Archive for July, 2009

  • On the other hand….

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    I’ve just found out that 27 July – 2 August is “International Blog Against Racism Week”. Man, I had to laugh. Yes, let’s save all our deep discussions on the complex issue of race for one week. That’ll get profound. I’m reminded of the United Nations’ designated international years. Do you remember the International Year of the Ocean? Or of the Family? A lot of good work certainly got done in the areas of environment and social welfare in those years, didn’t it? And, even though I know that teh intertubes run on a much faster metabolism, I expect — nay, demand! — the same level of success from a week of anti-racism.

    I’m assuming that some PinkSkin* sat down and thought it was a good idea and you can’t fault that person for intent, but all it does is really point out the shallowness of the whole exercise. Or am I the only one who’s thinking that?

    In a case that may seem completely unrelated but which will eventually tie together, I was also reading about, well let’s call him “Mr R” in The Age recently. Mr R organises two strippers for a mate’s buck’s night. Interestingly, the show he chooses from the strippers is called “Anal”. On the night, he ends up on hands and knees, getting penetrated by a dildo that one of the strippers brought along as a prop for the act. (It was called “Anal”, remember? And it was a buck’s night, so no women, except for the entertainers. Usually.) You can read the article here, but let me just call out passages (ahem) of interest. First the scene:

    The court heard that the man was on all fours, with his pants around his ankles, when Naggs poured cream on his back and on the dildo and made thrusting motions.

    The encouragement:

    [A]fter Naggs [the stripper] poured cream on to the best man’s back, she asked the crowd: ‘‘Well guys, shall I give it to him?’’

    [Mr R] said the crowd had encouraged her.

    And the aftermath:

    [Witnesses] told of seeing the best man looking like he was in pain and ‘‘squinting’’ during the stripper’s act.

    The next day, the best man said he ‘‘didn’t feel very well, I didn’t feel right’’. He was ‘‘very, very uncomfortable’’ and told friends about the incident.

    And, cold, cynical, harsh, bitter person that I am, my first thought was, “Now you know what it feels like to be a woman, Mr R.”

    As women (or, indeed, as any kind of minority), we’ve all been there, haven’t we? Having to succumb to something that was either debasing or — at the very least — insulting, bent over by completely unsympathetic peer pressure, and forced to comply because something more important to us was on the line, and our humiliation was the price we paid (and continue to pay) for that something.

    It’s the same with racism. A week of blog posts. Yeah, great. I’m a bit late this year but I’ll be sure to put that in the diary for 2010, m’kay?

    (*) PinkSkin is the term Shran the Andorian (a blue-skinned alien) uses to describe (white human) Archer in Star Trek: Enterprise. Shran was, to my mind, the only redeeming character in an entire series of epic boredom and morality fail. The show couldn’t get cancelled fast enough, in my opinion.

  • Cop out Friday

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    Since a long post came out yesterday, I thought I’d cheat with a sleight of hand today. If you’re thinking of visiting Thailand in the near future, please read the 1st July post (entitled “Extortion rackets as a symptom of political malaise“) from Yawning Bread. The Yawning Bread blog is a must read for me. I hope it becomes the same for you too.

  • Assumptions

    2

    This is the second week where a Wednesday has gone wrong. This time it was a telecommunications upgrade in our estate. So apologies for yesterday and here’s the post ….

    In one of my less recent posts, I related the story of the young Indian checkout lady, looking for a Western man to marry. I ended with a rhetorical question regarding orang putih:

    Only, you and I know that they’re not always all they’re cracked up to be either, don’t we?

    The problem is this. When people see J and I together, they jump to a particular conclusion. This conclusion isn’t limited to people who live in south-east Asia. I’ve found it in every country I’ve lived in. And the conclusion is this: white man with an Asian woman, huh? Wow, he must really be a control freak. Probably couldn’t hack marrying another white woman because he has some kind of inferiority complex, so he went for a more docile Asian chick.

    Now, anybody with that notion, if they ever care to speak to us, will be disabused of it quite smartly within — oh — about three nanoseconds. But, if they don’t, they’ll continue to think that. Even my friend Parvathy’s husband, Ramesh, confided the same to me during a characteristic Malaysian bout of offhand candour that still takes me by surprise from time to time.

