zeekie: take two.

To small moments of peace and contentment.

Started a new draft last night. Staying at a friend's in Prospect Park, Brooklyn for the time being. Probably slowly freezing my balls off; it's that cold in his basement one-bedroom.

Started reading "The Lovely Bones" by Alice Sebold. Love it so far. I picked up her latest book, "The Almost Moon", from the library's casual reading shelf - this was after I uncovered "The Ruins" from the same place - and I like it, so I figured I'd give "The Lovely Bones" a chance. Glad I did.

Gurgh. Don't really like the holidays. Everyone's gone and it's slightly depressing.

First time I've ever gotten dissed for liking Friday Night Lights (the TV series).

And I can't believe I only got Netflix in February this year. Seems like such a long time ago...

rewriting, that is. By now I've got about five different openings for the book, ranging from the entirely different to the same-in-concept-only. On the bright side, I'm fairly certain I'll have something to submit by the deadline, and with a lot more elbow grease it should be something I'm okay sending.

I just finished reading "The Ruins". Just... wow.

So I'm only about halfway through Scott Smith's "The Ruins", but I'm already shuddering, shivering, physically holding the book away from me as I read - as if that will help - and all other manner of things you do when you don't really want to keep reading but know that you just have to.

That's how freaking scary the damn book is.

And I started reading it at eleven this morning, and now it's four hours later and I haven't stopped, so that's how addictive it is.

What better to do on Christmas Day than discover how the CPF scheme is broken?:

Singapore has, since 1955, had a particularly good solution to the problem of providing a social safety net. Rather than simply have the government as provider of last refuge, the Singapore government instituted a transparent and relatively straightforward compulsory system for the collection and administration of social security monies.

The Central Provident Fund, or CPF, to give it its normal TLA, assigns every working citizen and permanent resident an account into which a portion of wages are paid, with contributions from the employer and employee. With online access, one's CPF account looks very much like a bank account, meeting the tests of transparency and good order.

That's the good news.

The bad news comes, predictably, whenever governments have large pools of money sitting around. There is a primal itch to do something with the funds. And so the CPF has been tweaked, stretched, re-purposed, and generally abused into the service of a number of different goals deemed worthy by the administration of the day.

One only has to look at the Mission and Values statement on the CPF web site to see the distance that has arisen between the primary mission:

Mission

“To enable Singaporeans to save for a secure retirement.”

Vision

“A world-class social security organisation providing the best national savings scheme for Singaporeans to enjoy a secure retirement.”

and the current Corporate Philosophy:

"The basic purpose of the CPF is to help members meet primary needs like shelter, food, clothing and health services in their old age or when they are no longer able to work."

The mission has been extended from saving for retirement, to cover shelter, health services, and unemployment. Investing in shares of Singapore Telecom, and providing funds for education have also featured over the years.

Once it was decided in 1968 that home ownership was a national goal, the CPF was modified to allow use of savings for home mortgages. This has spawned a whole bureaucracy to handle the movement of funds between CPF and banks and the Housing Development Board.

Singaporeans don't have sufficient medical insurance? In 1984, the CPF was used to fund Medisave, and in the process, create two accounts where there used to be one, so now CPF has an Ordinary Account, and a Medisave account.

Worried that people are putting too much of their savings into housing (ah, the law of unintended consequences), create a third account - the Special Account - to remove funds available for housing.

By 1988, worries were expressed that people would run out of money for their retirement before they died, and so a Minimum Sum Scheme was introduced, forcing contributors to leave money with CPF even though they had retired and presumably earned the right to their money.

Worried that people are relying too heavily on government for their retirement and need to take more responsibility for their future? Create the CPF Investment Scheme (CPFIS) in 1997 to allow a certain portion of funds to be used to buy certain "qualified" investments. Oh, and give the three local banks a monopoly on handling the accounts created, allow them to charge whatever they want, and don't insist on any service standards.

The economy has also played a role in CPF changes. When the government became worried that contribution rates were making Singapore uncompetitive, the employer contribution rate was reduced, restored, and then reduced again.

And so CPF has grown and mutated, serving whatever hot issue of the day needs a solution. What should be a straight forward retirement savings system, has become a multi-headed hydra with tentacles into most areas of Singapore life. Which is all well and good. Governments can do whatever they want, and people deserve the governments they get.

The effect of constantly tweaking a system set up to do one thing in order to make it do other things is complexity and the destruction of predictability. With each new mission, the original CPF has become more complex, more rigid, and more unpredictable.

But now to the latest assault on the CPF. Having done the numbers, the government actuaries are staring at a shortfall in CPF funds for members even though the Minimum Sum has been raised every year. The driver in this case is an increase in life expectancy. Although the official retirement age remains at 60, people are living into their 80's, destroying the underlying actuarial assumptions for the CPF.

What to do? One obvious solution would be to raise the retirement age. There are few societies that can afford to have a large portion of their population unproductive and attempting to live off savings.

Instead of taking this somewhat unpopular step, the government is proposing to break the basic promise of the CPF.

To quote from a paper comparing the CPF with the US Social Security system,

"the most salient features of the [CPF] scheme have not changed since 1955: it is compulsory, its basic principle is thrift and self help; and the contributions made by each member are earmarked for the benefit of the individual, with no redistribution among members"

The basic principle of each individual being the beneficiary of his own contributions is about to be violated by the proposed introduction of compulsory annuities which will commingle contributors funds into an external risk pool. Instead of having access to the money you worked for and saved, you will be forced to turn it over to an insurance company that will pay you a monthly sum. If you die the day after, tough, you lose everything.

Unless you have the luck of Methuselah and live longer than the actuarial tables predict, this is a pretty lousy deal. With interest rates among some of the lowest in the world and below the inflation rate, a Singaporean annuity is a financial disaster.

More importantly, these sudden changes to the rules destroy any planning that a prudent person has made for his own retirement. Funds that are earmarked for retirement are long term and patient money. We are also lectured about the power of compounding interest and the futility of market timing. Save now, and you will be fine later.

Except when "they" keep changing the rules. How is one supposed to plan, or trust, the guardian of one's retirement funds when the rules change unpredictably?

Ironically, there is still one situation in which the CPF achieves its original promise of funds for retirement. You can get all of your money, without any hold backs. Just promise to leave Singapore and never come back.

Link to site here.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

So. A nine-hour shift today, during which - wait for it - seven people came to take stuff out.

I don't pay any attention to the envelopes, so I totally missed the return address on this one. Which is why it was a surprise when the cover letter began: "I am an aspiring unpublished writer based in Singapore."

Unfortunately, the manuscript sucks. (This is not quite unexpected, though: 'aspiring unpublished writer' already displays laxness.)

In other news, the suckiness of the manuscript is in keeping with this day. I'm likely to have most of my results back by next week, and I'm predicting B's across the board except for my internship module. That sucks, of course, but I'm mostly okay with it; in previous semesters this would have bothered me, but quite honestly I now have bigger fish to fry.

"Goblin Town is a Tolkien-style fantasy novel. Thematically, it's something along the lines of Bilbo Baggins goes to Iraq."

Five slush manuscripts in a row, all by the same person.

Unfortunately, all of them suck.

My semester unofficially ended at 5.58 pm today. That was when I put the final period on my final paper (no exams!). Academically I'd call this semester a wash: classes didn't do much for me, and I didn't do much for them.

On the Tor front, though, things are moving forward. The author I've been talking about all semester has been offered a 'revise on spec' deal: this means she now gets all the editorial resources Tor has to offer, at least until a specified deadline. If the manuscript is deemed publishable by the end of the deadline, then a formal contract will be negotiated. If not, Tor is under no obligations whatsoever.

The exciting news I'm going to be part of those editorial resources, since my supervisor has told us (the interns) that this is our project. I'm not going to be at the company officially next semester, but this is one way I'll still be involved in the company. I'm considering asking whether I can intern unofficially, or even just come by weekly to pick up slush manuscripts to go through, but we'll see how that pans out.

I'm also looking forward to the next semester, where my classes will hopefully be better. I'm also thinking of interning at a literary agency, and of course both my applications for the Clarion workshop and the fellowship will be out by mid-next semester, so next semester should be an exciting one indeed.

Edited to add: I opened a slush fantasy manuscript that I feel very good about, and one of the other two interns is already on board, so here's hoping.

THE COMMA IS YOUR FRIEND, PEOPLE.

THE SEMI-COLON IS YOUR FRIEND, PEOPLE.

Thus endeth this lesson.

I went to see The Golden Compass yesterday. I went in with lowered expectations, thanks to the sighing reviews I'd read beforehand, but I think even if I hadn't read those reviews I still would have thought it was okay. Granted, it could have been a lot better, and it certainly didn't match up to the poetry of the Lord of the Rings movies, but - it wasn't bad.

The biggest thing that was (literally) lost in the translation from book to film was the last three chapters. I can see why those chapters were left out: in those chapters, protagonist Lyra, having saved her kidnapped friend Roger, brings him with her when she goes to rescue her father, unwittingly fulfilling a prophecy that ends with Roger dead. That's... kind of a bummer. Considering the demographic the film - as a Hollywood family fantasy film - is targeting, I'm not surprised at all that those chapters were cut. The way the film ends, with Lyra and Roger together on their way to rescue her father, is much more likely to garner positive word-of-mouth.

