Hey, Toxic Fans! Get Off My Lawn!

I've had it with these fair-weather Johnny-Come-Lately 4Chan Troglodytes and their mouth-breathing screeds that get slurped up by every nearly-news outlet and then sent back out into the aether to clog up my feed, pushing the puppy pics and the food selfies out of Facebook's algorithm. Knock it off, you assholes.

Of course, I'm speaking about the latest Teapot Tempest: the She-Hulk announcement that Disney made over the weekend. Oh, there was also an announcement about a Moon Knight show, but none of the Innsmouth-Tainted Stumblebums of Twitter are talking about that, nosireebob. It's all about the She-Hulk show, and how Disney is RUINING the world with its Feminist Agenda by turning the Hulk into a woman just to appease the Femi-nazis and the democrats, all of whom only want to kill babies and steal money from hard working Americans, and by the way, Trump rules and you suck, and oh yeah, Marvel isn't ever getting another penny from me.

So, You Want to Be the Voice of Your Generation…

Dear Mr./Miss [YOUR NAME HERE]

Congratulations! You have made a wise decision, no doubt after much consideration and with no malice aforethought. You want to be a representative of your generation on The Internet. Good for you!

In today’s hyper-realized mega-culture, too many voices constantly clamor for our attention, leaving us numb to any sort of reasoned thoughts that might exist in the aether, and often incapable of recognizing those thoughts when we stumble across them.

This is where YOU come in. Yes, you! Are you not chock-full of the attributes that constitute your arbitrarily and narrowly defined “generation?” That makes you the perfect person to step out of the crowd and make your voice heard over the din! Be an “influencer!” A “taste-maker!” Why, if you play your cards right, you might one day become “an Internet Sensation!”

Sounds pretty good, doesn’t it? But, hold on there, Eager Beaver. Before you go running off, nilly-willy, and start banging on your keyboard like a belligerent grotesque, there are a few things you’ll need to know in order to be the best, most intensely saturated version of your digital self that you can be. These simple principles will ensure that you appeal to the broadest possible swath of humanity, who are most often going to experience you in their worse possible state of mind, such as sitting on the toilet, or waiting in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles.

Lost In Space and Your Entertainment Dollar

So, we just got ten hours of a new Lost in Space show on Netflix. And seemingly out of nowhere, too. I mean, we didn't even have time to be properly outraged about how it shouldn't be remade because the original was so good...I mean, outraged about how it shouldn't be remade because the original was so bad...oh wait. We totally all did. The Internet had op-ed pieces about that very thing within minutes of the announcement.

Oh, golly, the hand-wringing! The fretting! The derision and snark!

Worst. Idea. Ever.

And then when it finally dropped, here came the reviews. I saw a lot of passing commentary on social media. About how it was well-done and the cast was great. How it was horribly done and everyone was out of character. How it was surprising and engaging. How it was deeply flawed with flat, hackneyed premises. How it broke down some barriers in a quiet and clever way. How the science was just so outrageously bad it was hard to pay attention. It was about about about about...

We are all talking about Lost in Space, right?

This show, here?

In Space, Every Day is Easter Sunday.

And this horrible, suck-ass movie, here?

"Oh, the Pain" is right, Gary Oldman. What were you thinking?

But some of y'all have a problem with Netflix. Okay, whatever.

Look, I can't fix what I believe to be real and pervasive problems within the SF/F communities. I can't fix the myriad of dysfunctions that have plagued us for generations and even though the strictures that once shunted us off into a sub-culture have been largely removed by the whole of society, we all still feel that we need to be shoved into our locker--no, make that--we feel more comfortable back in our locker, like a prisoner who goes wire-happy or the monster in The Crate from Creepshow.

So I'm not going to address the people who are upset at the high-tech hand waving in this show but don't have a problem with any version of Star Trek. I'm not going to address the people who pooh-poohed the plot holes but are wildly uncritical of Doctor Who. I'm not going to address the people who thought the movie was better, because they are wrong and there's no helping them.

Instead, let's look at the platform. Netflix. Here's a quick overview with rough numbers. Y'all seem to like numbers, so here you go:

Deluxe Streaming Service costs $14 bucks a month. You get everything. But you can't watch it all. You have to sleep. So, let's assume that you get about 18 hours' worth of content on Netflix a day. That's pretty generous and assumes you're a shut-in with a colostomy bag. But it's possible.

18 hours times 30 days is 540 hours, total. Divide $14.00 across 540 hours and you are paying .025 cents an hour. Literally two and a half cents. Your ten hour binge of Lost in Space costs a whopping quarter. Two bits. A shave and a haircut by any other name would still seem so cheap. Even if you were somehow the only person in the world not using Netflix and you signed up just for this show, your cost would still be $1.40 per episode. You can't buy a comic book for that price.

So, what exactly was your problem, again? Yeah, that's what I kinda thought.

Look, if you want to say something interesting or thoughtful about the new Lost in Space, I'm all for that. But if you want to truck out the same old tired bucket of tar and feathers that you use for everything you don't like for fill-in-the-blank reason, do us all a favor and instead, drop a quarter in your piggy bank. Do it every time you'd like to kvetch about the media you're willingly consuming. At the end of the year, take those quarters and go buy yourself a nice dinner at your favorite restaurant and call it even. That way, you get something out of all of your personal discomfort, and I don't have to see the same thing written over and over again, ad nauseum.

Nazis. I hate these guys. Part 2: How Did We Get Here?

As much as I love sociology, and read the occasional book and article concerning same, I am not, and never have been, a sociologist. However, as a writer, I have made a lifetime's habit of watching people and trends and taking note of situations that interest me, particularly when it comes to people changing the way in which they behave and interact with other people. Understanding that is important if you are writing fiction or doing anything that relies on interpersonal relationships.

How great is it that the makers of the Tiki Torches have
condemned the actions of everyone at the Luau?

That means what I'm about to do is go back through my own head and try to put together for myself how we ended up in a world of people who don't vaccinate their kids and people who think the Earth is flat and people who think they are better than other people based solely on their skin color, in America, in 2017. In this meandering discussion, I'm not purporting that what I say is necessarily factually true, in that I may be mis-remembering dates and times and maybe even incidents. I'm going to do this quickly, before I lose the threads of my thesis. If there's corrections to be made, let's do it in the comments, because while I may get some particular details wrong, I feel that my larger conclusions will still have merit. We'll see.

In other words, this is me talking out of my ass, okay?

I'm not sure when my awareness of Nazis morphed from "those bad guys in the war movies" to "skinheads and clansmen." I remember Raiders of the Lost Ark and the profound influence it had on me, a few years before I discovered punk rock and started watching movies like Repo Man. There were pictures of these guys on the news, right? Shaved heads, swastikas, and so forth, power-skanking around bonfires and moshing in clubs, and this footage was trucked out on the news whenever some square in a Brooks Brothers suit needed to "tsk tsk" about these kids today with their weird haircuts and their wild ideas.

