Fashion Math: When does 526 not equal 526?

I haven't been posting in the blog much lately, owing to a pressing deadline last week, another upcoming deadline in two weeks, and preparing for the holiday season. (Which in my family begins with Thanksgiving, an entire four-day weekend devoted to my two favorite sins, Gluttony and Sloth.) Being so busy might account for my pissy mood, but maybe it's because I haven't been venting my spleen on the blog. Lucky you! You're going to get a whole series of rants!

Today's rant concerns my most recent annoyance: stupid wracking-fracking-sacking women's clothing companies. I complained a couple of years ago about the frustrating phenomenon of vanity sizing, which makes it difficult to figure out what size to get when you're trying on clothes. I've lost 10-15 pounds since that original post, which is great, but it has made finding my size more difficult, as it's now the lowest women's size available in many stores. (I do not have junior hips, I gotta shop in misses.) When it comes to jeans, I have to try things on in different sizes, owing to cut, style, brand, etc. I was so happy when I found a jean that fit me perfectly, a Levi's 526 model. I got one pair of the single color they had in my size, and wished they had the other color, but oh well. When I returned to the store a couple months later, they now had corduroys in the 526 style. I tried them on, and they fit perfectly ... but they only had golden-brown, not the black I coveted, and of course the dark blue jeans still weren't available in my size. Grrrrr.

Then I saw a sign! Use our online kiosk for more colors and sizes! Shipping free! I toddled over and yes! Found the black! Found the oceana blue! Got them on sale, with a coupon, shipped right to my house! I was excited, until I tried them on. The black cords were great—fit just as perfectly as the others—but the dark blue jeans were a little tight. I washed them, thinking maybe the fabric was just stiff, but I ended up with a pair of jeans that went on like I was wearing a girdle. Dang, I thought, I got a bad one. Sometimes it happens, things get mis-sized or mislabeled. I would just have to go to the store, find my size, try it on, and then exchange.

I went to store number one. Of course, they didn't have my size in the dark blue jean. They didn't even have it in the light blue jean I already had. I went to the service counter with my sad story, and they offered to check the item with nearby branches. The one a couple miles south had not one but two in my size, so I thought I'd go try them on. At store number two, I grabbed both of my size, one in each color, and headed to the changing rooms. As I slid the dark blue ones over my legs, I got an uncomfortable feeling ... this time I could barely get the damn things around my hips, and forget about buttoning them! The light blue ones, however, fit perfectly. WTF? Being stubborn, I went out and got the next size up in the dark blue, along with two sizes of two other dark blue styles. Of course, the higher size of the 526 was too big in the waist (my usual hip-waist ratio problem), while the other models were cut differently and didn't fit in either size.

The other models not fitting doesn't bother me so much; of course different styles will have different cuts and different hip-waist ratios and other things which mean they won't fit me well, but some other woman will love them. But why oh why, dear Levi's, would you label two pairs of jeans with the same model number and not have them fit exactly the same? I could have understood it if there was a big difference between the cords and the denim, because the two fabrics have different weaves and give in different ways. But to have such a big difference between two pairs, both made of denim? I think you're deliberately trying to drive the American female crazy. At least, after chasing those stupid jeans around town, I feel crazy enough to throttle some fashion designer somewhere.

Knowing your genre, part two

Yesterday I began a very long, rant-y post inspired by reading Unnamed Book by Some Author, who claimed they didn't need to read any fantasy classics before attempting one of their own. Not only was I peeved that someone would blithely dismiss needing to know much about their genre, but I discovered a few flaws in Unnamed Book that might have been avoided had the author actually read a few fantasies. For instance, tending to let your world-building overwhelm the reader with confusing details. In this post I'm going to continue my rant, which includes a few more tips for the aspiring fantasy writer.

2) Make your magic clear and consistent: This is actually the cardinal rule for any fantasy: if your reader doesn't understand how magic works in your world, or if you change how it works midway through—using some kind of magus ex machina you pull out of your hat to rescue your characters at the last minute—your readers will feel cheated, and you will undermine your big magical payoff. Or, as in the case of Unnamed Book, your reader won't realize there was a big magical payoff. While one kind of magic was portrayed very clearly—dreamwalking—it was a relatively minor magic (in terms of power); when it came to the major magics—the earth-swallowing, impenetrable barrier-creating kind—I wasn't sure how it was done, who could do it, or how you could battle it. So when the heroes finally had their big battle against a major magic, I wasn't clear how they were battling it and what the effects were. I actually thought one of the characters had been left in a coma by the battle, when it turned out she'd only gone in a different direction from the hero. So I was left feeling confused, unmoved, and unimpressed.

On the other hand, consider Ursula K. LeGuin's classic Earthsea series. Her magic is simple yet powerful: learn the true names of things and you can learn to control them. It's a simple, understandable concept, yet she uses it build various magical confrontations that are clear to the reader. Because we understand how the magic works, these confrontations have more tension and more impact. Your magic doesn't have to be original—think of the Percy Jackson & the Olympians or Artemis Fowl series, which make great use of Greek mythology and Celtic fairy legends, respectively—but the reader should be able to understand it.

3) Be aware of character archetypes: this can be a really big pitfall, especially if you aren't straying far from the familiar in terms of plot. It can crop up in the work of the most devoted fantasy reader/writer, too; I remember reading the first volume of one bestselling series, written by an author who was a fantasy fan, and about two thirds of the way through saying, "This is Star Wars, but with dragons!" The further I read, the more character archetypes I could identify: farmboy with a talent (Luke), spunky princess (Leia), secretive mentor (Obi Wan), mercenary with a heart of gold (Han Solo), oppressive ruler with some strange connection to the farmboy (Darth Vader) ... I kept reading and kept drawing more parallels, because the plot was actually very close, and it got very distracting.*

Now, that wasn't the case for me with Unnamed Book. I thought aspects of the plot were original enough that it didn't remind me of anything else in particular. (Maybe I haven't read widely enough, for one reader review on Amazon did complain of plot similarities to another popular fantasy novel.) But the traditional fantasy archetypes were all there: the Fatherless Young Man trying to prove himself; the spunky Priestess/princess; the thief/mercenary with a heart of gold; the mentor keeping a secret. Of course the first two characters had a sparky love/hate thing going on throughout the book, so of course I knew they would end up together at the end. That's not a bad thing (that's why we love romantic comedies), but I guess I felt dissatisfied because I didn't feel like the characters grew beyond the archetypes. For example, a big part of the ongoing love-hate thing was because Princess tricked FYM into rescuing someone from a prison camp, and he had lingering resentment from her "betrayal." But if Princess knew anything about FYM, it would be that he had severe daddy issues, and all she needed to do was tell him that the someone in need of rescuing was his long-missing father, and he would have volunteered to go in without any trickery. Either ignore the archetype, or use it and grow beyond it, but don't use it and then ignore the major character attributes attached to it.

