And I’m Not Even Going To Discuss The Toilet

A few months back, I saw the much-maligned The Fourth Kind. I was fascinated the entire time, though not by the…
Oh, okay, spoilers after the cut. As if the term “spoiler” could actually apply to this film. But whatever.
…alien abduction plot (it was pretty familiar, except for one sort of ballsy little twist.)
What I found interesting was the film’s use of split screens showing the film’s reenactment of the “true” story on one half and “real footage” from home video cameras on the other.
It wasn’t that Unsolved Mysteries-style telling of the story that interested me, in itself. It was the… well, I guess the art direction, if you get right down to it.
For example, a number of scenes take place in a psychologist’s office. The film shows reenactments of some hypnosis sessions, alongside the psychologist’s video records of the sessions.
The offices are similar, in a number of ways, but not the same.
In the fake office, everything is beautiful. The room is huge and the furniture is set in the centre–plenty of room for cameras to move around. The two places where characters will sit are backed with attractive but non-distracting features, such as a fireplace. Soft light comes in through a pair of open windows.
Uh, open windows? In a shrink’s office, on the ground floor? Not to sound paranoid, but some psychologists’ patients ARE paranoid. They wouldn’t like that. Besides, are your sessions anyone else’s business? Your employer’s, for example?
But this is the fake movie office, and that’s kind of the point. When the split screen comes up, we see the real office. It has a lot of similarities, but it’s a real room. Imperfect. Not designed for filming.
It’s strange… I spend so much time looking at rooms on TV and movie screens that I forget how ridiculous they are. When I’m in IKEA (which is rarely. Get off me.), I notice where cords should be and aren’t, and what basic parts of a living home have been removed so as to make the space look tidy. I think about what would happen if my dogs spent ten minutes in that room. But I don’t tend to think about that when I see TV and movie rooms.
We’re all very aware that TV and movies show us unrealistic body types. We know that it can take hours to get a twenty-second shot and that people spend hours in make-up before going anywhere near a camera. We know about body doubles. We know that actors have the time and money for personal trainers and surgery. And still we think (especially if we’re girl-people) that we should look that way.
How often do we look at the sets of a show or movie and think they aren’t realistic? I’m not talking about the Batcave or that prison where they keep Magnito. I’m talking about supposedly average living rooms. Do we stop and think, wow–you never see cords, or an outlet? You don’t, usually. You don’t see marks on the wall or plants with dead leaves or anything that isn’t utterly perfect. You do on reality television, so that’s something–but you don’t see a real mess even on shows where, come on, you know there’d be one. Big Love, for example. How many kids are running around those houses? And there’s not a single scuff on a single wall? I don’t care if Bill does own a hardware chain or if Nicki is a handiperson. They would not be able to keep up.
I was pleasantly surprised by the normalcy of the home in Paranormal Activity, though of course some bitchy movie reviews who are shallower than the gloss on their lips just had to pipe up about the ugliness of the window treatments. How offensive, that a young couple should have $20 curtain rods from Home Depot  instead of, I don’t know, carved ivory with panda-fur trim. And how appalling that they might not have had the services of a professional decorator.
I can see why they’d expect that, though, because that is the standard. That’s what we’re used to seeing. Even the homes of characters who are supposed to be poor tend to be shabby in a tidy and coordinated way. Lucky Louie went the other way with their bare-bones set (http://slog.thestranger.com/files/2006/07/louie.jpg), making it worse than most people’s apartments, but even that exaggeration was far closer to the places I used to babysit than most of what I see on TV.
As a viewer and home owner, I’m disturbed by the realization that, while I’ve been trying to steel myself against the unrealistic demands on my physical self, I’ve been thoughtlessly absorbing the demands on my home. Not the obvious things, like fancy new cars every year and huge houses for everyone in New York. I know better than that. But the little things… the lack of clutter or dust or smears on the windows… those things have worked their way into my brain and made me look at my house in a way that probably isn’t fair to either my house or me.
As a writer, I’m curious about sets and their effect on the audience. Do we want to see perfect houses for the same reason that we supposedly want to see perfect bodies, which is that it’s a fantasy and an escape–maybe even a chance to project and pretend we’re something “better”? Or do we subconsciously want to see people whose homes are like (or better, still WORSE! than our own)?
Would it help us get into the stories to see realistic places onscreen? Or do we find it easier to get immersed in a story when the sets are bland and clean–nothing to block the shots or draw focus or interfere with the action? Nothing that would make us notice the home and, in so doing, notice that it wasn’t our home and we weren’t in the scene.
Weigh in, if you would… and let me know if you know of a good cleaning person in Edmonton who doesn’t charge a million bucks an hour.
Hey, I said I was trying not to have unrealistic expectations. I didn’t say the sinks weren’t kinda grungy around the taps or that there weren’t dust bunnies under the computer desk. You know how it is.
Current Bedside Reading: Catherine Crier, Final Analysis: The Untold Story of the Susan Polk Murder Case
Commentary: You would think, if a guy really wanted to kill himself, that he could find a faster way than becoming a shrink, diddling a teenage patient, marrying her, and making her progressively crazier for decades until she finally got around to murdering him. But I guess some people will go to any lengths to have someone else do the deed for them.
My iPod Is Singing: “Bright as any city night.”