Marketing purposes aside, though, personally I don't have a problem with this lopping off the final chapters.

(I only really feel sorry for those schmucks who haven't read the books. Can't you see it? "Ohhh, Roger was so cute with Lyra! Let's go see the second movie when it comes out!" ... *two minutes into the second movie* wa Waaa WAAAAAAA.)

As for why I don't have a problem with this excision: the movie sets up Roger's rescue as the central quest. By the end of the movie, the quest is fulfilled, and the rescue of Lord Asriel is the cliffhanger. Is it as good a cliffhanger as the one provided in the book? No, but it is a cliffhanger, and a pretty good one at that. If I hadn't read the book, I would have thought it a sufficient one, and the movie, as a whole, relatively satisfying.

What prevents it from greatness, though, is that it doesn't quite divorce itself from the book. The pacing is odd throughout the movie: moments that are important in the movie are given short shrift. An example is the Billy Costa scene. It is what the movie turns on: this is when Lyra discovers what is being done to the kidnapped children, and what will be done to Roger if she doesn't rescue him first. In the book this is an important section, but in the book's larger context it's not as much. By the movie's structure, however, this should be a whammer of a scene. But the scene barely registers, and most of it is spent on Lyra poking around an eerie house, taking eons before she discovers Billy. And when she does, the scene snaps up her reaction and moves on. ...what?

Other moments that are not important drag on and on. An example of this is the introduction of Lee Scoresby. He's not important in the context of the movie (actually, he's not that important in the book either), but the scene where he's acquainted with Lyra gives the sense that he is important, simply because it's long. But then, as the movie goes on, it's revealed that he's... really not that important. You see how confusing that is?

If you've read the book, some of the weird pacing problems will make sense, but I think the film will end up confusing a lot of people, simply because it's neither here nor there. The pacing doesn't work to the "Rescue Roger" throughline of the movie; it's almost funny how Lyra has to keep telling people (and by extension the audience) that she's on a quest to rescue Roger. If the throughline is working, it shouldn't need to be said. As it is, it feels too much like the scriptwriters knew that the movie was too sprawling and had too many (movie-wise) pointless digressions, and so felt the need to prod us every now and then.

It's a pity. I really wanted to love this film, but I really only like it now.

There are some days when I'm starving and exhausted and know I should eat something proper (if only not to become ridonkulously snap-happy at work), but for some reason one food is as appealing as the next, and so before I know it I'm halfheartedly munching through a faintly repulsive bun.

Today is one of those days.

I've also noticed that I write much more easily when I'm exhausted. Whether I write better depends on the day, but certainly words spill across the page much more readily.

And finally: first snowfall today. I stepped outside the library and there they were, small flecks of white swirling and settling. Correction: first snowfall I witnessed this season today. It snowed several days ago, but that was while I was sleeping. By the time I woke and left the apartment, there were only snow piles and no snowfall.

Maybe it's because I've experienced only two snowfalls, but I think the first flakes will never lose their magic for me.

I was going to start by saying that it was probably a bad idea to stay up reading, particularly since tomorrow (or today) is a long day at work, but then I changed my mind.

My introduction to John Scalzi was via "The Android's Dream", a book I enjoyed very much. So when I saw "Old Man's War" on the shelves at Tor, I naturally took a copy.

It's his first book, although you wouldn't know reading it. There are several semi-awkward chunks of exposition, but the writing is so good that he almost gets away with them. His dialogue is particularly 'punchy'; I suspect if he ever turns to screenplays he will be very successful.

I began reading the book several days ago, because I'd been reading "Speaker for the Dead", and had to put that away due to the recent Card revelations. The opening interested me - an old man visits his dead wife's grave, and then enlists in the army - and so I kept reading. I've been reading in hour-long or so periods ever since then, until tonight.

There are some books that you can read in controlled bursts. Then there are those that you think you can do so with, but eventually discover you can't. This is one of those books, at least for me. Another was "A Home at the End of the World", yet others "Prep", "Never Let Me Go" and "Maurice". I'm hard-pressed to find a commonality between them, save that they all exceed a certain baseline of quality, but there it is.

And I think that's the main reason I want to be published. The desires to be recognized, to earn shitloads of money, to earn strangers' respect and attention - all of these things are true, but at the end of the day (or night, as it were), I think I just want someone to close the covers of my book and think, 'damn, that was worth it'. To have someone give his or her time to you and feel better for having done so: if you think about it, that's really the most you can ask from and offer anyone.

...to win both the British and the Irish National Lottery on the same day.

Edited to add: No, I haven't really won the lottery. You know those emails you get informing you that you've won such-and-such lottery...?

Am I the only one who's ever gotten those emails...?

So this guy comes into the Avery Fisher Center, and takes out a tape titled Signs of Sexual Behavior. We put the tape into a VCR so that the monitor faces where we are, and then we wait for him to start watching it.

He does.

And it turns out the tape? Is actually about the sign language of sexual behavior.

Which turned what would have been merely titillating to absolutely hilarious. Anyone who wants to know how to sign 'ejaculation' and 'clitoris', I'm your man.

I realize that in a world of 'Audio Science's and 'Pilot Inspektor's this probably isn't much, but today an NYU student came in who had the name 'Genesis'. I was so hoping that her last name was 'Sega'.

Edited to add: I just helped another person named 'Genesis'. Yikes. I wonder what that portends...

Dang it. I suppose it had to happen some time, but I really wish it hadn't happened with a book I really really like.

This afternoon, a friend told me that the reason he hadn't read "Ender's Game" was that Orson Scott Card - the author - is a homophobe. I didn't quite believe him. I couldn't believe that an author who had that much empathy for his 'outsider' characters could have none for the gay community.

But later, when I got home, I did a quick Internet search and: voila.

His views are pretty heinous. Other articles point to his other famous rants on the subject, including one in which he stated homosexuals should be tossed into prison.

I... really don't know what to do.

When Isaiah Washington started tossing 'faggot' around like it wasn't a horrible slur, it was the tipping point that made me decide to boycott the new Bionic Woman. I never would have watched Apocalypto anyway, but Mel Gibson's Nazi-lite outburst certainly didn't help.

So, if I am to be entirely consistent, I should throw away all my "Ender" books, and never pick up another Card book again. Or at least not until he comes to his senses.

But I really, really liked "Ender's Game". I still do. It is also one of the best books I've ever read in my life. And if the sequels / spin-offs are even a tenth of "Game"'s quality, then they will undoubtedly also be brilliant books.

So I'm not sure what to do with this Card-as-homophobe information.

On one hand, I'm sure that if I dig deep enough, there will be something about every author that disagrees with me in a fundamental way. His position on abortion, for example. Or her views on inter-racial relationships.

But, on the other hand, there's a distinct difference between dislike and intolerance. It would be fine with me if Card had said that he disliked homosexuality. But that's not what he has said. What he's said is that he would give people like me sub-citizen 'rights'. What he's said is that he would toss people like me into prison, pronto. That's not a live-and-let-live attitude. Even if he may not be in the position to effect those desires, that's still active intolerance, plain and simple.

So the question really is: does supporting an artist mean supporting his views?

My rational side tells me that it doesn't; but lining the pockets of someone who holds views I despise is abhorrent to me. Besides, rationality aside, it's hard to ignore the symbolic value of buying or boycotting someone's work.

Oh, just - goddamnit.

I'm in the computer lab now, waiting to go home; I finished my Digital Tools assignment early, and I can't go home yet because I've rented out my apartment for the weekend.

Hence this update.

First, a huge piece of news: my brother's finished the first part of the book he's writing, a memoir about his relationship with his boyfriend (Rusty, who passed away earlier this year). He's been sending me versions of his query letter and summary all weekend, and I've been helping him polish them. I think he's ready to send off packages to agents, so I'm really excited for him. He's a very good writer; I honestly think that he will be able to get - and deserves to be - published.

So there's that. As for my own writing aspirations: work on the fellowship application continues to go on; I'm also in the process of outlining two short stories, stories I will be using to apply for the Clarion workshop. That takes place in June next year, so I think this definitively means that I don't want to return to Singapore in the summer, at least not for the SPH internship. I still need to talk to HR about this, but I've already paid enough internship dues, I think.

As for the financial side of things: I've been taking part in a lot of experiments. They're conducted by Stern, the NYU business school, and most of them involve cognitive or psychological studies, so there aren't drugs or anything like that involved. They're actually pretty fun; I did one today that involved making as many words as possible from sets of letters, and I got paid twenty bucks for half an hour of that. I'm also renting out my apartment sporadically, and crashing at my good friends' dorm when I do that, so that's also been pulling in a tidy sum of money. And there have also been random jobs on the side; typing up instruction manuals for department stores and the like. If it all sounds very scrappy, that's because it really is. It's not so much that beggars can't be choosers, but that - they're fun, I need the money, so why not? I also like to think that they're good experiences to have.

As far as personal relationships go: I miss you guys in Singapore (and Australia, heh)! It's not said enough, so let it be on the record permanently here. I also miss laksa and all that other stuff (not that I put you guys and laksa on the same level... usually). But I think I'm finally fairly happy with my relationships here; it's probably a combination of changes in me as well as changes in the people I've been around. Of course, I'm not attached - although that might change soon? heh - but I'm (mostly) okay with that.

