Friday, October 24, 2014

The Case of the Haunted Computer

Back when I had a life, at least a part-time life, I fixed computers. I was also a college history instructor, but I took little joy from that job. Why? Two examples will suffice. A student disliked a grade I gave her. She complained to someone, we actually had a hearing, at which I was exonerated after many wild accusations were hurled at me. Second example: at most of my teaching gigs, I had upwards of nine bosses - supervisors on top of supervisors on top of supervisors. What the fuck?

Though it paid less, and I only worked for Gary of Gary's Computer Repair part-time - full-time during the summer - it was much more rewarding. People were actually grateful that I was able to fix their machines, retrieve files from crashed hard drives, and otherwise cure their computer ills. So I look upon my repairs with pride...unlike my other career. Even a letter of apology from the young woman who tried to get me fired didn't help. She graduated from community college and started at a big four-year university, and almost sank without a trace. Only the skills I tried to impart to her saved her. It was an awakening. That's when she sent me the note.

Long-way round to the central topic of this essay, fixing computers. One of my more memorable fixes involved sound.

This was during the summer, when Gary and his henchman were off laying CAT5 cable for a company and I was mostly alone in the shop except for another part-timer, a kid who showed up every now and again. A man brought in his PC.

    "It's making a funny noise, moaning sounds. I think the power supply is failing."
    "I'll check it out," I replied.

After he left, I took it in the back and hooked it up. There really was an odd throbbing sound coming from the thing. It was hard to locate, somewhat generalized around the case. It diminished a bit when I took the side of the case off, but it didn't go away. I started with the cheapest fix first, disconnecting the cooling fan. That stopped the noise. Not the PS after all.

Quick aside: "power supply" is a misnomer, it's just a transformer to turn alternating current from a wall socket into the direct current the computer components need. I didn't invent the term, that's what it's called...even though it's just a fucking transformer. Please don't poke screwdrivers into them, you'll get electrocuted. It's the only dangerous component inside a computer case.

I inspected the fan. After years of DIY, of part-time repair work, I could tell when a fan has gone. One sure sign: it stops spinning. Just kidding. Nope, it spun fine, no hesitation at all when reconnected. Next, the feel of the fan blades when turned off, moving them with a finger. There was none of the gritty hesitation normally apparent in a failing case fan. Good case fans "bounce back" when moved slightly with a finger. I was puzzled. I blew the thing out with compressed air, cleaned the entire case out, in fact. I even used the little homemade cleaner attachment for the shopvac on it. Dust bunnies be gone!

Another aside: fortune smiles on you if you've never had to clean out and repair computers owned by heavy smokers. Holy shit, it's disgusting. Black tarry crap over everything, gummy stuff...and it stinks. Literally stinks.

The sound was still there, especially loud when the case was put back together. I was leaning over looking inside the case when the moment of enlightenment came. My hand was inadvertently covering some of the back ventilation holes. The noise stopped. I removed my hand, the noise started. I then began to experiment with the placement of my hand. Noise starts, noise stops. It was as if I were working a flute. Which is exactly what was going on. For some reason, air flowing out the side of the ventilation grid at the back had started to make noise. By experimentation, I discovered just a few holes along the edge of the grid of vent holes were responsible for the sound. I went into Gary's office, got some scotch tape, and taped those holes along the edge closed. It wouldn't affect cooling, since only one short line was involved - like 95% of the vent holes were still open. Sound stopped for good. When the man came back for his machine, he was astounded by the fix. I showed him which holes were involved, just in case the tape needed replacement in the future. I charged him the base fee for any repair, $25, nothing more. He was so happy at the absence of that sad moan, he didn't care.