    “I looked at your husband,” Ramesh told me, “and I thought he was like all the other Western men. He looks so serious, I thought — for sure — he was a very arrogant and controlling man. Then I met him, and he is completely different to what I expected. He’s very friendly and gracious and I like him very much. He’s very different to the kind of Western man I usually meet.” Now Ramesh has had a lot to do with all kinds of — literally, thousands of — people for decades, being a senior public servant associated with immigration matters, so I found it an interesting vindication of my own personal observations of how Western men are perceived in south-east Asia.

    Bear with me while I attempt to pull some threads together. (Fair warning: I may not succeed.) First, there are a lot of independently-minded Asian women out there. Second, there are, by sheer geographical circumstance, fewer single Western men available. Using the law of supply and demand, supply thus significantly outstrips demand. And, just as with house-buying, where a seller’s market means the vendor can ask for more money, a supply overbalance means the Western men can be as arrogant as they want and still score the women. Just keep your eyes open on a Friday night around Singapore’s inner-city streets and you’ll see what I mean.

    Secondly, it requires a certain amount of courage to approach somebody and a tad more than that again to approach somebody not of your default cultural group. So, it’s the more aggressive people who are going to score first. And where you have people with those bigger risk-taking characteristics, I believe you have a greater propensity to, shall we say, a certain brashness in their approach.

    Thirdly, within this narrow context, who are the orang putih men who move to s-e Asia? For a start, they are not the staid types, content to potter around their little corner of England, or wherever, till the day they die. They are usually open to adventure, to the exotic, to the lure of money and prestige. And they are either young … or getting on in middle age.

    What do you get when you put all these together? They are not so much relationships as business transactions, to my mind. Each party has certain social and mercantile expectations that they believe only the other can satisfy, whether it be the lure of a slim, exotic-looking woman who gazes adoringly at you while you drop a couple of thousand dollars at the nearest Isetan store, or a White Man you can flaunt to your local friends who isn’t as sensitive to Saving Face or appearances. In fact, the white man is focused almost entirely on appearances, but it’s just that his idea of them meshes with the woman’s rather better than a local man’s.

    Within this seething milieu of money, cachet and smooth, submissive skin up for grabs, how many genuine relationships do you think get forged? So I can certainly understand the scepticism with which my own marriage is viewed, although that’s becoming less obvious and more tinged with respect now that we’re getting older and it’s obvious J isn’t with me because of my svelte figure, teetering heels or perky breasts. (Ah gravity, thou art a bitch!*)

    Still, in such an environment, it’s difficult to separate the mercantile from the genuine and it colours (oops, sorry, bad pun) all views of Asian-other couples. I’m sorry to say, even mine.

    (I know I have quite a few Singaporeans reading this blog. Any of you like to weigh in?)

    (*) Quote from Sheldon Cooper, “Big Bang Theory”.

  • My first Novel Spaces post!

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    On the first of July, I mentioned a new group blog that I belong to called Novel Spaces. The authors are varied and extremely talented and I’m honoured to have been included on the roll.

    Anyway, today is my first day of blogging at Novel Spaces, and I talk about moving around and aliens. Go have a read and leave a comment!

  • Shopping for a new car … not!

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    My friend Parvathy was chatting to me the other day and mentioned that she and her husband, Ramesh, are thinking of buying a new car. They’d like to take the family on road holidays to various destinations in Malaysia but her car is terrible for driving. A gust of wind is enough to send it skipping across the road. So, she’d like something built more for road cruising.

    “What are you thinking of?” I asked.
    “A Toyota Camry,” she answered.
    “How much are they?”
    “Around 140,000 ringgit (RM).”
    The average annual wage in Malaysia, as I stick my finger in the air, is about RM36,000 to RM40,000, I’d say. So, 3+ years’ pay. “Wow.”
    She grimaced. “I know, it’s not cheap. It translates to about RM1,500 a month in repayments and, at the moment, I want to concentrate on paying off the mortgage. But I want a better driving car.”

    J and I had a similar dilemma a year ago. We eventually decided on a truck, but which one? The Mitsubishi was delightful inside but it was like driving a boat. I could get no feel for the road, and I had no confidence taking corners. The Toyota, as all of that brand, was predictably underpowered. The Nissan, however, was “rough but responsive”, is how I put it. But the interior was like something from Soviet architecture days and the seats were prison issue, I was sure. We went with the Nissan diesel because parts were manufactured locally, the engine was simple to maintain, and it’s a real smart mover on the road, even if it’s damned uncomfortable for long hauls.