And that's about it, really. I'm not really doing anything that exciting, although I am planning to do some house swaps in the future, go places and live in other people's homes. Hopefully that will work out.

Oh, and it looks like there's a good chance the author I've been pushing for will get a contract. At least, my supervisor is really invested in getting her one too, so - fingers crossed.

So I log onto Gay.com, just to check out what's new on the TV blog, and this slaps me in the face. Jesus. H. Christ. It's on the homepage of Gay.com some more, right smack where nobody can miss it; do we not already have enough bad international publicity caused by stupidity????

Singapore has banned an Xbox video game because it contains a sex scene between a woman and a female alien, the city-state's censors said Thursday.

'Mass Effect', a futuristic space adventure published by Microsoft Corp., has been banned because of "lesbian intimacy," said Chetra S., deputy director of the Board of Film Censors, in a statement.

Players can engage their avatars in a variety of sexual encounters during the game, though none between men or between men and male aliens, according to reports on several blogs. The human and the alien are depicted kissing and caressing each other in a sex scene that The Straits Times English-language newspaper in Singapore reported ends with the alien saying, "By the gods, that was incredible, Commander."

A Microsoft spokesman in Singapore said Microsoft respected Singapore's decision to ban the game, which is slated to launch globally on Nov. 20.

"'Mass Effect' features realistic content and interactions in the context of the science-fiction story line," said Ian Tan, marketing communications manager for Southeast Asia. "The game takes a mature approach to various relationships amongst characters throughout the game and the content in question is another dynamic of that."

Chetra, of the censors' board, said Singapore's video game industry is largely self-regulated, with game importers responsible for declaring to the censorship board that the game content falls within a set of guidelines.

"This helps to ensure that games are suitable for a general audience and do not feature exploitative or gratuitous sex and violence, or denigrate any race or religion," Chetra said.

Other video games that have been banned this year include 'God of War II', for nudity, and 'The Darkness', for "excessive violence and religiously offensive expletives," according to Chetra.

Chetra said the city-state's Media Development Authority, which oversees the censors' board, will introduce classification for video games next year, a move that could allow games such as 'Mass Effect' to be passed under a mature classification.

Authorities in Singapore have banned gay festivals and censored gay films, saying that homosexuality should not be advocated as a lifestyle choice. Under Singapore law, gay sex is deemed "an act of gross indecency", punishable by a maximum of two years in jail. Despite the official ban on gay sex, there have been few prosecutions.

Thank goodness for the crumbs of progress the article indicates. But still. It would be one thing to ban the game on the grounds that it features explicit - as far as pixels can be termed explicit - scenes, but to single out lesbianism as the banning point? STOOOPID.

Neil Gaiman will be an instructor at the 2008 Clarion workshop!

I'm thinking of applying.

Ted Chiang. I just finished the story after "Understand", "Story of Your Life", and, again, wow.

** I didn't actually take an entire week to finish a short story (albeit one somewhat long for its classification). Between "Understand" and "Story of Your Life" I finished "Boy Culture". That book was one of my pick-ups on Free Book Day at Tor. It's a fun, entertaining, breezy book; also recommended.

...trying to get the manuscript published. The editor who read it liked the first half, but "didn't think the second half lived up to the promise of the first".

I'm not quite sure what this means exactly. It's not a rejection per se, since we haven't been told it's a lost cause, but it does mean that it'll be harder getting the author a contract. What's happened is that we (the interns, that is) have been told to read some of the author's earlier books - she published some books in the early '90s - and to give our comments on those books.

I can't help feeling that this latest detour is perhaps a giant wild goose chase: on one hand, maybe it's to show that the second half of this manuscript is just an errant blip, that she's capable of following through. But on the other hand - well, I suppose on the other hand there's just my not-knowing what happens in cases like these.

I do want to get this woman a contract. I really do. I believe in the manuscript. I believe in her writing ability. I like to think it's not all about my wanting to have done something big with this internship. Because, really, an intern helping someone get published? Not a small thing.

I don't think it is, though - that this is all for me. Because I have read a lot of shite in the past few months, and I have also read many lovely books, and this woman isn't the best by far, but she deserves to be published again.

I'm feeling a little burnt-out. It's not entirely due to final projects and what-not, although those are beginning to impress upon the brain. It's more a general feeling of deja-vu, a chafing at the repetition of the weeks. That doesn't bode well for when I return to Singapore and start working, but I'm choosing not to think about that at this point. Or, at least, not on this day; it's something that I increasingly find myself thinking about at random moments.

All things considered, I have almost everything I can have under control under control. I've either started on my final projects or know what I'm going to be doing for them, except for one class. The application for the fellowship is coming along; I've written three paragraphs, but I think they're good paragraphs, and I'm slowly but steadily adding sentences until I finish the chapter. I'm happy with what I've accomplished at the internship - on Friday we set up a folder for the manuscript I've been pushing, so it looks like, hopefully, I will have helped someone get published by the time I'm done.

As for my personal life: there have been a couple of new people, people who will hopefully stick around. I know one will; we were contemplating taking a class together next semester, and he asked me which shifts I think I'll be working after winter break, so I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again at work. (And no, I'm not interested in him that way.) There's another person that I met online, and we've hit it off so far, so maybe that will lead somewhere. (And yes, I am interested in this person that way.)

But despite all of these minor and major steps, I still can't shake the feeling of needing the semester to end, and soon. It's probably too big of a feeling to tackle at two in the morning, so I won't even try, but - there it is.

So. Semester? End soon, please. But preferably not before I finish all my work.

So that midterm that I totally thought I tanked?

I got an A-.

I'm compiling a list of the do's and do not's when it comes to submitting an unsolicited manuscript to a publisher.

I didn't quite realize how much I'd picked up just by reading slush; the list is growing at a rate that surprises even me.

I figure I'll post it here so I can remember what to do and what not to do when I'm on the other side of the snail mail. And also, of course, so it can help any others out there thinking of cold submitting a manuscript.

So fun! There are some really good do's and do not's.

It'll probably be up some time after the semester.

Before I started my internship at Tor I had never even heard of Ted Chiang. Then, one day at work, while I was complaining about the paucity of literary science fiction, one of the staffers rolled off a list of names I should check out.

Properly chastened, I did indeed check out some of those names.

A few days later, that staffer handed me a collection of short stories. Underneath the author's name was the impressive accolade of 'Two-Time Nebula Award Winner'. For those not into sci-fi, the Nebula, along with the Hugo, is one of the highest awards given to sci-fi writers. Collectively, the Nebula and Hugo are like the Golden Globes and Oscars of sci-fi and fantasy.

So I took the book home, shelved it between some other books I hadn't read yet, and continued reading John Scalzi's "The Android's Dream".

After finishing that and "The Martian Child", I started reading Marion Zimmer Bradley's "Ghostlight". I did not, and do not, like what I've read to date. So I put it aside, and, skimming the books I hadn't read yet, started the staffer's gift.

The collection is called "Stories of Your Life and Others". It contains eight short stories, including Chiang's first published work, "Tower of Babylon", which opens the collection. I liked "Tower of Babylon". The writing was assured, the story was great, and the style and substance of the piece worked together. Often you read something that doesn't seem written right - the story is great, and the writing is great, but the structure just doesn't seem to fit. I'm thinking specifically of last year's collection of "Best American Short Stories", which featured far too many 'slice of life' stories written exactly like that - beginning on one day and continuing chronologically, and ending on another day - without giving consideration to the topical content of the story.

But this was not the case with "Tower of Babylon". The story is about a group of men who build the tower, spending decades so that they can break through the literal vault of heaven. As for the form of the story, it begins with detailed descriptions of closely-spaced days, then widens to generally cover long expanses of time. Then, as the men reach the vault, the description narrows to closely-spaced days again. This perfectly captured the experience of such an endeavor, I thought.

But while I liked "Tower of Babylon", I wasn't completely sold. The writing was assured, but there wasn't a musicality to it. In the best writing, I think, you can hear music in the way the words are put together; sentences transcend grammar and punctuation and general clumsiness, and almost achieve the dimensions and sinuosity of feelings. I felt that way while reading "The Line of Beauty", and also "A Home at the End of World". I didn't feel that while reading "Tower of Babylon".

But I did while reading "Understand".

The second story of the collection, "Understand" is about a man who receives a life-changing injection. I don't want to spoil the plot, because everything that happens after that is part of the sickening beauty of the story, and in any case is not what this post is about. What really knocked me over was the way the story is told. How the words flow into one another, and how each sentence fits into the whole. And the final revelation of the story's title, how perfectly that is written.

After reading "Understand", I was completely sold.

There will always be people that I admire but don't really get. I admire Robert Jordan, but reading "The Wheel of Time" is like listening to disjointed machinery. Ted Chiang, on the other hand... I believe I am a convert.

And now, to end this post, an edited blurb for "Stories of Your Life and Others":

"...What if men built a tower from Earth to Heaven - and broke through to Heaven's other side? What if we discovered that the fundamentals of mathematics were arbitrary and inconsistent? What if there were a science to naming things that calls life into being from inanimate matter? What if exposure to an alien language forever changed our perception of time? What if all the beliefs of fundamentalist Christianity were literally true, and the sight of sinners being swallowed into pits were a routine event on city streets?"

