Escaping the Trunk

I watch a lot of tutorials online. I find they really calm me down before I try to sleep. I had a feeling that this one would be an instant favourite the moment it appeared in the related content navbar, but wow. David Lynch teaching me how to cook? I’m so there.

This is only the first part of the tutorial. The second part is here. Apparently, Lynch released them as part of a promotional campaign for Inland Empire. What I really enjoy about the twenty-minute tutorial in total is that it not only teaches you how to make quinoa, but Lynch tells a story while he’s waiting for it to plump up. He tells it just like you imagine he would, only better, and the whole scene reminds me a little bit of David Carradine preparing a sandwich at the end of Kill Bill, only real and therefore scarier.

Also, I find it completely adorable that Lynch compensates for his cigarette smoking with whole foods. Whatever he’s doing, it works — he’s probably around 63 in this clip, but you’d never know.

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From Food

I’ve been on break from school for a while. I wish I could say that I did something truly amazing with my time, but I mostly focused on watching Twin Peaks, doing yoga, and finally figuring out how to make brown rice properly on a stovetop. There are a lot of ways to do this, but I seem to finally have discovered the method that works for me. The secret is washing the rice. Over and over. Three times, at least. You drop the rice in a bowl, run cold water over it, then polish it between your fingers like Ebenezer Scrooge counting the last of the day’s shillings on a cold December afternoon. When the water becomes cloudy, use your hand like a sieve and tip the bowl over, draining out the water between your fingers without losing too many grains. Lather, rinse, repeat. You are finished when the water runs clear. It’s slow, but it works. For one cup of rice, I use 1 1/4 cup water. I bring it to a boil, then lower the heat to the lowest possible setting, and do my best to wait patiently. It’s hard not to open up the pot and meddle with the process. But nothing destroys rice faster than over-attention; too much stirring and you have risotto instead of sushi.

This break I’ve also finally learned how to sear a perfectly moist chicken breast, and how to make the right macaroni and cheese. (I love macaroni and cheese. Without those crucial bits of butter and milk during my growing years, I’d have wound up even shorter. But now I make mine with broccoli, Worcestershire sauce, and my all-important Calphalon saucepan.) Nothing fancy, just techniques that make things easier later. It feels good, getting these small things right.

I also received Peter and Caitlin’s notes on the novel. I suspect that they had several “spare the rod, spoil the child” discussions before giving me those notes. For two people who approach their craft from such different points, they wound up agreeing on a number of issues. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I have a plan. I’m thinking of the story as a story again, and not a checklist, and remembering what made me want to write it in the first place. All the decisions I was loath to make earlier on are much easier and clearer, now, and it feels good to have it under my hands, polishing it, clarifying it.

It’s there when I go to sleep and it’s still there when I wake up. I missed it.

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Avatar: The Last Airbender is that rare animal: American-produced anime faithful to both its Japanese cinematic influences and its pervasive Chinese iconography. A vast amount of research was invested in bringing a fantasy Asian environment to life: martial arts master Sifu Kisu choreographed each fight and assigned specific fighting forms to each character; a Chinese calligraphy consultant wrote the signage that appeared in each episode, and the series’ creators visited China to study its traditional architecture. These elements create an enticing mash-up of genuine Asian signifiers within a fictional environment. The series’ popularity encouraged a live-action film adaptation from director M. Night Shyamalan. Fan controversy erupted when white actors were cast in roles previously “played” by characters with dark skin. Protests against this act of “racebending” included T-shirts and bumper stickers with the slogan Aang Ain’t White!, the founding of Racebending.com, and a renewed discussion among online fans about the long cinematic history of whitewashing and yellowface

This issue aims to investigate the cultural significance of A:tLA as a transforming and transformative text. Like the Avatar, A:tLA and its settings and characters have many incarnations online, on television, on film, and in print. Likewise, the definitions of anime, cartoons, Asia, and race have been bent by fans and producers alike. A:tLA is part of the ongoing transformation of American media in a global context. We welcome contributions focusing on Asian Studies; media theory and film studies; religious studies and anthropology; postcolonial and queer readings of the series, the films, and the fan works they have inspired; reviews of both canon and fanon texts; interviews with both canon and fanon producers; and reviews of relevant texts, whatever form they might take.

TWC accommodates academic articles of varying scope as well as other forms that embrace the technical possibilities of the Web and test the limits of the genre of academic writing. Contributors are encouraged to include embedded links, images, and videos or to propose submissions in alternative formats: interviews, collaborations, podcasts, comics, drawings, video, multimedia works.

Theory: Often interdisciplinary essays with a conceptual focus and a theoretical frame that offer expansive interventions in the field. Peer review. Length: 5,000-8,000 words plus a 100-250-word abstract.

Praxis: Analyses of particular cases that may apply a specific theory or framework to an artifact; explicate fan practice or formations; or perform a detailed reading of a text. Peer review. Length: 4,000-7,000 words plus a 100-250-word abstract.