I didn't take it too seriously back then, because (a) I had a healthy distrust of anything the news said was dangerous and related to youth, because (b) they did the same thing with Dungeons and Dragons and Heavy Metal music, and later on, Warner Brothers cartoons, and video games, and anything and everything else that we were into at the time. I thought that the skinheads were using the swastika in the same way that the metalheads were using Satanic imagery--as something to frighten parents with. But they weren't really into it, right? I mean, come on, who does that?

Then Geraldo Rivera let some of those guys onto his program, and it ended in a brawl. November 11, 1988. Geraldo got his nose broken from a sucker punch, and without realizing it, ushered in the next wave of daytime live television by putting intentionally combustible elements in the same space and acting outraged and shocked when those elements blew up.

As the 80s gave way to the 90s, there would be the occasional think-piece about White Power groups, usually a "special report" where reporters would trek out into the woods to the collection of run-down mobile homes and dilapidated shacks where these people would gather to talk about White Power and genocide. It was always the same report, too: the walk to the woods, shots of the camp or compound, pictures of poor white people sitting on picnic tables, holding forth about how "we're just like everbody else, only 'cept we see this country going to hell, is all." Then the cross would get lit up and maybe the KKK hoods would come out, or maybe not.

For anyone not living in the woods, or the deep south, it must have felt like a real relief. Whew! We don't have back woods around here. We're safe from Nazis! Well, except for David Duke. He kept running for political office until he eventually got in somewhere, but the press was always dutiful to point out his ties to the KKK (the former grand dragon, don'tcha know) whenever they mentioned him. But even he was a joke, not to be taken seriously, right? I mean, come on, these are NAZIS we're talking about. when the band GWAR makes fun of you, alongside hippies and goths, it's hard for anyone to take you seriously, amiright?

Okay, so, bear with me, because we have to back up a bit.

I don't know exactly when I first became aware of the phrase "political correctness," but I'm pretty sure it was in the early 1990s. There were court cases and some legislation being thrown about, and I can't recall if Affirmative Action happened first, or the Women in the Workforce initiative. But they were real close to one another. My memory is hazy, but what I DO remember was the sudden backlash that went something like this: "What? We can't slap our own secretaries on the ass, anymore? What's the point of living? Why hire a good-looking broad in the first place?"

The Affirmative Action push back was worse: "You mean we have to hire THEM, now? What if they just aren't qualified? They could be criminals!"

"Oh," the next comment went, "and if it's a Black WOMAN..." Pause for knowing guffaws.

Classy stuff. It sounded just as bad then, in the less-sensitive 90s, as it does now, I assure you.

Political Correctness came in with those legislative changes, and the initial idea was well-intentioned, if not well-implemented. After all, we'd already been doing it to some degree for years, right? African-American was the preferred term, and it took a little futzing to get everyone on board, but as long as no slurs were being used, this was a cordial, civilized step forward. If we are going to have these conversations, let's all agree on the terms, right?

I'm surprised this book is currently
out of print. Maybe it's coming back.

Well, it only took a couple of comedians to highlight the ridiculous extremes that, to be fair, were never on the table in the first place. Who remembers "Sanitation Engineer" for "Garbage Man?" And when the book Politically Correct Bedtime Stories came out, it sold like wildfire, because it was genuinely amusing, but it also shined a light on a perceived problem that people felt on an intuitive level: they weren't allowed to talk about certain things anymore. They weren't allowed to use the words they'd always used. Politically Correct speech became a band-aid to be applied to a specific situation that covered up a slur, or an unconscious bias, but it didn't teach the controversy.  It didn't explain why these old things were bad. It just said that they were bad, and didn't offer any context. People all over the country started using the phrase Asian-American, because they were told to, but no one explained to them why "Oriental" was now off-limits and horrible. This was, according to President Bush, all part of our Kinder, Gentler Nation, our Shining City on the Hill, and our first Gulf War.

In the wake of all that came Multiculturalism, an educational initiative that, alongside of everything else, was designed to expose white children in the suburbs to things that weren't white, in the hopes of making them better citizens and not White Supremacists. Its detractors were many, and of course, the first thing they seized upon was the idea that there was more than one way to celebrate the Winter Solstice. This was where the first "War on Christmas" bullshit started, in the Mid-90s, right up against the howls of outrage that Christian children were learning about Hanukkah and Kwanzaa in schools! Right alongside other children, some of whom weren't even white! Horrors upon horrors!

Of course, by the time South Park got around to lampooning it, the outrage was a fixed condition, and the annual running of the angry Fox commentators was a given. That was largely unimportant, because there was a bigger take-away message from all of these efforts, even if the execution and implementation left something to be desired: Acceptance. We were being asked, sometimes forcibly, to accept people who were different from us. Skin color, culture, education, whatever the difference--the message here was acceptance.

I was slow to come around. A lot of people were. Oh, not on the big things, mind you. Women should earn the same dollar that men earn. I've always believed that. Also, women that want to serve in the military in active combat? Go with my blessing. That was never the issue. Nor was Affirmative Action or changing my language--out of respect for my friends who were people of color--and why wouldn't you? "No, listen, I know you want to be called an African-American now, but honestly, I think I prefer to call you a Negro. So, now that that's settled, you want to come over and play Dungeons and Dragons on Friday?"  You'd have to be a nickel-plated asshole to not respect other people's wishes in that way.

I had, and continue to have, no problem with that. And, once Multiculturalism was explained to me, I thought it was okay, too. It had merits. It's good for white kids in this country to understand that they aren't the center of the universe.

But that whole "you've got to accept everyone" thing...

See, there was a lot of "expose" shows in the 1990s on cable news. There were also a lot of "extreme lifestyle" shows on daytime TV. Thanks to Geraldo and the Nazis, it was suddenly all right to parade any given clutch of people that the producers dug up from under some rock and show them off on the Jerry Springer show. Or have some CNN Special Report on, for example, Vampires in New Orleans, a special investigative report. An hour-long show about twenty-somethings who were living "as vampires" in New Orleans. With interviews of Rubenesque women in Victorian dresses, saying out loud and being completely serious, "I'm more of a psychic vampire. I take energy from people, but I don't drink blood." Oh, you're a drain, all right. And then, they'd cut to the bumper for the next segment, and show a pale young man with stringy hair sitting in a wooden throne and the voice-over would say, "Up Next, meet a vampire who drinks blood."

The daytime television nascent-reality TV shows were much more sensationalistic. "Meet Adults who prefer to live as Babies!" The audience would gasp and boo, and just when it was about to turn into an angry mob, they'd put a psychologist on to explain how this was just another way to cope with stress or abuse or whatever, and it's Okay. It's Normal. It's not hurting anyone. Therefore, we need to accept it.

