The Mallet of Loving Correction Part 12

* The presidential election settled one thing: Who is president for the next four years. All the rest of it is up in the air. And a lot of it will be up to you, and us.

How do I feel about Obama's re-election? As I said last night: Relieved. Pleased. And ready to move forward.

Congratulations to our president.

Congratulations to the United States.

Let's get to work.

A Note to the Anonymous Man Sitting in the Bathroom Stall Next to Me Earlier Today It's not necessary to narrate.

Really.

That is all.

And Now, For No Particular Reason, a Rant About Facebook Jan

19.

2011.

A friend of mine noted recently that I seemed a little antagonistic about Facebook recently-mostly on my Facebook account, which is some irony for you-and wanted to know what I had against it. The answer is simple enough: Facebook is what happens to the Web when you hit it with the stupid stick. It's a dumbed-down version of the functionality the Web already had, just not all in one place at one time.

Facebook has made substandard versions of everything on the Web, bundled it together and somehow found itself being lauded for it, as if AOL, Friendster and Mys.p.a.ce had never managed the same slightly embarra.s.sing trick. Facebook had the advantage of not being saddled with AOL's last-gen baggage, Friendster's too-early-for-its-moment-ness, or Mys.p.a.ce's aggressive ugliness, and it had the largely accidental advantage of being upmarket first-it was originally limited to college students and gaining some cachet therein-before it let in the rabble. But the idea that it's doing something better, new or innovative is largely PR and faffery. Zuckerberg is in fact not a genius; he's an ambitious nerd who was in the right place at the right time, and was apparently willing to be a ruthless d.i.c.k when he had to be. Now he has billions because of it. Good for him. It doesn't make me like his monstrosity any better.

Which is of course fine. The fact is Facebook isn't made for someone like me, who once handrolled his own html code and then uploaded it using UNIX commands because he was excited to have his own Web site, and back in 1993 that's how you did it. I've been maintaining and actively updating my own site in one form or another for the better part of two decades now, and (quite obviously) like to write at length on whatever thought is pa.s.sing through my brain at the moment. Committed loggorheic nerds like me don't need something like Facebook. It's made for normal people, the ones who just want to stay in contact with friends and post pictures for them to see and maybe play a game or two, and have a single convenient place to do all that sort of stuff online. Facebook is the Web hit with a stupid stick, but that doesn't mean people are stupid for using it. They see Facebook as letting them do the things they want to do, and not making them jump through a bunch of hoops to do it. Again: Fine.

But again, also: Not really for me. I look at Facebook and what I mostly see are a bunch of seemingly arbitrary and annoying functionality choices. A mail system that doesn't have a Bcc function doesn't belong in the 21st Century. Facebook shouldn't be telling me how many "friends" I should have, especially when there's clearly no technological impetus for it. Its grasping attempts to get its hooks into every single thing I do feels like being groped by an overly obnoxious salesman. Its general ethos that I need to get over the concept of privacy makes me want to shove a camera lens up Zuckerberg's left nostril 24 hours a day and ask him if he'd like for his company to rethink that position. Basically there's very little Facebook does, either as a technological platform or as a company, that doesn't remind me that "ba.n.a.l mediocrity" is apparently the highest accolade one can aspire to at that particular organization.

So, you ask, why do I use Facebook? The answer is obvious: Because other folks do, and they're happy with it and I don't mind making it easy for them to get in touch with me. But my Facebook immersion is relatively shallow; I save the majority of my deep thoughts for this Web site and the majority of my short thoughts for Twitter, so Facebook tends to get whatever's left. I don't use much there that would allow some obnoxious third-party program to either clutter up my wall or inform all my friends that I've bought a pig in a video game; they don't give a c.r.a.p and I wouldn't want to inflict that information on them. I work on the a.s.sumption that Facebook is working by default to make me look like an a.s.shole to everyone who's connected to me, because I've seen it do it to others. As a result I think I've managed to avoid being such to others there. Or at the very least, if I'm an a.s.s on Facebook, it's my own doing and not because of Facebook. Which is all I can ask for.