A few months back, I saw the much-maligned The Fourth Kind. I was fascinated the entire time, though not by the alien abduction plot (it was pretty familiar, except for one sort of ballsy little twist.)

What I found interesting was the film’s use of split screens showing the film’s reenactment of the “true” story on one half and “real footage” from home video cameras on the other.

It wasn’t that Unsolved Mysteries-style telling of the story that interested me, in itself. It was the… well, I guess the art direction, if you get right down to it.

For example, a number of scenes take place in a psychologist’s office. The film shows reenactments of some hypnosis sessions, alongside the psychologist’s video records of the sessions.

The offices are similar, in a number of ways, but not the same.

In the fake office, everything is beautiful. The room is huge and the furniture is set in the centre–plenty of room for cameras to move around. The two places where characters will sit are backed with attractive but non-distracting features, such as a fireplace. Soft light comes in through a pair of open windows.

Uh, open windows? In a shrink’s office, on the ground floor? Not to sound paranoid, but some psychologists’ patients ARE paranoid. They wouldn’t like that. Besides, are your sessions anyone else’s business? Your employer’s, for example?

But this is the fake movie office, and that’s kind of the point. When the split screen comes up, we see the real office. It has a lot of similarities, but it’s a real room. Imperfect. Not designed for filming.

It’s strange… I spend so much time looking at rooms on TV and movie screens that I forget how ridiculous they are. When I’m in IKEA (which is rarely. Get off me.), I notice where cords should be and aren’t, and what basic parts of a living home have been removed so as to make the space look tidy. I think about what would happen if my dogs spent ten minutes in that room. But I don’t tend to think about that when I see TV and movie rooms.

We’re all very aware that TV and movies show us unrealistic body types. We know that it can take hours to get a twenty second shot and that people spend hours in make-up before going anywhere near a camera. We know about body doubles. We know that actors have the time and money for personal trainers and surgery. And still we think (especially if we’re girl-people) that we should look that way.

How often do we look at the sets of a show or movie and think they aren’t realistic? I’m not talking about the Batcave or that prison where they keep Magneto. I’m talking about supposedly average living rooms. Do we stop and think, wow–you never see cords, or an outlet? You don’t, usually. You don’t see marks on the wall or plants with dead leaves or anything that isn’t utterly perfect. You do on reality television, so that’s something–but you don’t see a real mess even on shows where, come on, you know there’d be one. Big Love, for example. How many kids are running around those houses? And there’s not a single scuff on a single wall? I don’t care if Bill does own a hardware chain or if Nicki is a handiperson. They would not be able to keep up.

I was pleasantly surprised by the normalcy of the home in Paranormal Activity, though of course some bitchy movie reviewers who are shallower than the gloss on their lips just had to pipe up about the ugliness of the window treatments. How offensive, that a young couple should have $20 curtain rods from Home Depot instead of, I don’t know, carved ivory with panda-fur trim. And how appalling that they might not have had the services of a professional decorator.

I can see why the reviewers would expect that, though, because it is the standard. That’s what we’re used to seeing. Even the homes of characters who are supposed to be poor tend to be shabby in a tidy and coordinated way. Lucky Louie went the other way with their bare-bones set, making it worse than most people’s apartments, but even that exaggeration was far closer to the places where I used to babysit than is most of what I see on TV.

As a viewer and home owner, I’m disturbed by the realization that, while I’ve been trying to steel myself against the unrealistic demands on my physical self, I’ve been thoughtlessly absorbing the demands on my home. Not the obvious things, like fancy new cars every year and huge houses for everyone in New York. I know better than that. But the little things… the lack of clutter or dust or smears on the windows… those things have worked their way into my brain and made me look at my house in a way that probably isn’t fair to either my house or me.

