The Ninja Pencil
Sep. 26th, 2009
05:21 pm - I am a Dirty Bastard
This is the first review my writing has received, and is for a story I have in the excellent anthology published by Mundania Press, Grimm and Grimmer - Dark Tales for Dark Times. The full review can be found HERE , but my story Snow White received a specifically disgusted reaction and resulting honorable mention. Last sentence is the best line ever...
I do have to say that Grim is a very good word for some of the stories. A very good example of this was “Snow White” by Chris Cox. This was a very good story. However, it was shocking in its subject matter, depicting Snow White as a heroin addict who is fleeing her jealous ‘has-been’ supermodel stepmother. It had the tone of an ultra-violent crime thriller movie that could have been directed by Quentin Tarantino or Abel Ferrara. It was quite imaginative and different for a Snow White story, but definitely was not my cup of tea. I felt as though I needed to take a bath in isopropyl alcohol and Betadine antiseptic soap after reading it.
Sep. 20th, 2009
12:07 pm - Baby Men
I've barely watched TV in years, except for a handful of great shows through Netflix. And I have noticed something they have in common: These shows all seem to contain men attracted to strong, tough, rogue-like, aggressive and volatile women. Awesome. But then once the relationship begins, the men always start blubbering in self-pity about their girlfriends' attributes that attracted them in the first place, which their infantile sensitivities are unable to handle.
Six Feet Under: Nate Fisher meets Brenda Chenowith - a woman whose IQ is off the charts, sexually driven, honest, fearless, but then he spends his entire relationship crying about these things and trying to change her.
Lost: Jack - Mr. Swanky spinal surgeon spends the first season telling Kate that her criminal past no longer matters, and how he's attracted to her toughness, and this stranded thing is all a fresh start. But then when she kicks ass all over the island, when she makes a move to which he doesn't reciprocate and then pursues Sawyer, big tough Jack takes his ball and skulks off crying to the caves with his new friends, and treats Kate like crap.
Battlestar Galactica: Lee Adama is into Starbuck / Kara Thrase because she's a hard drinkin' gamblin cigar smokin super-bad fighter pilot who spends half her life in the brig. But he pursues her, wins her attraction, and then consistently rejects her because he can't handle her volatile nature.
Star Trek Voyager: Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres - half Klingon warrior, ex Maquis pirate, Mr. Rebellious thinks he finally met someone just like him. He WISHES! B'Elanna is far tougher than him, doesn't take bullshit from anyone, and Tom straight away starts feeling sorry for himself when he tastes the personality he fell for in the first place.
There are probably more, but WTF? These men are like babies. Was this a deliberate thing? Because these relationships either always end in failure, or they end in compromising their personalities for love. Which in neither case really feels very right.
Sep. 13th, 2009
11:00 am - Back
There have been many joking posts about this, but ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
ajjones hit upon something when she brought her LJ back from the dead.
I have a facebook account, and for some reasons it's okay - I get to interact with people I'd normally have no other way to interact with, like old friends and family.
But I never post anything of consequence there, because it's too goddam public, and I don't want my thoughts read and commented upon by some weird friend of a friend from Goldthorpe who I don't ever recall speaking to in my life. I don't want to talk about the inside of my head while my dumb, beer-swilling brother in law is reading. It's like putting a gagging order on myself.
I know there are filters on here etc, but who can be bothered with that shit? That's taking it too seriously, and I don't want to have to set up rules and restrictions for groups. It's a stupid BLOG, not a youth club or coffee house. It's for polite discourse upon the thoughts of people you choose to read.
I just want to shoot the shit with people who haven't known me my whole life, and are able to accept me now rather than a version of me they're trying to squeeze into that fella they knew twenty years ago.
So to bring everyone up to speed: Chris Cox is having coffee.
Apr. 24th, 2009
07:11 pm - Long time!
Hello World, or as C might say:
int main(void)
{
printf("Hello World, you rancid, ugly and craptacular dog-sniffer!");
Return 0;
}
I'm in the early-middle stages of a self-imposed programathon using Visual Basic, C and C++, heading slowly towards a summer of non-tech classes and trying to not slack off on the skills I really want to learn, for the long awaited (dung dung DUUUUNG) Career Change.
Today was gorgeous out, and incidentally the last workday off from a glorious week of doing nothing. (Except said programming bootcamp...) But it was great to finally free up some headspace from the regular world of auditing and regulatory compliance, and all the other crazy and dangerous pursuits of this nature. I wonder sometimes what the rock-n-roll me of 1991 would have to say about my not-so-rock-n-roll self of 2009, but suspect it would be expressive of the mutual contempt I view the same old self with right now. I've always known better than all my other selves - including the older and wiser future selves who will, in return for the wisdom gained, lack the youthful daring, energy and zest I possess right now. Or at least the zest I possessed back in 1991. Possessed... Po-Zest... it sounds like an expedited and intensive toilet-training boot camp for infants.