    Now, I have to tell you that the truck was not our first choice. Our first choice was a Citroen Picasso C4 but, at RM180,000 base price, the C4 was waaaaaay out of our league. The Nissan cost us RM98,000 … almost half the price of the C4. That’s important to remember for what’s to come.

    So, anyway, back to Parvathy.

    “Why not do what we’re doing?” I said. “Buy a cheaper car that’s easy to maintain, then pimp the sucker out.”
    “Is that what you’re doing?”
    I nodded. “Better sound system with new installed amplifier. Cushier leather seats with leather side trim. Some bling on the underside. A GPS/DVD screen in the cockpit. And a paint scheme (from Czterej Pancerni i Pies*).”
    Her eyes widened. “How much is it costing?”
    “Four days and about RM5,000.”
    “That’s not bad.”

    Let’s total the bill. With the original purchase price of the car, we’ve now spent RM103,000 on our car (excluding maintenance costs). Still well short of that C4 target. And, since it’s a relatively inexpensive truck, I’m not going to cry me a river should it get trolley burn at the local supermarket car-park.

    My advice to Parvathy was simple: get the best local car that met her needs (a better-than-average Proton, for example), and then customise the interior. If you want comfort in a car, but still want to save money, you’ve got to start thinking outside the box.

    (*) Four Tankmen and a Dog, an exuberant and completely unrealistic WWII series from Poland. We’ve got the entire series on DVD. I’m a Grigorij Saakaszwili fan, with Gustaw Jeleń (Gustlik) running a very close second.

  • Two reviews for “A Pirate’s Passion”

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    My most favourite erotic romance writer is Lisabet Sarai. She has a wonderful way of evoking vivid images of her books’ settings, and the relationships she describes are rich, detailed, and simultaneously profound and profane — no mean feat for a writer to pull off, and Lisabet always does it in spades. I’m saying this, and making my fangirl crush so public, in the hope that she’ll forgive me for not mentioning her review of A Pirate’s Passion in Total-E-Bound‘s July newsletter.

    I loved this space-age retelling of the Pygmalion myth—“My Fair Lady” in reverse. The characters are vivid and appealing—sharp, rebellious, sneaky and a bit unpredictable. Gil’s and Tera’s verbal sparring reminded me of Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn, while their erotic connection is intense, believable, and as satisfying as any reader could want. My only complaint is that the book, at about 100 pages, is too short. Minor characters such as the female pirate commander Wonn, Gil’s grizzled lieutenant Kotase and Fikora, are as rich and fascinating as the protagonists, but we see too little of them. I’d like to know more about Gil’s and Tera’s world, the republic and its gentry masters. If Ms. Augustin feels so inspired, I think there’s ample material here for a series.

    Thanks, Lisabet! (My current writing schedule for 2009 contains six items, so I might just see how it goes closer to 2010.)

    Cover for A Pirates Passion

    And I received notice of a review from ParaNormalRomance, which also handles sf&f romance, in addition to paranormal titles. Beth Foster reviewed A Pirate’s Passion and had this to say:

    A PIRATE’S PASSION was a very entertaining read. As far as the plot went, it was almost like reading a regency set in space, except for the romance. I really admired Tera’s character. When she saw the corruption around her, instead of just sticking her head in the sand she tried to do something about it, and she wasn’t going to just let Gil walk all over her. Gil really cracked me up too, because he had such a quirky sense of humor, and he loved giving Tera a hard time. The love scenes between the two were very well done, and very steamy. All in all, this was a quick fun read!

    You can read the full review at their site. Thanks Beth!

    This is another part of the long writing process that impatient writers (such as myself) need to take in stride. It’s not just the time taken to write, then edit, then wait for publication. Even after publication, you’re still waiting for those reviews to start rolling in, biting your fingernails, wondering if you wrote something good, or a complete dud.

  • A geek menage

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    And xkcd does it again. Win!

    PS Yeah, can you tell I should be writing?

  • Career move?

    1

    Sorry about missing a post yesterday. It was a bit touch ‘n’ go as to whether I needed to visit Singapore and, as it turned out, I did. Which, of course, wrecked the entire day’s plans.