Earlier in my internship with Tor, I came across a slush manuscript that I really liked. I gave it to my fellow interns to read, and they really liked it as well.

So last Friday we gave it to our supervisor, and sold it like hell.

And our supervisor read it over the weekend, and liked it. And she's passed it on to a full-time editor.

And on Thursday we get to be there when she runs the manuscript through a Profit and Liability program (a program that basically predicts the dollars and cents of the book).

And if that turns out okay - which it hopefully will - and if the editor likes it enough - I'll have helped a person get published!

If that's not exciting, I don't know what is.

The outline went through several changes, each more major than the last, so basically anything I've said about it is probably no longer extant. Here's the summary; comments are of course very welcome:

--------

Six months before the 2006 Singapore general elections, grocery shop owner Chua Wen Ching takes a short trip to England. There she answers a summons and then a plea, and helps a man commit suicide by hanging. The man is Seymour Hollander, a friend made in Singapore 61 years earlier, in the tumultuous months after the end of the Japanese Occupation. At first Wen Ching does not regret helping Seymour end his pathetic life, but then she sees his room, and pieces together his life after Singapore. By the time her return flight lands in Singapore, she has made a decision: she will not continue with her secret job with the government - as Singapore's executioner.

Her decision immediately creates a ripple effect. Two days after her return, a scheduled execution is not completed - she simply does not show up at the gallows. Pleas and threats go unheard. Finally, an executioner is flown in from abroad, and the convict is hung. At the same time, the government assigns a young bonded scholar to take care of the problem, to persuade Wen Ching to return to her job, or to find a permanent local replacement.

Robert Wang goes to see Wen Ching at her home, convinced that he can persuade her to return. He fails, and in the process arouses the suspicions of her young adult son. Robert lies to Patrick that he is simply a friend of Wen Ching's, a lie Wen Ching later corroborates.

Meanwhile, Wen Ching's guilt about the executions over the years has begun to build to an unbearable point. The encounter with Robert Wang pushes her over the tipping point, and a day after the encounter she decides she has to do something, anything. She seizes upon penance as her 'out', and decides to leave immediately, to apologize in person to all the families of the executed.

Patrick, bewildered by his mother's secretive and odd behavior, surreptitiously finds a contact left by Robert. He calls Robert after Wen Ching leaves for the airport. The two rush to the airport to stop Wen Ching from leaving, but they are too late and she has gone past the gates.

Robert is frustrated, and Patrick a little frightened, and in their respective states the two men connect. Robert continues to lie to Patrick about his mother; Patrick recognizes and exposes the lies, but backs off when Robert says that it is ultimately his mother's secret; it is her decision whether she wants to reveal it to him. By the time Robert drops Patrick off at the latter's home, the two are straddling the line between complete strangers and friends.

With Wen Ching gone for an indeterminate time, Robert assembles possible replacements. But no one is willing to take the job - it is no longer 1945. Batch after batch of people refuse; Robert begins to despair of ever finding a replacement executioner.

Then he receives another phone call from Patrick. Patrick has heard from his absentee mother, and she will not be returning soon. She did, however, give Robert permission to tell Patrick everything. Stressed and needing an outlet, Robert agrees to meet Patrick.

During the course of a dinner, Robert tells Patrick everything, from the history of Wen Ching's job, to her sudden volte-face, to his own involvement in the whole sorry mess. Patrick listens and listens and listens, shocked but keeping it to himself. After dinner Robert drives Patrick home; at the end of the drive Patrick suddenly kisses him. Robert is not exactly shocked; he asks Patrick for a favor.

As the two men go through Wen Ching's room, she is in England once again. She goes to meet Seymour Hollander's brother, and tells him of Seymour's past in Singapore. Although officially stationed in Singapore as a soldier, Seymour was given the job of executioner. She became his assistant in the months after the occupation, mainly because she needed the money, and she 'graduated' to executioner when the British left. She thought she could be different; she thought she could disassociate; but in the end she is no different from Seymour. She apologizes for her role in Seymour's death.

Alexander Hollander throws her out.

Back in Singapore, the search turns up little of use. As pressure from the top steadily mounts, Robert is forced to admit that he has no solution.

The government, concerned with the looming election, assigns Doris Chua to the mess. After assessing the situation, Doris recommends a simple solution: offer the position to Robert.

Robert is offered carrots at first, if he agrees to take the job. But when he refuses, the carrots turn to sticks: with four years left on his bond, life could be made very difficult for him. After Doris tells him to think about the carrots and sticks very carefully, Robert realizes that the government's guiding principle is pragmatism. When Robert tells Doris so, Doris points out that Robert took the scholarship for equally pragmatic reasons. Caught out, Robert leaves without giving Doris an answer.

As Robert comes to terms with the possible benefits of taking the job, and his conflicting feelings about any decision, Patrick notices Robert becoming increasingly tense. Robert denies that anything is wrong, and lies that he has been taken off the task of finding a replacement. Their relationship begins to suffer, and the tension comes to a head when they have sex one night: the roughness caused by the strain segues into an impromptu BDSM session, and that - consciously or otherwise - transitions to erotic asphyxiation. But Robert can't do it - even under mock circumstances he can't bring himself to strangle someone.

And now Patrick knows that he has been offered the job.

Robert leaves, and the two men each struggle alone with the implications of Robert taking or refusing the job. After days, Patrick makes a decision. He contacts his mother, and begs her to return to her job. When she refuses, mother and son get into a huge fight, and Patrick challenges the good that she thinks she's doing with her penitential pilgrimage.

Wen Ching is shaken by her fight with Patrick, and she comes to see that she's only fooling herself into thinking her apologies will change anything. She eventually returns to Singapore, and seeks out Robert.

Wen Ching and Robert speak to each other honestly about the job. Wen Ching tells Robert that neither of them have to do it; perhaps the only good thing that has come out of her experience, is that she can advocate against it from a personal standpoint. She suggests the possibility of both of them refusing, and of making the matter large enough to attract the public's notice. On the cusp of the elections, perhaps what they have to say can abolish executions altogether. Robert considers, but does not give her an answer.

After that conversation, Robert goes to Patrick, and the two fight again about Patrick's interference with the matter. Patrick finally tells Robert that it seems like he's made his decision, and Robert has no answer. Robert tells Patrick that perhaps the only reason he agreed to be involved at all in the first place was that he knew there would be a reward at the end. Patrick has no answer to this; he simply tells Robert not to take the job.

Another execution is about to take place. The convict goes through the rituals of the day, and it's unclear whether Robert will be a part of them. It seems like he may not have agreed to take the job, but then, at the last possible moment, he turns up at the gallows.

After the execution, when Robert leaves the gallows and then the compound, Patrick is waiting. Robert was not expecting him. After a few moments, Patrick goes to Robert and hugs him. Robert receives the hug. And then they walk in silence for a while.

--------

And that's the end of the book.

Seen on Craigslist:

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Hello! I am looking for an attractive female, preferably a model, who would be able to seduce my boyfriend. In short, our relationship is not going well and I need a solid reason to break it off.

If you are interested, please let me know. The pay is negotiable. Thanks!

--------

I was actually looking for a job. In the talent section.

So. "Ender's Game"? Love.

Man: Hullo.

Woman: Hi.

(Pause.)

Woman: You must be British. You say 'hello' with a 'u' where the 'e' should be.

Man: You must be American. You say 'hullo' with an 'i' where the 'u-l-l-o' should be.


------ Cambridge Spies, Part III.

Man, whoever is responsible for the episode breakdown of the "How I Met Your Mother" DVDs is wicked good at his/her job. I want the next DVD now!

Of course, I had to rent out the most cliffhanger-y DVD of the whole bunch from Blockbuster.

...but I have a three-hour disc of "Cambridge Spies" that I really want to watch.

Also, I wanted to post about the progress of the Gay.com TV Blog. I was worried for a while, what with the non-proofreading-ness of the other bloggers, and the incredibly cheesy masthead of the site, and the paucity of comments on the posts to date, but apparently it's generated 50,000 clicks between last Thursday's launch and Sunday afternoon. Regardless of how you slice it, 50,000 in four days is still a pretty impressive number.

Of course, I still wish the others proofread, and I still wish the masthead could be changed, and I still wish more readers left comments, but, eh - 50,000. 50,000!

...my search for a good LGBT film has yielded a positive result.

Of all those that I have seen, Just A Question Of Love is head and shoulders above the rest. Despite its incredibly hokey translated title - the film is French in origin - it is class and quality through and through.

Of course, since I absolutely loved this film, I've also done substantial Googling on it, and I don't think I can do better than quote this review wholesale; my own minor comments are at the end:

Just a Question of Love started off as a television movie made in France, then became a critic's darling and a staple of the Gay and Lesbian film festival circuit. It's a coming out story—and I was dreading reviewing yet another movie where a gay man has to come to terms with his sexuality. It seems many gay films deal with the "birth" of a gay man who is deciding to finally fling open his closet door. This has become a predominant genre in GLBT films over the years. Surprisingly, Just a Question of Love feels fresh despite its popular theme. The movie has very little nudity, but it packs a lot of naked emotions into a well-acted, touching story about a college student who finds himself confronting his parents with the truth after a long period of deception. It asks the hard questions, and it has a bravery few films have. I find it ironic that the best gay films I have seen lately have all been foreign. This French entry surpasses any American movie I've seen in the genre because it feels real and honest. Nothing is played for shock or exploitation, which is a nice change.

