you want to be an extra in a movie/ music video, I can make it easy for you to do so" or words to that effect - say "yes".

And not because it will be the coolest thing you've ever done,because while you're doing it you CERTAINLY won't be thinking this; or even because you'll end up being able to say "see, right there! there I am!"

Because I've no idea, at all, if I'll be able to say that.

But you should still say yes.

Friday night, about 75-100 people took part in shooting footage for a video for the Smashing Pumpkins' song OWATA.

Billy Corgan's a big fan of wrestling, and is tight with the local indy group AAW. I've a friend who's heavily involved in that group, and I've been to a few of their shows.

So I already knew where the Berwyn Eagle's Club was located.
Yep, video was shot at a sorta run down Eagle's Club, similar to a VFW hall.

Cuz rock and roll is GLAMOROUS!

Stood outside for way too long, then we were finally ushered in. Our job there was very simple. There would be wrestling, we'd cheer and boo and act like a rabid wrestling audience.
Over, and over, and over.....

Was by far the most diverse wrestling crowd I'd seen at the Eagle's club, given that over half were Pumpkins' fans.
There were...women in the audience, just to mention one BIG difference from the normal crowd.

I do not know the premise behind the video, the storyline if you will. They had been filming for 8 hours already by the time we were allowed in to "watch" the wrestling.
Cameras rolled for the main event - Two well known (if you're into that sort of thing) women wrestlers going at it for "the belt".
do not ask me whose belt.

We were given our instructions, and then watched and reacted to the match.

It was actually a pretty good match, the wrestlers were talented.

Then it was over, the cameras stopped, we were told to hang out for 15-20 while they rested, so that they could film it again.
They moved some of us around to the side where most of the filming would likely take place, gave us further instructions as to who EXACTLY we were supposed to be cheering and booing, and started everything back up.

We watched the EXACT same match a 2nd time, cheered and jeered and booed enthusiastically, were not at all surprised by the outcome of the match, the cameras were stopped again, and.... They told us that they were going to have the match ONE MORE TIME.

My friend, Phil, and I looked at each other, looked at our watches, thought about our wives and little girls at home, and opted out of the 3rd viewing.

Still, it was cool, I have a new tale to tell, and maybe, just maybe, I'll be in the video; waving a sign provided by the crew over my head, or pretending to be outraged by heel tactics on display in the match.

Physics

I've a confession to make.
I managed to graduate both high school AND college, without ever taking a physics class.
Which is a shame, because at this point in my life, I'm pretty clear on how my brain works, what it focuses on, and I think it would have really enjoyed physics classes.


I was feeling the physics ignorance awhile back, so picked up a book that highlights and briefly explains 50 laws of physics.

Cool.

Same people also published similar books dealing with philosophy and other fields of study.

Smart Stuff for Dummies, in other words.

Perfect for me.



Besides the fact that it seems like a bunch of guys became famous in their fields for stating the obvious, I've found a lot of what I've read to be very interesting.

I came across a little bit of physics in-fighting the other day.
A genius version of Biggie vs. Tupac, Elton vs. Madonna, Axl Rose vs.... everyone.

Only.... for nerds.
Historical nerds.

Law # 1:

Copenhagen Interpretation:

Neils Bohr was hanging out in Denmark, partying with a bunch of scientists in a mansion donated by the Carslberg brewery folks; thinking deep thoughts and staying away from Nazis. He came up with the notion that an object is not fully formed, until you observe it, and that by observing it, you dictate the form it will take.

Light's both a particle AND a wave, for instance, but will adapt it's form to how the observer wishes to measure it.
If that's not enough, the ACT of observing alters what is being observed, because the act of observation "involves the transfer of some energy and momentum."


In coming up with this, he introduced a bit of philosophy into physics, which really cheesed off some of the other scientists.

(This happened decades before folks realized that you CAN mix chocolate and peanut butter, for the betterment of mankind.)


This theory caused a guy named Schrodinger to go all east coast vs. west coast on Bohr's ass.

In part to mock Bohr's Copenhagen Interpretation, which he thought was ridiculous, he came up with own.

A cat, in a closed box, may or may not have been poisoned, and may or may not be dead...

(Sidebar: Schrodinger had some serious issues...)

Schrodinger's Cat indicates that the only way to determine if the cat's alive or dead, is to open the box; but that the cat's obviously not both alive AND dead at the same time, waiting for us to peek inside and determine it's fate.