For a great way to rise above archetypes, just look at Lloyd Alexander's five-volume "Chronicles of Prydain," which I think I read 20 times by the time I graduated from high school. The series' main character Taran, the hero who goes on several quests, is introduced to us as an orphaned assistant pig-keeper. He encapsulates the FYM archetype perfectly: worried about his identity, striving to prove himself, overconfident and yet unsure, overly impressed by power and rank. Over the course of the series, however, Taran learns different values and grows into a young man who values ability over nobility and comes to see war not as a chance to prove himself, but something to be avoided. I can read his story for the umpteenth time, even as an adult, and it never fails to affect me.

Now you might point out that Some Author of Unnamed Book has only written the one fantasy, while many of the "right way" examples I used are fantasy series. Rowling had seven volumes to detail her world, and Alexander five to develop his archetype. So am I being unfair? I don't think so; after all, if you can't manage to make the first volume work, the less chance you have of getting the next ones published.

Rant is over. Now if you'll excuse me, I feel a nervous urge to go revising.

*This is not to say your fantasy plot has to be the most original thing in the world. I attended a talk by Philip Pullman, author of my favorite fantasy His Dark Materials, and he claimed there are only 10 basic plots in fiction, and all of them are variations of the "Holy Grail" quest. But still, follow the most famous space fantasy film of all time event by event, and people will notice.

Knowing your genre, part one

This entry is part book review, part writing advice, part rant. It was inspired by a request from a friend, who lent me a new fantasy novel she had purchased by an award-winning author whose previous work she had really enjoyed. She wanted my opinion because she found the book disappointing, but thought maybe it was because she wasn't a regular fantasy reader. I, on the other hand, devour fantasy novels like candy, so she was curious what kind of reaction I would have. I'm always open to suggestions, especially when the book offered is free of charge, so I took it home and stuck on the top of my admittedly huge and wobbly stack of "to-reads."

You'll notice I've scrupulously avoided mentioning the title of the book, or the author's name, and that's because Mom always said, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." (Maybe it wasn't my mom who said that, she's always been pretty outspoken, but I'm sure someone's mom said it once.) Sure, I have no compunction bad-mouthing Herman Melville or James Fenimore Cooper, but I'm pretty sure they don't subscribe to Google notifications when they're mentioned on the internet. And besides, half of the following rant isn't so much a review of the book as a response to something the author put on their bio page.

This is what set me off: a declaration to the effect that "Gee, everyone said I should read all the fantasy classics before I wrote one of my own, but I figured I only needed to know about the real world." Which is partially true; you do need to know about the real world and real people to write believable fantasy characters and stories that have relevance to today's readers. But the casual dismissal of needing to know anything about the genre you're trying for the first time really set my teeth on edge. (Doubly so, because the genre this author usually works in—children's/young adult—is so often dismissed by people who know nothing about it as "easy." What do you want to bet that at least once in this author's career, someone said something like, "How nice for you, children's books, they're short. I'd like to whip one out someday, if I have a couple of weeks.") Still, I began the first page with an open mind, as I've read enough good books by people switching genres to know it can be done.

And here's where the writing advice comes in. As I was reading, I noticed several flaws in the book that a more experienced reader of fantasy might have avoided. So here, culled from my decades as a dedicated fantasy reader, are some important rules to consider when you're writing fantasy:

1) Build your world, but don't overwhelm the reader: Everyone who's enjoyed a really good fantasy knows how much fun it is to submerge yourself in a completely different world. It's great when an author has so thoroughly envisioned their creation that they can make you believe it's real. It's not so great, as in Unnamed Book, when an author drops so many proper names into the first two chapters that you have to stop reading every few paragraphs to look at the map on the first page. It's not that I have anything against maps in fantasy novels; I've created a couple of my own, and it's nice to give the reader a general idea of the shape of your world. But if I have to repeatedly stop reading just to figure out what the hell you're talking about, you're giving me too much detail, too fast.

In contrast, look at how J. K. Rowling creates the world of the Harry Potter series. I've read she had notebooks and notebooks filled character names, family histories, spells, and other details of Harry's universe. Yet she doesn't overwhelm us with detail in this first chapter; we're introduced to Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall and Hagrid, and see two spells and one enchanted motorcycle. Even better, we are gradually shown Rowling's wizarding world through the eyes of a novice, Harry himself, so any confusion is part of building his character. By giving us just enough details to make the world real, Rowling tantalizes us and draws us in, rather than confusing us. This is good advice for writers of any kind of fiction, actually. Whether you've done historical research or just know what kind of lunch box your main character used in third grade, you have to remember that there's a difference—a huge difference, actually—between what you as the author need to know about your world and your characters, and what the reader needs to know.

I've realized this is going to be one huge-ass rant, so I'm splitting it into parts. Part two will probably come tomorrow, assuming I finish my work-work on time, and I'll enlighten you about using magic and character archetypes.

The Invisible Bicyclist

I've mentioned before that I love to ride my bicycle, even if my area isn't very encouraging to cyclists and biking. If I have an errand to the credit union, the book store, the craft store, or especially the library, I'll frequently get on my bike and pedal there. Today was an especially good day to bike to the library; not only is the weather beautiful, the road in front of the library is undergoing major construction and is down to one lane in some places. Why bother with the hassle of driving there when I could ride?

