While in college in the late '80s I freelanced for Amazing Heroes, a comics magazine that paid slightly more than the postage required to mail the checks. I was part of a reviewing stable that included Adam-Troy Castro, a writer with a misplaced hyphen who recently wrote Emissaries from the Dead, his first science fiction novel set in a world of his own making.
Emissaries, which is subtitled "An Andrea Cort Novel," carries forward a protagonist and setting from his short stories. The world's wonderfully bizarre, an artificial planet built on the inside of a miles-long cylinder by millenia-old sentient software called the AIsource. Each advanced civilization explores space first with its software, and this code has outlived its coders, joining together with programs from other worlds to form one megabloated Windows release that controls the universe.
The software has engineered sloth-like, spider-armed primates who hang from the vines and roots growing on the outer edge of the world, surviving only as long as they can hold on. These creatures are called Brachiators, from the verb brachiate, and they're the most fascinating thing about the novel.
The battlefield was a patch of Uppergrowth indistinguishable from any other, marked only by the thirty nearly immobile figures wrapped in what their species must have considered to be frenetic combat. There were two groups, whose paths prior to this moment in their respective histories were easy to track by the vines they'd shredded in their wake. They hadn't collided head-on, but rather at an angle, joining in battle as soon as both tribes realized that they'd now be competing for the same patch of their world's ceiling.
The fresh, juicy manna pears hanging in bunches from every vine in sight revealed the conflict as ridiculous, as even Brachiators forced into a course change could have found more food than they could possibly eat within an hour's travel, but that didn't matter to them; their armies had met, and their war had to be fought. ...
The Brachiator battlefield looked like an orgy where everybody had fallen asleep in mid-hump.
Unfortunately, the Brachiators aren't the focus. The novel's about two murders that take place in the small colony of human researchers sent to the planet. Cort's an unloved diplomat sent to solve the crimes without implicating the AIsource, and the bulk of the 386-page novel consists of her talking to potential suspects and interacting with the AIsource, who pose a constant threat to go all deus ex machina and kill the suspense. Castro's story is all talk, ending with Cort's uninterrupted six-page Scooby Doo monologue on how she solved the crimes.
Despite the weaknesses in plotting, Castro's setting carries the book and makes the prospect of another "Andrea Cort novel" intriguing. She just needs a mystery that hangs on a species as compelling as the Brachiators.
I'm continuing to work on Meme13, a site that packages together the last 13 sites to show up on the Techmeme Leaderboard so they can be sampled as a feed or web site. The site has attracted around 25 RSS subscribers in its first month.
I've added a ShareThis widget on each entry that makes it easy to share content from Meme13 on sites like De.licio.us, Digg and Facebook.
Normally, ShareThis links to the page the widget has been displayed on. That doesn't suit my purposes on Meme13, because I'm trying to promote the originators of the content. If someone reads the article about landing a startup job by Ryan Spoon on Meme13, the ShareThis widget should link to the article on Spoon's blog.
ShareThis has a JavaScript API that can be used to teach the widget new tricks. Here's the JavaScript code to set the widget's target link and display the widget:
<p><script language="javascript" type="text/javascript">
SHARETHIS.addEntry({
title:'<TMPL_VAR title>',
url:'<TMPL_VAR link ESCAPE="HTML">',
}, {button:true} );
</script></p>
The <TMPL_VAR title> and <TMPL_VAR link ESCAPE="HTML"> tags are part of the template language used by Planet Planet, the software that publishes Meme13. Here's how the same thing could be done in PHP:
<p><script language="javascript" type="text/javascript">
SHARETHIS.addEntry({
title:'<? echo $site_title; ?>',
url:'<? echo $site_link; ?>',
}, {button:true} );
</script></p>
On Wednesday, the Boston Herald apologized for a Feb. 2 story by John Tomase that reported the New England Patriots surreptitiously videotaped the St. Louis Rams' walkthrough practice before Super Bowl XXXVI in 2002.
While the Boston Herald based its Feb. 2, 2008, report on sources that it believed to be credible, we now know that this report was false, and that no tape of the walkthrough ever existed.
Prior to the publication of its Feb. 2, 2008, article, the Boston Herald neither possessed nor viewed a tape of the Rams’ walkthrough before Super Bowl XXXVI, nor did we speak to anyone who had. We should not have published the allegation in the absence of firmer verification.
For the story, Tomase took the word of "a source close to the team during the 2001 season." In today's Herald, Tomase explains how he got the story wrong, but he leaves out the only real detail that matters -- the name of the person who passed along bogus information.
There has been a clamoring for me to identify the sources used in my story. This I cannot do. When a reporter promises anonymity, he can't break that promise simply because he comes under fire. I gave my word, and the day I break that word is the day sources stop talking to me.
Another word on sources: The story mentioned only a single, unnamed source because in the end, while I had multiple sources relating similar allegations, I relied on one more than the others.
I've never understood why journalists hide the names of sources who use the shield of anonymity to spread falsehoods. The agreement between a reporter and an unnamed source, like that of a criminal plaintiff accepting a plea deal to testify in court, should be conditioned on the information being truthful. A source who lies should know that it might blow up in his face. Tomase and the Herald are getting murdilated over running a fake story on the eve of the Patriots' defeat in the Super Bowl. The source remains on the loose.