(Did I mention that it seems like a bunch of guys became famous in their fields for stating the obvious?)

He equates a possibly poisoned, possibly dead cat with light waves/particles.


This is what happens when brilliant nerds get bitchy.

Schrodinger, when not talking about torturing pets, left a trail of illegitimate children across europe and the UK.

Yep, this physics stuff is pretty fascinating.....

Camo is the new black.

just got back from 3 days of fishing in Wisconsin. Things i've learned.....

1. Camo is the new black.
2. Sunburn's for people in a hurry. WIND burn takes way longer, but is just as unpleasant.
3. If the rain's blowing hard enough, you CAN actually get rain all the way into your ear canal.
4. You have fried fish on your menu? Really? It's tonite's special? what's your other specials? Other kinds of fried fish? Tough call... I'll go with the fried fish, I think. Oh, definitely want the fries with that....
5. OOPS. Sorry, I didn't see you there, what with all the camo and all. You blend right in.
6. Critters Sports advertises indoor archery range and full bar. All thisi time, I just assumed they were in the same room... I stand corrected.
7. I don't want to own a camo painted boat. I'd never find it.
8. Beer is so very cheap. and it goes great with fried fish.
9. leeches are nasty. Yeah, I didn't JUST learn this, but was reminded of it continually for three days. However, they're like...fried fish to the fish, so I endured it.
10. Pontoon boats and high wind and swift current do not go together nearly as well as...say.... fried fish and a 30oz mug of beer.....

Fishing wasslow, but steady. And the company was... AWESOME.

New adventures of a man and his dog

Wednesday, 7:15pm.

The man and his dog head out into the evening.
There were reports of bad weather in the area, but it had all missed the man's neighborhood thus far.

He looked to the western sky, and was not pleased.
But - he was not worried, either.

They began their route.

They had not yet traveled a full block, when the previously-light breeze turned into a wind. By the time they reached the school, the wind was really beginning to assert itself.
They turned west, into the wind, and kept going.

The sky that had not worried him, mere minutes before, was now quite ominous, and much, much closer.
The man mentally shook his head and grinned ruefully.
"Why the hell not?" he thought to himself as the weather continued to deteriorate at an alarming rate.
"This is how I roll."

But then an amazing thing happened.
He came upon a flowering tree, resplendent in tiny purple blooms. It smelled wonderful.
As the strong wind blew through the tree, it picked up thousands of tiny purple petals.

The man stood immediately downwind from the tree, and, grinning with awe and childlike delight, stretched his arms out wide as he stepped into a blizzard of tiny flowers.
He was sublimely happy, and made no effort to continue on their way.

The dog, a simpler creature perhaps, was not as impressed with the spectacle, and began to whine at the first flash of lightning and rumble of thunder .
The moment had passed.
"You make a good point." The man said to the dog, turning away from the tree and the flowers.
The headed across the field, the man's gaze turned downward to avoid the flying dust and dirt.

Their pace quickened as the wind began to howl, and the first splatters of rain struck them. They ran the last half block, and were inside before the rain began in earnest.

The man found his wife and daughter on the back porch, rocking gently on the porch swing as the storm became fully involved.

"You beat the storm!" The man's wife said with relief.

"Just barely." the man replied as he sat down next to them, and his big, brave dog slunk under the swing and laid down.
"But the coolest thing happened..."

Semantics

Martin: Whole grain pancakes and an egg-white omelette, please.
Waitress: What would you like in your omelette?
Martin: Nothing in the omelette. Nothing at all.
Waitress: Well, that's not technically an omelette.
Martin: Look, I don't want to get into a semantic argument about it, I just want the protein, all right?
- From one of the best movies of all time, EVER...Grosse Pointe Blank
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Had occasions over the weekend, to think about semantics.

Semantics... they're fun.

Hell, the definition of semantics even sounds important and profound.


se·man·tics
[si-man-tiks]

-noun ( used with a singular verb )
1. Linguistics .
a. The Study of Meaning.
b. the study of linguistic development by classifying and examining changes in meaning and form.
2. Also called significs. the branch of semiotics dealing with the relations between signs and what they denote.
3. the meaning, or an interpretation of the meaning, of a word, sign, sentence, etc.: Let's not argue about semantics.


"The Study of Meaning".... Impressive!