Wow, I really can talk crap when I have the time.
Sep. 21st, 2008
08:26 am - Hyannis
Just got back from a week's vacation in Hyannis on Cape Cod. My parents came over - it's the first time I've seen them since I moved here 4 years ago, so that was great. My sis and her boyfriend came too, and we had a fine, manic, chaotic and beer-filled time. And I purchased several rubber chickens for my work colleagues, because they are too great to pass on by.
This week we saw the weather turn from Summer to Autumn. On Tuesday we were scorching on the beach, but by Thursday we were huddled by the barbeque in hoods. I love this time of year.
A nasty Cape Cod souvenir I didn't buy (and can't shake from my mind) is this collection of pickled foetal sharks in glass jars. I was told that yes, they are real, and hence they worked their way into my freaky dreams on Saturday night.
Best of all is the post-vacation feeling of starting over, rebooting your mindset, setting new (more relevant) goals, ditching the entropy that kicks in when a break is long overdue and generally feeling revitalized. And Hyannis is gorgeous. So is Provincetown, right on the end of the Cape.
Aug. 14th, 2008
Jul. 20th, 2008
09:10 am - Sweatin' like a hog
Our subscription to The New Yorker ended with this last issue, and I don't think I wanna re-subscribe. Awesomely though, it's the one with the funny Obama cover everyone's been bellyaching about.
I mostly like the mag, but some of their articles have made my neck twitch in the last coupla months - namely Hendrick Hertzberg's opinion that women have got nothing to complain about in comparison with ethnic minorities. Obviously this guy hasn't heard of Mathew Hopkins, Witchfinder General, or Montague Summers, misogynist author from the same era propagating the 'keep women in line or burn them' attitude, or even a little book called Malleus Malefactorum - The Hammer of Witches - an instruction manual on how to tell is a woman is actually a witch, and what to do about it if she is.
Self-proclaimed intellectuals are okay up until the point they forget that they too can be more about the status than the thoughts they publish. And if anyone questions their superior wisdom, MAN do they get catty!
May. 8th, 2008
12:35 pm - Oh. My. God.
Hackers break into Epilespy Foundation website and cover it with flashing pictures, causing users to have migraines and near-seizures...
Rotten Bastards
Apr. 24th, 2007
09:02 pm - Gimme the keys
I never learned to type properly. I evolved unguided and became a ‘hunt and peckspert’. So although I now type fast, my hands resemble broken-legged drunks trying to sprint. Numerous work colleagues have enjoyed the spectacle. My fingers dance like Fred and Ginger high on crack and bleach. Alas, I finally got some software to learn the RIGHT way. It features a friendly Viking assistant – which Adrienne claims is included so guys won’t feel gay learning to type - and so far we’ve covered adsf, jkl and I’ve typed the entirety of this post the old, bad way. It’s like sneaking in a cigarette after you’ve quit. Ahhhhhh. Love complacency. Hate discipline. Love laziness. But would hate arthritis too. So in an evolved game of Rock, Paper, Scissors – Back to School beats Crippled, Agonized Meathooks when I’m Too Old to Pee Standing Up every time.
Feb. 14th, 2007
10:11 am - Flashback
The village I come from, Bolton on Dearne, is always just getting dark. There is no morning or afternoon – unless it’s a solar eclipse or a storm of such proportions that renders the sky getting dark. And as a result, the people are mostly pasty white and grumpy, and blokes really like punching each other in the face. It’s important to establish your hardness, otherwise you’re probably a homosexual.
The post-pub contingent do nothing but sit watching TV, drinking coffee and smoking, then going to work down the factories and talking about what they saw on TV. For entertainment, you could probably find a ten-year-old punk on a skateboard in St. Andrew’s Square, trying for the first time to do kickflips before showing you his middle finger and walking off, carrying the board. Failing that you could go to one of the random pubs and suffer some drunk Karaoke or suicide jukebox music amongst obnoxious wankers who will sooner or later get rowdy. Or you could drink beer and eat fish and chips sitting in the cemetery listening to the distant murmurs of apathy and dissent, until you realize you’re really bored and a bit cold and your arse hurts because these benches are horrible and ancient.
The automobile was my saviour.
![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/charitycam/aliens/thoughtful.gif){kind=small}
nostalgicOct. 3rd, 2006
11:34 am - Open letter to drivers
Dear road users,
Car horns, although effective to signal impending danger, are not a medium through which to express your impatience and frustration.
The world is too stressful and obnoxious already, without your Neanderthal, drum-banging club-wielding backward, pre-civilization contributions.
Words don’t exist to illustrate how hard and violently you should be beaten for blaring your horn at anyone who slows down, hesitates a second, drives slower than you or basically doesn’t conform to your aggressive way of life.
If you blast on your horn for no good reason, I hope you combust and die, blistering horribly before dribbling out onto the pavement in silence, and allowing the world once again to be quiet. You complete bastards.
Chris