East of Constantinople, West of Shanghai

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A morning among the rude mechanicals

I took the morning off. My brother was to see the doctor, and I went along, basically to enjoy the air conditioning in the doc’s waiting room. I brought my Kindle along (about which, more later) and settled in one of the wonderfully uncomfortable chairs.
The air conditioning was on to Alaskan Winter levels – I guess the doctor is trying to increase his workload by causing his patients pneumonia or, who knows, maybe decrease his workload by offing the weakest.
And I had the opportunity of spending two hours surrounded by the nice villagers.

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Historical smoking and other unhealthy writing sins

I don’t smoke. I never did.
I consider it a foul habit and a waste of money. My parents did not smoke neither, my grandfathers both did (and it shortened their lives). As a kid, just walking by someone smoking usually caused me to break into a fit of cough. This was somewhat awkward during my teens and twenties, because it looked like everybody smoked then.
My girlfriend in high school smoked. Marlboros. Talk about awkward: it’s hard to be in love with someone and you start coughing like you’re about to spit a lung every time you get close to her.
But anyway…

I watched a lot of old movies, as I grew up.
I liked – and I still like today – old noirs.
Humphrey Bogart. High Sierra is one of my all-time favorites ever. The Big Sleep, too. But everything he did, really. He was a sort of role model, because like that guy said “We’re all Bogart at least once in our lives”. And Bogey always had his cigarette. The nails in my coffin, he called them.
And what about Robert Mitchum? What about all the other Marlowes of TV and Cinema?
Then there was Mike Hammer. Damn, the guy got routinely punched, stabbed and shot at, then he got home, took a shower, drank a shot of whiskey, lit a cigarette, and he was as fresh as a rose.
And don’t even get me started on James Bond.

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The politics of sword & sorcery

As a writer and a long-time reader of fantasy I like to take a look sometimes at the state of the genre in the place where I live – in part because it’s a good strategy to keep an eye on the market, in part because this is, after all, my tribe, and I like to see what the tribesmen are doing.

Being irremediably old, I have no problem mentioning the fact I find the current over-excitement of a juvenile part of the public for what Ian McShane called Tits & Dragons somewhat tiring. When somebody pops up and tells me they like Robert E. Howard for the relentless violence, the explicit sex scenes and the obscenities peppering the dialogues, I despair about the state of the genre and for literacy in general.

But together with the fixation for “fantasy of hard knocks” – basically an alibi for writers to write to the minimum common denominator – there is a new trend that is not new but is positively scary: the derailment of fantasy on the part of politics.

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Burn, baby, burn!

By now you’ve all probably heard about the Catholic parish in Poland in which they decided to have a nice book-burning event, making a bonfire of books that teach sorcery and witchcraft. What made the news is the fact that among the books that went up in smoke were both the volumes of the Harry Potter series and the ones from the Twilight saga.

Now call me weird, but I’ve been trying to learn about the other books that were burned. I can see there’s a book by Osho in the photo above, but the others I can’t recognize (you do? Please let me know in the comments! There might be something worth a read in that pile.)
I even ask myself – had the Harry Potter and Twilight books not been featured, would have we heard about this stupid little act of obscurantist rubbish?

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OK, it all started with an article that came out one month ago on the Strait Times.

For $12 an hour, a middle-aged Japanese man will listen to your woes, do chores and offer advice on things like love and life.

Now that’s not a bad rate, right?
I mean, 12 bucks per hour makes almost 100 bucks a day working 9 to 5.

ossanTurns out in 2012 a guy called Nishimoto Takanobu started an online service from his apartment, called Ossan Rental, basically Rent-an-Uncle, where uncle is not exactly a compliment, but rather a disparaging term to label fifty-something men.
The service charges 10.000 yes per month (roughly 3 bucks per day) the “uncles” that want to make their services available to the public. Services that range from doing small chores to providing counsel and suggestions. The most requested of Nishimoto’s uncles can get up to 60 jobs per month, racking roughly 900 bucks.

I am not kidding you – here’s the website (and right now there’s a guy labeled as sold out… wow!)

Now I read the articles about the Rent-an-Uncle service, and… Continue reading


The nomad barter list

I stumbled on a conversation, last night, in a forum for nomad workers.
In case you missed it, cybernomadism or nomad working are the names usually given to those that have a location independent job or cybercommute while traveling around.
I was a small-scale nomad worker in the first decade of the 21st century, when I moved between universities to peddle my post-grad and post-doc courses, while working via the web with various clients and colleagues.

Anyway, last night’s discussion was on the following: what skills can you trade on the road?
In other words, what knowledge would you be able to barter for food, lodging, services or what else. Continue reading

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Lessons learned, stories told

So, now is the time for the sort of post that goes things that I have learned writing a short srtory in one day.
My guru tells me this is the sort of post that brings readers like, in cartloads, and so here we go.


The first thing one learns in this kind of exercise is I can still make it!
Which is very good because if we do not boost our enthusiasm ourselves, nobody will.
This time I did it as a game, but the ability to stick to the story and bring it to a (satisfactory? One hopes so) conclusion, is vital.
Deadlines are a thing. Continue reading