Category Archives: Writing

The Truth About Gourdians

Gourdians are an earthy and generally shameless lot.

I’ve been absorbing (Gourdians don’t read, we absorb), with great interest, this recent bipedal hand wringing over the perceived violent and disgusting end that befalls some Gourdians. “Woe the lot of the poor Pumpkin Person,” they wail, “How awful to suffer the carving knife!” Well, I want to set the record straight; you couldn’t be more wrong. Here’s the deal.

The highest honor that can befall a Gourdian is to enter the proud ranks of The Jack. Few are chosen, but they are the finest of our race. The most unfortunate of Gourdians have only the ignoble future of rotting in cold, open fields: forgotten, ignored, made as mere mulch.

Those of us with more mathematical bent can enter the Brotherhood of Pi; and these are many, some canned, some fresh. Consumption by bipeds is a glorious end; preferable certainly to consumption by quads (consumption by hexes, or worse, is almost as bad as rotting). Certain of our citizens belong to other consumption sects: the Breads, the Cakes or the Cookies. Truly, any fodder status at least fulfills some useful station in life.

But to become a Jack is the ultimate goal of any Gourdian. Those few who make the grade and are selected go on to become the revered of our nation. Each selected by a biped who stooped down to claim one of us for their own. Each transformed into a unique magic creature to guard the bipedal demesnes. It is the highest calling of any Gourdian.

Gourdians Gather!

I’d also like to say a few words about, so called, Pumpkin Porn.

Here, too, the bipedal view may miss the mark when it comes to Gourdians. Remember that we’re born under open skies and live our lives naked under those same skies. For us, when you’re talking about the birds and bees, this is literally the case.

And if there’s one thing you can say about Gourdians, we’re an earthy species. We have no real concept of personal space or privacy; there’s just too many of us sucking on one vine (if you catch my drift).

So remember, for good luck, Carve a Jack! And kiss a Gourdian!


Radio Silence

It may or may not be obvious there’s been a bit of radio silence recently. I find myself… stymied, and it has muted my muse.

Part of it comes from looking around and being humbled by the amazing quality work given to the internet by so many. The interweb is a landscape of both common clay and veins of riches.

I feel humbled by the task of contributing anything of worth.

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Why I Hated The Holodeck

This is a rant about an aspect of Star Trek that always bugged me: the deadly, dangerous, ridiculous Holodeck!

If it seems familiar, you may have encountered it before. I wrote it back when the show (Star Trek: The Next Generation) was still running (1987-1994) and published versions of it then and later in various online venues (FidoNet, USENET, some websites). Long-time friends will certainly recognize the rant if not the writing.

If you were on the net before the web, and you hung out in Star Trek places, you might have stumbled over this.

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What is Science Fiction?

I recently asked the question, “What is Art?” Answering that one is a real challenge, and the answer may be entirely subjective. This time I’m asking a question that is almost as difficult: “What is Science Fiction?” The answer may turn out to be just as subjective, and just as much of a challenge, but I’ve always thought the tough questions are the most interesting to explore.

I may, or may not, be an artist (but I know what I like!) and suffice to say I have only dabbled in art over the years. Science fiction, however, has filled my life as long as I’ve been picking my own reading material. I suspect that, overall, my fiction reading (and I read a lot of fiction) is at least 80% science fiction. It could be more. Most normal fiction leaves me disinterested, no matter how insightful it might be. I live in the real world; I want stories that take me far, far away, be it conceptually, spatially or temporally (if only temporarily).

Only authors that bring something newly invented to the table really hold my interest.

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Sideband #31: Morning Person

It’s Moanday, and there wasn’t enough sleep time during the weekend, so this is a good time for a little poem I picked up along the way.

It sums up my feelings on the matter of morning quite precisely.

I Am Not a Morning Person!

-anonymous
Woke early one morning,
The earth lay cool and still,
When suddenly a tiny bird,
Perched on my window sill.
It sang a song so lovely,
So carefree and so gay,
That slowly all my troubles,
Began to slip away.
It sang of far off places,
Of laughter and of fun,
It seemed his very song,
Brought out the morning sun.
I pulled back the covers,
… crept slowly out of bed,
And gently shut the window,
And crushed his fucking head.
I am not a morning person

Nuf sed!



Sideband #30: Lonely Vowels

Over on an MLB blog (but it could have been anywhere) someone used the common abbreviation “ppl” for “people,” and it invoked in my head the voice of my high school English teacher ranting about spelling things out.

Mr. Wilson also did not care for the i.e. and e.g. abbreviations of the Latin id est and exempli gratia, respectively. He preferred the less pretentious that is and for example.

And let’s face it, many people misuse i.e. when they actually do mean for example.

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Sideband #26: Proof Reading

As Homer Simpson so eloquently puts it, “D’oh!!”

It seems to be an iron-clad irony of writing that the number of proofreads required to find all errors in your writing is:

PR = N + 1

Where ‘N’ is the actual number performed. This rule appears to apply regardless of the actual value of ‘N’.

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The Night of Bruce Springsteen

This is an account of one of those perfect events when all the stars align, and things go your way. That doesn’t happen very often (at least for me), so it’s worth remembering. And recording.

So throw on a Bruce Springsteen album (yes, ‘album,’ damnit), grab a beer (or whatever) and join me in a little trip down Memorex Lane.

[cue wavy time fade effects…]

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Sideband #19: LHC

The previous article contains a bit of doggerel I wrote as an informal writing assignment on a current events/blogging site I inhabited for a while a few years back. One of the other regulars sometimes held online “parties” complete with musical playlists (suggested YouTube and other musical links) and multiple, simultaneous conversations. Basically a kick off article followed by a very long, branching tree of comments.

We all had to refresh the article a lot to see the new comments, but it was fun. Especially as the evening wore on and some of us got a bit tipsy. (All from the safety of our homes, I point out. Virtual online parties: no one drives home!)

Anyway, in the course of one such evening, the “poem” below popped out of my mind. The Large Hadron Collider (LHC) at CERN was just beginning its testing, and the “it’ll destroy us all” fervor was at its peak.

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In the View of his Car

A few years ago, I spent some time blogging and commenting on another site that wasn’t really a blogging site, per se.

It was supposed to be a news-related site, and all blog posts were meant to be about current events (which could include book and movie reviews among other topics). Naturally long-time users found a lot of latitude in what constituted current events. One of the reasons I dropped off was the poor signal/noise ratio, but the main reason was the sense of restriction imposed by the current events policy.

One of the big regulars was a guy who liked to stage writing exercises for those interested. He would offer a topic and we would all dash off a blog article related to that topic. Below is my contribution to one such exercise. The topic was to write a piece from the point of view of our car. I’m no poet, but I thought this turned out rather well.

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