This is supremely blowful because I want to see my brother’s friend Amin Nikfar throw shot. I want to see if Dara Torres can kick as much ass now as she did in the ‘84 games. I want to see the cycling and the triathlon and the sheer ferocious beauty of the 100m dash.

But all of that is overshadowed by Beijing’s overwhelming oppression, the IOC’s hypocrisy, and having to listen to Bob fucking Costas drone on and on. That’s just too much bullshit for a man to take just to watch some athletics. So, have fun without me, people. I’ll be in the saddle or the pool or sweating for myself.

-If you think watching someone be flayed alive is entertaining, you need to check your ass into a psychiatric facility now. I don’t give a damn if you’re the creator or viewer of said content. Get thee to a nuthouse, ’cause you’re fucking crazy.

-If you expect me to try and sell this trash, you’re even crazier.

-But if you intend on recutting this flick so it’s all about the zombie demolition derby, then we can talk.

And of course George Carlin was in there. The classic gold albums (FM & AM, Occupation: Foole and Class Clown) are still my favorites, though it’s his routine “Death and Dying” from On the Road that epitomizes what I loved about Carlin: the voices, the microphone mastery, the playful love of words and language how they shape our thinking about Big Heavy Shit.

I didn’t like much of his standup after Parental Advisory because it sounded like he’d stopped going for the funny and gone after the applause. It’s easy to make a friendly crowd hoot and cheer, but making them laugh? That’s hard, man. And to make adults laugh over wordplay and absurdity all while dealing with Big Heavy Shit, that’s really hard. All of the albums that were based on misanthropy sounded like a man who’d just said, “It’s too hard. Fuck it.”

So, I don’t mourn George Carlin, because the teacher I listened to hasn’t gone away and will never go away. Light up some Toledo Windowbox tonight for him.

Tim Russert came in, wearing his Rex Harrison hat, the morning of the caucus. It was a funny little detail that I thought about every time he showed up on The Daily Show or a blog: where’s the hat, Tim?

RIP.

2) Mark Zuckerberg is my new Evil Corporate Nemesis, taking the place of Steve Jobs (though I’ll probably put ol’ Steve-o back up if I ever buy an iPhone). Why? Because he represents the company who thinks that the following is a Good Idea:
- I make a Facebook page for a client’s product. Said product is a movie, and said movie has a soundtrack that will get the kids a-hippin’ and a-hoppin’.
- I want to put Facebook’s Music Player application on this page in order to facilitate the aforementioned hippin’ and hoppin’.
- The Music Player says, “First, I’m gonna need to confirm that you do, in fact, formally represent the movie in question. You can confirm this by uploading a scan of your student ID, your driver’s license or your passport.”

Now, the magical disclaimer says that I can black out any sensitive information as long as my name and picture are still visible. I know this is all so Facebook has its ass covered in case the RIAA Cops start kicking in doors and waving their weapons-grade subpoenas around, but still. Who in their right fucking minds would trust these Facebook assclowns with any of the information on a fucking passport just to upload music? Screw you, Mark Zuckerberg! You’re probably not responsible for this, but between this and the awful UI and everything else, screw you!

The thing about AA is that the exercises are embarrassing, things like getting on all fours, then holding a 2-lb. dumbell in front of you while you straighten the opposite leg. The weights are tiny, the poses lack dignity, and you’re the only one in the gym doing this. Even if you’re in a place where Serious Athletes are working out, it’s tough not to feel like a ninny.

Oh, and the weights are pink.

I bring all this up because the more I work on Windswept, the more I can feel things stretching out inside my skull. The past year of short stories and Tweets and blog posts was all adaptation, and now the hard work begins. This shit isn’t easy, and I wonder how people like Jay Lake can crank out an incredible amount of words and while working a steady job and raising a kid (hint: he doesn’t watch TV). I’m also letting myself wander into blind corners and write stuff that is sheer crap, because I know that I can redo it in editing. I’m lazy and would rather get it right the first time, but I now know that editing is just a different kind of writing, not repeating previous work.

Still, I wonder if I’ve bitten off a lot more than I can chew. One hundred thousand words by Christmas Eve? That’s going to be quite a haul. But better to say a whole bunch of stuff at first and pare it down later, right?

Right.

So, would a civilization that’s capable of that have any technical limitations? If you can kick ten thousand fishsticks into space at one go, why can’t you shrink ‘em? Upload ‘em? Crack time-space on the ground and let ‘em slip through to Dimensions Beyond?

Is it a moral issue? Do the Luddites keep you from monkeying with genes and quarks? Or are there technical limitations that we just can’t crack? If you had an army of hungry mouths who were willing to do any crap job, would you bother with AIs and the like? Why create new problems when human nature is relatively unchanged?