Yet, generally speaking, when we use "Semantics" in conversation, it's generally as a prop, a set up for humor, perhaps, or a (hopefully) good spirited argument. I lump it in with words and phrases like "oxymoron" and " contradiction in terms" and "that's redundant".

"Wow, he's... very staunch in his convictions."
"He's an ass-clown."
"I guess it's just a matter of semantics..."



So, in the study of meaning and context...

My best friend, a guy I've known since first grade, came to see me on Saturday. He, his pregnant wife and almost one year old son were in town for the afternoon. Only non-negotiable point - real Chicago-style pizza.

We had lots of fun breaking down the semantics of this. Ordering chicago-style pizza in...Chicago.
"I, uh... I don't think they call it that, here."

Chicago-Style Pizza. You order this at pizza joints NOT in or around Chicago. Here, it's simply listed as "pizza" on the menu.
Noone advertises it.

Like Chicago-style hotdogs.
they're just hot dogs, here.

Does this mean, if you just want a hotdog with, say... catsup and a slice of american cheese on it, you'd walk into the Plush Pup, around the corner from my office and order a... Kalamazoo dog?

(Oh, and as an aside - Good luck with the whole "Catsup on a hot dog" thing around here. "You want WHAT?" is the apparently only correct response to that request, at every mom and pop place within a 25 mile radius...)

"Look, I don't want to get into a semantic argument about it, I just want the protein, all right?"

It'd be like looking for a good Chinese restaurant, in China. It's not chinese food there, it's... food.

See?
Semantics! meaning and context.


There's a winter storm advisory for W. Michigan today.
But... it's Spring.

Wait, let me retype that with proper emphasis...
But... but...it's SPRING... (followed by quiet sobbing...)

It's been Spring for almost a month.

How can they call it a WINTER storm, if it's no longer winter?

I just had my exit interview for my soon to be ex-job. I kept it largely professional, because...I'm a pretty professional guy.
Yet, there were some points that REALLY needed to be made...

Semantics, my friends. Meaning and context.....

The day that Santa died.

Was trying to transfer some old files from a mostly worthless old laptop, prior to recycling it, and came across some stuff I had written years ago. I completely forgot this existed.... perhaps I'll clean up some of the other ones, and post them, too.


The day that Santa died.

As is often the case, the story begins before I had a chance to sit down with my first cup of coffee. I was actually on my way to my sister’s house for coffee, and early morning pandemonium courtesy of her boys, my nephews, to whom I am a large wonderful toy. You’ve all seen the scratching post /perch/ carpeted thing to climb that are the joy of so many house cat’s existence? I am this toy, for my nephews. Which I wholeheartedly approve of, until they get big enough to be a real challenge to my superior might and intellect. Which will be 3 or 4 more years on the might part, and 6 weeks or so on the intellect.
But I digress.

Early and often.

I was driving down the street, listening to Ike Reilly on the CD player, when I spotted him, crumpled in someone’s front yard.
“Jesus Christ, that’s Santa.”
Santa looked like he had fallen from his sleigh at some great height, and came to an abrupt and permanent halt at terminal velocity in the slushy front yard of a brick Georgian, in a southwest suburb of Chicago. What an anti-climatic end for such an august personage. This guy had made millions happy over the years, brought a sense of wonder and whimsy to generations of people, hung out with cats like the Mizer brothers, Burghermeister Meisterburger and the Winter Warlock, and had a well documented obsession with the undersized. But, like it is for all of us, at some point in time, it’s your time. The siren song of Mr. Coffee interrupted my thoughts, and I kept driving.
A couple of blocks further on, and goddamn but there was Santa again, in the same sad state I had just witnessed him to be in. And this time he had company. It looked for all the world like Frosty the snowman had broken the big guy’s fall. This act of selflessness did neither of them any good.
I listened close for Jimmy Durante’s voice, explaining to all of us what had happened, but heard nothing.

While I never cease to amuse myself, thinking like this, I was questioning whether or not it would amuse others in the re-telling, as I pulled up in front of my sister’s house.
Not everyone has the penchant for dark flights of fancy, as do I.

Of course I had not actually observed the tragic evidence of some mid-air collision earlier, but a number of those gawd-awful inflatable lawn ornaments with which so many have gone to so much trouble to ugly up my neighborhood during this most sacred of seasons.
They’re ugly enough when wasting valuable natural resources to power the engine that powers the fans that keep them inflated, but they look like nothing but colorful piles of refuse when the plug is pulled.
Or, perhaps, the result of a really bad accident...