We need to accept it.

And that tone was carried through in every single one of these documentaries. I remember getting into a huge fight with my girlfriend over the vampire documentary. She couldn't understand why I was so hostile. "Because vampires don't exist!" I yelled.

"But they aren't hurting anyone!" she yelled back.

"Bullshit," I said. "They come into the comic shop, in broad daylight, I might add, wearing their vampire fangs that aren't their real teeth because they aren't real," I said.

"So?"

"So? So, commit to the bit, I say. If you're a real vampire, you don't get to go out in broad fucking daylight every Wednesday to pick up your comics. Your servants should do that for you. If you're really a vampire, I shouldn't have to see you. And moreover, take those damn fangs out of your mouth."

"What's wrong with them wearing fangs?" she asked. "Why are you so judgmental?"

"It's a desperate cry for attention, is all that it is," I said. "They are looking for a reaction. They want to freak people out so they can feel superior to them. Well, I don't want to give them that satisfaction, but I also don't want to ignore the fangs, because it makes it seem like I'm accepting of their stupid-ass lifestyle choice."

"They aren't hurting anyone! You're being an asshole!" she stormed out of the room.

I was an asshole a lot in the 1990s, it seemed. Because I didn't understand. I didn't know why I suddenly had to accept people who called themselves vampires, but didn't turn into mist and float under doors. It wasn't fair. But I got tired of being called an asshole, and so I learned to keep my mouth shut.

So, when the preppers and the survivalists started showing up in the documentaries and the exposes and the Special Reports, I kept my mouth shut. After all, they weren't hurting anyone, right? They were just off in the woods, doing their thing, and not bothering anyone. The reports were always quick to show how these people had families with kids...hell, I know families who like to go camping. This can't be that much different, right?

They were still occasionally featuring Neo-Nazis in their special reports, but these days, it looked more and more like preppers and survivalists and those folks with the little churches who dance with snakes. It all had the same tone. The same feel. And the same implicit message: They aren't hurting anyone. We need to accept it.

What we should have been doing instead is questioning it. Why are they doing this? To what end? How does this impact the rest of us, the vast majority of American Society and Culture? Why weren't those questions asked by the reporters? (Insert rant here about how cable news' number one goal is to make money by selling you stuff, and not by actually educating the public, and since everyone likes the Freak Show best of all at the county fair, they truck out the vampires and preppers so we'll be sure to watch.)

Before I go any further, I want to say this: if someone needs something to bring them back up to baseline functionality, and it's legitimate therapy, I have no problem at all with it. There's some really wacky therapy solutions for real trauma and damage and I get that, I really do. But...and this is a big BUT, here...even IF we were to extend that courtesy to, say, fringe behavior, such as dressing and acting like a vampire...I think my acceptance of that, and you're expecting the rest of society to accept that, stops at your front door. This is a larger version of "the right to swing your fist ends at the end of my nose," right? You can think you are whatever you are, in the privacy of your own home, but as soon as you leave your home and get on the bus and queue up in line at Chipotle and go to work everyone else, you are part of society at large, and we've got a fairly generous set of do's and don'ts to make it easier for everyone to get along, all right? If this makes me a monster, then I'll take that hit.

I think we got lulled into a false sense of security by how the media chose to cover all of these fringe groups. I think we watched the Neo-Nazi documentaries and saw how they were being treated the exact same way as the survivalists and the vampires and the Amish and the Heavy Metal fans. Sure, they are different, but they are also just like us, see? They have jobs and kids and eat dinner with forks, just like regular Americans. And so, we should accept it. "If vampires are okay, then surely my White Power group is all right, right? I mean, I just hate people who aren't the same skin color as me, never mind the decades of genetic studies and mountains of evidence that states there is not, and never was, an "Aryan Race," okay? I'm not nearly as bad as the guy who thinks the Earth is flat! That guy's nuts!"

This is my long-winded way of saying the media normalized crazy.

I may have lost some of you there. I understand. For those of you still hanging on, here's my final point about all of this:

It's hard to find pictures of Alex Jones from the 1990s on his
Austin Cable Access show. Those things are gold. And also
scrubbed from the Internet, for some strange reason. 

Alex Jones was a staple of Austin Cable Access TV in the 1990s. If you lived in Austin, Texas, at that time, and you were ever drunk or stoned on a Friday night around 11:30, then you watched him. You watched him scream into the void; a much younger, thinner, and ironically, more sincere man, yelling about the New World Order and Black Helicopters and the police state and oh, brother, it was a cornucopia of paranoid delights. We didn't think he was hurting anyone, either. Live and let live. And besides, who is going to take this guy seriously? I mean, just look at him. He looked like an angry Jehovah's Witness in his suit, yelling in front of a Chroma Key display with weird blinking messages scrawling across.  He's batshit crazy, but he's not hurting anyone.

Then 9/11 happened. And suddenly, in a world looking for answers, in a world shattered by unspeakable tragedy, and for a nation who had never been asked to look at a complex situation and think and reason and have an informed opinion about Sixty Years of American Middle East Policy, the only person who had all the answers was Alex Jones. It's what he'd been waiting for his whole life. "Nine-Eleven was an inside job." That was his message. It was easy, simple, it fed into his pre-existing narrative, and for a large number of people who didn't go running back to church as fast as they could go (a topic for a whole other blog), this answer seemed to make the most sense.

Now he's a global brand, with a media empire. Millions of people are checking out his bullshit and, in the absence of anything else that helps explain why things are the way they are, they are drinking some, if not all, of his Kool-Aid.

I've written before about Why People Believe in Conspiracy Theories, and this link is a great examination of that topic. But anyone who really thinks that our government would fly planes into buildings so they can take away our guns is deranged. And we should have stamped that weird, stupid thought out a while ago.

"But Mark," you say, "That's horrible! You can't 'stamp out' an idea, no matter how repellent."

No? Look at the number of conspiracy theories out there right now. The "field" has mushroomed into an encyclopedic array of topics. Among them? Anti-vaccinators. A clear public health risk. Flat-Earthers: science-deniers who now have a growing number of converts thanks to YouTube. Hmm, let's see, I wonder what other theories and contrarian thoughts and socially-abhorrent agendas could be found online, easily searchable and accessible to everyone?

What about these hate groups and these White Supremacists and these disenfranchised loners who have been isolated in the woods and operating out of dilapidated trailers? They're online, looking for answers, because they aren't in control of their lives, and don't really know how they lost it. Desperate for answers, any answers, they will seek out and find whatever makes the most sense to them. Anything but the truth. Conspiracy Theories, floated out there by Fringe Groups, sound way better than the reality, than the truth. Surely not...but wait...it's not hurting anyone, right? We have to accept it, right?

This is how we get Golf Shirt Nazis in 2017. We never needed to accept them. We just didn't need to give them the airtime.