Laurent (Cyrille Thouvenin, seen in the French TV miniseries version of Dangerous Liaisons) is a twenty-three year old botany student who has been in mourning for a year since his gay cousin died. His family disowned his ailing relative because he was gay, and now Laurent is deceiving them by living with a girl and pretending to be straight. He meets Cedric (Stephan Guerin-Tillie, seen in the recent French TV miniseries of The Count of Monte Cristo), who is an out and proud researcher living with his mother, who knows he is gay. When Laurent and Cedric fall in love it creates complications for both men, who are unsure how to handle each other given their different circumstances. Cedric pushes Laurent to tell his family he is gay, but Laurent is (correctly) afraid that if he does come out, his parents will never accept him or his choice. One man fears the consequences, and the other fears it will hold their relationship at a standstill.

What's unique about Just a Question of Love is that it shows both men having selfish motives for wanting Laurent to come out or stay safely in the closet. Neither one is completely right or wrong, and we're left watching the grays swirl together in a world where nothing is black and white. Both men have problems; there is no instant solution to their emotional conundrums. You could easily compare this film to Latter Days, a US release that takes the same situation to an extreme by making one man a Mormon missionary and the other a West Hollywood hottie. But in Latter Days things quickly escalate to extreme drama; with Just a Question of Love things stay firmly planted in the realm of real life. Both of these men are from the same world, and religion is not as much of an issue as love and respect within their families. The movie examines not only the impact of homosexuality on individuals, but what it does to the people who love them. The friends and families are not derivative abstractions clinging on to fundamentalist religion, but real human beings who are not homophobic. Homosexuals are fine in theory; they just aren't ready for one in their family.

It's a damn smart film with a lot of great performances. The two leads are convincing, and are just regular guys. They don't look like underwear models, but are still cute enough to be appealing. I love European GLBT films, because they forsake the American ideal of having everyone look like they spent all day waxing and working out at the gym. These are just two men who happen to love each other. All the actors in the supporting cast are as real and believable as the two leads, too. The role of Carole, the pretend girlfriend, is fully realized in a sensitive portrayal by Caroline Veyt. She is stunning, and it's also nice to see the "fag hag" role played by a beautiful blonde. She is hanging out with Laurent because she loves and cares for him, and not because she's an overweight wallflower. Eva Darlan (Femme Fatale) plays Emma, Cedric's accepting mother. Her performance is breathtaking as she explains how she reacted when her son told her he was gay. All around it's a strong cast working from a strong script, with good production values for television.

Picture This offers Just a Question of Love with a beautiful transfer free of any technical glitches, and no extras at all. I was a little disappointed we have nothing to support this fine film, but kudos to them for putting it out in the United States. There are quite a few distributors here in America that usually only offer GLBT films with a lot of nudity or some shock value, but here they offer a solid film with no scenes used purely for titillation. They certainly seem to take their films seriously, and have made some heady and strong choices on what to release. This one certainly wowed me.

It's real, honest, and a brilliant film. Just a Question of Love offers no easy answers when it comes to coming out. The movie unflinchingly shows the hard truth that often life outside of the closet is just as scary as it was inside. The performances are first rate, and the script is well written. You couldn't ask for a more enjoyable experience for the GLBT community on DVD. No question about it, I loved this film.

Incidentally, I have seen Latter Days, and that movie can't even be compared to this one; the gulf in quality is that wide.

Also, the point is made in the review, but one of the best things about this film is how evenhandedly it portrays both sets of parents, how it crystallizes the feelings of coming out and the feelings behind accepting or denying someone who is doing so. If ever a film should connect those three camps, this one stands a pretty damn good chance of being the one.

Highly recommended for both people who are struggling with coming out, and for people who know people doing so.

I've just finished reading David Gerrold's "The Martian Child", of which a movie adaptation starring John Cusack has been made.

Gerrold's book is the second book that I've finished in as many weeks, the first being John Scalzi's most readable "The Android's Dream".

This - the reading of two books in as many weeks - is quite remarkable. For me, that is. I believe I have not managed to do this since junior college.

Of course, neither book has been quite "The Line of Beauty", or even "Never Let Me Go", so it might just be my choice of books at play.

And then there is also the fact that for the first time since, well, for the first time ever, I have no easy access to television.

Which is somewhat unfortunate for someone who's now a TV blogger (by the by, the blog has been launched - we shall see how it does).

But I find that I quite like it - the not having of television.

Every day when I come home, I pour myself a drink, settle into my comfy cushioned chair, and either watch a Netflixed DVD or read a few more chapters.

These days it's been getting colder, so I wrap myself up in my quilt as well.

And it's all been just - if I may, content-ing.

The kind that cannot cook spaghetti to save his life, apparently.

Yes, I believe that warrants a 'wa Wa WAAAAAaAaaAAAa...'.

This guy has some of the most beautiful photographs of NYC I've ever had the fortune to see. Just... wow.

I've been Netflixing random LGBT movies, and boy do a lot of them really really stink. I mean, I still sometimes feel something fuzzy by the credits, but the stinkitude is such that I just can't intellectually switch off.

Work at Tor Books has settled into a comfortable, if somewhat numbing routine. I arrive at work between ten and ten-fifteen, muddle around on the computer checking my various email accounts, and then stare at the towering shelf of slush that doesn't seem to have changed since day one.

Okay, perhaps that is a minor exaggeration. With three interns chipping away at the piles of manuscripts, we have managed to put a noticeable dent into the uneven piles. But considering the rate at which we chip has begun to slow of late, I suspect it won't be long before the shelf is full again.

The slowing down of our slush-kill is perhaps to be expected. At first it was fun and fun and fun, but then I suppose we each at some point recognized the neverending-ness of blah. It really doesn't matter where the author is originally from, whether he's an astronaut or she an English major; there are a lot of people out there who just are - middling. And those are really the heartbreakers, because they're not bad enough to be rejected out of hand, but they don't do anything to inspire interest beyond the first page.

I've personally rejected well over hundreds of manuscripts now, from women who have written paranormal romantic trilogies, to brothers who must have posted their novels on the very same freaking day. There have been police officers and high school math professors, retired veterans and even prison convicts, lawyers, doctors, bookkeepers and scientists, astronauts and middle school students and grandmas with nothing to do.

It's gotten to the point where I can honestly predict a blah manuscript from the very first freaking blah paragraph. Of course I usually read the damn thing for at least three more whole pages, but my batting average has gotten very good.

And these are perhaps the coin sides of slush-reading. You get a fine sense of what makes for boring, but that's a negative skill that doesn't really teach anything substantial. It's like learning the ten ways that a person shouldn't swim, but knowing only those still won't help get you anywhere.

I suppose, right now for me, that's why I feel like I'm treading water. After half a semester's worth of mostly blah, every half an hour of slush these days, I feel like I have to take a break or I'll lash out at something. Because how do you begin to fix the problem of blah?

Thankfully, every once in a very long while I get something that actually makes me sit up straight. There have only been two so far, but one looks like it might be headed for recommendation, and the other simply hasn't been read by the other interns yet.

Thank the writing gods for those.

The past few days I've been really agonizing over the throughline of my novel. And today it finally came to me; I finally know what my novel is, and where it's going to end.

To give this post a background: I've been working on an outline for a novel; I plan to apply for a writing fellowship at the University of East Anglia. It's a really prestigious program, with graduates from the university including Kazuo Ishiguro and Ian McEwan, both authors I admire very much.

I'll probably describe the outline of the novel in a later post.

Well. That was a shocker. Apparently it's not a joke.

Well. Go you, J. K. Rowling. I wonder how Warner Brothers will react.

Okay, I admit it. In the past, every time I read about somebody being scammed, some part of me did feel that if they were stupid enough to be scammed, then maybe they really deserved to be scammed.

Those of you who've read my previous posts should know well enough where this is going. You know how I posted about feeling really lucky? Well, as it turns out, I wasn't really all that lucky after all.

Long story short, the mystery shopper position was a scam. On hindsight there were red flags that I should have noticed. To my credit, however, there were also a fair number of things in place that reassured me otherwise. So on the 'did the scammed person deserve to be scammed?' scale, I guess it could be called a somewhat balance in my case, if not leaning in the 'yes' direction.

To answer the obvious question that immediately comes to mind (or, at least, the question that I hope immediately comes to mind): yes, I'll be fine. My brother offered to bail me out, so I'll be fine for the time being. I'll need to find a new job - and then some - to make back the lost earnings and the money I've been loaned, but I think I will be able to manage that.

What really stings here is not even the humiliation or the embarrassment at being taken for a ride. What really stings is that this is not supposed to happen in New York. I've had (more than) my fair share of financial problems in Singapore, but I've always managed to keep them in Singapore. Although I left Singapore this time with an outstanding debt, that wasn't by any means my choice. I did have the money to repay the loan, but the person refused to take the money. So, in effect, every time I've left or come back to New York, I've either been financially sound or actually even cushioned.