Saturday, October 4, 2014

I'm still obsessing over No Country for Old Men

Don't ask me why. The story plagues my mind. There are two possibilities: the author's a scam artist who intentionally put the antagonist from a slasher movie into a noir crime drama, or it's a "metaphor." Fuck metaphors, though that choice is less damning of Cormac McCarthy. Either way, the story could have been grounded, put into a shape I might have liked, by one change.  Wells, the other narco errand boy, played by Woody Harrelson in the movie, is taken out by Chigurh in true slasher movie style. Chigurh appears from nowhere, corners Wells, and murders the hell out of him. One change would make it all better. Wells isn't sent by a competitor, he's sent by the same boss who sent Chigurh to recover the money. The boss is pissed at all the attention Chigurh's mindless rampage is bringing down on him. This has a basis in reality, unlike the story as it is. Local law enforcement isn't hung out to dry in the real world. In a drug case involving lots of bodies, the DEA, the FBI, and various state agencies would pour into the area. There'd be so many cops, they'd be bumping into each other. So the boss sent Wells to get Chigurh under control. One scene and Chigurh is transformed from a hellish Jason Voorhees into a real-world hitman. Chigurh corners Wells, but Wells reacts this way...


    "Point that little toy of yours somewhere else or I'll ram it up your ass. You know who sent me, dickhead. You know what will happen to you if you ignore what I have to say."
    Chigurh's demeanor changed slightly. A flicker of doubt crossed over his eyes. He lowered the mutated shotgun and hid it under his jacket.
    "What the fuck do you think you've been doing here?"
    "Getting back his money."
    "No, you've been spreading bodies all over the landscape. The fucking feds are involved. A couple of the dead men are linked to men who are linked to the boss, so now the boss has heat on himself thanks to your fucked up killstreak. What otherwise would have been a bunch of dead narcotraffickers in the desert has become a manhunt for you. They have a hard-on for the boss, they want you to take them to him. That's not going to happen, because you're going to ditch your weird little toys. Throw them in a lake. I've brought some tools we'll use, but only if we have to. Nobody anybody gives a shit about dies. No store owners, no cops, nobody. The cartel has people involved..."
    "We'll have to kill them."
    "Well, yeah. They're only here because of the mess you made."
    Chigurh was now contrite, as if the murders he had committed were school-boy pranks. His face took on some character, it was no longer dead. He looked at Wells with appealing childish eyes. "Will I be forgiven?"
    "You're already forgiven. You do good work, but you get carried away. Need to calm down, man."
    "You're here to help."
    "Yes. He would have sent the other ones down if you were in serious shit with him. Let's go out to the car and get my bang-bangs."
    Chigurh smiled. He must have smiled before at some point in the past, because the expression did not surprise Wells. "What did you bring?"
    "Clean weapons. Silenced .22s, a silenced Mac-11. I figure you'll want the Mac."
    "Yeah." It was drawn out. "Too bad about my other stuff."
    "We're going to have to ditch those. You can make more later."
    They left the room.


See? Metaphor or misplaced Freddy, keeping Wells alive, shaming Chigurh makes him human, which also makes him more sinister. Wells and Chigurh wipe out the cartel guys, leave with the money. Moss's wife isn't murdered by Chigurh, she's killed in a car accident driving back from his funeral. To me, this is a more satisfying story. I hate Jason and Freddy anyway. Don't mind Pinhead too much, though. Regardless, they don't belong in noir crime fiction. Noir addresses the underlying harsh realities of human existence. To mess with it by inserting metaphors or creeps from horror movies is an insult to the genre.

Saturday, September 20, 2014

You Will Hate Me: MIni-Reviews

One might ask just why I review what I review. I confess: I'm cheap. I save money by not renting videos or going to movies. What I see is mostly on cable TV or some free promo at Amazon. Go ahead and complain - did you pay to read this? There's enough here for everyone to hate. Be patient, if not now, I'm sure at some point in the near future I will piss you off. Several provisos - "excuses" if you want to use that term - all opinions on creative endeavors are prone to disagreement, tastes vary, and nothing is static. Translation: don't get too upset, everyone has a different opinion and that's all right, and I might change my mind.


