Review of Paperback “Xanthan Gumm.”

I recently found this review of the paperback edition of my book, “Xanthan Gumm” on the website LotsaGadgets.com:

Xanthan Gumm
Trade Paperback

Review by Anton Gleek

The tech world has been buzzing about the new reading device called a “book.” I was able to order one from a website. They come in a bewildering number of colors and sizes, with different wording on the front. This alone says that this industry is in disarray and probably won’t last long.

The one I bought contains a science fiction novel of some kind. Yes, that’s right. One novel. It must have a miniscule amount of built-in memory. I couldn’t tell, there is no information about the memory, the OS, the processor, or any other technical data anywhere on the device.

The next thing that I noticed is that the battery on the book can’t be changed by the user. More and more devices are doing this and it seriously handicaps the device in my opinion. There is also no SD card slot. Frankly, that makes this thing a non-starter for me.

Trying to read the story, I quickly realized that the screen is not back lit. Are they kidding? In this day and age? How am I supposed to read this thing in the middle of the night at the bottom of a coal mine with a blanket over my head? To read in the dark, you need a third party device called a “lamp.” Why should I be required to buy some aftermarket product to make the basic function of the book work?

There are actually hundreds of screens, piled together. You have to hold the device open with your hands, and physically swap from one screen to another as you read. Then, when you stop reading, there is no way to bookmark where you stopped without buying yet another third party device.

And all those screens are made of a flammable material! It isn’t even safe to carry this around.

The first screen is the only one in color. All the others are black and white! The stupidest smart phone is better than this.

The worst part is that, when there are so many multi-purpose devices out there, this one is dedicated not just to reading, not just to reading fiction, but to reading one novel. There is no web browser at all. No wi-fi. No 3G connection to the cloud.

I don’t know who designed this, but they can’t be serious. If a hundred of these are sold in the next hundred years I will be surprised. What possible value could this have to anyone? I predict that no one will ever read an entire novel on one of these things. Not that anyone reads novels any more anyway.

Rating: ½ Star, and it got that just because it’s handy for propping up a wobbly table.

Santa Claus, P.I.

My name is Santa Claus. I’m a private eye.
Cold rain beat against the window of my office and made me glad for once that I wear all that fur.
December used to mean that I was gearing up for the big night. The gifts. The ho ho ho. These days it means sitting in my office waiting for no cases to come knocking on my door. Instead of Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donder and Blitzen I have a bottle of scotch, a .38 revolver, and too many memories.
“Mr. Claus?”
I must have nodded off for a second, because when I opened my eyes she was there. She folded a frilly pink umbrella, which dripped water on the bare wooden floor. She was a high class dame, dressed in a frilly pink dress that matched her shoes, the umbrella, and my bloodshot eyes.
I took my feet off my desk and tried to look presentable. The bits of rotting sushi in my beard (I have all my food delivered from Gino’s Chinese n’ Chili Roundup on the first floor) probably didn’t help, but there was no time for a shower when a lady needed my help.
“What can I do for you?” I asked.
She smiled a smile so pure and angelic that I wanted to ravage her right on the spot.
“I want you to find my donkey.”
Donkeys. Why was it always donkeys?
“Is that your game?” I asked. “You came in here to make fun of me?”
“Not at all, Mr. Claus,” her pouty lips said.
` “Get out of here, sister,” I said. “Everyone knows about the donkey disaster of ‘07.”
I still couldn’t believe that I used donkeys to fill in for sick reindeer. It was the end of my career as a Christmas icon. Children on the street still yell “Hee-Haw!” when they see me.
“That’s why you’re the only one who can help me,” she said. “My name is Valerie, but you probably know me as Mrs. Gordon Fontescue.”
“Mrs. Gordon Fontescue who is always in the society pages?” I asked. “Married to the richest member of the richest family in town? Mother of Suzie and Rodney Fontescue, ages 8 and 13? Subject of scandalous rumors that you have a lover named Dumont Norgood the third?”
“That’s right.”
“Never heard of you.”
“I can tell when you’re lying, Mr. Claus. Your cheeks are like roses and your nose is like a cherry.”
“That’s the scotch,” I said. I lifted the bottle and took a swig. “Now I think I told you to get the hell out of here.”
“But you must help me,” Mrs. Gordon Fontescue said, her eyes quivering. “You see, my husband is trying to kill me.”
What does that have to do with a donkey?”
“I trained my pet donkey, Mortimer, to do tricks,” she said.
“What, like sit, beg, and play dead?”
“Yes, and recite the complete text of my pre-nuptial agreement with my husband.”
“That’s some donkey.”
“He’s part parrot on his mother’s side. And he’s missing.”
“I’m missing too.”
“You are?”
“I’m missing the point.”
“My husband is denying that we ever had a pre-nup. He has destroyed all the copies. If Mortimer can be found he can go to my lawyer’s office and recite it.”
I took off my red hat with the little white ball on it and wiped my chin. I was beginning to re-think the red and white fur motif. The ensemble was designed by a guy named Rod Mookmook. Maybe I should stop taking fashion advice from a gay eskimo.
“Pre-nups usually limit what a divorced wife gets. Why do you want to prove it exists?”
Valerie sat on my desk and leaned so close that I thought mommy was going to kiss Santa Claus.
No such luck. She said, “The pre-nup just says that I get the same amount as I would if there was no pre-nup.”
I stood up. “My fee is a thousand a day plus expenses. I need a five day retainer to start.”
Without hesitation, Valerie took five grand out of a little pink clutch purse and tossed it on my desk.
“Please let me know the moment you find Mortimer,” she said. She opened her umbrella and walked out the door, her perfume lingering and giving me thoughts that a character beloved to children all over the world should not have.
As soon as she was gone I picked up my phone and called a cab. I would find Mortimer the donkey if I had to search every inch of the beach at the Bermuda Hilton.
I stepped out in the rain and let the silent night wash over me. After I blew the five grand I would need a new start. Maybe I would call my friend in British Intelligence and ask for a job.
I always did like my egg nog shaken, not stirred. Call me Nick. Saint Nick.