Symposium: Short pieces that provide insight into current developments and debates. Editorial review. Length: 1,500-2,500 words

DUE DATES: OCTOBER 2011 (Theory, Praxis) & NOVEMBER 2011 (Symposium)

Please visit Transformative Works & Cultures for instructions on how to submit your manuscripts! If you have further questions, contact me with “A:tLA” in the subject heading.

This post is brought to you in memory of Lena Horne, an enormously talented woman of mixed race (and one of my grandmother’s favourite performers) who once saw her role go to a white actress thanks to MGM’s racist hiring practises. Rest in peace, Ms. Horne: the fight continues.

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I post a paragraph, and you tell me which novel it’s from.

When he left the aircraft with the other passengers he had resigned himself to the notorious purgatory of the US Health, Immigration and Customs machinery. At least an hour, he thought, of overheated, drab-green rooms smelling of last year’s air and stale sweat and guilt and fear that hangs round all frontiers, fear of those closed doors marked PRIVATE that hide the careful men, the files, the teleprinters chattering urgently to Washington, to the Bureau of Narcotics, Counter Espionage, the Treasury, the FBI.

Potent stuff, man. Could be the latest book to hit Jon Stewart’s nightstand, could be a far-future SF depiction of the American border hellscape, could be pulp, could be the intro to a good cop/bad cop smut scene. One thing holds true: it’s amazingly prescient, and therefore depressing. Any guesses?

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Say it with me now: “Avatar is not the Second Coming of Christ.”

Granted, other viewers have articulated this same sentiment from a variety of angles. Peter liked the film as an experience but not as a story, and Scalzi explains why that experience works. And both Charlie Jane Anders and Annalee Newitz have mined the film from a post-colonial perspective. And still, I see thread after thread of comments declaring the film as the best of the year, the best of the decade, the best of Cameron’s efforts, blah, blah, blah.

Bitch, please. This movie is like that hot cheerleader you always wanted to date: very pretty, very cheerful, very sincere, but not exactly marriage material. You’d hook your bio-USB up to it once, maybe twice, maybe when you’re feeling lonely or bored. But that’s it.

Thankfully, Rob Beschizza has asked a more important question than whether the film is good or bad: What storytelling risks could Avatar have taken?

Because while there is something poetic about using new technology to tell an old story, I don’t think excellence in technical innovation is a pass for lacklustre narrative. There are stretches of Cameron’s film where the story is just plain boring. You don’t notice it right away, because there are a lot of colours and depth and semi-nude blue people and Sygourney Weaver doing her best Susan Calvin impression, but at the end you’re left wondering why the story’s inherent tensions weren’t exploited for their best possible effect. Spoilers below.
Read the rest of this entry »

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I’m going away to finish this book. I have a lot of work to do. Luckily, as of this morning I feel energized to do it. For too long I had been languishing, fretting, freaking. Then I spent yesterday with a rather large cephalopod watching Fullmetal Alchemist. (Because that’s our life: we write and read all day and then break for eight-hour marathon viewings of good anime. It’s a good life. A great life. I suspect what people want when they want to write is not the signings and promotions and cons, but this kind of life.) As I was describing the series as a whole (we got through a quarter, yesterday) I said: “Really, this story is about two kids who make a really bad mistake and find out that they can’t rectify it. They can’t fix it. They can’t get back to normal. And every movement the story makes is about proving that, and proving how powerful our mistakes can make us.”

And then I realized I was describing my novel.

Sometime this afternoon, I’m going to get into a car with my best friend and head up toward lake country. With any luck, we’ll get horribly lost — those times make the best stories. But eventually we’ll find our way, and there will be food waiting for us, and friends, and a hell of a lot of work. And then we’ll come home to the city, and there will be people who love us and support us and whose breathing puts us to sleep every night. This is our life (and it’s ending one minute at a time) and it’s the best goddamn life anyone could ask for. I’m grateful every day. I know how lucky I am. I know how little, in some ways, that I deserve it.

It just gives me all the more reason to rock my shit.

So here’s to long trips, wherever they may take us. Fuck normal. Get lost. Make mistakes. Whistle past the graveyard. Just get started.

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I am blogging this dish because I want to remember it. And also because you should make it. Tomorrow.

Inspiration for this dish came from the pears and cranberries which colour it and lend it sweetness. They showed up in my (university-organized!) CSA box, and I had no idea what to do with them. Mike and his partner Lorna suggested a chutney. Dave said I should stuff a chicken with them. In the end, I wussed out and reached for something easy: my slow cooker.

You can thank me later.

