Kara: All the girls at work have decided to write a paranormal romance book together.
Brendan: Ooh! Can I help?
Kara: Well, maybe.
Brendan: “He gently cupped her werewolf boobs–“
Kara: You can’t help.
Category: People
Today’s story is a perfect reason why you should be reading Minor Delays.
Got an interesting virus email today, this one claiming to be an invoice from United Airlines for a ticket purchased online. No bad links or anything, and the login it gave was one of my actual addresses; it was only when I saw that the “invoice attachment” was a zip file that I caught on.
Never, ever open zip files that you get in an email. People know that by now, right? It’s 2009.
(And never eat yellow snow. That’s a goodie from 1942. –Kara)
I’m back from Mexico!
No, I did not tan. I did almost fall off a pyramid, though.
And I’m going to be on The Erika Moen Show in a couple hours, along with its host, Erika Moen! And Matt! I’m gonna be the big time!
Cancuncated
I’m flying to Mexico with Kara’s family in about three hours, and as far as I know I will have no phone or Internet access until Tuesday the fourteenth. So long, shivering masses! See you when I’m sunburnt.
Three things make a roundup
- Holly presents Towards a Critical Framework for High School Musical, which comes perilously close to accomplishing the formidable task of making HSM interesting to me. (As the author notes in the comments, though, it may already be too late.)
- Leonard is creating an free, online-only speculative fiction anthology called Thoughtcrime Experiments and he’s paying big bucks for stories! I can’t submit because I’m a first-degree acquaintance, but other people can, cough ahem guys.
- Oh, right, and MY SISTER’S GETTING MARRIED
Mom, you might want to skip this.
Today’s DAR is sort of about our cocktail party!
And topical as shit too
Okay, so the season break lasted a little longer than we meant it to. But we’re buffered up, geared down, spitshined and BACK!
Sequel to Stephen’s: a gentleman by the name of Gabriel had the clever idea of taking all the words in the Proserpina stories, minus her name, and doing up an eerily well-informed wordle.
I am a hacker’s anus, Bob.
I worked a phone bank last night, for the second time in my life and the first time for a political candidate. (If you know me you already know which candidate. If you don’t, see if you can guess by the side-street parked car count: two Priuses, two Fits and a Yaris.)
Cold-calling is hard for anybody, but for an introvert it’s pretty awful. My stomach ached on the way home, and stories like the one about the man who told me he wasn’t voting because of the apocalypse didn’t really make it better. And I was calling people in Oregon, man! A battleground state this ain’t.
So why did I do it, and why am I going to go back? Because of a stubborn faith in Leonard’s concept of vote multipliers and a corollary syllogism of my own devising: that memory is fluid, that people are self-centered, and that therefore vote multipliers affect both the future and the perceived past.
Voting for a winner confers a perceived, and perhaps even deserved, ownership in the winner’s subsequent successes. This is why incumbents get re-elected, and why politicians who abandon campaign promises can ride them out for a while before their approval ratings begin to drop. We take credit for what we’ve done right, but don’t like believing we chose wrong.
My candidate’s going to win the election, and I think he’s going to lead us toward better things; but the more people vote for him, even in long-decided states, the more lasting support he’ll have, and the more he’ll be able to accomplish over the next eight years. It’s not just that I want to be able to look back at a positive change and say that I was part of it. It’s that I want to nudge other people from apathy into agency, and let them see that it is good.