Now, I consider myself a fairly cautious rider. I always ride with my helmet and use hand signals. If the speed limit on a road is more than 30 mph, I ride on the sidewalk. I keep my eyes open and slow down when I cross driveways, because people are usually focused on the road, not the sidewalk. When I cross a road, I always wait for the signal, and if it's a major road I get off my bike and walk across. Sometimes people see me, slow down, and wait for me to cross an intersection/driveway before they turn in. Sometimes they blow by without even seeing me, chatting on their phone or staring at the road.

Today was the usual mix; I saw enough people completely ignore me that I had my usual morbid thoughts: geez, what if someone did hit me and I broke a leg? Could I get around? Could I teach class on crutches, or heaven forbid, in a wheelchair? I was feeling annoyed enough that I was thinking of posting on Facebook when I got home: "Diane wishes people would look at the crosswalk before plowing through intersections."

I was riding south on a major road (45 mph) and came to a red light at an intersection with a minor road (25 mph) leading into a sub. I stopped my bike just short of the road, so me and my bright blue bike would be visible to the traffic on the minor road. As their light turned yellow, someone pulled up to the light, right next to me. I waited for my walk light to turn, looked again to make sure the car was stopped, and proceeded into the intersection...

... whereupon the bastard pulled forward and ran me down! Luckily I saw him and jumped away from the bike, but he knocked the bike down and kept going enough to get one of my pedals caught under his bumper. He finally stopped, backed away from my bike (which I had to hold onto so it wasn't dragged by the pedal), and stopped to check on me. I was shocked and he was shocked, but luckily I hadn't been touched by the car. The bike's chain slipped off, but otherwise it was working fine, too. I told the guy no harm, no foul, and we went our separate ways. Among his apologies was "I've never done anything like this before." I nodded, but this was what I felt like saying:

IDIOT! It only takes the FIRST time!

I also felt like saying:

HEY MORON! It's called a CROSSWALK for a reason!

You're supposed to stop at the big fat line, FATHEAD!

Sigh. I've thought some more about it, and what I really wished I could say was something to all the distracted drivers who find me and my bright blue bike invisible: It only takes one time. Hmmmm, I think I feel a letter to the editor coming on....

The Lefty's Lament

I'll bet you didn't know I was part of a repressed minority. I have had to struggle my entire life, living in a world designed for the other 90% of people, and facing constant reminders that I was different. It's true: I am left-handed.

Now, I was fortunate enough to grow up in a time (the 1970s) when teachers didn't try to force me to write with my right hand, and since I come from a long line of lefties, my mom made me practice writing so I didn't develop that typical cramped lefty "curl." Still, I realized early on that the world wasn't exactly accommodating for us southpaws:

• I'm in elementary school, cutting out construction paper with the rest of the class, and even if I can manage to find the single pair of "left-handed" scissors* in the class bucket, the edges have invariably been ruined by someone using them right-handed, and they don't work. By the time I'm a teenager, I cut things out right-handed. (And I still do.)
• I'm eleven or twelve, experiencing the brave new world of LED digital technology, and my grandma gives me a really groovy gift for Christmas: a nice shiny metal pen with a digital clock at the tip. Of course, using it in my left hand means the clock reads upside down, so it's only accurate when it's 10:01 or 9:06 or 5:12.
• I'm forty-*coughcough* and TSU gets us a new iron. It has a really nice retractable cord to keep it neat, but there's a little problem: the cord exits out the right-hand side. Which is fine, if you like to iron right-handed:

See? Very convenient: the cord stays away from the iron, and you can tuck it away when you're done so there's less chance it hangs out and someone trips on it or the cat bats at it and the iron goes flying and bashes their little kitty heads or it sets the carpet on fire. Great engineering!

Except.

I.

Don't.

Iron.

Right-handed.

So this is what happens:

The cord comes out the right side and doubles back on itself. Whenever I lift the iron, I have to reach my right hand over my left and pick up the cord so it doesn't get trapped under the hot metal plate. Since I most often iron large pieces of fabric, or long seams, that's a lot of lifting and resetting. Now sure, if I ironed from the other side of the board it wouldn't be a problem (except I'd be trapped between the board and the wall with no room to move), but that's not the point. The point is that once again, whoever designed this household item had no idea that placing the cord on one side could pose a problem to anyone. Everybody irons with the same hand, don't they? Just like everybody signs with the right hand so we'll attach the pen on the right side.... Grrr.

Don't worry too much about my oppressed self, though. Studies show that lefties have an advantage when it comes to physical combat, so expect to find my left foot in your face if you try to attack me.

*if you don't understand what a major difference there is between left- and right-handed scissors, this video explains it's not just in the shape of the grip.

More science, please.

Something rare happened the other night: Boy and I looked at our TIVO list, saw the second part of a miniseries, and looked at each other and said, "delete this, right?" It's a rare thing, because I almost always will stick with a story to find out the ending, even if it's poorly written/acted/filmed. Sometimes it's even fun to watch something trashy, in that so-bad-it's-good way. Boy and I call these kinds of programs "Cheesy goodness," and apply that label most often to disaster movies.

Ah, disaster movies. We can't get enough of them. My excuse is that I'm a child of the '70s, and grew up in a time when disaster movies were enjoying unprecedented popularity. The Towering Inferno? Loved it. The Poseidon Adventure? Ate it up. Earthquake with Sensurround*? I still remember feeling the seats in the old Michigan Theater shake. Boy, of course, is a boy. When he was little, he was fascinated by disasters; destruction was even better than construction. We watched a lot of Discovery Channel; if there was a volcano/tornado/hurricane/earthquake/meteor strike, he was fascinated. There was a renaissance of sorts of the disaster movie in the late '90s, so we watched them all: Deep Impact, Armageddon, Volcano, Dante's Peak ... so cheesy, but such fun to watch all the destruction!

Television networks believe that summer is the best time to dump their cheesy disaster flicks, which often look like an episode of the Love Boat, with all the network's various series stars showing up to take parts. In 2004 NBC aired 10.5, about a super-duper killer earthquake, and followed that up two years later with a sequel, 10.5: Apocalypse. We wallowed in the cheesy goodness. It was stupid and totally predictable, but that was part of the fun.

