Terrible Analogies

I just wrapped up reading Survivors by James Wesley Rawles. At just under 400 pages it was a quick (I finished it in just two days) but entertaining read.

Survivors is about the end of civilization as we know it. Taking place after the collapse of the world economy, it details how several different groups of people manage to survive in a world with little electricity, no military, no food, and no rules. We follow a solider stranded in Afghanistan as he tries to make it back to America and family without the use of airplanes and commercial shipping, a brutal gangster as he builds an army and pillages his way across the States, a pack of power-hungry militants who claim to be the “new government”, and a lone community that’s able to produce gasoline resurrect itself from the ashes.

All four groups are destined to destined to meet at a flashpoint. Not everyone will survive.

With the direction that this country (and the world) is headed, the scenarios presented in this book are hauntingly believable. It details how the world economy functions, and how tenuous, manipulated, and false the whole thing truly is.

After reading this book I’m now looking at purchasing as many pre-1965 coins as I can, simply for the value in the metal alone. It’s this and ammunition, plant seeds, guns…anything with intrinsic value that will allow you to barter in the new world. IT professionals, CEOs, and weight loss clinics will be useless commodities. People who know how to farm, maintain engines, do metal work, have military experience, etc… these will be the ones in demand and worth their weight in salt.

Compared to One Second After, Survivors takes a less apocalyptic view on the collapse of society and how to best survive it. But both novels share the common viewpoint that tight-knit societies will be the ones that stand the best chance of survival.

The only qualm I have with this book (and trust me, I keep a collection of qualms always at the ready) is that it never completely finishes two of the side stories. I’m guessing that a follow-up is in the works? If not, then shame on the author for leaving us hanging.  That’s unforgivable.

All in all, I give Survivors 3.5 out of 5 MREs.

Next book up: A Fire Upon The Deep by Vernor Vinge

I glued…GLUED!…to this clip.  I couldn’t wait to see how it ended, and I was not disappointed.

Apparently, the goal of this race is to go as slow as possible, baiting your opponent to ride ahead of you so you can surprise him with a quick burst of speed at the end.

This clip is nothing short of fascinating:

I know this is a slightly longer clip than I tend to post, but it’s well worth the view.

…and how long can you stand still on a bicycle?

While surfing the ‘net and killing a few brains last weekend I stumbled across this quotation that initially seemed true to the core:

Never judge a book by its movie.
- J. W. Eagan

This conjures up many conversations I’ve had where it’s been said, “Oh, the book was much better than the movie!”

If so then Twilight must be a freakin’ masterpiece, Forrest Gump a unique achievement, and Jaws was the great American novel (if that novel was written by a 5-year-old).

But these are the exceptions that I personally know of first hand (I still break out in hives at how horrible the Forrest Gump novel is).  But I’ll admit that I totally understand where J.W. Eagan is coming from.  I can see how the movies The Road, Jurassic Park, Eragon, The Bonfire Of The Vanities, and The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy simply do not stand up to the magic of the books, and it would be tragic if these movies made people not want to read the novels, because they are all amazing.

I guess what we can take away from my random train of thought here is that:

1: I read way too much
2: I wasted 15 minutes writing this blog entry without really making a point.  Yay for me.  

But hey, if anything, here’s hoping that I can steer you away from one of the most disturbing, dull, and preposterous movies I have ever seen:

If you believe that blind people are somehow bestowed magical extrasensory powers just because they’re blind, you happen to really dig unsanitary living conditions, and you enjoy movies that drag on, and on, and on, then this is the movie for you.  *shudder*

Blindness just happens to be a prime example of never judging a book by its movie.

If you’re wondering what to get me for Christmas, I like Rubik’s Cubes, books, running, and…oh yeah, lots and lots of heroin:

Five Minute Fiction is an ongoing experiment. The goal: To write as much as I can in five minutes.  Don’t think.  Let the fingers do the work.  Once done walk away then come back later to clean it up.

Idea for this story: What could be one of the worst jobs ever?  How about a writer who gets paid to chronicle murders as they actually happen?  I’m actually thinking of continuing this story next week.

Enjoy?

The Dead Beat

The last thing I remember was all of my hair standing on end, a blinding crack of light, and the black stench of burning strawberries.  When I came to I found myself lying on the dirty rug of my trailer, and somebody was knocking on the hollow metal of my front door.

Rolling over on my side with a groan, my fingers falling into the many rows and bullet holes of cigarette burns that tattooed the cheap stained rug, I opened my eyes and saw blood.  A lot of blood.  And my first reaction wasn’t panic, but rather a strange internal reasoning that I must have gashed my head against something when I fell.  Or passed out.  Or whatever.

Finding my feet I stood up swaying as the room rocked around me in short clips and sudden bursts.  It took me nearly a minute to walk the five feet to my to the door.  And on my second attempt I managed to wrap my unresponsive mitt of a hand around the doorknob and feebly gave it a twist before collapsing flat on my ass.

The door swung open and in walked 300 pounds of Swedish muscle that called itself Jones.

Without saying a word, he hauled me on to my feet by my elbow and yanked me to the couch like the world’s roughest nurse.  Taking a seat on the decrepit recliner he removed his sunglasses with a flourished wave and let out a sigh of that could have signaled either relief or frustration.

“Whoa there, big fellah,” Jones said through huge and annoyingly white teeth as he reached into a side pocket of his tailored blazer.  “You need to equalize yourself before we move on.”  Carefully, like a child petting a strange dog for the first time, he placed a small brown plastic prescription bottle on the table in front of me.  The label had been partially scraped off.  Stuck to the tacky remnants were bits of pocket link and stubby pieces of sewing thread.  More lightening in a bottle.  ”Take two of these, buddy.  Need to get you straight for the plane flight.”

With numb hands I reached out and knocked over the bottle, listening to the pills inside rattle as it rolled comically on the tabletop in a slow, undulating arc.  Clumsily I managed to pick up the bottle, but my fingers felt like they were in the grip of a terrible palsy, and I was unable to twist open the safety cap.

“Shit, Bryson,” Jones said with a machine gun chuckle, “Let me help.”  Peeling my fingers from the bottle he pulled it away and twisted off the lid, slid out two pink pills, and placed them into the palm of my hand.  Lowering my head until my mouth was hovering inches above my hand I slapped my palm against my lips and popped the pills on my tongue.

I chewed the unidentified pills and swallowed the gritty, bitter mess with a grimmace.

“Good boy, Bryson,” Jones said as he stood up, his hulking frame blocking out the sun from the window in the opposite wall.  “We already grabbed your laptop and and a change of clothes.  We have another job for you, and your plane leaves in one hour.”

And that’s when I caught a faint whiff of burning strawberries.