But this whole sorry mess means that I'm working from a position in the red - right here where it has never happened before. And while this may not practically be any different, psychologically it's very disheartening. It almost feels like no matter where I may emigrate to, financial problems will follow me thereafter. Which is bullshit, of course - I've been okay every other time I've been here - but that is what it feels like.

On the bright side, I suppose this makes my life slightly more interesting, albeit in a rather sad way.

Stop taking Comparative Directors classes. Even though they're usually the ones that fulfill my major and schedule requirements, I really, really don't care for them at all. And/Because I don't do well in them.

Yes, unfortunately this is not a random observation. This post is courtesy of yet another trainwreck'd C.D. midterm.

My brother's boyfriend died several months ago from cancer. My brother's been coping with it since then, and several days ago he wrote on his blog about what it's like surviving a loved one's death.

And what happened after the post? Some motherfucking jackass leaves this comment:

Juan Paulis Says:
October 14th, 2007 at 12:29 am
I don’t care for queers. Being gay is wrong in the first place and you know it.

Juan Paulis (if that's even your real name), I doubt you realize what a jackass you are, so I'm telling you now that you are indeed one. Even putting aside your 'not caring for queers', it's beyond the pale to attack a grieving person on said person's blog.

I'm putting this up on this blog because I hope when people Google you they see this post. (Of course, that's if you even merit such attention in the first place, which is highly doubtful.)

Walking to work, and suddenly hearing faint strains of the Sesame Street theme song? Then seeing that the song is being blasted from a Harley driven by a bearish leatherhead? Then watching, transfixed, as the Harley weaves and wends through a park and proceeds to serenade the entire neighborhood?

Doing some mystery shopping at a Wal-Mart, then exiting to hear a girl not more than five asking people to support the local cheerleading team? And seeing that the girl is holding a donations box while being hoisted up by her mother?

I get it now, I really do. There's just so much random beauty here (and in Jersey), so much passion and belief that is all to do with community and not with pragmatism or practicality, that sometimes you just have to wonder why not more people are brought up like that.

I received a job offer a couple of days ago, and I took it. I think it's going to be my final job of the semester, and I'm fairly happy with the way all the pieces have jigsawed.

The first job I accepted was an internship with Tor Books. I applied for the internship in June, while I was still writing for Digital Life, but I wasn't called for an interview until I came back to New York. That was in late August. I can honestly say that I wow'd at the interview, so when the internship was offered I took it knowing that I had earned it. I started work in September, and so far the internship has been very productive and fun. I think I really got lucky with this one. I had done no research on the company's internships, and lately I've been hearing from friends that my experience is atypical. I have classmates working at Rogue Pictures, VH1 and a couple of theaters and independent film companies, and I understand that large companies have little use or duties for interns. That is, duties not related to coffee-making or dry-cleaning or photocopying.

To be sure, photocopying is a staple of my internship, but I've also learned many other things. Like how a contract is negotiated; what determines the size of an advance; and other nuts and bolts of the publishing industry. Add to that a daily dose of wackiness thanks to the ever-growing slush pile, and I think I have one of the best possible internships that anyone can get. Of course, any contacts that I make will undoubtedly be helpful in the future.

The second job I got was with the university. Because I had already determined to move off campus, I wanted to make sure that I'd have enough money. Unfortunately Tor Books doesn't pay interns, so I thought I'd look for an on-campus job. I initially wanted to work in the library proper, but the job I ended up getting - working the counter in the library's media center - has so far been easy and helpful to my schedule. I'm not taking that many classes this semester, so I've been able to finish all my readings in the downtime at this job.

I also realized that I quite like the service industry. I like helping people get what they need, although sometimes I do wonder whether I'm overcompensating for not being a social whiz outside work. But the bottomline is, this job gives me a steady income, fellow NYU students like me helping them, I like helping my fellow NYU students, and my bosses like me for that. So it's a giant like-you-like-me orgy, and I'm getting paid for it. Which is not a bad position at all to be in.

The next job I took was with Gay.com. As I've written about it before, I won't go into great detail here. The website is set to launch at the end of the month, so hopefully reception will be good.

And finally the last job: which is the one I accepted only a few days ago. It's a mystery shopper position, which is great for a number of reasons:

1) I get to buy things and keep them, all on the company's tab.

2) I get a transportation allowance, which I think I might be able to save on.

3) The salary is unbelievable.

On a purely dollar-per-hour basis, this is the job that undoubtedly pays the most. By a very, very large margin. Of course, it sometimes necessitates some traveling, but that is really nothing compared to the benefits. I've already received my first assignment, and while it isn't particularly glamorous, it does solve a few household-item-buying problems. And I'm sure that future ones will include testing some swanky restaurant. (Fingers crossed here.)

So that is my job list, at least for this semester. I'm fairly certain that I can keep all but one (Tor) in my remaining semesters. Two out of them - Gay.com and mystery shopping - are on my own time, so it won't be too hard to work out an internship and library work schedule. Besides, I'm only missing seven classes in three semesters to graduate, so I'm going to ease up on academics and load up on work credits instead.

Why would you call yourself "Insomnia Pharmacy" if you don't intend to stay open past midnight?

I was in a Duane Reade today, standing in line to pay for my mineral water, when I saw a poster for The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. As the title suggests, it's about a group of kids who take part in a spelling bee.

The poster was all right, featuring a nerdy looking kid on a stage. But when I read the tagline for the play, I couldn't help feeling a little slapped-in-the-face.

Said tagline was something along the lines of: 'This play is second to noun'.

Now, I'm not saying I don't understand it, because on some level I do understand it: it's a play on the word 'none', and nouns are involved in spelling bees.

But what on earth does the phrase actually mean? It doesn't mean anything. It's just a stupid, nonsensical play on words.

I remember reading a headline when I was writing for Digital Life: the story was about a teenager who works at a hawker center when he's not at school, and the headline was "Juggling pots and pens". Now, that's a good headline, because it's a play on words that actually makes sense even if you don't know what the wordplay is. But "second to noun"? What the heck?

And I've actually seen similarly asinine taglines and headlines elsewhere, both in New York and in Singapore. To which I can only say: some marketing people really should be working behind the counters in MacDonaldses instead.

I opened a manuscript in the slush pile today, and this is what it was:

A SUBMISSION FROM AMBER BENSON.

Amber Benson, aka Tara from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Kill me NOW.

...with all the supplies that come with tackling the slush pile. True, it would be a very specialized shop selling only paperclips and folders, but there would be so many varieties of both I think I could make it work.

Seriously. I must have nicked maybe twenty folders already, and countless more paperclips. Go, free stuff!

I'm officially a TV blogger for Gay.com. Which is a big deal, considering the website's membership runs into the millions, and considering it is the largest LGBT site in all of America.

The entire process started a couple of weeks ago. There was an announcement on the homepage of the site, asking people to apply for a writing position on the upcoming affiliated TV blog.

I wasn't going to apply, actually, because I was at that point realizing that I'd probably have to take on a second job. Between the internship at Tor, classes, and two jobs, I didn't know if I would have the time or energy to contribute to the blog.

But then on the night before the deadline, I mentally smacked myself and decided to give it a shot. I think it was the massive exposure that this gig could give me, that really made me up and change my mind.

So, that night, I roughed up the required documents: a recap of an episode of a current show (I chose the finale of Brothers and Sisters), and an opinion piece (I decided to go with one on the resurgent Baldwin brothers).

Then at work the next day I polished the pieces a bit more, and probably sent them in on the cusp of the deadline.

Then I didn't hear from them for the longest time, not even for days after when they said they'd pick their writers by.

By the time I got the first email expressing interest, I'd really already given up hope.

But now, a bio and a contract later, I'm officially going to be writing for the blog!

Not only good for getting great TVs, but also for the following headline:

DOES YOUR CLAIRVOYANT CHILD WANT TO BE THE STAR OF A DOCUMENTARY?

...is really good. I mean, really really good.

I mean, so good that I could probably watch the entire first season in one sitting if I had all the discs.

Filming at Astor Place and Lafayette!

I stood across the street and stared at the set and people!

I... didn't see any of the stars.

And now I have one exclamation mark left.*

*Each person is allowed three exclamation marks in his or her life.

Another bone-tickler.

The usual sic's apply, of course:

--------

Dear Sir:

A group of archaeologists have discovered twenty-six ancient letters in the Middle East and Greece. These letters, written during the life of Jesus, have enormous historic implications for the Christian world. Correspondence between the archaeologists and their mysterious, unnamed sponsor are intercepted by the Sons of Light, a sect dating to the time of Jesus.

Fearing the end of two thousand years of tradition, the Sons of Light will stop at nothing to impede the archaeologist's inquiry. A mercenary, Retired Colonel Kerry Johnson, is hired to protect the archeologists. Realizing the archeologists are moving toward a solution, the sect becomes even more aggressive. Colonel Johnson and Erin Matthews, granddaughter of world-renowned archaeologist, and a well-known archaeologist herself travel to Egypt and Israel to collect critical data as part of the research.

Follwing Colonel Johnson and Erin Matthews to Egypt, the sect pursues the couple and through many ruses, the Sons of Light attempt to frighten them into ending the investigation. Cardinal Vincent, of the Catholic Church validates the letters and divulges the last astonishing secret. It was not Jesus who was crucified! It was his brother - a case of mistaken identity!

--------

I partly blame Dan Brown.