    It makes me wonder, more than anything. I haven’t written anything about Michael Jackson because, even though I enjoyed his music and admired his adrenaline-pumped dancing, I really wasn’t a big fan of his. I’m into electronic music, and am more prone to getting upset if I find out that Truman and Healings of Hybrid have perished in an accident on their way to a gig. (They’re currently touring Australia-New Zealand and playing in Melbourne this Friday, btw. Go! See! Hear! Enjoy!)

    Having said all that, there is one thing that bothers me about the death of Michael Jackson. Namely, the feeding frenzy that began straight afterwards and, it appears, hasn’t yet stopped. I was cruising along Fictionwise this morning, as is my wont, and noticed a couple of Michael Jackson books on the front page. Wow, I thought, that was quick. But it wasn’t really, was it? I’m sure those books hit the shelves within a week of Jackson’s death. Now, everywhere I go, I’m confronted by him. Even in home-of-terrorism Malaysia, I can get “limited edition” posters of Jackson in my local newspaper. The DVD store has copious copies of Moonwalker and other Jackson videos. The bookstores, you already know about. If that’s what it’s like here, in the south-east Asian boondocks, I can’t imagine what must be happening in North America right about now.

    I don’t know about you but — to me — there’s something incredibly maudlin, macabre, distasteful about all this. How is it that a dead person is worth so much more than a live one? What does this say about our society? And, interestingly, the people who are now gaining from Jackson’s death have, to a large extent, had nothing at all to do with him while he was alive. How does that work?

    Maybe it’s my overactive imagination, but I get the feeling that every piece of merchandise on sale right now is tainted by blood. Sure, Jackson had his eccentricities, but that’s no excuse for the Ferengi-like frenzy that’s encompassing us now. I honestly believe that if it was legal to sell off pieces of Jackson’s body, the blood splattering might be more literal. And much uglier.

    So, anyone have any tips? Why are so many people getting so worked up about someone they didn’t really spend many neural cycles on two months ago? Is it because his death is somehow an affirmation of our lives? Is it the manifestation of a global outpouring of grief? Prurient interest? A decline of moral values as we know it? A rise of death celebrity? How much of a combination of all of the above? Budding philosophers, sound off!

  • Bad taste! And it’s not America!

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    There’s a new reality show about to start on Turkish TV. It’s called Penitents Compete. It’s about four religious “guides” (“a Muslim imam, a Greek Orthodox priest, a rabbi [and] a Buddhist monk”) and their attempts to convert ten atheists.

    As if it isn’t enough that I’m dissed because I’m a migrant, or a woman, or brown-skinned, now I have to be dissed because I’m an atheist? Why not give three Muslims to the Buddhist? Or three Christians to the rabbi? Why ten atheists? It’s like trying to “cure” homosexuality. It’s insulting and more than a little demeaning.

    There are reasons I’m an atheist, and having four religious guides trying to “convert” me — as if atheism is some kind of bloody disease — really gets up my nose.

    Are we really so threatening? So scary? We’re not even allowed to have signs on the sides of buses without some so-called “oh we believe in democracy, but not in the case of god” narrow-minded bigots objecting. Really, if your faith is so weak that a few words from complete strangers are going to make you feel faint and want to lie down and have a cuppa, then you didn’t have much in the way of religious cojones to begin with, bud.

    I think that’s the other thing that bothers me about atheist-slagging. The people who’d use the Bible/Koran/Torah/Buddha to cheat on other people are, in all probability, the very same ones who somehow accuse atheists of being aberrant or morally bankrupt. This is called the Conservative Hyposkit, where conservative UK politicians, after denouncing perverted sexual practices and the invasion of homosexuality into schools, are discovered dead after indulging in various sadosexual practices (remember the swathe of those?) or US politicians, who denounce adultery yea almost from the pulpit, end up politically dead after trekking the Appalachian trail. Or somesuch.

    And, now that I think about the major drawcard of religion (the after-life), I’m coming to realise that ego-driven individuals are, in fact, more likely to be the religious ones. After all, we atheists believe that there is nothing beyond the moment of our death. No tunnel, no choir of angels, no parents or beloved labrador waiting to greet us. For the religious person, however, this is anathema. Their ego has to survive. They must go on to bigger and better things. Talk about a sense of entitlement!