As a writer, I’m curious about sets and their effect on the audience. Do we want to see perfect houses for the same reason that we supposedly want to see perfect bodies, which is that it’s a fantasy and an escape–maybe even a chance to project and pretend we’re something “better”? Or do we subconsciously want to see people whose homes are like (or better still, WORSE than!) our own?

Would it help us get into the stories to see realistic places onscreen? Or do we find it easier to get immersed in a story when the sets are bland and clean–nothing to block the shots or draw focus or interfere with the action? Nothing that would make us notice the home and, in so doing, notice that it wasn’t our home and we weren’t in the scene.

Weigh in, if you would… and let me know if you know of a good cleaning person in Edmonton who doesn’t charge a million bucks an hour.

Hey, I said I was trying not to have unrealistic expectations. I didn’t say the sinks weren’t kinda grungy around the taps or that there weren’t dust bunnies under the computer desk. You know how it is.

Current Bedside Reading: Catherine Crier, Final Analysis: The Untold Story of the Susan Polk Murder Case

Commentary: You would think, if a guy really wanted to kill himself, that he could find a faster way than becoming a shrink, diddling a teenage patient, marrying her, and making her progressively crazier for decades until she finally got around to murdering him. But I guess some people will go to any lengths to have someone else do the deed for them.

My iPod Is Singing: “There’ll be faerie lights, as bright as any city night.”

The Tramp Stamp Is A Limited Edition

A friend asked me a question and I don’t have the answer, so I thought I’d ask all of you.

She wants to know whether it’s okay to post the first chapter of her original novel (in progress) to her LiveJournal, using filters to restrict viewership.

Obviously she has every right to do this, as it is her own work and her LJ. Her question, if I understand it correctly, is about how potential publishers would view this.

It’s a fair question, because there is a sense in which posting something online is “publication” and publishers do ask if you’re submitting previously published material.

Whether she should worry about that or not is something about which I can only shrug and say, “Maybe?” Some publishers would care that something was previously posted on LJ. Others wouldn’t. It might bite you in the ass or it might never be a problem. Heck, a publisher might even find your work online and approach you, though I would put the likelyhood of that somewhere around the likelyhood of me accidentally shooting the ground in my front yard and releasing a bubblin’ crude.

Where I have absolutely no idea how to answer her question is in regard to filters, or friends-locking.

For those who don’t know, this is where you limit viewship of a blog post to pre-approved viewers. I believe you can do this by category (say, only other LJ users) or by individuals (these specific 12 people) If you’re not on the list of approved viewers, I don’t think you even see that the post in question exists. LJ users, can you confirm or deny this? I only use my LJ account to post on other people’s LJs, so I haven’t dug around in the guts too much.

Here’s the nub of it: are you “publishing” something when you post it to a filtered list?

If you post something on the internet under a filter, do you have an expectation of privacy? Has there been a test case about this of any kind?
 
If you’ve got some expectation of privacy, I don’t think it’s publishing anymore–it’s more like email.
 
I always tell my clients not to put anything on the net unless they’re prepared to share it with their customers, their worst enemies, and their moms. I don’t care if it’s friend-locked or behind a dinky little Javascript password. But that’s about keeping something confidential and not about what constitutes publication.
 
Does the fact that someone can open your mailbox and steal your mail or use a parabolic mic to listen in on your conversations mean that you have no expectation of privacy in your mail or your home?
 
I’m not sure that the fact that someone can steal stuff you’ve put behind a filter (and then post that stuff all over the net) means that you published that stuff, any more than you’d have published it if you mailed it to one friend and that friend photocopied it and posted it to telephone poles all over town.
 
Here’s another question–does it matter what size your viewership group is? If you post something under a filter to about 12 people, is that different from posting it to 100, or to allowing anyone with an LJ account access but blocking people who don’t have LJ accounts? My instinct is that 12 people or 100 people, that doesn’t matter. But letting in anyone with an LJ account, bearing in mind that such accounts are free and accessible to anyone… that might be different.

As long as I’m on this topic to begin with, I’m realizing that I don’t actually know what does and does not constitute publication. I get that a newspaper is published and my book is published and my blog is published. But what about a billboard? A Lost Dog notice on the grocery store bulletin board? A sign on my front lawn?

What if you get a tattoo on your forehead… or elsewhere? Would it matter where it was?