I really do wish Facebook were smarter and less obnoxious to use. I wish I could sign on to the d.a.m.n thing and not have the first thing I feel be exasperation at the aggressive dimness of its UI and its functionality. I wish I could like Facebook. But I don't, and I'm having a hard time seeing how I ever will. I understand there's a value for Facebook making itself the stupid version of the Web. I really really really wish there wasn't.

So what's left to me is to take comfort in the fact that eventually Facebook is likely to go the way of all companies that are stupid versions of the Web. This is not to say that Facebook will ever go away completely-its obtuse process for deleting one's account at the very least a.s.sures it will always be able to brag of its members.h.i.+p rolls. But you know what, I still have accounts for AOL, Friendster and Mys.p.a.ce. Ask me how often I use them.

Obama's First 100 Days: A Complete and Utter Failure Apr

29.

2009.

Why? Well, I'll tell you.

1.I'm continuing to go bald.

2.I haven't lost any weight since January 20.

3.I AM STILL AGING.

4.In March, one of my cats (or more-conspiracy!) peed in the corner of my closet.

5.My hot chocolate this morning was distinctly unsatisfactory.

6.Last week, after four years of service, my beloved Vans sneakers-the ones with bats on them-ripped, making them unusable, and Vans doesn't make them any more.

7.Rosario Dawson has not phoned my wife to get clearance from her for a sanctioned night of Grainy-s.e.x-Tape-Posted-to-BitTorrent-Worthy Debauchery with me.

8.I was not transformed overnight into a ninja spy with mega awesome secret LASER POWERS.

9.I still have to brush my own teeth; no one else will do it for me.

10.I have not been provided a 2010 Mustang. I mean, really. It's not like I'd hold out for a GT. The V6 Premium package would be just fine. I'm not greedy.

President Obama has had 100 days to address each of these issues of vast national importance. How many of them has he tackled? Not a one. This is the change we can believe in? I don't think so. I did not vote for Obama just to have ripped sneakers, unsatisfactory beverages and no spousally-approved hot s.e.x with Rosario Dawson in my b.i.t.c.hin' new muscle car. There's a word for the emotion I'm feeling right now, Mr. President. And that word is: Betrayal.

Yes, I understand that President Obama has said that sacrifices need to be made by each of us. Fine. In the spirit of this national sacrifice, I will still brush my own teeth. But Mr. President, you have to meet me half way. Where are my ninja powers? And my Mustang? And why are my telomeres still degrading, meaning that every day I look more and more like Ernest Borgnine? This is not the America I want to live in, Mr. President. You have to do your part, too.

And the fact is, he hasn't. Not a single one of the items above, which Mr. Obama agreed to solve when he and I met in my mind on that hot sunny day last August when I was trapped in a car with the windows uncracked, has been resolved. You can't tell me I haven't been patient. The dude has had 100 days with the entire apparatus of the United States government at his disposal. It's not like he has other things to do. These things should have been dealt with, quickly, forcefully, fully. But they have not. And now look at me. I'm a middle-aged balding man smelling of cat pee. And it's all Obama's fault.

For shame, Mr. President. For shame.

And thus, for your first 100 days, Mr. President, you earn a richly-deserved F. But I still have hope that in the next 100 days, you will stop doing whatever distracting things you are doing and finally focus your attention on the things that really matter; specifically, that thing about Rosario Dawson. America needs that one. Yes it does. Desperately. Oh, and the Mustang, too. Thank you.

Observations on a Toothache Sep

3.

2009.

Well, I'm scheduled at the dentist at 3pm to deal with the cracked molar, and until then I have a toothache which occasionally throbs up, but is mostly under control at the moment thanks to the dynamic duo of ibuprofen and Orajel. Be that as it may it's too distracting to allow me to be terribly creative at the moment, so instead allow me to offer some thoughts on me and my toothache.

First, I feel lucky to be alive in the relatively small slice of human history during which dentistry is a licensed medical profession, said doctors have an understanding and appreciation for basic hygiene, and we have access to lovely, lovely mouth-numbing painkillers. Considering the vast majority of humanity typically had their teeth pulled by people who also doubled as hairdressers, and had to feel every single yank and twist until it was over, the advantages to being alive now should not be understated.