The Finn’s Wake Holiday Survival Guide

Nothing says Class Act like a carton of smokes
under the Christmas Tree! Hey, if The
Gypper can do it, then anything is fair game.

Oh, I get it. You hate the holidays, it’s too commercial, it starts in September, blah blah blah. Get over yourself. It used to be your favorite (or second favorite, if you were a weird kid) holiday. So, what happened? You grew up. It stopped being all about you, and became an obligation, a chore, a big honking hassle. Hey, man, I get it. For what it’s worth, I agree with all of the above. And yet, I love Christmas. Always have. And do you know why? It’s the only holiday we have where, no matter what you say about it, it’s true. Yes, it’s commercial. It’s also magical. Sure the suicide rate goes up, but people DO in fact act nicer. Charities get that much-needed boost. It’s one of the few times when we become the people we think we are. Doesn’t matter your religious or political affiliation (or lack thereof), everyone can enjoy Christmas with no strings attached.

So, this guide is aimed at the Grinches of the world. It’s a five-part system designed to get you into the holiday spirit, come out of your Grinch cave, interact with the rest of us Whos, and most importantly, survive the Christmas season so that you can do it all over again next year. My advice may seem odd, but trust me, it’s sure fire and fool proof. Don’t believe me? Read on, Grumpy McChestnuts.

Part 1: MUSIC!

Don’t look at me like that. One of the best ways to get in the Christmas swing of things is with music. Now, before you click away, let me explain. Everyone who hates Christmas music has never heard good Christmas music. They only hear that crap that the malls pump out, and it’s usually a blend of kiddie sing-a-longs like “Jingle Bells,” Brenda Lee’s completely tired and played out version of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” and the latest insincerely delivered platitude from whichever has-been won American Idol last year. Who wants to listen to that ever, much less at Christmas?

You want this. If for nothing more than their cover of
"I'm Mister Heat Miser," you want this.

No, see, you have to go off the grid for good Christmas music. You have to forget the malls and Wal-Mart, where you are guaranteed to hear the Chipmunk’s Christmas song, and make no mistake: it will make your eye twitch. Maybe that’s just me. Probably not. Once you scratch all of that safe, overplayed junk off of your list, you can start looking for the real deal. There’s Christmas music, and Christmas CDs, in every conceivable popular music genre. There’s R & B Christmas CDs, Doo-Wop Christmas CDs, Jazz Christmas CDs, and Swing Christmas CDs. Of course, you can get Rock and Roll Christmas CDs, Country Christmas CDs, and Blues Christmas CDs. Did you know that there are even Punk Rock Christmas CDs? Oh yeah. What’s your favorite kind of music to listen to? What puts you in a good mood? Okay, that’s where you start. If you like swing and big band music, for example, there’s a ton of great, inexpensive Christmas CDs to check out.

Also, think about musicians you like. Chances are, they have a Christmas album. If Twisted Sister can have a Christmas album, anyone can. James Brown’s Christmas CD is a must-have. Brave Combo’s Christmas CD is awesome. And Big Bad Voodoo Daddy’s Christmas CD gets played at my house, every year, without fail.

A wonderful mix of cool and absurd stuff.

Look around. Check out what’s online. If you don’t know for sure what or who to buy, get a compilation or two. One of my favorites is Christmas Party with Eddie G. It’s a kind of Christmas mix-tape for hipsters before we knew what hipsters were. If you want something more modern and extremely un-traditional, then get the New Wave Hits of the 80s Christmas collection, which includes one of my favorite Christmas songs, “Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy,” sung by the unlikely duet of Davie Bowie and Bing Crosby.

One side note: You may be tempted to pick up one of the Bob Rivers Twisted Christmas collections, and if you eventually want to make your own Christmas mixes and playlists, go ahead. But be wary of listening to Christmas novelty collections at the exclusion of all other things. A little funny goes a LONG way. You’ll burn out on the novelty songs twice as fast. Think about it: Aren’t you sick of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer?” Yeah, me too.

But why, you may be asking, is Christmas music important? Because it’s a no-stress way to get you in the mood without forcing your to shop, decorate, or bake. You can pop a disc in or cue up a playlist while you’re cleaning the house or surfing online. If it’s stuff you picked out for yourself, that you actually like, then you’re more apt to find yourself humming it out loud in the grocery store line next week. Being happy in public is kind of a Christmas-y thing to do, you know.

Part 2: MOVIES!

Still not in “the mood” yet? Ain’t no thing, my brothers and sisters. All you gotta do is let your favorite Christmas movie get you in the mood. Or, if you prefer, your favorite Anti-Christmas movie. It’s really that simple. Pick a night or two when you’re committed to watching one or more of your favorite holiday films. And yes, it can be Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang. That’s totally legit. If you need to burn all of the residual cynical thoughts out, pop in Bad Santa.

You know the dentist is gay as a goose, right?

If you’ve got kids, this is super easy. The Rankin-Bass animated shows like Santa Claus is Coming to Town and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer used to be required viewing for us as kids and there’s no reason to stop now. Same thing with A Charlie Brown Christmas. What are you, a Communist? This is great stuff. 

Are you up on your classics? White Christmas? A Miracle on 34^th Street? It’s a Wonderful Life? Watching a classic film you’ve never seen before is a great way to get a little happy juice in your system. Just be sure to stay away from the Hallmark movies, the made-for-television offerings, and any "remakes" of classic films. That path leads only to madness and despair.

I’ve got a few modern classics that I break out every year: Scrooged, A Christmas Story, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, and Elf have become the must-watch quartet for propping up my Christmas cheer.

But every once in a while, I go dark, early. That’s when Lethal Weapon, Die Hard, and Gremlins hit the DVD player. Look, you use whatever works, okay?

Part 3: SHOPPING!

Can you feel the Christmas Love in this photo?

Basically, my advice is this: don’t do it. It’s a sucker’s game. Well, okay, you kinda gotta, but the trick is to do it your way; the way that makes sense. That means avoiding “Black Friday” like the plague. Chances are, you don’t need what they are offering, no matter how ridiculous the price.

I shop local whenever I can, and I go online for everything else. In my small town situation, I’m an hour’s drive from any big box stores. And I’m okay with that. My family, thankfully, is pretty easy to buy for, and I find that I can split my purchases between local merchants and online stores fify-fifty. That’s pretty good, and best of all, I avoid the thing that most people hate the most about Christmas—the crowds of rude people and the endless driving and circling for the best prices, the last of the stock, the perfect parking space, and all of the rest of it.

But what do you buy for people? That’s the question, always. And I think that’s where most of the pressure comes from; this idea that you HAVE to buy stuff for people. You don’t. Not really. There’s a ton of stuff you can do, that you can give, that people will really appreciate. It genuinely IS the thought that counts. You don’t have to overspend—just do what you can.