Also, when and how did we all decide that putting stuff online was publishing and not broadcasting? And, hey, if TV’s not going out over the airwaves anymore, is it really broadcasting?

There you go: a few simple little questions. Please, please, jump in with your thoughts.

Current Bedside Reading: F. Lee Bailey and Jean Rabe, When the Husband is the Suspect
Commentary: I get that some guys are magically charming and that some women just love them even when they’re being hideous jerks. Or because they’re being jerks. But, honestly, if you knew a guy who was talking about kicking his pregnant girlfriend in the stomach to cause a miscarriage, would your reaction be disappointment that he was getting serious with another girl? Some people… you can just see how their lives are gonna turn out.

My iPod Is Singing: “I am a flightless bird and there will be no more after me.”

You Probably Didn’t Know How Special Today Was

You won’t believe this, but I just read a project proposal in which someone used the word “comprise” correctly.

I’m still in shock.

I’m medicated. How are you?

I’ve got me a super-fun case of both bronchitis and sinusitis (two great infections that go great together!), so bear with me if I make no sense.
When your face feels as if it’s on fire and your head feels as if an elephant is stepping on it from the inside and your chest feels as if it’s a giant bruise that someone keeps hitting with steel wool, medicine tends to be on your mind.
As someone who’s written a fair number of ads, I’m fascinated by ads for medication–prescription medication, in particular. The requirement to list possible side effects makes most medication ads surreal, hilarious, or both. Placaudal will clear your skin, improve your Jeopardy game, and make both of your legs the same length. You won’t know how you lived before Placaudal. In fact, there’s not much point in living without it. Oh, but, some people do experience massive anal leakage. Your fecal matter may be washed out on a dark brown ocean of foulness, a thing that could happen anytime and anywhere. We recommend an adult diaper. And a backup diaper over that diaper. You just can’t be too careful. Now, enjoy a whole new life, with Placaudal!
Not long ago, a friend showed me a packet of Niacin that took a new approach to the side effects warning, and it’s one that the prescription drug people might want to emulate. The package described an invigourating tingling sensation that would make you feel refreshed and alive. That’s an interesting way of saying (to quote Wikipedia): “Pharmacological doses of niacin often lead to side-effects that can include dermatological complaints such as skin flushing and itching… The flush lasts for about 15 to 30 minutes, and is sometimes accompanied by a prickly or itching sensation, particularly in areas covered by clothing.”
Amazing work It’s not a bug! It’s a feature! Imagine if the makers of Placaudal followed that lead. Anal leakage could be called stool softening. Heck, people pay for stool softeners. You wouldn’t get insomnia from a drug anymore–it would be an energy booster. You wouldn’t get a rash–you’d have more colour in your cheeks. The drug doesn’t cause nausea–it’s a diet aid. Perspective is everything, isn’t it?
Current Bedside Reading: John Allen Paulos, Innumeracy: Mathematical Illiteracy and its Consequences
Commentary: Some mathematicians are lovely people. Some have plenty of friends. Others would have plenty of friends if they cared to make them, but prefer solitude, which is fine. And then there’s John Allen Paulos, who I believe spends most of his time with numbers because numbers are the only things that can stand him.
My iPod Is Singing: “What I had between the things I never tried was you reaching out.”

I’ve got me a super-fun case of both bronchitis and sinusitis (two great infections that go great together!), so bear with me if I make no sense.

When your face feels as if it’s on fire and your head feels as if an elephant is stepping on it from the inside and your chest feels as if it’s a giant bruise that someone keeps hitting with steel wool, medicine tends to be on your mind.

As someone who’s written a fair number of ads, I’m fascinated by ads for medication–prescription medication, in particular. The requirement to list possible side effects makes most medication ads surreal, hilarious, or both. Placaudal will clear your skin, improve your Jeopardy game, and make both of your legs the same length. You won’t know how you lived before Placaudal. In fact, there’s not much point in living without it. Oh, but, some people do experience massive anal leakage. Your fecal matter may be washed out on a dark brown ocean of foulness, a thing that could happen anytime and anywhere. We recommend an adult diaper. And a backup diaper over that diaper. You can’t be too careful. Now, enjoy a whole new life, with Placaudal!