Reporters have grown far too addicted to the access granted by sources who won't comment for attribution. Instead of digging around from the outside, they act as stenographers to well-connected people with inside information.
In the early '90s, I was an editor at StarText, the Fort Worth Star-Telegram's online newspaper. As I prepared stories for publication, I could see the "CQ notes," memos between editors and reporters that were embedded in the articles and removed before publication.
These notes sometimes revealed the identity of unnamed sources in our coverage of the Dallas Cowboys.
More than 15 years have passed, so I can probably reveal this without getting myself into trouble: The Star-Telegram's unnamed source "close to the organization" was owner Jerry Jones. The Dallas Morning News' unnamed source, according to our reporters, was head coach Jimmy Johnson. The two leading figures on the team were waging a furious battle in the press, using the cover of anonymity and pliant newspapers to keep from having to answer for their words.
But if I've said too much here, just tell people you got this information from a source close to the Star-Telegram.
For the last nine years, Mike Burger has run an online contest to predict the shows that will be cancelled during the TV season. He named it the Alison La Placa Open Television Death Pool, honoring the actress who's known as a sitcom killer for being a regular cast member on so many short-lived comedies: Suzanne Pleshette Is Maggie Briggs, Duet, Open House, Stat, The Jackie Thomas Show and Tom.
I entered this year's La Placa and have proven to be one of its worst players, predicting these cancellations:
Only three of those shows have gotten the axe: Cavemen, Moonlight and Viva Laughlin. Cheers writer Rob Long is in first place, failing only to anticipate the inexplicable survival of According to Jim.
Last month, the contest's name became the Cease and Desist Television Pool after Burger was contacted by La Placa's attorney. "Seems either the previous honoree, or more importantly her lawyer, decided I was harming her, ahem, career," Burger announced. I would've thought by now that La Placa was impervious to harm -- after all, this is an actress whose career has survived her decision to star in two different Tom Arnold sitcoms.
The contest is now known as the Ted Marshall Open Television Death Pool. The new name's a fake in an attempt to avoid litigation, as Burger explains on his blog, but my guess is that he's honoring two other legendary show killers, Ted McGinley and Paula Marshall.
Jeff Masters, a meteorologist with the web site Weather Underground, has uncovered an amazing story related to the cyclone that killed thousands in Burma: The government buried a warning of the impending storm on page 15 of a state-run newspaper.
Many of you have expressed amazement that so many could die from a tropical cyclone in this day and age of satellites and modern communications. Why did it happen? I believe there are two main reasons: the historical lack of tropical cyclones that have hit Burma's Irrawaddy delta, and the unwillingness of Myanmar's leaders to provide adequate warnings for fear of jeopardizing their May 10 referendum to consolidate their power.
Masters has a scanned copy of the newspaper page, which rates the storm warning's news value below "Greece, Russia Stress Closer Cooperation" but ahead of the TV listings (4:45 p.m.: Dance of National Races).
Irrawaddy.Org, a news site that covers Burma from Thailand, provided more details on the downplayed warning:
Appearances on Burma's state television by the country's director general of the Department of Meteorology and Hydrology, Tun Lwin, always attract a large following.
Viewers like his style and informative approach to weather reporting. But now those same viewers are asking: "Why did he fail to warn us of the approach of Cyclone Nargis?"
According to well-informed sources close to his department, Burma's leading meteorologist passed those warnings on to the government in Naypyidaw, together with information about the cyclone's strength, expected course, and timing.
Tun Lwin reportedly suggested the warning should be carried by state media, but sources said he was told by his bosses in the capital: "Don't create public panic ahead of the referendum."
Directly behind the monument is a 12-story building that houses the county records office on the lower floors. The upper floors, beginning with the 6th floor, house part of the county jail complex. I was locked up on the 7th floor of that building and stared down at the monument for 3 months a few years ago.
It is without a doubt the ugliest structure ever dedicated to a person living or dead.
Because I read Roadside America's blog on cheesy Americana tourist attractions, I was among the first to get the news that Virginia's kidnapped Hot Dog Man has been found:
Hot Dog Man is a popular, if relatively recent, mass-produced roadside statue: a six-foot-tall, bun-wrapped wiener, licking his lips in anticipation as he pours ketchup on his own head. The saucy sausage has been reported from New Jersey to Washington. And last month, a Hot Dog Man in Earlysville, Virginia, made the news when it was kidnapped on the night of April 9.
Now a story out of the Lynchburg News and Advance reports that “Harry the Hot Dog” has been found — buried in the woods next to a local trailer park. Both of his arms, including the one hoisting the ketchup, were broken off and are missing, but his owner has vowed to rebuild him. The police reportedly dug Harry out of his shallow grave with their bare hands after receiving an anonymous tip.
I can't find it this morning, but there's a site devoted to animals in ads who want to be eaten. Hot Dog Man's further removed from his origins, but it's still disturbing to see him apply ketchup with such relish.