Second, this is a reminder that sometimes things just happen. Four years ago today, as it happens, I wrote my "Being Poor" essay, in which one of the things I noted was "Being Poor is hoping the toothache goes away." To which some arch twit who thought he was very clever responded in the comments that being poor doesn't excuse people from brus.h.i.+ng their teeth, and did not appear to want to be convinced that the simple act of brus.h.i.+ng one's teeth does not mean one then has blanket immunity from all subsequent dental issues.

And, well: h.e.l.lo, I brush and floss my teeth daily. I go to regular checkups as recommended by my dentist. I do not chew rocks or coat my teeth with a solution of sugar and acid directly before I go to sleep. I do everything I'm supposed to do for my teeth and mostly none of the stuff I'm not, and yet one morning-today-I woke up and one of my teeth was cracked. Why? Oh, possibly because I'm a 40-year-old man and this particular molar has been in constant use in my mouth since I was twelve or so, and also possibly because s.h.i.+t just happens, and also possibly because a tooth brush is not, in fact, the magical talisman against life that this smug jacka.s.s appeared to think it was.

Now, fortunately for me, I don't have to just hope that this toothache goes away. As soon as I realized this wasn't just some random transient pain I hopped on the phone, called my dentist's office, and was delighted that he was able to drop me into his schedule for the day. I can do this because I have dental insurance and can afford the co-pay without problem. That said, it's not hard to imagine a situation where I wasn't so fortunate, without having to resort to being poor. I could be unmarried, for example, since my insurance comes through my wife. Alternately I could stay married and have my wife unemployed, laid off because of cuts her company made due to the recession, and then the full cost of the insurance we have would fall on us, at least until the COBRA runs out, and it would be an open question as to whether we could afford it.

If my wife couldn't find another job with health/dental benefits-and where we live there are lots of jobs that skip that part-it'd fall on me to cover it. I'm a successful writer, but I also know that much of my success comes from luck; there are other writers who work as hard and are as good at writing as I, who are not as financially successful. I could be in a situation where I (like most writers) don't make a whole lot of money and would have trouble purchasing a health and dental plan for myself, much less my wife and our child. If I didn't have dental insurance, I might have to decide whether I want to fix my tooth or pay some other bills first; I might decide it makes more financial sense to chew on aspirin for a while.

And so on. Again, these are some of the situations one might find one's self in without having to go all the way to being genuinely in poverty here in the US. Not all of these situations are entirely under one's control, and not all of them are one's fault. There are lots of people who have cause to hope the toothache goes away, and to dread if it doesn't, and not just because some guy is fiddling around in their mouth with a high speed drill.

This is what it is (which is not to say it is what it has to be, which is another thing entirely), and what it does is remind me that I really am a fortunate b.a.s.t.a.r.d in lots of little ways that don't bear thinking about until thinking about them is required. I don't stay up nights thinking "gee, it's nice that if I crack a tooth I can take care of it with a minimum of fuss," but when I do crack a tooth, I think it's worth noting that there are many ways in which it would be a serious problem, were my life just a degree or two off the direction it's going.

It's particularly useful when I'm feeling smug and thinking my life is as it is solely because I made it that way on my own. In the real world, what we do with our lives matters, but our lives are lived in a world that is more than just what we make of it. And sometimes you get toothaches.

Omelas State University Nov

10.

2011.

These things should be simple: 1.When, as an adult, you come across another adult raping a small child, you should a) do everything in your power to rescue that child from the rapist, b) call the police the moment it is practicable.

2.If your adult son calls you to tell you that he just saw another adult raping a small child, but then left that small child with the rapist, and then asks you what he should do, you should a) tell him to get off the phone with you and call the police immediately, b) call the police yourself and make a report, c) at the appropriate time in the future ask your adult son why the f.u.c.k he did not try to save that kid.

3.If your underling comes to you to report that he saw another man, also your underling, raping a small child, but then left that small child with the rapist, you should a) call the police immediately, b) alert your own superiors, c) immediately sus-pend the alleged rapist underling from his job responsibilities pending a full investigation, d) at the appropriate time in the future ask that first underling why the f.u.c.k he did not try to save that kid.