No Country for New Ideas

Why does anyone like No Country for Old Men? Book or movie, doesn't matter. This is prompted by its showing on cable TV the other night. Don't think it is just this one book, I don't care for anything Cormac McCarthy writes. Never did. Don't know what people see in his fiction. This one in particular, can't stand it. He pulled off a neat trick when he wrote this. It's actually a genre mash-up, sticking the antagonist from a slasher-horror movie into a noir thriller. Chigurh is Jason. He stomps around, killing aimlessly, unbeatable, immortal. Good trick if you can get away with it...and apparently McCarthy has. Congrats, you jerk.


Smand of God

It's...okay. Sorry, I wish I could say I loved Hand of God, the Amazon Studios TV series. I have been a huge Ron Perlman fan for time out of mind. I wish I could like it. I'm not the one to ask for a review of this, not really, since I don't watch much in the way of conventional crime dramas. I deeply enjoyed both Fargo and True Detective, but more conventional TV, as this seems to be, is not to my taste. The pilot was strongest when it was on Perlman, when he was experiencing visions, and weakest when it was away from him on the standard apparatus of conventional TV crime dramas - scheming politicians, pliant cops, corrupt preachers - it is as if it were trying to be two things, an offbeat story about a man led by visions, while at the same time trying to abide by conventional expectations. Can't be both. It is also very reminiscent of an old Rod Serling screenplay about a man taking revenge on apparent strangers for his wife's assault. The recent film Broken City also comes to mind, along with a little flavoring from a bit of Breaking Bad. Too derivative for my liking. Very sorry I couldn't give it a thumb's up.


Alpha House

This is Garry Trudeau's satiric take on a small group of Republican congressmen, bound together because they are sharing a townhouse. It is apparently in its second season. Amazon Studios has the first episode for free, that's how I got to see it. It is occasionally very funny - Trudeau wrote Very good writing - Trudeau, again - very professionally made. John Goodman is the main lead.  Bill Murray had a cameo in the opening sequence, hilarious. Why do I seem so...subdued? For the same reason I often dislike Saturday Night Live. When the comedic writing is excellent, when the acting is superb, sometimes it goes horribly awry. The satire becomes so refined, so well-done, it becomes indistinguishable from reality. Where the fuck is the fun in that? Partly it comes from the quotidian premise, following around congressmen in their corrupt ordinary weaselly little lives. My mind sees vast expanses of possibility: why can't Trudeau see these vistas? John Goodman stars in a comedic TV series about the head of the DC division of the FBI corruption department. He and his henchmen HUNT congressmen...and it's a comedy! The Office marries NYPD Blue and they have a baby. Comedy crime drama about FBI agents who hunt congressmen! Am I the only one to see the lofty mountainscapes in that?


The Roosevelts, or How to Make History Boring

This is Ken Burns' latest historical miniseries on public television. TR and FDR are right at the top of my personal list of Best Presidents Ever. One could not ask for more drama in history than the times in which these two men lived. So just how did Burns manage to make it so fucking boring? And what's with the soundtrack, does Ken have money in elevator music companies? Holy shit, the music of TR's and FDR's age was vibrant, alive, powerful! Jazz, the Blues, Ragtime, Swing, American classical composers, music that will drill into your heart. Do we get any of that? Nope, just like everything else in this fiasco, drained of light and life. And what the fuck are a bunch of DC pundits doing in this? More air time is given to George Will than to anyone else. Is Kenny-boy having a secret love affair with that right-wing nut job? Why is Will in this at all? He's a winger, he hates FDR with a passion, he continually advocates for the destruction of every last bit of FDR's heritage. What the fuck?