So we were excited this summer when not one but two (because of course no television network comes up with anything original, or if they do they soon kill it) miniseries were scheduled to air about big space objects hitting the earth. The first one aired on ABC; called Impact, it featured a celestial object striking the moon, sending big chunks our way. It got a little out there when it turned out the object that hit the moon was a brown dwarf that made our gravity go crazy, but overall it was just as advertised: cheesy goodness. I'm willing to suspend disbelief quite a long way as long as I get lots of destruction, with scientists predictably saving the day.

Our first sign that NBC's earth-meets-space-object miniseries, Meteor, might not be up to even our low standards came in the very first shot: a large, rocky object sailing through the darkness of space, trailing gas and making whooshing noises. "Hey," Boy said, "that's dumb. There's no air to carry sound in space!" I snorted and kept watching the first pieces of meteor hit in California overnight. Things went boom! Yay! I kept watching, between increasingly ridiculous predicaments facing a various characters—a couple of which had nothing to do with the meteor—as over the next ten hours of story as all the meteor pieces kept hitting in the same town in California.

Okay, I'm willing to suspend disbelief to a certain point, but you're telling me the scriptwriters couldn't be bothered to incorporate what Copernicus discovered in the 16th century, that the earth revolves around the sun and rotates on its axis? (Thus meaning that any meteor fragments would be land at different points the earth, "traveling" like the sunrise.) By the time the ingenue scientist had survived running out of gas, having her mentor splatted by a van, encountering thugs who had taken over a police station and tried to rape her, and being imprisoned by border patrol, only to have the car taking her and her vital data to safety be struck by a meteor-ignited gas hauler, I'd had enough. If there isn't any science in your science fiction**/disaster flick, if you're going to treat me like I'm really that stupid, I can't be bothered.

Good thing Wipeout is on tonight; Boy and I will watch something mindless that doesn't insult us.

*Sensurround, aka souped-up subwoofers, was pioneered in Earthquake, actually winning the film an Oscar for best sound.
**Don't get me started on the atrocity that is Total Recall. I could rant for days on the errors in that film.

Busy busy busy

Too busy to write much of an entry today, at least. I've had something major going on the last three weekends (band concert, conference, AAU States), and tomorrow I'm volunteering at HSHV's Walk-n-Wag...

... wait a second, the phone's ringing ...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! [slams phone down, pounds head on desk]

Now, generally I'm a live-and-let-live kinda girl, not prone to wishing harm to anyone, but if I could send all telemarketers to a special fiery burning circle of hell right now, I WOULD DO IT!

It's almost worse since the institution of the No-Call list, because now everyone who calls thinks their "previous relationship" with you entitles them to be stubborn when you say no. If I say I don't want insurance for my credit card, let me hang up without the "But it's also this service...." If I say I don't need the extended warantee for my car, let me hang up without the "Yes, but...." If you ask for my husband and I tell you he's even more stubborn about saying no telemarketers, then don't ask me for a good time to call back, and don't keep calling me!

Worst are the charities, because then you feel a little guilty saying no. Still, I don't care if you're from the Fraternal Order of Police, or the Special Olympics, or if you're Mother frickin' Theresa herself, I don't do charity over the phone. And if I tell you that, don't keep going, "but we're not asking for donations..." I don't like being rude to people; I'm usually more pleasant to telemarketers than they deserve (in TSU's opinion), but I figure most of them are just trying to make a living. But if I politely say no, you should listen, let me hang up, and move to the next possibility. If you're not going to be considerate enough to let me say no politely, I'm going to hang up on you. And I'm not going to feel guilty about it, so THERE.

"I look a lot like Narcissus...."

Two girls and two guitars (or sometimes a mandolin and a banjo): it's a simple recipe, but it makes some awesome music. Last night TSU and I went to see the Indigo Girls in concert; they're one of our favorites, and we've been buying their CDs for the past 20 years. With that kind of experience, you can imagine that they put on a pretty good live show. Their music focuses on acoustic guitar and beautiful harmonies, and with just one additional musician (a keyboard/accordion player) they played some wonderful live versions of many of our favorites.

One thing I enjoy about the Indigo Girls is their very literate lyrics. They tell stories; they use all sorts of interesting imagery; they refer to writers like Virginia Woolf and historical figures like Galileo and the mythical character cited in this entry's title. So, a long-term acoustic duo with artsy lyrics: you might assume that the average age of the crowd skewed older, and you'd be right. You might also assume that the crowd would be well-behaved and polite.

There you'd be wrong.

Lately I've been hearing a lot about how this new millenial generation is self-absorbed and proud of it, raised to believe they are the center of the universe and thus don't need to consider the feelings of others. Well, the people sitting in front of us last night seemed bent on proving that 40 is the new 20, if their behavior were any indication. Let's just take inventory of the ways they demonstrated their rudeness—and note, all these happened during songs, not guitar changes or other breaks:

• talked LOUDLY through a soft song
• texted and surfed using their glowing phones (one time three of them in a row, like tic-tac-toe in front of me)
• passed a phone among six of them, so they could all read and giggle at a text message (twice)
• tried to put lipstick on their neighbor/tried to fight off lipstick from their neighbor (with much pushing and arm waving)/accepted lipstick from their neighbor with a big hug
• tried to give their neighbor a lollipop/tried to fight off lollipop from their neighbor (again with the pushing and arm waving)
• talked even more LOUDLY through not-so-soft songs

Of course, when one of their favorite songs came on they didn't just sing along, they shouted the lyrics to each other, like they were singing karaoke in a bad romantic comedy. Normally I don't mind if people are inspired to sing or clap or stand or dance; they're just enjoying the music. These idiots looked like they were performing for some non-existent camera, the star of their own reality show, perhaps. Maybe it wouldn't have been so annoying if they had seemed interested in listening to the rest of the songs. Just because it's not your favorite doesn't mean I don't want to hear it.

It got so bad that the woman sitting next to me, who seemed a rather quiet, shy type, finally exploded with a loud "SSHHHHH!" during one bout of chatter. I have to admit she beat me to it because I was still trying to figure out the snappiest way to suggest that some of us paid money to listen to the singing, not chat with our buddies. Though the tickets weren't exorbitant, by the time you add in all the facility fees and service charges it's a hefty chunk of change. Why would you buy a ticket if you're not going to enjoy the show? If you want to chat with your friends, go to a bar, spend the money on several drinks, and then people expect you to behave like morons.