Make a list of people you simply MUST shop for, with no exceptions. Hopefully it won’t be more than ten people. If you’re lucky, it’ll be five or less. Don’t put everyone you know on the list—just the people you know you’re going to spend time with this year; your close, immediate family; the inner circle. That’s your pool. Everyone else gets a Christmas card.

If you’re scraping by, like so many folks are this year, then don’t go crazy on the gift-giving. If you can bake, then make cookies. Or cakes, or pies, or tamales, or whatever you can. Make it from scratch and people will appreciate it. You’d be surprised. Or knit, if you can knit. Or whatever else you can think of. It doesn’t have to come from a store to be a great gift.

Getting what I want? Christmas magic, right there.

Lastly, and this is very important: I know some people stigmatize gift cards as “not real gifts,” but they are stupid and wrong. I’m hard as hell to shop for; I admit it freely! If you really want to do something for me, and you have no idea where to start, I’m happy to accept gift cards and gift certificates all day.

Whatever you plan to do, try to get it all done in a short period of time—say, over the first or second weekend. The sooner you get this out of the way, the quicker you can relax, because it never gets less busy in the stores as you near Christmas. Staying away as the days count down will eliminate so much of your stress and keep you in a better mood.

Part 4: FOOD!

One of the best things about living in Texas. Fresh tamales
are a part of my Christmas from childhood.

Cookies, pies, cakes, hot cocoa, fresh tamales, kolaches, mulled apple cider, peppermint, summer sausage and cheap cheese...these are just a few of the things I associate with Christmas food. I know we’re just now coming out of Thanksgiving, but now is NOT the time to be watching and counting and pointing and starving. You’re doing more stuff—up your carb intake. Also, don’t be afraid to use food as a way of cheering your miserable ass up. Go on: eat that chocolate chip cookie and don’t even think about where it’s going. Just get some serotonin into your bloodstream, and quickly.

I love to cook, but my real weakness is baking and desert making. I suck at it. Well, that’s not quite right. I can do it, but it takes a lot of effort and the results are never what I want them to be. Edible, sure, and maybe even tasty. But never brilliant, like what my mother can do.

Either way, I’ve got some holiday recipes that I like to trot out. If you can cook, you should consider making one or two things to bring to the office or the next party. People love real food, especially when other people make it. If you have a specialty, now is the time to whip it up. That feedback you get when everyone tells you how much they liked your food? That’s Christmas, baby! Cook, and give away your food, and feel good about it. If you can’t cook...wait, you know what? I don’t buy that. Maybe you can’t make lasagna, but there are a number of simple, nay, foolproof, recipes for snacks and cookies that an idiot could do. Hell, if nothing else, make some Chex mix and bring it to the office. Yes, Chex Mix. I ain’t playing with you. It’s easy, delicious, and because you made it, it counts as cooking during the holidays.

In CONCLUSION!

The most important thing to remember about this time of year is that there is no wrong way to celebrate the season. Whether you are completely religious, completely Secular, or some mix of the two, like most of America, I suspect, in the end, you make Christmas time your own. To paraphrase Tyler Durden, you decide your level of involvement.

I have a good friend who, for year, opted out of doing anything for Christmas. His holiday was spent eating fried chicken and gravy and watching old Bing Crosby and Bob Hope Road movies. He loved it. He told everyone not to buy him anything, and he was going to do the same, and that was that.

Don’t ever feel like you have to do something this time of year. Also, if anyone makes what you’ve done for them feel cheap, or meaningless, then that’s not someone you want to spend Christmas with next year. It’s not worth the hassle, the guilt, or the shame. You do what you can, and earnestly, at that. You make it your own holiday. Your friends and family will respect it. Everyone else that doesn’t get it? Not your problem.

There’s a massive amount of societal pressure this time of year, and you need to do whatever you can to circumvent as much of it as possible. Sure, it means getting ready early, and maybe when you’re not exactly feeling it, but come December 25^th, you may not be so Scroogian and sad. You might just be having a good time and wishing some folks peace on Earth and goodwill to all. And that, to me, is what Christmas is all about.

Happy holidays, folks. Be safe. Stay sane.

Mark and Gloria's Final Word on Miley Cyrus

Punk hair, toungue out, leather...an
image carefully crafted to foment
shock and outrage from the
concerned parents of the world.

I’m taking a quick break from all of these Top 5 Lists to Weigh In on Miley Cyrus, the zombie-like non-story that refuses to die. First, here's some wisdom from Gloria Steinem that sort of inspired this blog post. It's short. Check it out here.

I’m glad that Gloria Steinem has scratched this off of everyone’s To Do list. I think she’s one hundred percent correct, by the way, but let me just add this to the mix: if you’re over the age of 30 and you are outraged about Miley Cyrus’ career trajectory, I want you to punch yourself in the face, really hard. Not because I want you to hurt yourself, but because I want you to wake the hell up.

As someone who grew up watching Madonna re-invent herself literally every 4-5 years, this is all just amusing and stupid in equal parts. But never mind that—there are probably more of you who can recall the crop of Mickey Mouse Club graduates that went on to become very famous and scandalous celebrities in their own right, right? On second thought, maybe you don’t. Here’s the wikipage. Go look and be amazed. Ryan Gosling? Yeah, even him.

None of this is new. There isn’t a child actor on the planet that hasn’t rebelled against their handlers as soon as they could do so. And when those handlers are Walt Disney, one of the most restrictive, manipulative, and calculating of our New Corporate Overlords, well, let’s just say, the pendulum always swing back the other way, doesn’t it?

But more to my original point, why on EARTH do you even care? This is music made for children pretending to be adults, made by children pretending to be adults, backed by actual adults with deep pockets and market research. I need you to really understand this: Hannah Montana was never, ever real. It was all made up, and it was done so with profit in mind. 

Remember the outrage? Album sales soared. It's all an act.

I think the thing that was the most upsetting to me was that there were people my age (over 40) watching the MTV Video Awards that night, and actually tweeting and posting about it as it was going on. Really? Seriously? I won't get into a rant about how youth culture is marketed to adults almost as much as it's marketed to youth, and how the only goal is to turn children into good little consumers. You can imagine how that would go already. But seriously. That whole event is one big televised press conference, a chance for the media conglomerates to roll out the new models and let everyone take them on a test drive. 

As parents, you're forgetting the number one rule that has been true for generations and is as bad as it ever was: if you hate it, the kids will love it. Your fear, your disgust, your confusion is like Ambrosia to them. If you can't understand why Miley is suddenly popular now that she's a "little tramp," it's because you think she's a "little tramp." 