4.When, as the officials of an organization, you are approached by an underling who tells you that one of his people saw another of his people raping a small child at the organization, in organization property, you should a) call the police immediately, b) immediately suspend the alleged rapist from his job responsibilities if the immediate supervisor has not already done so, c) when called to a grand jury to testify on the matter, avoid perjuring yourself. At no time should you decide that the best way to handle the situation is to simply tell the alleged rapist not to bring small children onto organization property anymore.

You know, there's a part of me who looks at the actions of each of the non-raping grown men in the "Pennsylvania State University small-child-allegedly-being-raped-by-a-grown-man-who-is-part-of-the-football-hierarchy" scandal and can understand why those men could rationalize a) not immediately acting in the interests of a small child being raped, b) not immediately going to the police, c) doing only the minimum legal requirements in the situation, d) acting to keep from exposing their organization to a scandal. But here's the thing: that part of me? The part that understands these actions? That part of me is a f.u.c.king coward. And so by their actions-and by their inactions-were these men.

At least one sports columnist has made the point that Joe Paterno, the 40+ year coach of Penn State, who was fired last night (along with the university's president) by the university's board of trustees, should be remembered for all the good things he has stood for, and for his generosity and principles, even as this scandal, which brought his downfall, is now inevitably part of his legacy as well. And, well. I suspect that in time, even this horrible event will fade, and Paterno's legacy, to football and to Penn State, will rise above the tarnishment, especially because it can and will be argued that Paterno did all that was legally required of him, expressed regret and horror, and was not the man who was, after all, performing the acts.

Here's what I think about that, right now. I'm a science fiction writer, and one of the great stories of science fiction is "The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas," which was written by Ursula K. Le Guin. The story posits a fantastic utopian city, where everything is beautiful, with one catch: In order for all this comfort and beauty to exist, one child must be kept in filth and misery. Every citizen of Omelas, when they come of age, is told about that one blameless child being put through h.e.l.l. And they have a choice: Accept that is the price for their perfect lives in Omelas, or walk away from that paradise, into uncertainty and possibly chaos.

At Pennsylvania State University, a grown man found a blameless child being put through h.e.l.l. Other grown men learned of it. Each of them had to make their choice, and decide, fundamentally, whether the continuation of their utopia-or at very least the illusion of their utopia-was worth the pain and suffering of that one child. Through their actions, and their inactions, we know the choice they made.

On How Many Times I Should Get Paid For a Book (By Readers) Apr

7.

2010.

Randy Cohen, who writes the "Ethicist" column at the New York Times, caused a minor fracas this week when he told someone who had purchased a hardcover copy of Stephen King's Under the Dome and then also downloaded a pirated electronic copy for travel purposes, that they were ethically in the clear for the illegal download. Cohen's reasoning is, hey, the guy paid for the thing, and because he paid for it once, he should have the right to enjoy it in whatever format he likes. Therefore the download, while illegal, was not unethical.

Personally I think Cohen is pretty much correct. Speaking for myself (and only for myself), when I put out a book and you buy it for yourself in whatever format you choose to buy it in, the transactional aspect of our relations.h.i.+p is, to my mind, fulfilled. You bought the book once and I got paid once; after that if you get the book in some other format for your own personal use, and I don't get paid a second time, eh, that's life.

So, as examples: If you bought the paperback copy of one of my books and then liked it so much that you pick up a cheap remaindered hardcover edition for archival purposes, great. If you buy a hardcover copy, lose track of it, and then pick up a used paperback copy for re-reading, groovy. If you buy a trade paperback edition of one of my books and then happen to find a free electronic version of the same book, which you then download onto your cell phone for travel purposes, that seems reasonable to me.

Now, in each case, if you decided to pay me or any author a second time, I wouldn't complain-indeed, please do! Athena's college fund thanks you. And it's what I do; for example I recently paid for and downloaded an authorized electronic copy of China Mieville's Perdido Street Station because I wanted to read it again and my trade paper copy is currently in a box in my bas.e.m.e.nt. I didn't want to bother to dig it out, I didn't want to have to troll the underside of Teh Internets for a pirate copy, I can afford the $6.39 an authorized copy cost, and I like paying authors. Likewise I usually buy new editions of books I've lost or displaced, again because I can afford it and because philosophically I am inclined to do so.

