Mootday

Once I spent some time at a place where it was part of the routine to fill out forms. One of the routine forms was a log that recorded a couple of daily events. Running down one side of the form was a column of boxes labeled “date.” Once every few weeks we'd get to the bottom of one form and start afresh with another. Someone would usually fill out all of the dates in the appropriate column. One day I noticed that one of my colleagues had done this task. “8/28, 8/29, 8/30, 8/31, 8/32, 9/1, 9/2 . . .,” it now read.

I wondered about this. Was there a day I was missing out on? I couldn't remember having ever worked on August 32. Was there a holiday I was missing out on? I turned to the World Wide Interweb to see what I could find out. Turns out I had been missing something. There was a book about August 32. There was a movie. It is of some importance to the music industry. But there is not a lot of information about the glorious 32nd of August.

It seems to be a relatively blank page on the calendar. Before someone comes along and makes it a workday or a national day of remembrance or some such unpleasant thing, someone should claim August 32 as a holiday. As the foremost authority available, the task has fallen to me.

I declare August 32 to be Mootday. Mootday shall have no significance. No work shall be done on Mootday as it wouldn't matter if it did, so why bother? Take it easy, engage in theoretical discussions, have a drink, sit in a park, listen to birds, and just have a reasonably pleasant time.

Mark your calendars now. Happy Mootday.

Protecting The Public From Books

Bibliophile Bullpen's aching head nearly explodes after seeing this report about how the Brooklyn Public Library has locked up a book in a vault so that it cannot contaminate the public with its dangerous words and pictures.

I suppose we should redefine librarians as our protectors. The new librarians will stand on the thin black and white line that separates the public from dangerous literature. They will keep us safe from disturbing thoughts, offensive ideas, and unpleasant images. Welcome, my friends, to the twenty-first century.

As I read the article it occurred to me that it must get pretty warm in that vault on a hot day like today. I imagine that the temperature gets troublingly close to 451 degrees Fahrenheit.

A Haunted House

Christopher Golden is a nice guy. I've met him a couple of times and he is always decent, friendly, graceful, interesting, and an all around good person to hang with. He's also a good guy to read if you like horror and dark fantasy. When I read his first novel, Of Saints and Shadows, I thought it was pretty good. Not great. Flawed, but lots of fun. In time he grew as a writer. Later novels like The Ferryman and Strangewood blew me away. He's probably better known for the many media tie-in books he's written, but the fact is the dude can write.

Wildwood Road is . . . well, it's a ghost story, sort of. A haunted house story, sort of. It starts with a guy driving his wife home from a party. She has, uncharacteristically, had a little too much to drink and is asleep in the backseat. It's late and his eyelids are getting heavy. As he drives through the dark and twisty country road he sees, at the last moment, a little girl in his path. He barely misses her. Being a nice guy he stops. The little angel is out in the middle of nowhere, probably lost. He gives her a ride home, which is farther than he expected and around a lot more twists and turns. She directs him to a dark, creepy old house. She says thank you and bye and leaves. He follows, just to make sure everything is okay. It's pretty late at night after all. The house seems to be run down. He knocks. No answer. He steps in. No one to be seen. But there are sounds. And there are smells. He hears the laughter and footsteps of children. He gets confused. His experience in the house is strange and dreamlike, then frightening. He hears the little girl's voice. “Come find me,” she says.

After this everything changes. Golden give us believable characters that we like and care about, then he puts them though the ringer. He injects a powerful element of creepiness into their comfortable suburban lives. This is a scary story, but not so much because of the supernatural elements. I usually don't find supernatural horror to be all that frightening because goblins don't really exist. The boogyman isn't much of a threat in our all too frightening real world. Wildwood Road is truly disturbing. What is threatened here is more than a bite on the neck, a trip to heck, or mere death. What is at stake here is the very nature of ourselves, our minds, memory, sanity, and cognition. This is more than a little spooky.

So this is a recommendation and a warning. Read Wildwood Road if you want a good horror story, but know that you may find it to be, well, haunting.

The Power of Quantum Flux

Interesting article about how a writer used a literary device to improve his science fiction novel. I think I might try something like this next time I get a spot of writer's block.

Note: a variation on this technique could also work for the fantasy genre.

Trivial Hoot Five

In our last occasional installment I asked where you might find a certain list of supplies. It didn't take David long to crack that one. It was, in fact, the inventory of a survival kit in a B-52 flying into the Soviet Union in the 1964 classic Dr. Stangelove. It was read off by Slim Pickens who played the unforgettable Major Kong. David is now an official double-certified smart person and gets a double hoot from yours truly.

This is going to be a tough one. It's another in our series of visual-historical questions. Take a look at this rather ornate sarcophagus.


Quite a thing isn't it? You may want to click to embiggen. This is the final resting place of a famous dead person. The question is, who?

CNR Kicks Blank

I can personally verify that every statement made in this video is the simple, unadorned truth. The man was all that and a bag of chips.
via: Bits and Pieces

I Now Possess Complete World Knowledge

Faithful readers of the weblog know that I recently read a book that compiled fictional diseases. This, while very informative, was hardly adequate. What I sought was a volume that would provide me with complete world knowledge, a compendium of the most important and useful facts possible, facts that are entirely made up. Where could I turn for such a thing? I immediately thought of the guy who plays the PC in those Mac vs. PC commercials. He looked like a fellow who might just be able to create an almanac of invented facts that would satisfy my requirement. I was, needless to say, correct.

When John Hodgman isn't shilling for Apple Corporation he is busy as a noted wordsmith, correspondent for the Daily Show, and all around witty person. He has, for the benefit of you and me, brought together a remarkable collection of knowledge in the areas of his expertise that he has titled, appropriately, The Areas of My Expertise. The areas that he refers to is, of course, complete world knowledge of facts that are his invention. I can say, without hesitation, that John Hodgman is the world's leading authority on facts made up by John Hodgman. It is for this reason that I recommend this book on the subject and no other.

Why, you may ask, would you want to learn facts that are wholly fictional? Would you not be better off learning facts that are, in fact, factual? Don't be foolish. Factual facts are boring, pedantic, pedestrian things. Fictional facts are scintillating, interesting, and other attractive adjectives. A standard almanac can tell you when the moon will be in its various phases. Mr. Hodgman can tell you how these phases will affect different types of were-beings. A standard book on deportment might tell you how much to tip a bellman, but this book can tell you how much to tip the hotel phrenologist. Milady's Standard textbook may help you get through barber college, but wouldn't you rather learn about discredited hair styles like the Napoleon Hat or the Spitting Cobra. Of course you'd like to learn the dark secrets of professional actuaries. The revealed history of hobos will open your eyes to a history that has existed too long in the shadows. And I think any reader would benefit from the book's collection of interesting information about our fifty-one states.

Here are two facts that are not made up: John Hodgman is an extraordinarily amusing writer, and I just put the sequel to this book on my very long to-be-read list.