But hey, there are a few earnest folks out there who genuinely, if inexplicably, love her music and think she has the voice of an angel and blah blah blah. If you’re a parent, and your child is confused about what’s happening with Miley or that demented little incubus, Justin Bieber, and why they suddenly seem so hurtful and nasty and no longer 14 years old, this is a GREAT opportunity to talk to them about media and the way content is manufactured, for profit and consumption in this country. It’s an important and necessary lesson, and the sooner they get it, the better off they will be as humans on this planet. Heck, while you’re on about it, throw in a discussion about advertising, too. In the end, it’s all the same thing, really.

Shocking. Scandalous. And carefully
crafted by the studio. Nothing is real.

Please don’t think this is some sign of the apocalypse. People were initially upset with Annette Funicello when she wore a two-piece bikini in Beach Party. She recovered. We all did. Most child stars are permanently damaged by the experience. Lindsay Lohan continues to be a slow-motion car crash in progress. The only thing I feel for these people is sadness, and maybe some pity. It's too much to put on the shoulders of a child and expect them to not get banged up by the process. Only a few have survived in modern times, and it's because they went ahead and acted out the childhood they never had, which included rebelling against their parents. It's just that when you build an artificial person and have a corporation for parents, that rebellion is usually well funded and capitalized, and done in the public spotlight. See also Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake. But they've come through it, more or less. It’s just a phase.  When you grow up in the spotlight, your “phases” become tabloid gossip, and in the end, just like most monsters that live under your bed, it all has exactly the power you assign to it.

Our Political Climate: Elvis Clones, Area 51 and the Necronomicon

In the days of my misspent youth, I was fascinated with conspiracy theories. My first, and favorite, was of course, Area 51 and the Roswell UFO crash. After all, I was a child of the seventies and space was on every kid’s brain. UFOs and governmental cover-ups found their way into all of the popular television shows of the day. Where do you think Mork and Mindy came from?

I was too young to hear about the faked moon landing conspiracy theory that eventually found its way into that great O.J. Simpson vehicle, Capricorn One. It’s probably just as well. Whatever marginal entertainment value the idea of a faked space program contained, there was just too much facts, evidence, and truth to give it much credence.  I think that’s part of what makes a good conspiracy theory. There has to be a lot of interesting coincidences, or incidents that can’t be explained, or questions that have no answers, in order to be really compelling.

My Political History

Author's Note: This is the beginning of an exploration of my political beliefs. They are mine, and it took me 38 years to figure them out. You may feel inclined to comment on them, or even ask questions, and I would encourage you to do so, provided that you: (a.) avoid the trap of name calling and absolutes, and (b.) write those comments as if we're having a discussion. If you think I've grossly overshot and missed the point, then by all means, let's talk about it. But if you think I'm wrong because I don't see it your exact way, then frankly, I don't want to hear it. I'll do you the same courtesy of not trying to tip your sacred cows, as well. Remember: you can't reason someone out of a position that they did not reason themselves into in the first place.  With all that said, if you're interested in what I have to say, then press on!

Chicken Pride Day and What It All Means

No doubt, the memes and cartoons and movies and sniglets and bumpersticker wisdom that has choked FaceBook over the last week regarding Chick-Fil-A and its owner's conservative values have managed to once again polarize friends and families alike, and polarize them where they hurt the most--in their stomach.

I won't recap the battle, because all you have to do is log into FaceBook and scroll down for six or seven seconds until you find examples of what I'm talking about above, and probably links to the story of how the Muppets ditched Chick-Fil-A after what their owner said, because, well, it's not widely known, but Jim Henson was gay.  And since the Muppets are about everyone getting along together with no hang-ups, you can see how some people close to the creator of Sesame Street and Kermit the Frog might have gotten their noses Gonzo'ed out of shape over that.

This, to me, is a rare peek at a much, much larger concern: who we are doing business with as consumers. I know it's not a pleasant conversation to have, and moreso because no one has ever asked us, as Americans, to have it. In fact, there's been a lot of effort to suppress it. Anytime slave labor or grossly inadequate wages regarding goods and services are brought up (usually in a Wal-Mart discussion), someone who doesn't want to have to make a choice about where their $8 t-shirt comes from will pipe up and accuse someone of being a Communist, a Socialist, or Anti-Capitalism in general. This, of course, derails the conversation completely as the accused now has to assure everyone that they are not, in fact, a Pinko. And so the topic seems to sit out there, bobbing in the mainstream, and only occasionally nudged to the right or the left as it suits people.

Well, in fact, it's not a red or a blue issue. It's a voting issue. It's democracy 101, and most especially since we don't elect presidents anymore, but the Electoral College does, and most people can't name their state senators, and wouldn't take the time to write them a letter if their head was on fire and the politician had the last glass of water in the world. No, I'm talking about the only votes that ever seem to matter in America: the bottom line. The Red and the Black. Profit and Loss. These are our new Overlords, and I do not welcome them. But they are here, nonetheless.

It's really simple: since corporations exist as a firewall between themselves and their shareholders, and the stated intent of all corporations is to make money for their shareholders, you cannot really punish a corporation the way you punish a person (and Mitt Romney is wrong--about so many things--but most emphatically that "corporations are people"). All you can do to send them a punitive or encouraging message is to vote with your dollar. Spend it or withhold it as you deem necessary. When the shareholders see the bump, or the dip, the next quarter, they will know why, and they will correct whatever is causing the bump. And it's just that easy.

There were lines around Chick-Fil-A restaurants across America yesterday, and I suspect they were all in line for one of three reasons:

1. Their chicken is delicious and they wanted a sandwich. This would have been the smallest group yesterday, incidentally.

2. They felt that poor old Chick-Fil-A had gotten beat up over the past week and they were making a show of supporting them (really a sympathy purchase) to help them in these trying economic times. I need a minute after that last sentence; it's hard to type while laughing out loud.

3. They honestly, earnestly believed in the sanctity of Chick-Fil-A's stated policies of not being open on Sunday to observe the Sabbath, giving donations to Right to Life organizations, and admonishing the gay and lesbian community in general for their hedonistic ways. These would have been largely the politicians and pundits who needed a photo-op and something to Tweet about.

I've known about Chick-Fil-A's practices for some time, and I've curtailed 98% of my spending there, which amounts to doodley squat for their bottom line, but it mattered to me. It meant the chicken sandwich I bought didn't contribute to a Right to Life group, however legitimate, who may have taken a donation from Chick-Fil-A, and then that money somehow got handed off to a more radical sect, who thinks it's okay to firebomb clinics and kill doctors and nurses in order to justify the existence of what amounts to a parasite growing in someone's body. An extreme example? You betcha. But understand this: I have no say in how Chick-Fil-A spends its money. None whatsoever. And neither do you.

If a corporation wants to fund overseas heroin farms with its profits, then I don't want anything to do with that corporation. And neither should you.  Another extreme example, but I'm making a point. It DOES matter where and how we spend our money. In the wake of scant to no regulation of things like investment banks, companies doing business overseas, and so forth, it seems clear to me that the message is not self-regulation but fiscal regulation. We send the message with our purchases, or lack thereof.  We the people tell the corporations what we will and will not accept.