Kenny-boy did okay with the Civil War, but it's been downhill ever since. If I remember correctly, he had Shelby Foote, the renowned Civil War historian, to keep him on an even footing. Much of what FDR did during the New Deal years is still controversial with the DC establishment, even our illustrious socialist leader - not really. I'm a socialist, give me at least a tiny bit of credit for being able to recognize my own. President Obama is not a socialist, he's a slight variation on the standard centrist politician. To deal with FDR honestly, you'd have to get other people into the act, economics guys like Krugman and Stiglitz, to talk about things like Keynesian economics. Those guys, Krugman included, scare the shit out of the "centrists" in Washington. And where was mention of the Business Plot, a real conspiracy to overthrow the US government by rich businessmen? Even Alf Landon didn't get the right punch line. Landon, governor of Kansas at the time, didn't win his home state when he went up against FDR's re-election campaign. When you can't win Kansas against a liberal progressive Eastern politician, you know you're shit out of luck.

Burns has created junk history here, with the apparent intent to undermine the fundamental values TR and FDR espoused. It's another in a long list of crimes against American history perpetrated by the mainstream media...and the presence of so many talking heads from Sunday morning talk shows illustrates that Ken Burns is the quintessential Washington insider, bent on maintaining the status quo, dedicated to the destruction of progressivism - because that's what TR and FDR were, progressives. Those ideas must be destroyed, for if they live on, even if only in history, someday they will lead to the fall of the neoliberal order. Ken can't have that.


The Hobbit: Murdered by Peter Jackson

The Desolation of Smaug is dismal. If you haven't seen it...don't. This warning is a little on the late side for a simple reason, I long ago had to cut out such things as movie attendance, too hard on the budget. Don't buy many books anymore, either. I'm not complaining, just explaining. My complex has free cable TV and free internet, so I finally was able to see Desolation. It came as a surprise to me when I saw just how bad it was compared to the first Hobbit movie. That one took some liberties with the book, but at least stayed close enough to it - it was also somewhat entertaining in its own right. Desolation is neither of those things. It is a clumsy, ill-conceived, blundering attempt at a motion picture. It contains so much that is not of the book, it is no longer the story of the book. The sense of distrust that came over me after I discovered Peter Jackson's original ending for the Lord of the Rings movies was validated in Desolation. Jackson is a Hollywood hack.

Who's the real hero of The Hobbit? Bilbo is the observer, the truth-seer, the peacemaker, the narrator, but is he the hero? No, mostly he's along for the ride. Who's the hero? Not Thorin, he ends up as a quasi-bad guy, who essentially deserves his fate. Who's the hero? Bard? Maybe, but he only gets to act the hero because of the real hero's actions. Who's the hero?

The thrush. Not the eagles, but the smallest, least menacing animal in the book. A little thrush. It braves danger, misery, and a great journey to deliver vital information just when it is needed. The three most important people in the novel are a nobody of a hobbit, a tiny bird, and the captain of the archers. Not the Master of Lakeview, not the elven king, not the dwarf-prince, not the dwarves. No. The creatures who save the day are the ordinary nobodies of everyday life. Kinda reminds me of Lord of the Rings, where the one person most responsible for the destruction of absolute evil and the salvation of Middle-Earth is a middle-aged middle-class nobody of a hobbit.

Gee, you'd think there's a theme going on here, like maybe Tolkien, the guy who wrote The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, had something in mind, something so fucking important, he said it in a series of novels. That many words, that many stories of so many characters...and the same damn theme over and over again. Ya think it's important? Do you?

Watching Twelve Years a Slave now. Tolkien is just as deep, just as profound. Both wrote, one from experience, one from the imagination, about fundamental aspects of the human condition, of human suffering, of our redemption at the hands of the least among us, a carpenter or a small bird...yeah, even in a kid's book. The Hobbit is written as a children's book. I'm guessing, but maybe Tolkien thought this theme was so important, children should be exposed to it at an early age.

Peter Jackson thinks none of this is important. He pretends he isn't, but he's a Hollywood boy. He almost destroyed the Lord of the Rings with his brain-dead idea to have Sauron and Aragorn fight it out in a duel at the end - how we should thank Jackson's production assistants, who refused to go along with it. Now he actually is destroying The Hobbit. Congrats, Mr. Jackson, I'm sure you'll be paid in full for this.