Sigh. Other than that, it was a great concert. And I can take comfort in the fact that if there's a special circle in hell for rude concert/theatergoers, those jerks are all headed straight there.

The Word Nerd Wonders: Is rebranding like an STD?

Last week was long and stressful, so I spent much of yesterday doing odds and ends, surfing the internet and cleaning up more of my office.* I was browsing through some agent blogs when I came across this on the Swivet: cable's "Sci Fi Channel" is changing their name. To Syfy.

According to the network's president, they didn't want their name to imply that they limit themselves to just one genre. The new name, which is pronounced the same as "Sci Fi," is "a broader, more open and accessible and relatable and human-friendly brand." (To hell with the cyborg audience!) "It gives us a unique word and it gives us the opportunities to imbue it with the values and the perception that we want it to have," he said.

Well, you do your best to imbue it, Mr. Network Chief, but the switch is going communicate certain values and perceptions. First, that you think television viewers are scared by a name that contains abbreviations for Science—oh no! I might have to think!—and Fiction—that's like literature! save me! (On the other hand, that might explain their increasing reliance on pro wrestling and paranormal "reality" shows in their programming, while Battlestar Galactica, one of the best and deepest shows on TV, is coming to an end.) Second, that "Sci Fi" has too much of a niche audience to be successful. I particularly enjoyed this quote from a former Sci Fi executive:

“The name Sci Fi has been associated with geeks and dysfunctional, antisocial boys in their basements with video games and stuff like that, as opposed to the general public and the female audience in particular,” said TV historian Tim Brooks, who helped launch Sci Fi Channel when he worked at USA Network.

Mr. Brooks said that when people who say they don’t like science fiction enjoy a film like “Star Wars,” they don’t think it’s science fiction; they think it’s a good movie.

Gee, thanks for the stereotypes! I love sci fi, and yet I'm female, socially functional, and don't live in a basement. (Okay, I admit I'm a nerd, and maybe even a geek, but still....) And about that second statement ... let's just consider the top 10 all-time US box office films: Titanic; The Dark Knight; Star Wars; Shrek 2; ET; Star Wars I: The Phantom Menace; Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest; Spider-Man: Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith; and The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. Of those top 10 films, only one (Titanic) does not have any sci fi, fantasy, or comic book elements. It doesn't seem to me like general audiences are afraid of sci fi. Maybe he hit it on the head with the "good movie" requirement, though. When most of your original programming consists of gems like Mansquito, you probably do need a good rebranding.

Whatever. But I think a worse, second problem awaits your new name. You obviously didn't consider the dictionary when you picked your creative spelling. If you look at the nine columns in Webster's of words that start with the letters "sy-," you'll notice all but a couple obscure ones** are pronounced with a short i. Sycamore. Syllable. Sympathy. Syncopate. Synonym. System. And my favorite (because I'm a science nerd), syzygy.***

So, Mr. Television Honcho, what is going to happen when all those new viewers you want to attract see your new name? They're going to think it sounds like "siffy." Will they think of the one word that begins with s-i-f, sift? No, my bet is they're going to think of the one word that begins with s-y-f-sound. That's right. Your shiny new network name is going to make people think of syphilis.

Well, they do say that p0rn does well during an economic downturn. Good luck with your new shows, like Battlestar Erotica, Stargate-S&M1, and co-ed p0rn wrestling. But I won't be coming out of my basement to watch.

*I mean to finish today or tomorrow, really I do.
**these include sycee, an ancient Chinese coin; sycosis, a crusty inflammation of hair follicles (ew!); and syenite, an igneous rock mainly made of feldspar.
***syzygy: the nearly straight-line configuration of three celestial bodies in a gravitational system, like our sun, moon, and the Earth during an eclipse.

There's no pleasing some people....

It's January and football season is almost over {sob}, so of course I'm going to talk about baseball. I wouldn't call myself a rabid baseball fan, but I enjoy attending games and I usually keep up with what the Tigers are doing. The year of their last championship, 1984, I attended around a dozen games in person, and still remember watching Jack Morris throw a no-hitter on TV. I'm not obsessed with statistics, but I do like looking at numbers and thinking about historical debates. So I consider myself more than a casual fan, and thus just as qualified as any other internet geek to comment on the recent Hall of Fame induction of Rickey Henderson.

Now, as long as I can remember following baseball, I can remember Rickey Henderson. He began playing in 1979 and soon became known for his base-stealing ability. I liked watching him, not only for his amazing speed, but because he always looked like he was having fun out there. He played until he was 44 (he couldn't have needed the money, with over $40 mil in career salary), and even spent part of the 2001 season in the minors, hoping to come back to the Big Leagues. That year, when he was just a year younger than I am now, he played 123 games for the Padres and stole 25 bases.

If you look at his career statistics, they're amazing: #1 all-time in stolen bases (1,406) and runs scored (2,295). Second all-time in walks (2,190), 21st in hits (3,055); he had some power to go along with his speed, too, for his 297 home runs rank in the top 125 all-time. His 81 leadoff homers are baseball's all-time best, too. He was no slouch in the field, winning a Gold Glove, and won the AL MVP in 1990. He was a 10-time All-Star and, of course, holds the single-season records for stolen bases (130).

So it was no surprise that Henderson made it into the Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility. He needed 75% of the vote from the Baseball Writers' Association of America, and got 94.8%, or 511 of 539 possible votes. Which made me wonder: what were those other 28 people thinking? Henderson was a bit outspoken (often confusingly so), but there's no taint of scandal surrounding him. If baseball's all-time leader in stolen bases and runs isn't a no-brainer for the Hall of Fame, what is? What else do they need to see?

"I'm sorry, Rickey, but I don't vote on the first date."
"I'm sorry, Rickey, but your teams only went 2-of-3 in the World Series."
"I'm sorry, Rickey, but you didn't prevent the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake."
"I'm sorry, Rickey, but I can't vote for anyone with an unnecessary 'e' in his name."