Think about it: no matter how many negative Wal-Mart stories you see on the news about cheap Chinese labor, they don't change. Why? Because people are still buying $8 shirts, whether they need them or not, because "it's a good deal!" Consider what would happen if Wal-Mart got 10 million signatures asking to buy clothes made in the USA again, and that we'll stop buying t-shirts from them until they do: they'd laugh at first, but after one month of their t-shirt sales being down 75%, they'd have a textiles factory in the midwest up and running in a fortnight. Think about it. Does Wal-Mart like to leave money on the table? They do not.

The problem is, we've never really used that power. Not until this, until now. And it was kind of a bust, really--so many people signed on for a Chick-Fil-A sandwich yesterday in some kind of righteous indignation, even as this picture made its way across FaceBook. And this is always--ALWAYS--an option for Christians to lead through action rather than to get drawn into a debate with other people. I would think that if someone was really passionate about their beliefs and the opportunity to both support a multi-million dollar chicken restaurant and also feed the homeless with delicious sandwiches presented itself, it would be a real win-win for everyone else involved, including the homeless. But of course, the last thing a lot of the people who espouse these values  seem to care about is putting a sandwich into a needy person's hand. There's irony in there, somewhere, I'm sure of it.

So, now the door is open. You can peek inside and see how they make the sausage, and if you don't like it, you don't have to buy it. You can even tell them why. My suggestion is that you start doing that very thing. Of course, most of the people who read this blog already do things like this anyway, so I'm just preaching to the choir. Therefore I have to ask you to start talking this idea up with the people you know who don't know any better. It's time America started thinking for itself again.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go figure out how to reverse engineer their secret recipe so I can make Chick-Fil-A sandwiches at home.

San Diego Stories: Wednesday Night

Preview Night is Wednesday night, and it is the only real time you have a chance to walk around, unmolested, and actually see stuff. This is especially true if you're an exhibitor, because once the show starts, you're trapped at your booth until they say otherwise. So, as you can imagine, everyone in the room was running hither and thither trying to snap pictures, talk to a creator, or get something signed while they could.

That's how I ended up in line for Darwyn Cooke's newest release from IDW, The Score.  This is the third adaptation of Richard Stark's brilliant crime series featuring the enigmatic and pragmatic Parker. It's possible you don't know what I'm talking about, so get thee over to the excellent website, The Violent World of Parker, and read Darwyn's interview with the guys. It's worth doing.

In any case, I spent about an hour and a half in line to meet the man, and I was one of the last ones actually in line, to boot. The last time I waited that long in a line to meet someone at a convention was Joe Kubert. So, yeah, I don't normally do that kind of thing. I just don't. But it was well worth it to me, just to get a little face time with Darwyn and shake his hand and thank him for doing the book. He drew a little Parker profile in my book, too; it's maybe eleven connected lines and it's perfect.

While in line, I got to have a couple of cool conversations with the two guys on either side of me in the line. You do that at San Diego, a lot. I ran into Joseph McCabe, an old friend and fellow writer. We shot the bull for a while until he was allowed to surreptitiously cut the line with me, and so all was right with the world. Joe was the first of many people I'd run into over the next five days that I've not seen in years.

Between the guys with me in line and Joe, I was almost able to deal with the guy taking photographs of the toys in one of the cases set up by an IDW affiliate. The resin statues were striking and wonderful and expensive, and none of this is in dispute. But this chucklehead with his camera insisted on taking multiple--dozens, really--of photos of each model from every angle he could get at. And between his camera bag, the rig he was shooting with, his haversack, and his constant squatting and shifting, he was completely disrupting the line. It was clear that he had no intention of buying anything, but reacted to anyone trying to work around him as if his picture taking was the most important thing in the world.

Truthfully, I felt sorry for the affiliate creators. They were, from the looks of things, concept artists, and while we were all politely checking out their table stuff as we were trapped into doing so, none of us were there for that. Occasionally some fan would try to wedge his way through us, and we were pretty shitty to them. One guy asked if we were in line for those creators and I replied, "Naw, we're all getting the same tattoo." He laughed, and moved around to the other side. Irritating for all, sure, but by no means the most untenable thing at the convention. Nearly every booth had some kind of traffic flow problem and there wasn't really anything to be done about it. Welcome to San Diego.


Whilst milling around, I also ran into Chris Roberson and Allison Baker, Chris Cox, Martin Thomas, Kerry Gammill, and Shannon Wheeler. It really felt like a family reunion. I forget sometimes how many people I actually know in the comics industry, until I see them all in San Diego.

It's my first SoonerCon...Be Gentle With Me, Ok?

Hah! Did you see what I did, there? A pun in the title, and I'm not even talking about the convention yet! Boom!

Okay, so, yeah.

This weekend I'll be at SoonerCon 21 along with Michael Golden, Peter S. Beagle, Eric Flint, and several hundred close personal friends, including A. Lee Martinez, Brad Denton, Caroline Specter, Ethan Nahte, Adrian Simmons, Rhonda Eudaley, and many others who I am surely forgetting at the moment.

I've never conventioned in Oklahoma, nor stayed there for more than twelve hours. Oklahoma City is, in fact, a lovely town, with lots to offer. It's definitely an oasis, surrounded by a lot of small and/or grimy towns. And I say this with some authority, for I have been to Lawton, and found it wanting.

That said, I am very excited about this convention and I'm looking forward to all of the frivolity that is sure to ensue. For those of you on the fence about whether or not to attend, or maybe you're thinking, "Hmmm, I wonder what Mark actually does at these things," well look no further. Here's my panel schedule:

Friday                      5PM       Comic Book to Movie/Book to Comic Book

 Saturday              10AM       Oh No!  It's MAINSTREAM

Saturday               12PM       Writing Realistic Humans

Saturday                 8PM       RADIO SHOW

Sunday                   9AM        Koffee Klatch Saturday

 Sunday                 12PM       Cryptozoology in Urban Myth:  Hate to Say It, We Need Bigfoot

Sunday                   1PM        Dinosaurs and Why the SF/F Community Loves Them 

Sunday                   2PM        AUTOGRAPHS

And For the record, I will have copies of RoadTrip and Dreams in the Fire for sale. If you have a copy of SCOUTS and you want me to sign it, bring that along, too. Heck, bring everything. I'll sign it however you like. You want a Frazetta autograph? No problem. Bob Kane? You betcha. Note: autographs not guaranteed to look like original.

Hope to see you in Oklahoma City this weekend. If you're at the con, please stop by and say hello. You now know where to find me.