Not long ago, a friend showed me a packet of Niacin that took a new approach to the side effects warning, and it’s one that the prescription drug people might want to emulate. The package described an invigourating tingling sensation that would make you feel refreshed and alive. That’s an interesting way of saying (to quote Wikipedia): “Pharmacological doses of niacin often lead to side-effects that can include dermatological complaints such as skin flushing and itching… The flush lasts for about 15 to 30 minutes, and is sometimes accompanied by a prickly or itching sensation, particularly in areas covered by clothing.”

Amazing work It’s not a bug! It’s a feature! Imagine if the makers of Placaudal followed that lead. Anal leakage could be called stool softening. Heck, people pay for stool softeners. You wouldn’t get insomnia from a drug anymore–it would be an energy booster. You wouldn’t get a rash–you’d have more colour in your cheeks. The drug doesn’t cause nausea–it’s a diet aid.

Perspective is everything, isn’t it?

Current Bedside Reading: John Allen Paulos, Innumeracy: Mathematical Illiteracy and its Consequences

Commentary: Some mathematicians are lovely people. Some have plenty of friends. Others would have plenty of friends if they cared to make them, but prefer solitude, which is fine. And then there’s John Allen Paulos, who I believe spends most of his time with numbers because numbers are the only things that can stand him.

My iPod Is Singing: “What I had between the things I never tried was you reaching out.”

Shut Up, Ken Caldeira

Shut Up, Ken Caldeira
I haven’t read Superfreakonomics (http://www.harpercollins.ca/books/9781554686087/Superfreakonomics/index.aspx) yet. I don’t know what, exactly, the book has to say about climate change. I do know, however, what climate scientist Ken Caldeira has to say about the book.
He says it misstated his position on climate change.
One of the co-authors says he sent a preview to Caldeira and asked him to review it.
Caldeira says he got the preview but did not read it. He further said, on climateprogress.org,
“”I feel no need to read, fact check, or make detailed comments on documents that arrive in my in-box. I have lots of other things to do, like trying to get my science out the door.”
Based on this, he feels the errors were not his responsibility.
Ken Caldeira, you are an ass. While it’s not necessarily your fault that the authors misunderstood or misinterpreted your statements, if you were sent a preview copy, saw it, and chose to ignore it, it is absolutely your fault that they misquoted you. Someone was gracious enough to send you a proof with the implied question, “Did I get this right?” You can’t refuse to answer that question and then bitch about the results, because silence is an implicit response: it’s fine by me. You said it was fine, Kenny. Any complaint you make now is a complaint about your own error in judgement.
And you have more important things to do, you say? I’m going to estimate the amount of time it would have taken for you to read one chapter of that book: an hour, at the most. I bet you spent at least an hour that week, in total, on the crapper. That might have been a good time to review the copy. I bet you also spent some time that week standing in front of a vending machine trying to choose between three potato chip flavours… or checking out links your friends sent you to sciencehumor.org… or picking your nose.
I’m not saying you have no right to recreation, but I am saying that you could, and should, have made time to check that chapter. Why? Because you did not have more important things to do.
Okay, maybe you had one or two things to do that were more important, but your own claim is that you’re trying to get your science out the door. Freakonomics has sold over four million copies to date, and there’s reason to think Superfreakonomics, its sequel, will do at least as well. Do you sincerely think you’re going to have a better chance than this to get your science out the door?
I’ll admit, you’re getting some attention now because of this controversy… but controversies don’t stay in the news forever, and that book will likely continue to sell and be read for many years. I believe your ideas would have been better served by being properly presented in the book.
Too late for that now, though, because you are an ass.
Current Bedside Reading: Eric Johnson and Karl-Heinz Reuband, What We Knew Terror, Mass Murder, and Everyday Life in Nazi Germany
Commentary: If I may sum up: “It depends.”
My iPod Is Singing: “There’s nothing sadder than sad, sad sex.”

I haven’t read Superfreakonomics yet. I don’t know what, exactly, the book has to say about climate change. I do know, however, what climate scientist Ken Caldeira has to say about the book.

He says it misstated his position on climate change.

One of the co-authors says he sent a preview to Caldeira and asked him to review it.

Caldeira says he got the preview but did not read it. He further said, on climateprogress.org,

“I feel no need to read, fact check, or make detailed comments on documents that arrive in my in-box. I have lots of other things to do, like trying to get my science out the door.”

Based on this, he feels the errors were not his responsibility.