The two words I hate to see misused most: 1) literally, 2) ironically.

The two words that are misused most: 1) literally, 2) ironically.

For the uninitiated, the slush pile is the stacks and stacks of unsolicited manuscripts that sits by the interns' area.

In the history of Tor, only "two and maybe a few more" manuscripts have ever been published from the slush pile. And today I learned why.

In order for the manuscript to even make it out of the interns' area, it has to be read in full by all the interns. And it has to earn the support of all said interns.

And even then it has to be read in full by the editor's assistant. And if the assistant doesn't believe in it then it's back to the writing board for the author.

I guess I really was naive before. I kind of see why it's so important to have big names stumping for you now. To achieve publication, an unsolicited manuscript has to be read in full by and win the support of so many nameless people that the odds are really terrible.

I've gotten plenty of strange cover letters since I started interning at Tor, but I really don't think they come much stranger than this:

---------

Dear Editor:

I am seeking publication for my novel, Crossroads, a biography of Mary, the mother of Jesus, containing 30 chapters, 102,397 words. I am enclosing a synopsis and the first three chapters for your consideration.

Mary lifts the veil that has shrouded her in mystery for 2,000 years. Undaunted by present church doctrines, she depicts her life with the Essenes in a heart stopping narrative that reveals her innermost thoughts and fears from the birth of Jesus to his crucifixion. Crossroads may be classified as a work of historical fiction; however, the original manuscript was channeled in its entirety from Mary in 1993. The events though vastly different than the stories told in the New Testament, are, I believe, true.

I can take no credit for the story. I simply edited the work with the help of my writer's group. I am not a psychic or a medium. My life's work has been devoted to education beginning as a high school history teacher and later becoming the first certified vocational guidance counselor in the state of North Carolina. My last career challenge was to serve as a college admissions advisor for a nationally recognized technical university. I retired in 2005 and began editing the manuscript enclosed.

I was raised as an Episcopalian and at the age of 17 aspired to be a nun. My library overflows with works of various authors pertaining to religion. My mother was a Christian; my father, a learned Jew. When I was 13, my father insisted I choose a religion; however, before choosing one, he required I study each denomination except Judaism. When I was 40, I decided to become a Jew. My father said, "So, you finally found the cornerstone." I believe the story that flowed from Mary was given into my hands because of my own personal journey. I look forward to your reply.

--------

Okay, WHAT? The thing is, it's not a bad story, and the person writes fairly capably. But I can't imagine what the press tours and interviews will be like if the manuscript really gets published.

I also can't decide whether I want it to be an elaborate hoax or God's honest truth.

Lately it seems like every work email I send goes into the Internet space and then... disappears.

I had a fairly stable job writing for Gym Ticket a few weeks back. It's a website that tells people what gyms are in which areas, and my job was to punch up the descriptions of the gyms. Standard ad copy-writing; not very interesting, but not hard to write either. Then, two weeks ago, without warning, I stopped getting work from my liaison. I called him last week and he was very effusively apologetic, but up to today I still haven't heard from him (online or otherwise).

I don't think my work was unsatisfactory; he told me I was the company's best writer and I see no reason why he would lie to me. I mean, we barely know each other, and furthermore I'm just a freelance employee. I don't think it's a scam either, since the liaison is listed on Facebook and I have his personal phone number. In other words, I really have no idea what is going on.

And that's not the only application that seems to have been abducted by Internet aliens. I applied to a position writing ad-copy for adult toys, to another position as an ad-hoc reviewer, and to a third position writing press releases for a modeling agency. All three said they were interested, sent me work, and then abruptly ceased contact.

Now these three I can sort of believe were scams: perhaps there is some unspoken trick of the trade where freelancers get fleeced for one job so the companies never have to pay. But that this trick spans so many papers and industries seems a little far-fetched even to me.

And, in any case, besides of all these, I haven't even mentioned the other positions I applied for, including more risque ones (and yes, more risque than ad-copy for adult toys). These other positions were mysteriously terminated between 'we're interested' and the receiving of work.

All I can say is, I'm glad Urban Outfitters is hiring.

I feel like I'm on the verge of falling sick again. I have a persistent cough that makes me feel like I should be nursing a bloody handkerchief. Also, at work today I tried to scan in a book with the telephone receiver.

The only good thing to come out of this so far is that I realize I'm very micromanaging when I'm sick. It's not a good thing, and I really need to watch it in the future.

Thank goodness tomorrow is Sunday.

This is post-dated, because I've been really busy since Thursday, which is when the following happened:

So I'm at my intern desk, plowing valiantly through the slush pile, when the big shot in the adjoining office begins a phone conversation. At first I don't pay much attention, but then I realize he's talking to someone close to Robert Jordan's family. And what he and the person on the other line are doing, is putting together a list of authors who might be up to finishing "The Wheel of Time".

Is that exciting, or is that exciting?

(Okay. Maybe I'm just a geek at heart.)

I guess this means Jordan didn't finish the series after all, and I should start pitying (or envying) the person who gets the job.

"I am a new writer literally boiling with ideas."

...really? For that, I sincerely hope you are.

Unsightly stains on the bedroom walls.

Plenty of big mirrors hanging willy-nilly everywhere throughout the apartment.

Can you guess what I decided to do?

Yes. I now have a positively pornographic bedroom.

Robert Jordan passed away yesterday. Though I stopped reading "The Wheel of Time" a long time ago, I still think it's a magnificent achievement. I only hope he managed to complete it before he died.

If not, I pity the person / people responsible for finishing it for him.

This past midnight I walked from my home on 4th and Ave C, to my brother's place on 3rd Avenue and 11th Street. I've been making the same trek for the past few midnights, but tonight was the first night the place on 4th really seemed like home to me.

I think it's because I finally finished repainting all the big walls I wanted repainted. The past few days have been ones of routine: going to classes and / or work during daytime; moving stuff to the place on 4th during evening / night-time; and doing work on the place after I get there until past midnight. Then I walk back to my brother's place, quickly but enjoying every step, on the way stopping in at Dunkin' Donuts to grab a snack.

But tonight was slightly but significantly different. Tonight I finished repainting all the big walls I wanted repainted. Before I left I stopped a moment to stand in the living room. I looked all around me, at the white dove walls that I had picked out. Even though the plasma television still needs to be mounted, and even though other miscellaneous pieces of furniture need to be rearranged or replaced, and even though no unpacking has been done at all - despite all of these 'even though's, this was still effectively now my very own apartment.

I will go as far as to say that it is now my baby; although it has yet to wear the 'clothes' I will give it, yet the 'body' of the place has already been born from me. It has turned from an apartment I had rented, to being an apartment that carries my DNA.

For now, you might say, and you would be entirely correct. I don't know what the next tenant will do with it; I'm not foolish enough to imagine a windfall that will free me from my bond; and even if one did materialize, I know myself well enough to know that I will move upwards. But for the moment it is mine and vice versa; I belong to it because it belongs to me.

When I walked from home in the chill and the dark, I had with me a feeling of warm and fuzzy contentment. I don't think the feeling is entirely attributable to my new home, but the latter certainly serves as a synecdoche for all the changes that have contributed to the former.

And for the past two months I have been constantly struck by another feeling: that for the first time in years I've finally succeeded in moving forward, and will continue to do so in my remaining years here. And those feelings combined make me so indescribably happy (at least right now) that I won't even try to make it describably.

I probably need to find and work a second job, but even that sounds more like fun to me than actual work. The only thing is, I really wish my friends from Singapore could see me now (especially if it's cold enough that I can wear my black trenchcoat).

But regardless. Here's to walking from home at one in the morning; I highly encourage everybody to give it a try, and I do hope everyone has the chance to give it a try.

I dreamed about Chad last night. I don't know why I did; I like him, yes, and I did like him like him way back last year, but I hadn't thought of him in months.

In the dream we kissed; I don't remember much about the dream, but I remember the fear and confusion in his eyes, and how despite them he didn't resist.

I think maybe the reason I keep falling for these young preppy types is not their youth, but the hope that preppiness somehow equates to confusion, fear, and yet desire for guys.

And that's kind of fucked up.

It isn't very often that a bland manuscript outline suddenly becomes creepy and hilarious at the same time. Enjoy.

(Assume sics, of course.)

-----------


It is the morning after an Otherworldly Activities Office (OAO) stake-out by Jordan and other officers -- all teens, because the mentalic ability necessary to affect demons fades with age. Retribution, karmic rebound brought about by use of psionic powers, begins. Normally Retribution consists of severe nausea, headaches, and inability to use mentalic power; this Retribution goes wrong, and a bloodfiend demon pops into existence and slaughters Jordan's parents. Jordan, by lashing out at the monster, inadvertently collapses his house and awakens in the OAO infirmary.

The OAO tells Jordan that he will live with two people who have retained their psychic abilities into their fifties, which is a phenomenon.

After his first day at a new high school, Jordan notices a golden eagle soaring overhead. The eagle exudes an odd glamour which piques his interest. He treks into nearby woods to track it down.

#

Neesy, granddaughter of a preacher in the last pocket of society on the demon-overrun world of Gailoam -- the world from which Earth's demons emanate -- finds a bloodfiend waiting in her room when she returns home from church, and in an uncontrolled display of magic she obliterates it. This concerns the church's elders, and they decide to test her to figure out whether the magic she used was Hurr-approved or Minter-spawned.