I pay the authors more than once, because I can and I think I should. However, I also put such actions in the ethical category of "morally praiseworthy but not morally obligatory"-that is, I believe my transactional responsibility to the author was fulfilled the first time I paid her. Additional payments to the author are optional, and indeed are sometimes transactionally difficult. If a book is out of print I may have no choice but to buy a used physical copy, for which an author gets nothing, or acquire an unauthorized electronic edition, which again gives nothing to the author.

The moral issue with unauthorized/pirated electronic copies of works has to do with the fact that a) they were put out online by people who didn't have permission to do so, and b) that it makes it easy for people who haven't paid for the work and have no intention of paying for it to acquire it and share it with other people who also have no intention of paying for it. These are separate moral issues than the issue of whether someone who has paid full freight for an author's work should feel bad about acquiring a second copy of the work for personal use without additional financial benefit to the author.

To be very clear, I think the person who puts an unauthorized edition of a work of mine online is ethically and legally wrong to do so; that guy is ripping me off. I don't take kindly to it and neither do my publishers, who have lots of lawyers. Please don't post my work online without permission, and please don't share unauthorized copies with others. I thank you in advance for your sterling morals in this area.

But if that work is out there online, and the guy who just bought an authorized version-thus paying me and the people who worked on the book-downloads it for his personal use, am I going to be p.i.s.sed at him? No, I don't really have the time or inclination. Maybe it would have been marginally more ethical for the fellow to have, say, scanned in each individual page and OCR'd it himself, thus making the personal copy he's allowed to make under law, rather than looking for it online. And maybe I'd ask him how it was he got so knowledgeable in the ways of the dirty, dirty undernet, where pure and innocent books are exposed to bad people, and suggest to him that he get his computer checked for viruses. But at the end of the day, he did pay me, and paid my publisher.

(That said, I do think there are limits to this. For example, I think an audio book and a text book are two separate things, because a significant part of the audio book is the performance of the reader, an aspect that is not there in the original book. Likewise buying a book doesn't give you a free pa.s.s to torrent the movie version of the book; alternately, having bought a Halo video game doesn't give you a moral green light to snarf down a Halo novel. Etc.) If I had my way about these things, I'd be doing with books what movie companies are now doing with DVDs and blu-rays, which is to bundle a legal electronic copy of the work in with the hardcover release. There are distribution issues with doing something like this (unlike physical movie media, books are typically sold unsealed) but these aren't unsolvable; I think in a later post I'll talk about this in more detail.

But the point to make here is that these days, people are deciding that when they buy a book or a movie or a piece of music, they're buying the content, not the format. As a writer I don't have a philosophical problem with this, since I write content, not format, even if publishers want that content to fit a particular format. And as a consumer, I think there's a certain point at which you get to say "you know what, I've paid for this already, and I'm done paying any more for it." Both of these are why I say that if you've paid me once for a book I've written and what you've enjoyed, we're good. Pay me again if you like; I won't complain. But once is enough.

On the Asking of Favors From Established Writers Sep

15.

2009.

It looks like it's time to do a little more head-knocking regarding the life of a writer, so let's just start knocking heads, shall we.

Dear currently unpublished/newbie writers who spend their time b.i.t.c.hing about how published/established writers are mean because they won't read your work/introduce you to their agent/give your ma.n.u.script to their editor/get you a job on their television show/whatever other thing it is you want them to do for you: A few things you should know.

1. The job of a writer is to write. So, I'm looking at one of my book contracts. It says that I need to write a certain type of book (science fiction) of a certain length (100,000 words) by a certain time (er...Hmmm). In return, I get paid a certain amount of money. So that's the gig.

Here's what's not in the contract: 1.That I critique the novels of other people; 2.That I offer any advice to people on how to get published; 3.That I arrange introductions to my agent, editor or publisher; 4.That I do any d.a.m.n thing, in fact, other than write the book I've agreed to write.

The job of a writer is to write.