Advice for the 21st Century Virtual Critic

Last week, the Interwebs were aflame in a massive troll fight between some Young Adult authors and the people who read them--which can include thirteen year old girls, but doesn't always. The Book Pushers gave an amazingly succinct blow by blow recap of the entire kerfluffle as it played out across the social media platforms like a Jerry Springer stripper fight that meanders backstage and out across the audience before coming to rest in one of the chairs, held apart at arm's length by Steve.

What it basically boiled down to is this: a reader said some fairly insulting things about an author and his work. Other authors jumped in, saying to leave off the personal attacks, and oh yeah, yer mother, and it spiraled out of control from there.  But it touched upon something that I've had a serious problem with for some time now: there's no filter for the Internet. By that I mean that when some Mountain Dew-addled seventeen year old clicks through on a link to a movie trailer for a pop culture property they have no prior knowledge of, and right underneath the trailer is a blank space, fairly begging for a comment, there's nothing to prevent them, either internally or externally from typing "this sucks" and then going on their merry way. Nothing. When have seventeen year old kids ever had to be thoughtful and articulate?

But some of them have seen the value, or maybe just the cache, in being some kind of online presence or personality. And since everyone in cyberspace wants to participate in a global conversation, these Cyber-Pundits have popped up on places like You Tube, the Internet Movie Database, and Amazon. They are even called "reviewers" by some sites, and this may have lulled many of them into thinking that they are a critical voice that actually matters.

For every thoughtful, articulate, and cogent reviewer on Amazon, there are twenty sub-literate Howler monkeys with a grasp of English that can only be called Byzantine and not an iota of taste in their mouth, much less in their heads.

It's gotten so that I cannot even participate in these conversations anymore, if they ever were conversations in the first place. A conversation implies a give and take, back and forth. Website comment boxes are more like, "Step up to this line, and try to shout so that your voice is heard on the other side of the lake." As someone who has written reviews, and as someone who has been reviewed, I'm not trying to pick a new fight here. What I am saying is this: in a medium comprised entirely of words (emoticons have never counted), what you say and how you say it is everything. Period.

In other words, if you're just a reader who likes to say "It sucked" when you come across a book that didn't hold your interest with every sentence on the page, that's fine, I can't stop you. Just make it clear to me that you're that person, and not trying to influence other people with your post. Don't act like your screed is anything other than your subjective, biased, and scarcely nuanced opinion.  It's not a review. It's certainly not a review I can use, nor can anyone else--unless they feel like starting a little online slap-fight.

See, what makes a good reviewer good is his or her ability to write about a book, even one they didn't personally care for, in such a way that it doesn't scorch the Earth beneath it. Reviewers, like essayists, reporters, and even fiction writers, should have a viewpoint. That's how you not only connect with the people who want to know what you think (because they share your viewpoint) but you also make yourself useful to people who don't share your viewpoint by bringing up relevant criteria that can be used to make an informed opinion.

Example: Marc Savlov is a writer for the Austin Chronicle, and he's made it very clear throughout his decade and a half of movie reviews that he is a closet geek. He likes that stuff, but he's a little embarrassed to admit it. And so, he tends to be harder on X-Men movies than other people. Most genre movies, for that matter. So, when I read a Savlov review, I know I can automatically add one star to anything he writes about with lasers or dinosaurs or superheroes in it and that'll line up with my own tastes. Roger Ebert is another great example of someone whose tastes are out there, for everyone to see, and so you just know how to adjust whatever Ebert is saying to how you like your movies.

These guys have something else going for them: they are deeply knowledgeable. They don't talk about Blade Runner being the best film noir movie ever made because they've seen Out of the Past. When "new" film noir movies come out, Ebert weighs all of the other film noir movies against the new one and can talk about what worked and what didn't. And I trust him, because I've seen the books he's written.

If you're online, and you're not even using your real name, then guess what? You have to establish your credibility if you want to be a reviewer. It's okay to like weird movies, and it's even okay to champion new stuff as greater and better than everything before it. But you need to understand that classics are called classics because they are inarguably classics. I'm sorry if you haven't seen Raiders of the Lost Ark because it's like, 30 years old and stuff. But it's one of the most influential movies of the 20th century. If you haven't seen it, and can't spot the obvious swipes in some crummy action film, then guess what? You're not a credible reviewer, and anything else you say from that moment forward is suspect. In a nutshell, if you're going to wax intellectual, you'd better know your shit.

Finally, it is possible to say you hate a book without saying it sucks. It's actually pretty easy to do. All you have to do is add the phrase, "In my opinion," before you pronounce judgement, and then back up what you didn't like about the book--specifically. Was the language too garbled? Was the dialogue unbelievable? Was the plot contrived? Did it feel too much like "X" book or series? See, that's a valid thing to bring up. Some authors in fact make a point of trying to do their "Tolkien riff." If I'm a Tolkien fan, and I'm tired of re-reading The Hobbit, then your comments might actually help me, even as they are establishing your bona fides on your critical yardstick. But you shouldn't presume that the author is a terrible person, nor that the people that like their books are sub-literate chuckleheads. If you have that strong a reaction to a book, then clearly you were not the target audience. Moreover, how on Earth did you even think to pick up such a thing in the first place? You probably read an online review.

When I was a book seller (for years and years) I was called upon to give my opinion about books on a daily basis. Now, this can be tricky. If I tell someone about a book that I hated, that I think sucked, and I say it's the greatest thing ever, then that's a lie. And if they buy that book based on my lie, and hate the book, then guess what? I've lost all of my credibility.

Over the years, I learned the value of tact. It's perfectly okay to say to someone asking about, say, Henry Miller, that "I'm not the best person to ask for a recommendation. I don't personally care for him. I think he's a little too gimmicky." If they asked for more, I'd tell them what made Miller's writing more of a blog trick than actual prose. But I'd always end with, "But that's just me. Other folks here love Miller and can tell you why he's great." I'm not putting down anyone who likes Miller. I'm just explaining why I don't. See how that works? Let me say this out loud, so there can be no misunderstanding: if you're not capable of doing that every time you hit a movie, or book, or record that you don't like, then you're not going to be an effective critic. You're just going to be another nameless, faceless voice in an already crowded Internet yelling "IT SUCKS" from the other side of the lake.

Take a moment to decide if you're a reviewer, or if you're just a reader. If you want to be a reviewer, then you've got to be brilliant. Or gifted. Or both. But if you just want to be a reader, and just want to be able to say what you think, without all of that other stuff getting in the way, then make the effort to say what you mean and mean what you say. Use your words. You're a reader. You of all people should know the value of written communication.

For those of you who actually aspire to honing a critical reputation of some kind, well congratulations. You just became writers. And with that comes all of the things that every other writer on the planet needs to know. All of the rules. All of the perils and pitfalls. You are now just as accountable for the things you write (for little or no money) as the rest of us writers working for little or no money. Again, let me stress: choose your words carefully.

At least, that's what I think.