#

jordan is now himself on Gailoam, though he doesn't know it. He just knows that what had been a line of trees by the road has become a forest crawling with demons. He has lost his mind-blasting ability and does not know why. He meets a little girl named Reva, who calls him her big brother and says that she has been looking for him. Jordan has no idea what she is talking about, but allows her to lead him to her home. They barely make it to Hurr's Hope, Reva's village -- and Neesy's.

#

Neesy passes the elders' test, demonstrating amazing magical prowess in the process, and the church elders induct her into their number by raping her. Her grandfather is the one to take her virginity -- fulfilling Neesy's secret fantasies, and shattering them in the process -- and then the rest join in. Neesy tries to kill them with her newfound power, but they are many and they are strong.

After violating every orifice, they tell her that she is the second coming of their god, Hurr.

-----------

And then the rape, and the violation of every orifice, and the taking of her virginity by her grandfather, the last of which was apparently secretly longed for - none of these are ever mentioned again, and nor do they play any role in shaping her character. The End.

I'm really annoyed at stories that substitute 'gay' for 'straight' and vice versa, but are otherwise exact replicas of a coming out / coming of age story. What's the point, authors? Why not just do the gay coming out story, instead of propping your entire story on that one stupid mirrortrick? Lazy, lazy, lazy...

I put a bedframe together today! Okay, so it was from Ikea; I didn't chop down wood and groove the nails myself, but I still think it was pretty neat.

I totally qualify as a carpenter now.

...but I worship at Laura Linney's feet, which have more acting talent in one toe than a whole phalanx of equally or more famous actresses.

Yes, I finally managed to watch The Nanny Diaries. Lexie, a friend from my freshmen dorm, read the book some time back and wanted to watch the movie too. So from dinner in the West Village we trooped to the Loews 7 cinema in the East Village, which was across the street from where we had lived two years ago.

I admit my primary motivation for watching the movie was simply Chris Evans, with a minor interest in Linney's interpretation of her role. But Linney... oh. my. god. She can take cardboard and make it seem nuanced.

Chris Evans was still hot though. Not as fresh-faced as in the Fantastic Four movies (although I haven't seen the second one), but I suspect he is going to age into George Clooney-esque fine.

After the movie, I think I can safely say that Linney has at the very least matched my wallpaper-level obsession with Evans, as far as this movie goes.

So. I've only finished one day at Tor, but already I've ruined at least 19 people's dreams. And in some of those people's cases, their very, very, very wordy dreams. We're talking about upwards of 100,000 words here.

I've ruined those people's dreams because slush-pile sorting is a large component of what I do there. Don't get me wrong; I love this part of the internship, and it's a major reason why I applied for it in the first place. I love reading through all the piles of envelopes; I like seeing the ideas that people have; and I do love being able, sometimes, to shelve an envelope for further consideration. But the part of the slush-pile that involves sending out form rejection letters? That part is the part that I don't relish all that much.

It isn't just the sense of foreboding that I get when I have to send those envelopes; it's also because in most of those cases the writers aren't eye-rendingly bad. It's just that either the stories are really not anything to get excited about, or the writing itself just fails to get me turning the pages of their manuscripts. Now, I'm fully aware that I am only one person, and that taste is really subjective, but they're free to resend their manuscripts every fall, winter, spring and summer semester if they'd like, and I'm assuming that they've either done this or will quickly learn to do so, so I'm not going to stress myself about whether I'm accurately reflecting the nation's taste, or whatever. I will say that I think I'm a fairly broadminded person: the books on my shelves go from Sophie Kinsella to Kazuo Ishiguro. It isn't, really, that hard to get me excited.

But the vast majority of what I read seems to have been xeroxed from each other. I counted four amnesiac heroes in the space of 20 submissions alone; ten of those twenty had storylines that mirrored each other for all intents and purposes.

Now. Regarding the amnesiac heroes (brothers?): reusing a trope by itself isn't a bad thing in my (or a) book. God knows J. K. Rowling's series is practically a trope pastiche. But when you reuse a trope and are lazy in general into the bargain, the trope becomes the mercy-killing point that makes me put down your manuscript.

What do I mean? I mean when a person empties dwarves and elves and mountains and magic swords and dragons willy-nilly into a summary, the flatness of the manuscript becomes very apparent very quickly. You can't replace strong characters and strong character arcs with exotically-named creatures, and expect such wanton detail to impress anyone at all. A great character is great whether you call him Bill or Sileuxenatra (a name, most unfortunately, not made up by me). A bad character is a bad character even if you name him Sileuxenatra.

And that is the problem that most of the manuscripts have - and why they mirror each other for all intents and purposes. They're not stories about characters. They're Fantasy Geographic articles about locations and cool-sounding artifacts. The characters are just vehicles to get from Ixtrecifrsda the elven stronghold to M'luudela the infamous goblin wand. And the 'hmmm, cool' factor of such trinkets has a very short half-life. Especially when 19 other people are doing the exact same thing.

I was talking with my brother last night about the setting of a story versus its emotional core. I don't think anyone will say that the setting is not important, but I think it's the emotional core that makes or breaks a story. And realistically that core is usually in the form of a person. Characters carry books; settings are their clothes. I really hope that more of the never-ending slush pile are filled with characters, and less are filled with shiny but ultimately irritating trinkets.

How do you know that you're completely and deliriously sick?

When all that keeps running through your fever-addled head is: "What would Zac Efron do in this situation?"

I know; don't ask me either.

For the record:

I'm living in a two-bedroom in Alphabet City**, near 4th Street and Avenue C. The apartment is entirely mine, basically, since the lease holder keeps one bedroom empty so he has a place to crash. He lives in Brooklyn with his girlfriend, and has stayed a grand total of one night in the apartment over the last three months.

So: I essentially have the place to myself, and if you need a place to crash, feel free to look for me.


** It came down to this, and a room in an otherwise occupied three-bedroom duplex nearby. I figured that I could always have someone over, but I wouldn't be able to kick existing roommates out.

I guess I'm really not a fan of random hookups.

...is why you would hit someone up in a chatroom, and then proceed to say absolutely nothing at all.

I... I just don't understand it.

Usually returning to the United States is a matter of lugging luggage. Every summer before I leave I stash my luggage with someone; and every fall when I return I move the luggage to the (new?) dorm. But this fall was different: I no longer had a dorm. I did not have an apartment; I did not have a room. For the first time returning to the United States I had no place - no space, even - that I could call my own.

The plan had been very simple. I was going to move out of campus, and set up an apartment with a friend. He was staying in Manhattan, and he would bear the brunt of the search. I had to return home to work, but I would help as much as I could from Singapore. Before I boarded the plane that was the understanding that we shared.

But weeks dragged on and the rejected pile grew ever and ever larger. If it was not rent it was the location, or it was the broker's fee. I have heard it said that singles are difficult, but whole apartments are really not much easier. Finally after June had passed there were a few weeks of mysterious silence. Some terse messages had preceded them, so I thought it best not to nag.

But when the end of July loomed near, I started to panic. I shot off a tentative email, hoping things were looking up. Instead I got an apologetic reply: he had already found a place.

For himself, of course.

A month later I returned to New York City, and made a temporary home on my brother's living room couch. I sleep there still, although I am glad to say that I have secured a place. And it is a fantastic place, and I will be beyond happy to call it my home.

But in the week before I found the place, I learned a lot of things about myself. Most of them were not that great. It turns out that therapy isn't really necessary; apartment-hunting is more than enough to reveal the horrors of your psyche.

I realized that I could not make do with a small living space; and materialism is only a smaller of the prejudices I have been nurturing. I also realized that I did not want to live with Asians, regardless of how Americanized they are, and that desire for Americana in itself is probably also a fault. A third realization was that I still hoped to find a boyfriend through my rooming situation, that I was still unwilling to venture further afield in that. A fourth was that I still need to fight to look under skin color, whether for roommates or for more significant relationships.

I could go on and list the continuing disheartening realizations, but I suppose there would be little point. I don't quite understand people who list their faults publicly as if that alone is a step towards correcting them, so I'll stop at those four.

I really do hope that by the end of the year, I can look on this post and say honestly to myself that I have at least made some improvement.

Hi. My name is Zack, and I am addicted to As The World Turns.

Or at least the Luke and Noah storyline. The rest I could not care less about.

Check it out on Youtube. Just type 'luke noah' in the search bar.

...in ad copy at least.

I just made USD 25 in an hour, writing ad copy for a gym website. And it has the potential to turn into a long term thing. Who says writing doesn't pay?

I really have a good feeling about this semester.

It's not only because I will be interning at Tor, a fairly reputable science fiction and fantasy publisher.

And it's not only because I'll finally have my own place, a two-bedroomer for the price of one. The extra bedroom is used as a crash pad, so the whole place is really effectively mine.

And it's not only because I look tonnes better now, and have finally started to fit my clothes better. Although I have to say that both have helped - a lot.

It's mostly that because of all these reasons, and a hundred other little ones, I finally feel like something is happening.

The only snag in the thing, of course, is that I can't seem to write the app. I need to get 2,500 words to send with the East Anglia application, and I can't seem to get into my character's head. I need a change of scene, I think, and maybe write a different chapter.