Skip watching the last one...I know you won't, you want to watch the big battle...but try. Step out of line, go home, open up one of Tolkien's books, and put Aaron Copland's Fanfare for the Common Man on the stereo. As you read, think on Tolkien's service in the front lines of the British Army during World War I. Think on Tolkien watching his beloved country bombed to ash in World War II. Maybe think on when Copland wrote Fanfare and just why he named his composition "Fanfare for the COMMON MAN." There is a deeper meaning to Tolkien. His books are not merely primordial Skyrim. They make you think, they inspire, and they ennoble the low while they throw a revealing light on the mighty. Read them. Fuck Jackson and all his works. Read the books instead.


Bowfinger Saved Me: Or How A Movie Taught Me to Love My Pathetic Life

For those who don't know, this 1999 movie starred Steve Martin and Eddie Murphy. Martin assumes the role of Bowfinger, a down-and-out movie producer, the kind of guy who makes direct-to-DVD/direct-to-streaming movies. He has the idea of stalking the rich movie star Kit Ramsey, played by Murphy. Bowfinger thinks that since the clandestine recordings are in public places, he can use them in a film. The movie itself is a horrible remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The vibrancy with which Martin and the rest of the cast capture the nearly uncontrollable urge to create takes my breath away. He and his merry little band will do almost anything to make movies, even abandon successful careers, give up day jobs, cheat, steal, screw anybody, just to have the chance to create. It reminded me of who I am, what I'm up to. I won't lie, times are hard. I have less than a year's worth of money left before I either have to get a day job or starve to death on the street, and that's after squeezing the pennies so hard, Lincoln starts to cry. I constantly question my decision to spend my savings on this endeavor...but I'm older, and if not now, when? It has to be now. Martin's performance reminds me of this. Like his character, like Bowfinger, I have to create. It's not a choice or a scam.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Kill Us, Vol. 2

How is the ongoing drama in Ferguson, Missouri like the movie Kill Bill, Vol. 2?  No, I am not saying Tarantino is a racist, far from it. There is no superficiality in this comparison. I will supply the hints, you will try to see the pattern. At the conclusion, we'll see if you're right or not.

Kill Bill, Vol. 2
The movie mostly centers around Bill's drunken brother Budd. He's a real sad sack. He lives in a mobile home parked out in the middle of nowhere, probably because Budd can't afford the rent at a trailer park. He works as a bouncer in a low-rent strip low-rent, most of the time there are no customers for him to bounce. His boss is an abusive coke head. His life sucks.

The Bride wants to kill him for his participation in the wedding-day massacre a few years back, the one that left her in a coma for years. The Bride is a former top assassin, an assassin of assassins, a complete professional.

His mobile home is in a gully out in the middle of nowhere. I did mention that, didn't I? Budd is a man of routines. He goes to work. He goes by a liqour store, a package store, for his daily needs. When he's not at work, he's in his old mobile home drinking himself silly.

What does the Bride do? This exemplar of assassins? She charges right in the front door. Budd disables her with a rock-salt blast from his shotgun. He then carts her off to an old cemetery and buries her alive.

These quotations are from the Guardian article:

Figures published last year by Missouri’s attorney general showed that seven black drivers were stopped by police in the town for every white driver, and that 12 times as many searches were carried out on black drivers as white, despite searches of white people being far more likely to turn up something illegal.

The penalties issued for minor offences uncovered during these stops make up almost a quarter of the town’s annual revenues, leading to resentment that poorer residents are being milked to fund the salaries of white bureaucrats. Some say that one of the defining sights of Ferguson comes on the days when traffic court is in session: a queue of black residents wrapped around the block, waiting their turn to be punished by a white prosecutor in front of a white judge.

Patricia Bynes, a Democratic committeewoman for Ferguson, concedes that the failure of black residents to vote in local elections has perpetuated the problem. But, she says, many "don’t show up because they are too busy working out how they are going to eat and feed their families the next day."