Ken Caldeira, you are an ass. While it’s not necessarily your fault that the authors misunderstood or misinterpreted your statements, if you were sent a preview copy, saw it, and chose to ignore it, it is absolutely your fault that they misquoted you. Someone was gracious enough to send you a proof with the implied question, “Did I get this right?” You can’t refuse to answer that question and then bitch about the results, because silence is an implicit response: it’s fine by me. You said it was fine, Kenny. Any complaint you make now is a complaint about your own error in judgement.

And you have more important things to do, you say? I’m going to estimate the amount of time it would have taken for you to read one chapter of that book: an hour, at the most. I bet you spent at least an hour that week, in total, on the crapper. That might have been a good time to review the copy. I bet you also spent some time that week standing in front of a vending machine trying to choose between three potato chip flavours… or checking out links your friends sent you to sciencehumor.org… or picking your nose.

I’m not saying you have no right to recreation, but I am saying that you could, and should, have made time to check that chapter. Why? Because you did not have more important things to do.

Okay, maybe you had one or two things to do that were more important, but your own claim is that you’re trying to get your science out the door. Freakonomics has sold over four million copies to date, and there’s reason to think Superfreakonomics, its sequel, will do at least as well. Do you sincerely think you’re going to have a better chance than this to get your science out the door?

I’ll admit, you’re getting some attention now because of this controversy… but controversies don’t stay in the news forever, and that book will likely continue to sell and be read for many years. I believe your ideas would have been better served by being properly presented in the book.

Too late for that now, though, because you are an ass.

Current Bedside Reading: Eric Johnson and Karl-Heinz Reuband, What We Knew Terror, Mass Murder, and Everyday Life in Nazi Germany

Commentary: If I may sum up: “It depends.”

My iPod Is Singing: “There’s nothing sadder than sad, sad sex.”

There’s Sting, Looking For His Last Name In The Dip

Aaaaand we’re back. I hope everyone enjoyed the holidays. I could have made good use of another six to eight weeks of them, but that’s not how the cookie crumbled.
The DPCS and I have a game we like to play at Liquidation World. We call it “What Most Belongs Here?” We each search the store, while shopping, for the item that we think most obviously shows how it ended up in a liquidation outlet. Past winners have included Thirsty Dog (pop for dogs) and a picture frame that read “Mom, you’ve guided my life” along the top and “and I treasure them” along the bottom.
Here’s the winning object (http://www.gayleenfroese.com/lw.jpg) from our Boxing Day visit to the Saskatoon store. Simply malvelous.
I find this sort of thing interesting because I’m surprised anyone cares if a word on a pot is misspelled. I suspect it’s more upsetting to a potentially buyer as a red flag about quality control than as an unsightly error. I don’t think most people care about spelling, do they? They certainly don’t care about punctuation.
Oh, which reminds me. I may have to kill someone over this (http://www.gayleenfroese.com/lana.jpg). The only thing stopping me is that I don’t know for certain whether to blame the agency or the client. I know, you’re probably thinking that murder is unwarranted in this situation, but you don’t understand. There are a few of these things in my neighbourhood and I have to look at them. It’s not right. Justice must be done.
Please don’t tell me, by the way, that they’re making a pun of wears (as in, the woman in this photo wears Lana Lee) and where’s (as in, where can I get some of those overpriced rejects from the Jaclyn Smith K-Mart collection?). I understand that. What I’m saying is, what’s with the apostrophe? I have my suspicions about that fucker. Here’s how I picture the client meeting at which the billboard concept was unveiled:
Creative Director: So the billboard says “Wears Lana Lee.” Three words. Clean. Direct. Readable. Labeling the attractive yet identifiable model as someone who wears Lana Lee…
Account Exec:.. while opening the all-important question, where can I buy Lana Lee clothing so that I will look like the model?
Creative Director: Then leaving the question unanswered, to create mystery.
Account Exec: And to give your clothing the air of unattainability.
Client: It’s just what I wanted, only with 28 fewer words than I asked for… except, won’t people be confused?
Creative Director: Excuse me?
Client: Well, you won’t be there to explain it to people, so they won’t know that wears also means where’s. I think there should be an apostrophe.
Creative Director: ….
Account Exec: In wears, you mean? Between the r and the s?
Client: Right. Put an apostrophe there.
Account Exec: Wonderful! That takes it to a new level! *elbow nudge* Would you be interested in coming to work for us?
Creative Director: *sticks pen in eye, is taken to hospital*
Account Exec: Ewww…. that’s the fifth creative director to do that this year. It’s a shame, because we need someone to tell the graphic designer to make that change for you.
Client: I could make the change myself, in Paint.
Account Exec: Tremendous! You’re sure you don’t want to work for us, now? HA HA!
Fortunately, in this scenario, the client is eliminated later that day when he tries to open a billboard-sized art file in Paint and his computer decides instead to grow arms and beat him to death with the keyboard.
Getting back to Liquidation World and misspelled objects, it does seems that people are put off by screwed up words–when those words are in English. When they’re in other languages, they could be misspelled, blue, or part of an incantation that will cause the dead to walk among the living, and we don’t care. I gave my mom a shirt this Christmas that had words on it and the best we could do was identify the language as probably Italian(which differs from the definitely Italian dialect in its number of irregular verbs.)
She’s going to wear it, though, and is not concerned about what she may be saying to Italian-speakers, or whether she’s raising the Italian dead.
The Japanese are notorious for liking the look of foreign words and not caring about the meaning of those words, so it’s not just English-speakers running around in potentially catastrophic clothing. And yet, I bet Japanese buyers would be equally put off by their equivalent of the malvelous pot.
I suppose it’s a case of looking the other way–we’re bothered by an error that is obvious to us, but not by one we’d have to look up in a dictionary. Though, as a signifier of poor quality, a misspelled Italian word is presumably no different from a misspelled English one. Or maybe we’re worried about what our friends will think of our malvelous pot, and don’t think we have enough Italian-speaking friends that we need be concerned about what our shirt says.
What do you think? Do you wear or use products that bear words you don’t understand? Would you be worried about the overall quality of a pot with a misspelled English word on the side?
Also, do you know any Italian incarnations for raising the dead? Because my mom and I really can’t read her shirt, and now I’m starting to wonder.
Current Bedside Reading: Stewart P. Evans, The Ultimate Jack The Ripper Companion
Commentary: I need to go back to Victorian England and knock some heads together. What the hell, Scotland Yard? Again and again, this book presented actual case files that ended with something along these lines: “I checked that he worked where he said he worked and lived where he said he lived, and he does, so I let him go and won’t be looking into him further.” WHAT? Apparently you could kill anyone you liked in Victorian England, as long as you had a fixed address and a job, and the cops wouldn’t suspect you. The Green River Killer must be sorry he was born in the wrong time and place.
My iPod Is Singing: “One hippopotami cannot get on a bus, because one hippopotami is too hippopotamous.”