Autumnal Pork Tenderloin

• 1 TB olive oil
• 1/2 onion, sliced into rings
• 4 small potatoes, sliced into rounds (I will use more next time, or substitute 2 long sweet potatoes)
• 1 pork tenderloin (standard size; I chose the pre-packaged type)
• 2 carrots, skinned and chopped
• 2 stalks celery, chopped
• 1 thumb fresh ginger, skinned and chopped into matchsticks
• 3 pears, skinned and sliced
• 2-3 handfuls cranberries (your hands are most likely bigger than mine, so two is probably fine)
• 1 tsp sugar
• 1 tsp five-spice powder
• 1/4 cup sake (or white wine)
• 2 TB soy sauce
• 2 TB mirin (or sweet sherry or even Calvados; it’s your dish)
• 1 TB raw apple cider vinegar
• 1 TB honey
• 1/2 cup brown rice, uncooked

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This movie has everything:

• Nosebleeds
• Onsen
• Pop-art aliens/toys/avatars/Kami-knows-what
• TEENAGE RELATIONSHIPS FRAUGHT WITH ANGST
• Character designs by Yoshiyuki Sadamoto
• A plot the studio doesn’t want us to know about

I can’t think of a better antidote to the summer heat than walking into a chilly movie theatre and watching this with your current crush. Damn it, Tokyo, why you gotta be so far away?

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With the exception of Squid, everyone I know has put up their Anticipation schedules up, already. So I guess that means it’s my turn:

When: Fri 10:00
Location: P-524C
Title: How to get what you want out of a local workshop
Session ID: 763
All Participants: Alexander Jablokov, Madeline Ashby, Steven Popkes,
Eileen Gunn
Moderator: Alexander Jablokov
Description: Verterans of local workshops talk about what to look for
in a local group. Should it be a critique group? A creative group? Can
you be friends and hang out together?
Duration: 1:00 hrs:min
Language: English
Track: Creative Writing

When: Fri 12:00
Location: P-510C
Title: Manga for Kids
Session ID: 291
All Participants: Madeline Ashby, Michelle M. Sagara, Jus de Pomme
Moderator: Me
Description: We’ll discuss Japanese comic books most kids 12 & under
will enjoy.
Duration: 1:00 hrs:min
Language: Bilingual
Track: Kids Programming

When: Fri 15:30
Location: P-524C
Title: SF in Animation and Anime
Session ID: 173
All Participants: Ada G. Palmer, Madeline Ashby, Marc Schirmeister,
Mark Irwin, Michaele Jordan, Josianne Morel, Alain Jetté
Moderator: Me
Description: What’s essential viewing? What are the classics? Can
animation and anime bring new enthusiasts into fandom?
Duration: 1:30 hrs:min
Language: English

When: Fri 21:00
Location: P-511A
Title: Cecil Street Irregulars; A Canadian Writers’ Group
Session ID: 761
All Participants: Cory Doctorow, Douglas Smith, Karl Schroeder,
Madeline Ashby, Michael Skeet, David Nickle, Jill Snider Lum, Sara
Simmons (and Allan Weiss, and Peter Watts, and anyone else I feel like bringing onstage)
Moderator: Me
Description: The Cecil Street Irregulars writers’ workshop is not its
official name; it does not meet irregularly, nor does it meet on or
anywhere near Cecil Street. It is, however, one of the longest-lived
of current writers groups. Collectively the current and former members
have published numerous novels, short stories, plays and poems; all
continue to insist (at least publicly) that they look forward to the
regular experience of having their work sand-blasted by their
fellows.
Duration: 1:00 hrs:min
Language: English
Track: Creative Writing

When: Sun 17:00
Location: P-510C
Title: Avatar Fan Club for Kids
Session ID: 321
All Participants: Cynthia Huckle, Madeline Ashby, Nora K. Jemisin,
Sharon Lee
Moderator: Cynthia Huckle
Description: This American-made anime from Nickelodeon was a big hit.
Why? What’s in store for the future? And what kind of bender would you
like to be?
Duration: 1:00 hrs:min
Language: English
Track: Kids Programming

I’m excited. I also had no idea until this moment how many panels I would be moderating. Or that one of them would be bilingual. Luckily I do in fact speak some French. Not a lot, just a little. Enough to read from a prepared statement about how lacklustre my French is, and ask for assistance from the audience. Perhaps I should just start rambling in Japanese and confuse everyone equally. In any case, please do say hello. If you don’t see me right away try glancing downward; I’m very short.

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Further to Mr. Stross’ point about the future collapsing wave-like into the present, this evening I used Google Video Chat to talk to Boston for free, at which point my interlocutor said, slowly drawing his spoon free of his mouth, “You know, every day, we’re waking up in the world we read about in books as children.”

“That’s true, we are.”

“I want to cover this wall in screens. I want to talk to everyone in those screens.”

“Like The Family,” I said, referencing Bradbury.

“I mean, I carry my life with me in this little piece of metal. Everything’s there.”

“Hey, at least you haven’t implanted something that’s bound to leak out inside you,” I said, referencing Gibson.

“…That’s what she said.”

(This is exactly why we’re friends. That right there. Well, that, and a bunch of other things. But you get the gist.) 

But it does make me think — depending on how many little windows there are, I could organize dinner parties across time zones. I could have my boys with me again, from Seattle to New York and all points in between. The interface is that simple. My camera and mic are that good. I’d just have to make sure that my meal was relatively un-messy, so as to avoid strategically-crippling spills. The more I think about this, the more desperately I want it, especially as American Thanksgiving draws near. 

Where was this feature on election night?

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