The other week I finished work and chilled for a while in front of the TV. I flipped some channels, tried to decide if I could be bothered (the answer is usually no), but then came across Tim Roth.

I liked Roth in Reservoir Dogs, though he seemed to just have poor choice in rolls, for the most part. Still, I can get behind Roth, and I sit round and I watch this show that he’s in called Lie To Me, which offers the premise of a doctor who has created a business around being able to tell if people are lying or not. Half based on intuition, half based on the little facial ticks and gestures people have, he stumbles around with a bunch of people prettier than him, and solves crimes. And why not? In America, anyone can solve a crime. In fact, in a curious way, you could argue that the promise of American TV is that, no matter who you are, you will have the chance to solve crimes and save innocent people. Of course, your chances seem to be marginally better for this line of work if you’re British and someone cynical, unshaven, and unpleasant (though deep down you really care for people, and you mask this behind your cynicism).

The show isn’t so bad, to be honest. I caught a second episode of it tonight and while it was a bit of a copy of House–which is probably a copy of something else–I liked Roth enough to hang for the whole thing. After a while though, I got thinking about how malleable the crime genre is–how there seem to be so many ways in which the whole case solving thing can fixed to a concept and a case, and how open it is. In many ways, I thought as I sat there, the crime genre is one that can go anywhere, and do anything. Then I realised that you could do the same with romance.

Then I decided that was enough of thinking about genre, because really, in the end, it’s just some rules and expectations, and there’s nothing saying you can’t do whatever you want with it.

…she’ll follow you anywhere.

Link.

Mornin’

Link.

Writing comedy is a very strange thing, I find.

There’s an old saying that being funny is the hardest thing to do, and it is probably true. I suspect it’s because being funny relies so heavily on the mood of your audience–you can twist mid story, be self deprecating, or just ride the good vibe of the people before you. When it’s just you and the blank screen, however, there’s a lot less ‘moment’ to guide you through your routine.

Below is a Woody Allen joke about being kidnapped. I know a lot of people don’t like Allen, but I’ve always found him a funny sort, and I reckon you can learn a lot by listening to how he structures his gags.

Link.

All my students tell me that Twilight isn’t cool any more. I usually respond by telling them that it never was.

It’s just humour on my part, since I never considered reading the book. S described the series to me as a girl thing and I was good enough with that. Plus, the vampire sparkled. Whenever someone told me that I couldn’t help but grin, so I was never in line to be the audience for the book, which I’m sure everyone involved with the book is fine by. However, for a brief moment, Twilight was the thing, and before it became huge, a bunch of students wouldn’t stop talking about it; it’s somewhat surprising to see how quickly the audience has turned on it. I’m told some of it has to do with Meyer’s herself, some of it on the fact that the main character is reportedly pregnant with the sparkling vampire’s baby in the fourth book, and because of the Mormons. It’s probably all that and that fact that the book became too cool, to the point that its original audience took one look at popularity and said, “You know, fuck this, I’m going back to obscure bands, fan fiction, and TV series in different languages.”

This happened a little to Rowling’s Harry Potter, but not as much. Part of that, I think, was because the age in which the readers were introduced to the Potter books was a lot younger than the age that the Meyer books were pitched. Of course, I could be entirely wrong–there might be no good reason for why Rowling didn’t get the backlash other than luck or a good publicist. I mean, there was some, but it mainly came in the form of new readers, coming in as the books were finished, and who would say things like, “Fuck this, gimme Howl’s Moving Castle.”

Ah well.

Kids.

Books.

I don’t know how it works, but whatever gets them reading A Clockwork Orange, I guess.

This year for Halloween, I did nothing. It was the same as last year. However, the difference this year was that no small children came to my door looking for candy. I guess that tradition isn’t taking off, at least in my neighbourhood.

In other news, it seems that Paper Cities has won a World Fantasy Award. My story, ‘The Funeral, Ruined’ appeared in it.

Grats to Kathy, who edited it, and Matt, who published it.