Aaaaand we’re back. I hope everyone enjoyed the holidays. I could have made good use of another six to eight weeks of them, but that’s not how the cookie crumbled.

The DPCS and I have a game we like to play at Liquidation World. We call it “What Most Belongs Here?” We each search the store, while shopping, for the item that we think most obviously shows how it ended up in a liquidation outlet. Past winners have included Thirsty Dog (pop for dogs) and a picture frame that read “Mom, you’ve guided my life” along the top and “and I treasure them” along the bottom.

Here’s the winning object from our Boxing Day visit to the Saskatoon store. Simply malvelous.

I find this sort of thing interesting because I’m surprised anyone cares if a word on a pot is misspelled. I suspect it’s more upsetting to a potential buyer as a red flag about quality control than as an unsightly error. I don’t think most people care about spelling, do they? They certainly don’t care about punctuation.

Oh, which reminds me. I may have to kill someone over this. The only thing stopping me is that I don’t know for certain whether to blame the agency or the client. I know, you’re probably thinking that murder is unwarranted in this situation, but you don’t understand. There are a few of these posters and billboards in my neighbourhood and I have to look at them. It’s not right. Justice must be done. Though, based on the odd blood-like stain on the poster I’ve photographed, it’s possible justice was already done by someone. To someone. It’s a beautiful day in my neighbourhood.

Please don’t tell me, by the way, that they’re making a pun of wears (as in, the woman in this photo wears Lana Lee) and where’s (as in, where can I get some of those overpriced rejects from the Jaclyn Smith K-Mart collection?). I understand that. What I’m saying is, what’s with the apostrophe? I have my suspicions about that fucker. Here’s how I picture the client meeting at which the billboard concept was unveiled:

Creative Director: So the billboard says “Wears Lana Lee.” Three words. Clean. Direct. Readable. Labeling the attractive yet identifiable model as someone who wears Lana Lee…

Account Exec:.. while opening the all-important question, where can I buy Lana Lee clothing so that I will look like the model?

Creative Director: Then leaving the question unanswered, to create mystery.

Account Exec: And to give your clothing the air of unattainability.