Tentative Conclusion
What do you make of this little puzzle, this conundrum of cultural tropes and sad history? "Racism!" you shout, but how does that fit in with a completely non-racist action movie?

A few more hints are needed.

Kill Bill Vol. 2
I believe in character-based fiction. The people embedded in the story drive the story, not the other way round. It's hard to see what I'm talking about in Kill Bill v2 because so much of the movie is wrapped around very good dialog. I'm a fan of noir dialog, and this movie has it, every damn word is Red Harvest gold. The truth of KBv2 is covered up by excellent filmmaking and dialog straight out of the heart of hardboiled fiction. Here it is, so simple, yet so easily missed. The Bride is a lethal creature, the deadliest assassin in the history of assassins. She wants to kill a man, Budd. He lives in a trailer out in the middle of nowhere, at the bottom of a gully, one road in and out. How does an ace assassin kill Budd? Well, she sure as fuck doesn't charge in the front door. She has to know, in part because she left one of Bill's henchwomen alive to tell him in volume 1, that Bill knows she's coming to kill them all. Bill would tell everyone, including his drunken brother Budd. Budd will be waiting for her, he'll probably be sitting just inside his door with a shotgun. So how does she kill him? The ace assassin would either...

...firebomb the trailer and cut Budd down when he runs out.

...or, the better approach, build a sniper nest on the hill overlooking the trailer and shot the man when he opens his door the next morning. If she wanted to kill him up-close, spine-shoot the bastard, then walk down and cut him to pieces with her blade.

But she doesn't do that. All the surface layers are a lie. The good dialog, the great acting, the sets, the noir ambiance, a lie. Underneath, Kill Bill Vol. 2 is another typical plot-driven piece of Hollywood shit.

Under racism, which is real, which is oppressive, is a system of control utilizing racism as one of its tools. Racism controls both the people oppressed by it and the people supposedly benefiting from it. It feeds fear and misapprehension. It is the perfect misdirection. The economic and political system in place in Ferguson is a microcosm of modern America. We are kept distracted by this or that thing. We are kept divided by race and economic class. We are told to fear each other. All the while, wealth is extracted from us, keeping us so busy with our daily lives, we cannot see the inequalities, the rigged game. Ferguson ably demonstrates what the rich have long known: it is possible to make money off of poor people, even against their wishes. The political power structure of Ferguson is parasitic on the black population. They use racism as a tool in this parasitism.

The shocking thing, whites go along with the inequality for almost the same reason the black community does. They're too busy, they're afraid, they're distracted...except they're afraid of their black neighbors. They've been told by word, deed, and image that they need to be afraid. They've been told it's a zero-sum game. They can hear the subtext of the message the police in Ferguson deliver: "You benefit from the system, look what we do to people who don't support the system." The cops could make it more blatant and shout, "It's all for you!" They don't need to, the message is clear. It's the other side of racism. Still the same coin. Control is still there. The present neoliberal regime sees the absolute necessity to divide the lower classes, to distract them, to make them afraid, to make their lives an unending rat's maze of difficulty. Like Tarantino's movie, this is at the bottom of the experience. Racism is the distraction, the tool, control is the plot.

Someone else gets it. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and I think alike. Here is the link to his essay:

One little point from Kareem's essay. Notice the power of racism to control not just the population, but the reaction to oppression. After Kent State, outrage and protest. After Jackson State, crickets.


Wednesday, August 13, 2014

The Value of Fiction: We Can Dream It All Over Again

To those who have not heard, an unarmed young black guy named Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri was shot for jaywalking. According to the witness, his only crime was in trying to argue with the cop who approached him. I grew up around cops, and not one of the cops I knew would have shot a kid for a little lip. In my mind, I put one of them behind the wheel of the cop car that night.

