SF Movies: A Belated Meme

A while back a meme was running around the world of blogs based on John Scalzi’s Rough Guide to Sci-Fi Movies, which includes a list of 50 particularly important or influential films. People were taking the list, marking the movies they’d seen, and discussing it. I never got around to it.

I was reminded of this because he’s started a similar discussion using a list of comedies from one of the companion books. In the interest of forcing myself to write something, I’ve gone back to take a look at the sci-fi list.

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No Treat

Another Halloween has come and gone, and with it the very stupid children who repeatedly knock at my door every year even though the porch light is off and no one answers. The last one knocked three times, very hard, shouting “Let us in!” in a hostile, breathless, whiny little voice redolent with its owner’s thwarted sense of entitlement. He was clearly a future Republican senator, and it gave me great pleasure to disappoint him.

I was thinking next year I should put up a sign somewhat along these lines:

Attention Children:

Please go away. We are grumpy and have no candy for you.

Should you persist in your futile knocking, we will grind your bones to make a healthy, calcium-rich breadlike substance.

Sincerely,

The Management

But I had to reject the idea. They’d knock anyway, and as soon as they realized I wasn’t serious about the bone-grinding, no one would be able to control them, not even their parents. Soon they would posses weapons of mass destruction. Confident in the knowledge that we were too weak to stop them, they would openly flaunt their dirty bombs and nerve gasses on the playground. Not all the festively wrapped miniature Snickers bars in the world would be enough to satisfy their need for conquest.

For the security of our nation, we will all have to live with the knocking.

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Songs I Don’t Understand #2

David Bowie, “Starman”

Everyone remembers the day the starship came to Earth.

The ship had but a single pilot, and he was ancient. The product of billions of years of evolution, first natural and then self-directed, he had been driven to cross the vast gulf between the stars by an *idea*—a revelation that he knew he must communicate to any species that would listen.

In the years between the stars he had grown cold and lonely, but he knew he could not land. The mere presence of a creature so alien might overwhelm minds as limited as ours. Instead he took control of the airwaves. All over Earth, from our radios and our televisions, we heard his transmissions. Was it a hoax? Observatories worldwide released pictures of the vast, unimaginable ship to the media. Disbelief turned to hope. *We were not alone.*

What wisdom had this “Starman” brought for Earth? What urgent message had brought him across tens of thousands of light years to a world where he could not even stop to rest? A world held its breath, tuned in to Channel Two, and heard:

>Let the children use it
>Let the children lose it
>Let all the children boogie.

Later, an international team of astronauts kicked the Starman to death and stole his spaceship. Everyone agreed he had it coming.

The Classification of Bad Amazon Reviews

Among the links floating around in blogdom this weekend was this great collection of bad book reviews from Amazon.com. It took me back to the days—there were three or four of them, in early 2002—in which I spent far too much time hunting down terrible reader reviews on Amazon.

Most Amazon reviews are worthless; many items have dozens of five-star reviews that say nothing helpful, with maybe one or two by people who sound like they know what they’re talking about. And, if you’re lucky, some really *bad* reviews. Badly written reviews can tell you a lot. Almost any book on Amazon has those five-star reviews… but if you also see a couple silly, poorly argued, or incoherent one-star reviews, then chances are you’ve found something interesting.

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Journalism is Doomed

(Apologia: I finally finished this post late at night, with an encroaching headache. It’s probably half-baked and full of inane rambling, and I may revise it later. For now, I’m just glad I’ve finished something.)

Last week, P. Z. Myers at Pharyngula pointed to an Esquire article about “Idiot America”—a term used by author Charles P. Pierce to refer to “the breakdown of a consensus that the pursuit of knowledge is a good.” Idiot America doesn’t just devalue the pursuit of knowledge. Idiot America is deeply suspicious of knowledge itself. The mere presence of expertise gives it a rotten, nauseous inferiority complex deep in the gut with which it makes its decisions. “If this expert claims to know more than me,” it reasons, “maybe he thinks he’s better than me.” In self-defense, Idiot America has surrounded itself with a strange mental landscape, a surreal place where a hunch is as good—hell, better than—knowledge; where feelings matter more than facts and a wild guess is worth as much as an informed opinion.

(But don’t start feeling too superior, because Idiot America is everywhere. Sometimes it finds its way into my head; and probably yours, too. It’s an insidiously comfortable place.)

Myers is especially aggravated by Idiot Journalism. He’s seen one too many scientific articles that balanced quotations from scholars and crackpots and gave no context at all:

Nobody at the New York Times seem to get it: they are one of the mothers of Idiot America, nursing the country on a strange ideal of balance, where every example of expertise is precisely neutralized with a dollop of inanity, which is treated as if it is as equally valuable as the actual facts.

Coincidentally, on exactly the same day, the local student newspaper published an absolutely perfect insight into where Idiot Journalists come from.

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Doctor Who fan fiction turns up in the strangest places.

Like on a ghost story website. The relevant part starts about halfway down the page.

As a side note, this page features what must rank among the most transcendently wonderful paragraphs on the entire internet:

> At the time, I lived on my own in a triple wide trailer that had apparently been home to more than one death. However, they were all caused by natural causes. In other words, I was never worried about a powerful rage gripping the home and killing all whom entered.