Client: It’s just what I wanted, only with 28 fewer words than I asked for… except, won’t people be confused?

Creative Director: Excuse me?

Client: Well, you won’t be there to explain it to people, so they won’t know that wears also means where’s. I think there should be one of those high up comma things.

Creative Director: ….

Account Exec: In wears, you mean? Between the r and the s? You’d like an apostrophe?

Client: Apostrophe, right. Put an apostrophe there.

Account Exec: Wonderful! That takes it to a new level! *elbow nudge* Would you be interested in coming to work for us?

Creative Director: *sticks pen in eye, is taken to hospital*

Account Exec: Ewww…. that’s the fifth creative director to do that this year. It’s a shame, because we need someone to tell the graphic designer to make that change for you.

Client: I could make the change myself, in Paint.

Account Exec: Tremendous! You’re sure you don’t want to work for us, now? HA HA!

Fortunately, in this scenario, the client is eliminated later that day when he tries to open a billboard-sized art file in Paint and his computer decides instead to grow arms and beat him to death with the keyboard.

Getting back to Liquidation World and misspelled objects, it does seems that people are put off by screwed up words–when those words are in English. When they’re in other languages, they could be misspelled, blue, or part of an incantation that will cause the dead to walk among the living, and we don’t care. I gave my mom a shirt this Christmas that had words on it and the best we could do was identify the language as probably Italian (which differs from the definitely Italian dialect in its number of irregular verbs.)

She’s going to wear it, though, and is not concerned about what she may be saying to Italian-speakers, or whether she’s raising the Italian dead.

The Japanese are notorious for liking the look of foreign words and not caring about the meaning of those words, so it’s not just English-speakers running around in potentially catastrophic clothing. And yet, I bet Japanese buyers would be equally put off by their equivalent of the malvelous pot.

I suppose it’s a case of looking the other way–we’re bothered by an error that is obvious to us, but not by one we’d have to look up in a dictionary. Though, as a signifier of poor quality, a misspelled Italian word is presumably no different from a misspelled English one. Or maybe we’re worried about what our friends will think of our malvelous pot, and don’t think we have enough Italian-speaking friends that we need be concerned about what our shirt says.

What do you think? Do you wear or use products that bear words you don’t understand? Would you be worried about the overall quality of a pot with a misspelled English word on the side?

Also, do you know any Italian incantations for raising the dead? Because my mom and I really can’t read her shirt, and now I’m starting to wonder.

Current Bedside Reading: Stewart P. Evans, The Ultimate Jack The Ripper Companion

Commentary: I need to go back to Victorian England and knock some heads together. What the hell, Scotland Yard? Again and again, this book presented actual case files that ended with something along these lines: “I checked that he worked where he said he worked and lived where he said he lived, and he does, so I let him go and won’t be looking into him further.” WHAT? Apparently you could kill anyone you liked in Victorian England, as long as you had a fixed address and a job, and the cops wouldn’t suspect you. The Green River Killer must be sorry he was born in the wrong time and place.

My iPod Is Singing:“One hippopotami cannot get on a bus, because one hippopotami is too hippopotamus.”

You WILL Submit

Drollerie Press in the States is looking for submissions for an anthology of short stories and poems. These pieces have to somehow combine traffic (by any definition) with magic. Drollerie is a very small publisher but, I think, an author-friendly one. They do quite a bit of ebook publishing, along with some print. This anthology will start as an ebook and may go to print.

Drollerie isn’t a vanity press and they do pay for work–in this case, through royalties. I don’t suspect anyone will make a bundle off this, but publication credits and networking can both be nice things.

There is no fee to submit.

Here’s what you need to know.

If you scroll down the page linked above, you’ll see they’re looking for submissions for a few other anthologies, as well.

The submission deadline for the traffic/magic anthology is February 28th, 2010.

My next regular blog post will be up on January 10th.

As A Matter Of Fact, I Do Own A Dress

I just don’t wear it unless I’m winning a reality TV show.

News From the 3-Day Site

The people at the 3-Day Novel Contest were kind enough to congratulate me on winning the Book Television reality show. Their lovely note is here.


The Mighty, Fallen

Remember when it was reasonable to defend a grammar or punctuation choice by saying,”The New York Times does it that way”?

No more, it seems. I found this in their health pages today:

“Here, six men and women speak about the up’s and down’s of living with migraines.”

Funny you should mention migraines. I’m feeling a distinct pain behind my eyes.