I guess some folks just can't be satisfied.

Vanity, thy name is Retail!

I suppose I should be writing some kind of year-end summary, or talking about my hopes for the new year, but I don't believe in New Year's Resolutions. If you're going to decide to do something, you should decide to do it any time of the year. (And then, if you're like me, put it off for the next few months. Procrastination: it isn't just for New Year's!)

No, I feel like griping, and a recent trip to the after-holiday sales gave me just the subject: that strange phenomenon known as "vanity sizing." If you're a woman and you've been shopping more than a few years, I'm sure you've experienced this strange transformation in women's sizes. Sizes have gradually gotten smaller and smaller as American women have grown larger and larger. Twenty years ago, when I was fifteen pounds lighter, I usually wore a size 10 trouser. Occasionally I might find an 8 that fit, and one really nice pair of pants I bought was a 6, but I was pretty sure: I was a size 10. Several years passed, and extra pounds accumulated here and there, but strangely enough, I was still a size 10. Until a few years ago, when half the 10s I tried on became too loose. Okay, that's fine. So now I'm a 10-maybe-8; it's a guessing game deciding what size of what brand to take into the fitting room, but I found a few favorite brands and that made it easier.

Well, last weekend I headed for a different department store than usual, and saw some nice cords on sale. I picked up an 8 and a 10 and headed for the dressing room. I swam in the 10s; fine, 8 it is. When I tried them on, though, the waist was still kinda loose. Really, the next size down wouldn't be right, would it? They wouldn't have gotten that silly; it was probably just the cut of the trouser. (I often have problems with waistlines, as the "here and there" those pounds travel to is usually my big butt.) So I changed back into my clothes, found a size 6, and went back into the fitting room. And what do you know? They fit, and rather easily.

Come on, is this really a size 6 butt? I think not.

What really irritates me, besides the constant guessing and the traipsing back and forth between rack and fitting room, is the idea that I'll think, "Omigod! I fit into a size 6! I must buy these pants!"* Half the places I shop never have sufficient fitting rooms anyway, so my shopping experience usually includes puzzling over sizes, waiting in line, not finding the right fit, heading back to the rack, and then waiting some more. Are retailers hoping I'll be so exasperated by the second go-round that I'll just buy the last thing I try on, no matter how it fits?

It would be so much simpler if women's pants were sized like men's: waist and inseam, measured in inches so that the sizes don't change. When I go shopping with TSU, we know exactly what to look for (although we rarely find it, since he is apparently abnormally fit for the mature American male). No wasting time in the dressing room trying three sizes of the same item for the men! Although on second thought, I think I'll pass on wearing my waist size on a label on my waistband, like they put with men's jeans. I'll just look forward to wearing a size 0 in 2035, when I'm twenty pounds heavier than I am today.

*Because really, the thought process is more, "Omigod! Dark purple fuzzy corduroys! They're so fuzzy! And so purple! I must have them!"

My secret boyfriend...

Hey, ladies, you know we all have one. You know, that special man that we see every day (or week, or year), up on the movie or television screen. That one guy that is just so perfect that even your husband wouldn't mind if you ran away with him. (Okay, the husband might mind because who would make dinner and change the cat box if you ran away, but he's a practical guy, so he doesn't worry about the miniscule chance you will ever meet your secret boyfriend, let alone get close enough to run away with him. Men are no fun—except my secret boyfriend, he would understand.) Oh, if only he could meet me, my secret boyfriend would tell me I am perfect just the way I am and give me my own luxury home filled with kittens and a maid to clean all the litter boxes.

And how do I know a certain someone is my secret boyfriend? Well, not only is he cute, he's intelligent and funny. And sometimes, it's like he's actually reading my mind:

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Autoerotic Explanation

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

Merry Chicken to All!

Yes, 'tis the season to get seriously annoyed by the endless ads and promotions extolling that the holidays are coming! Better spend your money now! From the decorations that appeared in stores the day after Halloween, to the radio stations that switch to all holiday music all the time (in November!), we can't escape having Christmas stuffed down our throats.

I protest. And I've finally decided to do something about it.

This brainstorm came to me last week, after sitting through a dinner in a restaurant and being tortured by a weird combination of Top 40 hits and Christmas standards. I'm not going to use the word Christmas until it's appropriate.* Instead, I'm going to substitute something that I actually like having stuffed down my throat: Chicken. So when radio stations want to play holiday music in early November, I will sing along:

"I'm dreaming of a white chicken ..."
"Have a holly, jolly chicken!"
"I'll be home for chicken..."
"It's beginning to look a lot like chicken!"
"Have yourself a merry little chicken..."
"There'll be a bluuuuue chicken without youuuu..."
"Feliz pollo y prospero año de felicidad!"

Unfortunately, "The Chicken Song" made famous by Nat King Cole is about "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire," not chickens ... but I could make an exception. Anyway, I encourage you all to indulge in a little silliness with me this chicken season. After all, is it any sillier to say, "Merry Chicken!" than it is to sing about Christmas in November?

Finally, Clio would like to add her own, "Bah, humbug!" for the Chicken Season:

*That would be about two weeks before actual Christmas. And yes, I know that's today, but shouldn't my rants suffer from the same procrastination as everything else I do?

Random Rants

The cold has frozen my brain, so I find myself unable to think of anything clever to write about. I'm feeling irritated, and unable to overlook the little things that annoy me, so I'm going to inflict them on you.

#1 rant: my neighbor's ugly car, which they have parked directly behind my driveway so that I have to be extra careful every time I back out into the street. I saw you had a "For Sale" sign on that white, rusting, crappy Jeep earlier this summer, and I bet no one wanted it because it doesn't work. At least, I haven't seen any sign you've even moved it from that spot across my driveway since August. I mean, I know the economy sucks, and you probably want to get something out of your junky car, but it's not going to look or work any better by keeping it out on the street to block my way and make the neighborhood look trashy.

#2 rant: people who volunteer to help out and then never show up. Okay, I understand people are busy. Maybe you thought you had more time when you first volunteered. But you can't even be bothered to send an e-mail or phone call to let me know you can't help? I can understand having to say no. But not even bothering with the courtesy of letting me know, so I can adjust my plans—that's just rude.