    Officer Mucklow turned onto Green street. It was a quiet night. Two young black men were walking down the middle of the street. He had seen them around before, they were local kids. He wasn't sure, but he thought they both lived somewhere along this block. He eased the cop car slowly up parallel with them.
    "Hi, guys."
    "Hey, man."
    "Do me a favor and get up on the sidewalk."
    "We live just up there." The kid pointed to a house a few doors down.
    "Still, it'd be nice if you got up on the sidewalk."
    "I don't see why. There aren't any cars out. You just like bossing people around. We're almost home anyway."
    Mucklow smiled. "Tell you what. It's a slow night. I'm going to drive up to the end of the block. I'm going to wait there. If you two haven't gone home, if you're still walking in the middle of the street by the time you get to me, I'll give you each a fifty-dollar jaywalking ticket. How's that sound?"
    Without another word, Mucklow pulled out ahead of the kids. He drove down to the end of the block and got out of his car with his ticket book in his hand.
    The kids were still defiant, they continued to walk in the street...until they came to their houses. They each went inside.
    Mucklow got in his car and drove away. Quiet night.

There is also a chance that the real Officer Mucklow would not have said a word to the kids, it being a small town, no traffic on the side streets. Knowing Lloyd Mucklow, growing up across the alley from him as a kid, if he even turned down that street, he would have passed the kids in his patrol car, giving them both a friendly wave as he did so.


Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Old Man Shakes Fist at Draft2Digital

I was going to shift my free short stories over to, mostly because of the zany and burdensome formatting requirements at That plan is in the wind.

I tried again and again and again to arrange the formatting on my first short story, but I could not get rid of the chapter formatting their programming insisted on inserting into the ebook. It's a short story, it doesn't have chapters!! So screw it, screw free stories other than on my own web site. I'll add some value to the short stories, free chapters from my novels, and put them up at Amazon for 99 cents. I'll give more free stuff away on my web site as acrobat files. Too bad about smashwords. I can no longer afford to hire people to format my stuff for them. Perhaps I'll explore putting up mobi and epub stories on my web site.

After Draft2Digital's failure to handle a simple short story, I....I lost my temper. I changed my name to "F... Draft2Digital." There's no way to delete an account, you see. No way to delete a story draft, either. So I changed the name of the story to "F... Draft2Digital." What was I going to do, write a polite note to people who failed the first day of comp sci 101? Honestly, compared with the ease of use over at Amazon, D2D, smashwords, and all the rest are abject failures.

Not that I'm particularly happy with Amazon, but they are the best of the lot.


Friday, July 25, 2014

Game of Thrones Itches

There are no martial arts on display in Game of Thrones or in Song of Ice and Fire. There was the one sword master who taught Arya. The spooky ninja guy doesn't count, since that's magic. In all of Westeros, it's slash and hack. Once again we have a situation in which reality is cooler than fiction.

That's the European Middle Ages. The one on the left is, I think, a hip throw. We all know the one on the right, a  Jujutsu choke popular in MMA.

This one, a joint lock straight out of Judo. On the right, another chokehold.

Look familiar?

Even unarmed techniques against armed opponents.

The martial arts in Europe weren't restricted to unarmed combat and fencing. Specialized art forms for dagger combat, mace, war hammer, and pole arms were also developed.

I see no smash-and-bash here, do you?

Another little fact, peasants in some societies weren't helpless lambs. The deeply fearsome Swiss mercenaries were peasants. English longbowmen...peasants. For their own protection, peasants sometimes formed militias and trained regularly as military units, the militias of medieval Flanders, for instance, made up of peasants and ordinary city-folk. Just as in Japan and Okinawa, farm implements became weapons. The most fearsome of these was the Bill.

Based on a farm implement called a billhook, in use today for clearing brush, it was particularly useful in killing armored cavalry.

Then there's a unique weapon of the lower classes, in a class by itself. Can you say "Good day"?

That's the goedendag. Another way to meet and greet people. A "Hi there!" for the Middle Ages.

So where is all this marvelous inventiveness in Westeros? I haven't even seen a war hammer or pikeman. Daenerys's army, the Unsullied, are out of the Hellenic Age, for crying out loud.

All I have to say: George, TV producers, pick up the pace, would you?