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things found
Jun. 5th, 2009 07:41 am1. In 2005, I went to England and gave a paper at a massive conference sponsored by the (British) Tolkien Society. (My paper was titled "Hobbit Names Aren't From Kentucky," and if it never occurred to you to think they were, then you don't need to read my paper.) All us contributors were told that our papers would be published in the conference proceedings.
Three years go by. During this time I shrug off several inquiries as to where and when my paper will be published. I don't know any more than the inquirers do. Finally, the Proceedings are published. The two-volume set is large and expensive, and no mention is made of contributors' copies.
I write and inquire, politely. After an interval just long enough to suggest that it was used to hastily assemble a plan, an e-mail announcement is sent out that, while the Society cannot afford to send hard copies to the contributors, it will send the entire text on a CD-ROM. Next month.
After three months, I write again and inquire. Still most politely. Sorry, we didn't get around to mailing it. Next month. After another three months ...
Skipping a couple more iterations, it arrived yesterday. And it's fascinating, full of all kinds of interesting stuff.
Only one problem, and that with formatting of my paper. This contained several paragraphs which I indented on both margins, as they consisted entirely of long single quotations. They are here printed flush margins, as if I were claiming authorship.
Other papers in the collection have properly indented quotation paragraphs. And this is the second time, from different publishers, that this error has happened in published papers of mine. (Though in other cases it's come out just fine.) I had the paragraphs indented in both the electronic copy I submitted, and the hard check copy. What am I doing wrong?
2. The first season of Mad Men, on DVD from the library. This drama mini-series centering on a Madison Avenue ad agency of 1960 does not, as I'd expected, focus on the soul-deadening process of spending your life promoting other peoples' ideas; the point seems to be that life can be deadening enough without it. B's summary is, "The men are creeps and the women are sluts." As the show's peculiar theme music - a descending stepwise cadence in the minor mode - suggests, it's all about existential despair. The staff at the agency occasionally get some work done, but mostly they sit around their offices exuding angst. It's a wonder they get paid for this. The period color is close to what I can almost remember - if anything, the men's bland narrow ties are not quite bland and narrow enough - and the first couple episodes have some brilliant satire contrasting the period with ours, but later on the scripts lose their way. At the start of the penultimate episode someone blows a whistle and says, "OK, from here on in, everybody act unbelievably and out of character!"
I was pleased at seeing the number of Whedonverse alumni who've found gainful employment in the cast. Vincent Kartheiser, cursed as the useless Connor on Angel, gets to whine more effectively here as a slimy young exec on the make. Christina Hendricks, fondly remembered as YoSaffBridge on Firefly, is the bitchy chief secretary with the hair piled on top of her head. You won't recognize her at first, but once you do she's unmistakable. And D'Hoffryn (Andy Umberger) is reincarnated as a psychoanalyst, a skill he could have used managing demons on Buffy. (ETA: Come to think of it, it would be existential to the point of hilarity if the psychoanalyst said dismissively to his patient, "This is no concern of ours. You will live out your mortal life and die.")
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wild_irises kindly returned from Wiscon with a hunk of sharp cheddar for me from the farmer's market. Most places you find cheese, cheddar that's been aged six months is considered really old and very sharp. Not in Wisconsin. I dream of this stuff, and regret at not being able to go this year and get some for myself prompted the offer. This piece is ten years old. (And they come higher than that, but the prices go up accordingly.) Cheddar of this age has a texture - crumbly and even crunchy - and a taste - a rich, deep tang - unlike any other cheese I've ever had. And now some is mine. Yes, my precious.
Three years go by. During this time I shrug off several inquiries as to where and when my paper will be published. I don't know any more than the inquirers do. Finally, the Proceedings are published. The two-volume set is large and expensive, and no mention is made of contributors' copies.
I write and inquire, politely. After an interval just long enough to suggest that it was used to hastily assemble a plan, an e-mail announcement is sent out that, while the Society cannot afford to send hard copies to the contributors, it will send the entire text on a CD-ROM. Next month.
After three months, I write again and inquire. Still most politely. Sorry, we didn't get around to mailing it. Next month. After another three months ...
Skipping a couple more iterations, it arrived yesterday. And it's fascinating, full of all kinds of interesting stuff.
Only one problem, and that with formatting of my paper. This contained several paragraphs which I indented on both margins, as they consisted entirely of long single quotations. They are here printed flush margins, as if I were claiming authorship.
Other papers in the collection have properly indented quotation paragraphs. And this is the second time, from different publishers, that this error has happened in published papers of mine. (Though in other cases it's come out just fine.) I had the paragraphs indented in both the electronic copy I submitted, and the hard check copy. What am I doing wrong?
2. The first season of Mad Men, on DVD from the library. This drama mini-series centering on a Madison Avenue ad agency of 1960 does not, as I'd expected, focus on the soul-deadening process of spending your life promoting other peoples' ideas; the point seems to be that life can be deadening enough without it. B's summary is, "The men are creeps and the women are sluts." As the show's peculiar theme music - a descending stepwise cadence in the minor mode - suggests, it's all about existential despair. The staff at the agency occasionally get some work done, but mostly they sit around their offices exuding angst. It's a wonder they get paid for this. The period color is close to what I can almost remember - if anything, the men's bland narrow ties are not quite bland and narrow enough - and the first couple episodes have some brilliant satire contrasting the period with ours, but later on the scripts lose their way. At the start of the penultimate episode someone blows a whistle and says, "OK, from here on in, everybody act unbelievably and out of character!"
I was pleased at seeing the number of Whedonverse alumni who've found gainful employment in the cast. Vincent Kartheiser, cursed as the useless Connor on Angel, gets to whine more effectively here as a slimy young exec on the make. Christina Hendricks, fondly remembered as YoSaffBridge on Firefly, is the bitchy chief secretary with the hair piled on top of her head. You won't recognize her at first, but once you do she's unmistakable. And D'Hoffryn (Andy Umberger) is reincarnated as a psychoanalyst, a skill he could have used managing demons on Buffy. (ETA: Come to think of it, it would be existential to the point of hilarity if the psychoanalyst said dismissively to his patient, "This is no concern of ours. You will live out your mortal life and die.")
3.
wild_irises kindly returned from Wiscon with a hunk of sharp cheddar for me from the farmer's market. Most places you find cheese, cheddar that's been aged six months is considered really old and very sharp. Not in Wisconsin. I dream of this stuff, and regret at not being able to go this year and get some for myself prompted the offer. This piece is ten years old. (And they come higher than that, but the prices go up accordingly.) Cheddar of this age has a texture - crumbly and even crunchy - and a taste - a rich, deep tang - unlike any other cheese I've ever had. And now some is mine. Yes, my precious.