#3 rant: clueless drivers. Sure, this is a constant, so it's not even really worthy of rant space. But really, going 35 in a 55 mph zone? I don't care if you're lost, you're not being safe when you go that much under the speed limit. This is the probably the same guy who pulls out in front of me and fails to accelerate, when he could have waited 10 seconds and had no traffic behind me to impede his putzing car. This is probably also the same guy who creeps through the green left turn light, ensuring only one car of the ten lined up behind him can follow. Grrr.

#4 rant: TEENAGED BOYS. They're obnoxious and they argue too much and I'm going to stop doing their laundry and cooking their dinners and then we'll see who's won the argument!

The Word Nerd Wonders: What did you just call that?

So I'm driving down the freeway this weekend, admiring the fall foliage and feeling grateful I only have to deal with Sunday morning traffic, when I see a sign:

OUTRIGGERS GRILL

Hmm, I think. Sounds like a sports bar, maybe; it's attached to a hotel, so they're trying to get a manly crowd in to eat hot wings and drink beer, increase their customer base outside of hotel guests. "Outrigger" certainly sounds manly, and outdoorsy. I mean, it's OUTside of something, that's manly. And all those Gs: outriGGGrrrrs, GGrrrill, that sure sounds manly, doesn't it?

Wait a minute, my word nerd lobe interjects. Isn't an "outrigger" one of those stabilizing thingies you find on certain kind of boats? I ask TSU, who's my expert on all things naval, and he says yes, you find them on those old Hawaiian/Samoan canoes that traveled the Pacific in olden times. Great. Now I have a mental picture:


So now I'm wondering, how do you grill on that? I mean, it's not big enough for a real manly grill; I don't even think you could fit a hibachi. (TSU replies: those boats were designed for the long haul, they had to cook the food somehow. I countered that even if there was room in the canoe, I didn't think you could manage a grill with all that pitching and rolling on the ocean.)

So I'm getting a totally mixed message from this bar's name.* It's manly, outdoors, and full of GRRRR! It's tough enough to sail the ocean alone in a small canoe! It's too small to cook a really good side of ribs! Oh well. I should have learned by now not to expect businesses to use words that actually make sense.

*To be fair, I actually looked up the place, and if I were 20 years younger and inclined to go out to bars, I might check them out for their live music.

The Word Nerd Sez: D is for ...

disoriented

Okay, I know this isn't really a weird word. And no, I'm not inspired by enduring a whole month of short sleep, which does leave me feeling a bit blurry in the morning. No, I picked "disoriented" because I feel like ranting. Maybe it's the nonstop political ads, which make me feel like shouting at the TV. Or it could be the aforementioned short sleep, which makes me grumpy. (I started writing this before 8:30, and I've already been awake for over two hours. That's just not right.)

Anyway: ranting about disoriented. Or rather, ranting about the variant that drives me crazy: disorientated. It may be in Webster's, and it may be the preferred variant in Britain, but to me it sounds pretentious, sticking an extra syllable in there to make the word sound longer and thus fancier. Really now, five syllables wasn't enough for you? You think six will make you sound more intellectual? That must mean "societal" is a smarter word than "social," because it has two more syllables. (Never mind that if you look up "societal" in Webster's, its definition is "social.") There are those people who think that adding extra syllables to words makes them sound smarter. Politicians are particularly guilty of this*, bulking up their words in order to sound more knowledgeable (or to hide their meaning). Our esteemed president is one such example, which is how he ends up with ten pages of results when you Google "Bush malaprop."

I believe people who use extra syllables to try to sound smarter are taking the wrong approach. If you refer to that essential classic on writing, Strunk and White's The Elements of Style, you'll see one of their rules is "omit needless words." This doesn't mean sentences have to be short, the authors argue, only that "every word should tell." Extra words obscure meaning; so can extra syllables, I would suggest.

So please, D is for "disoriented," not "disorientated" or "disorientationed" or any such nonsense.

*One exception: someone please please please give Sarah Palin a "g" to stick on the end of her gerunds. I haven't heard someone drop so many "g"s since the last time I heard John Madden call a football game, with all its runnin' and passin' and tacklin'.

I love to ride my bicycle...

... I love to ride my bike! I love to ride my bicycle, I love to ride it where I like! (Thanks to the immortal Freddie Mercury.)

My favorite place to ride my bicycle is the Canton Public Library, which is not only a great library, it actually has a bike rack where I can park and lock my bike. You'd think with all the emphasis lately on healthy lifestyles, reducing fuel use, and saving the planet, that there would be more encouragement for people who want to ride bikes or walk to various public facilities and shops in Canton. After all, it's not a huge, sprawling metropolis. Most everything you could want is off a two-mile stretch of Ford Road; a few things might be a mile north or south, but there are many destinations within a quick bike ride. The bank? Less than a mile away. The bookstore? A little over a mile (and thank goodness we finally have one!). The post office? About a mile. The craft store? About a half mile. I've even ridden my bike to visit the doctor's office, about two miles away. But do any of those places have a bike rack where a conscientious, bike-loving shopper could park their bike? Noooooo.

It makes me quite cranky. Strip malls are the worst offenders, because not only do they not have bike racks, the building supports are too big for my chain lock to fit around. I've had to resort to locking my bike around trees or parking signs. (Actually, I take a perverse pleasure in locking my bike to a "No Parking" sign.) This doesn't always work very well, especially if the only signs are in the middle of the parking lot, or if the tree is on unstable landscaping that makes my bike keep tipping over. I can't image a bike rack is that expensive of an investment for strip mall management, and I keep asking every time I ride my bike to a shop, and I keep being disappointed. (Actually, I'm not being entirely fair. Meijer and Target do have bike racks, but I don't shop there that often.) Then there's dealing with drivers who don't understand the concept of crosswalks (they're not for you, dolts!), and construction that blocks the sidewalks (I don't ride on roads with 45 mph speed limits).

