Isis, et al

I'd been hearing for a while that Isis was an interesting band--prog-metal with weird sci fi/fantasy overtones, cold and multilayered, a bit like Tool circa Sober and Aenima. So I checked it out, and ended up "picking up" Panopticon and Wavering Radiant (the first choice, weirdly enough, spurred by a Fandom Secret which called it "the scariest album I've ever heard!"--and while I wouldn't go that far, it's still pretty good). Of the two, however, I find I much prefer Wavering Radiant, whose internal narrative--told in oblique, poetic snatches of imagery--reminds me of those interlocking dreams I used to have about dead empires and buried cities, alien races destroying each other, old gods and older monsters. Gotta love the 'Net, man.;)

In other news, like I said in the comments of yesterday(?)'s entry, "[Anasazi]" is finally done with. 12,606 words total, which definitely puts it in the realm of complete short story fail; oh well. Today I polish it a bit, then send it where it's bound, and find out if it'll suit their purposes. I do worry a bit about it being "too" sci fi for them, even though it strikes me personally as far more horror with sci fi tropes. OTOH, the main character is indeed very firmly gay, which was another of the key points of the exercise.

In more happy news, even after turning down "Signal to Noise", Apex has agreed to reprint "each thing", which'll be good--I like the idea of it getting even more exposure, both for my own and Steve's sake, on the verge of that new award nomination, particularly since we've definitely topped out on our travel quota for this year and thus won't be able to attend the ceremony in person. So I need to proof their file of that, send them a bio, etc., and also send the award people an apology/acceptance speech email, just in case.

Another sexy interesting thing that happened yesterday is that our washing machine overflowed, necessitating Steve renting a steam-cleaner and spending the afternoon sucking water out of our carpeting. The stain's still there, but drying out "fairly" quickly (ie, it'll be at least a few more days). However, I do think it's probably exhaling some sort of underpad-based funk up into the air, making my eyes burn a tad as I sit here. I've spent twenty years so far thinking I was just allergic to wood-mould, as well as ham and pineapple in combination, but heigh-ho, that may have started to change--I get much the same sensation while crossing freshly-cut lawns, these days, or sitting near rotten stumps. The pleasures of maturity!

Okay, that's about that. I need to input my newest notes for Rope..., do some brainstorming about where next to send "Signal to Noise", and do that mailbox stuff. Eating would be good, too.

See ya.

Hypocrisy?

I must admit, I'm kind of proud of myself, in that--after that initial amused pass-by--I haven't even vaguely tried to look up any of the other comments to the initial "Bingo!" post re my support of Elizabeth Bear. Apparently, it's since reached over to someone else, equally SJ-minded, and in both cases the thing they chose to concentrate on was the innate hypocrisy of me protecting myself from dogpiling by disallowing comments right from the beginning. This is a policy that isn't likely to change, BTW, since I basically do it because I really do not care what people like this have to say, at all. As I recently told a friend in private, I'm A) perfectly capable of "educating" myself on any of these subjects, if I want to, but B) just not interested in participating in their raeg-injected version of 'Net-based performance art, ever: Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, already on the list. Thank you, fuck on through.

So yeah, that's about that about that. It's surprisingly freeing to realize that it is indeed my privilege not to care, and my absolute pleasure to exercise that privilege. What a wonderful world we live in.