    There is no external, deity-driven moral compass involved in the way I think. I have my own moral code that tells me not to steal, to treat people fairly, to give to charity, because I believe I only have one life and thus have to live it to the highest level of humanity possible. Not because I’ll get some kind of deity-blessed pay-off at the end of it. Good dogs, what kind of person even thinks in those terms? How primitive must someone be to do something, not because it’s the compassionate and highly-evolved thing to do, but because they believe someone in a white robe will shove a musical instrument into their hands after they kick the bucket? Why would I even want to be stuck in the same place as that bunch of patronising narcissists?

    Ahem. Cough, cough.

    Sorry about that but, as you gathered, this is a subject about which I feel most deeply. I think the Turkish TV show is insulting but — then again — I’m kinda used to being insulted by all kinds of people at this stage in my life. Carry on.

  • Uncomfortable truths

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    I’m reading China Mieville’s short story collection “Looking for Jake” at the moment. And I came across “foundation“. At the end of the book, Mieville makes a small note that the burying alive of Iraqi soldiers during the first Gulf War in 1991 is a matter of public record. Well, as much as I applaud the emergence of a prominent leftist speculative fiction writer — and, perhaps, a little because of it — I didn’t take Mieville on his word. (Please remember this. I try hard not to take anyone on their word when I discuss economics and politics, even though I’m an avowed socialist and the other person may also be an avowed socialist. I try to be fractally sceptical.)

    And hot damn if the man wasn’t right! Yes, the “righteous” George Bush — the father of Shrub, the one who described Clinton as “his son”, the “smart one” — was responsible for an unknown, possibly thousands, number of deaths in Iraq when Abrams tanks just ploughed earth straight into the Iraqi trenches. Any soldiers that tried to escape were gunned down by a shooting line formed just behind the tanks, although some recalcitrants did manage to surrender and live. Landscaping efforts were finalised by armoured combat earth-movers.

    Don’t believe me? Try here, here and, lest we think this was only a UK write-fest, here, here and — lest I be accused of forsaking “balance” — here.

    Okay, so let’s say that the death toll ranged from 44 to 6,000. Does that make a difference? Because it seems to, to some people. “Oh, it was only forty-four people,” they might say, not realising that they’re at the thin edge of a very long and very wide wedge. And, just say it really was forty-four people …. Would you like your husband to be one of that forty-four? Your brother? Your son? Your father?

    My basic question is, does a democratic, law-abiding, freedom-loving country do that? Rehearse the movement of tanks fitted with ploughs with the express intention of burying conscripts alive? Of course armies do terrible things in war. But do armies that supposedly stand for “freedom”, “democracy”, “liberty”, and the wish for all people to live with heads held high, etc. etc., do that? Are those fine words standards to be be upheld? Or shields to conveniently hide behind? And, because of these actions, will those words remain bright and burnished, or dull and tarnished? There may be some small short-term gains here (and, in political terms, short-term can mean anything from one minute to thirty years), but there’ll be some long-term comeuppance. Wonder if we’ll be around to see it.

    ADDITIONAL: I’ve had this post in Drafts for a little while, but was prompted to dig it up when I happened across an El Reg article (via J) on biomatter-fuelled robots. In its inimitable fashion, the advance is described thus:

    News has emerged of a milestone reached on the road towards a potentially world-changing piece of technology. We speak, of course, of US military plans to introduce roving steam-powered robots which would fuel themselves by harvesting everything alive and cramming it into their insatiable blazing furnaces.

    Proving that DARPA does indeed have a sense of humour — even if it’s appropriately militarily macabre — the name of this device is EATR (Energetically Autonomous Tactical Robot). The fact that it comes from DARPA and the word “Tactical” immediately tips off the alert reader to the fact that EATR is, indeed, a battle robot. A battle robot that runs on burning biomatter. Like apple cores. Or bodies.

    Of course, I’m a little more sanguine than most about the latest American plans to use the corpses of humans to fuel their tactical, heavily-armed and -armoured robots in the kinetic-laden battle vectors of the future. This is because pet Pentagon projects have an unerring ability to run over-budget and under-functionality. There’s still the not insubstantial hope that all we’ll end up, will be very expensive trashcans.

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