And don't get me started on pedestrian impediments. (But then, why not. I'm in full rant mode. Blame the ridiculous 7 am starting time for high school.) There is a strip mall not two blocks from my house. If it was a straight line, it would only be about nine houses away from me. It's got a whole neighborhood that backs onto it. I frequently walk there to pick up pizza, or visit the video store, or pick up the dry cleaning, as could literally hundreds of residents within a two block radius. And yet, there is no pedestrian entry into the strip mall! For me to pick up my pizza, I have to either enter the driveway, or cross the berm and then the parking lot. I'm just flabbergasted that no one during the design process, not the builder, or the township planners, stopped to say, "Hey, maybe people will want to walk into this place. Maybe we should build a sidewalk or crosswalk."

Grrrr. I think I need another bike ride today just to calm down.

Oh say, why can't I N-B-See?

Luckily for my sleep habits and the fast-approaching school year, the Olympics are over. No more staying up til midnight waiting for gymnastics scores or rain-delayed beach volleyball finals. All the spectacle and pageantry are over, and it was a great two weeks of sport. You'd have to be a total grumpus not to be thrilled by Michael Phelps's eight golds and Usain Bolt's sprinting records, or to be moved by the stories of the South African amputee who competed in the open-water swim, or the 33-year-old gymnast who moved from Uzbekistan to Germany to get cancer treatment for her son, and won a medal against competition half her age. The Olympics are full of great stories like these.

However.

I am still quite displeased with much of NBC-Universal's coverage of the games. I understand that gymnastics, swimming, and track score high ratings, and that's why they get the main focus of the prime-time coverage. And this year satellite users actually got a button that took them to a menu where they could choose from several channels that had coverage (something only eight years behind, and vastly inferior to, technology that the BBC used in Sydney). And yet, with all those channels, I didn't see a single taekwondo match on the air. And this, after the Today show showed profiles of the Lopez family, who are the first three siblings to all medal at the same Olympic games.

Apparently, NBC has time to show four replays of every dive in preliminary competition, and a dozen replays of Bolt or Phelps, but not even one two-minute round of a TKD medal match? They weren't even pretending this year to show most events live, so they couldn't edit the competition to give us a little more breadth of coverage? On Saturday afternoon, they figured people would rather watch table tennis, rhythmic gymnastics*, and synchronized swimming** for three hours than see a single, 6-minute TKD match. Why? It wasn't because Americans were challenging for medals in those events, because they weren't. What world are the NBC producers living in? Certainly not the one where mixed martial arts shows draw high ratings and pay-per-view audiences, or the one where 1600 competitors of all ages (and both sexes) competed at a national TKD tournament not two months ago. Sure, TKD bouts on an Olympic level can be a bit slow, because the competitors are so good, but it can't be any worse than the Olympic boxing match I saw last week where the competitors grabbed and held and threw each other to the ground instead of actually throwing punches.

NBC seems totally oblivious to this, as shown in their coverage of the athletes during the Closing Ceremonies. They showed the Lopez family again, saying they medalled, but I had no idea what medals they actually earned, since NBC didn't show them. Then they focused on Bryan Clay, the American gold medalist in the decathlon, traditionally called the "the world's greatest athlete." The announcer said he seemed to be overshadowed in these games by athletes like Phelps and Bolt, and I shouted "DUH!" at the televison, for NBC blew off the first day of decathlon competition, moving it from primetime to late night, and then devoted about two minutes to each of Clay's second-day events before showing the entirety of the last event, the 1500 meter run. But that night they showed most of the marathon live, because there's nothing as exciting as watching guys run through streets for two hours. (Hey, it was LIVE!)

So I guess I'm going to have to wait another four years to see world-class TKD on the television***. Maybe by London 2012 I can get digitally broadcast CBC, or BBC America will offer their own coverage. Or maybe NBC will give us real choice through satellite coverage. You never know, it could happen.

* I'm sure the ladies of rhythmic gymnastics work hard, but to me their "sport" looks like something better suited to the circus, not the Olympics. There's virtually no tumbling, so it's more like dance than gymnastics. (Don't get me started on the idea going around about adding Ballroom Dancing as an Olympic event.)
** And just to be totally inconsistent, I hate it when people make fun of synchro. I actually did this for a year in junior high, and it's very tough.
*** And also "Team Handball." I want to see this because I have no idea how it works. I'm envisioning a dozen guys on a squash-sized handball court. Do they tag team? Take turns hitting the ball? My mind boggles.

Our system sucks: A nonpartisan political rant

I'm really looking forward to going to family fishing camp in a couple of weeks, but there's quite a bit to be done in preparation. Besides packing, figuring out what menu items to bring, and arranging a cat-sitter, I have to fill out my absentee ballot for the August primary. I've been thinking about the races quite a bit (it's hard not to when signs crowd the lawns and verges everywhere in town), and was planning to do the usual research, checking out the LWV website for candidate information, as well as several newspaper editorials. I take voting seriously, and haven't missed a primary or election since we returned from living abroad.

So I'd been cogitating over the various races, giving it some real thought, when I saw something on the ballot that brought my civic enthusiasm to a full halt: "Partisan Section: VOTE ONLY 1 SECTION."

Okay, so I get the "pick-one-party rule" when you're choosing a presidential candidate (although don't get me started on the disenfranchising mess that was Michigan's presidential primary this year). You want people to choose the candidate they want, not try to sabotage the other party's race. And since there's only one race, whichever route you decide to go, at least your voice is being heard.

This is not what's happening in August, however. And here's how our two-party system sucks: for the most part, it's weighted toward one party or the other, depending on how a district is gerrymandered, so there's no real choice in November. For instance, I live in Wayne County, Michigan, which also holds the city of Detroit. As a result, county government officials are almost uniformly Democratic, so picking the winner of the Democratic primary is where my vote counts the most. (In some instances, there is no Republican candidate, so it's the only time my vote counts.) My Congressional district is also gerrymandered Republican, so it's hard to get a decent Democratic opponent, and I'd definitely like a say in that as well.

Unfortunately, I also live in a township that swings Republican. Almost all our township officials are Republican, so my vote counts the most when I pick the candidates in the Republican primary. (In some races, only one Democrat is running unopposed.) Unfortunately, my official ballot says I have to choose: in which races do I want to have a real say? Township or County? Because according to our system, I can only pick one. And that sucks.