The New Vampire

Vampires used to be foul, undead monsters who slept in coffins and had nothing on their minds but draining the blood from the living. They were scary. They were vicious. They were BAD. Now they are romantic leads. Everyone is in love with them. They twinkle.
Well, I have some questions for fans of the new type of vampire. Starting with this: Do vampires take showers?
Sleeping in coffins, crypts, and shallow graves would lead to some grooming problems, I would think. When the sun goes down and the vampires wake up, they no longer have any time to seek the blood of the innocent. They have to find a bathroom where they can shower, use hair gel, and brush their teeth. Crest doesn’t make fangpaste, the modern vampire has to find some other way to make sure his fangs are gleaming white. No self-respecting victim/unrequited lover is going to let yellowed fangs near her jugular vein.
The fans of the “Twilight” series don’t seem to have really thought this vampire love thing through. A vampire is a terrible date. His idea of a romantic evening is probably taking you to Lover’s Point, then leaving you alone while he kills all the other couples there. If a vampire asks you out for a bite, he isn’t talking about a burger and fries.
Once the relationship goes past the first few dates, it’s time to get serious. I won’t even mention marriage, that’s not going to happen. Death has done you apart before you even met him. I’m talking the physical stuff. First off, the hug. He wraps you in his manly vampiric arms. Very romantic. What do his armpits smell like? They haven’t seen any deodorant since the middle ages.
Then you get down to it. Do you really want to have full body contact with someone who is room temperature? I suppose it depends on the room. It might be all right on a warm summer evening. But if you are with him for any length of time, you will want to snuggle under the blankets on chill winter nights too. Have you ever been unable to sleep because your partner has cold feet? A vampire lover has cold EVERYTHING.
I can’t finish this without mentioning the heart of the issue. Even if it takes four books of being apart before you can consummate your relationship, you do want to consummate it eventually, right? Well, you can’t. Vampires are the world champions of erectile dysfunction. To be crude, they can’t get it up. Why? An erection is caused by increased blood circulation to the area.
Vampires don’t have any blood circulation. None. Nada. Zip. No amount of Viagra is going to help, either. The drug can’t create more of what isn’t there to start with.
I would stay away from vampires as lovers all together. Now, werewolves I can see. They are warm, furry, and eager to please. They will sit, stay, and roll over. If you can keep them from peeing in the house and chewing on your slippers, you have a faithful companion for life. As long as you have a headache and sleep in another room three nights a month, you won’t wake up as scattered, gnawed bones.
So fans of “Twilight,” “New Moon,” “Eclipse,” and “Breaking Dawn,” if I have tricked you into reading my blog by putting these titles into my keywords, maybe I have given something to think about. Stay away from vampires, and look for real, human men. They may be emotionally cold and unable to love, but they won’t put you on a slab in the morgue. All right, some of them will, but serial killers are the topic of another column entirely.

Pain and Walking at Comic-Con 2009

The San Diego Comic-Con this last weekend was the best diet and exercise program that I have ever tried. I say diet because the food at the San Diego convention center was so expensive that I didn’t want to buy any. I made do mostly on bottled water that I brought with me.

I say exercise because the whole experience can be summed up by two words. Walking and Standing. Whoever designed the San Diego convention center did not plan for  126,000 people at a single event. The ratio of benches to attendees is approximately 1 to 126,000.

But I had walked several miles, it felt like, before I ever stepped foot in the convention center. I parked my car in a lot at 4th and Ash, so far from the con that I needed the star ship Enterprise to get there.

Instead, after wandering the streets endlessly, I found the sturdy and brightly colored San Diego trolley. It did not seem to have warp drive, but it also didn’t have a major film studio changing its timeline to appeal to a younger audience.

I was there on a budget – if “budget” means being broke. Just parking and riding the trolley cost $15.00. So when I arrived in the vast echoing hall in which every conceivable item of pop culture ever made is for sale, I could only drool.

The San Diego convention center is several light years in length. All you can do at Comic-Con is walk, walk, and walk some more, dodging the other 125, 999, 999 people. If you do get desperate, slump to the floor and lean against a wall, within several nanoseconds a way too happy employee of some company called “Elite” will come along and tell you to stand up.

I suspect this company also trains the guards at the kind of prison where convicts break big rocks into little rocks. “Back to work!” they scream, or “Stand up!” depending on which overcrowded hall of punishment they are assigned to.

If you have heard any news from Comic-Con this year, about previews of major upcoming films and the famous directors and actors who appeared there, be sure that I missed them all.

The people who attended those events stood in line longer than it took Superman to decide to marry Lois Lane. Besides, the big events were in the evenings. I was parked in a lot that closed before they started. Plus, I was staying in a Motel 6 in El Cajon – a good half hour drive east on Route 94.

After walking enough to travel to a galaxy far far away, when I decided to leave the con I had to walk to the trolley, walk uphill for blocks and blocks to the parking lot, then drive into the desert to find the only motel room I could afford, where I finally had a fine dining experience. I did have to tip the Domino’s guy who delivered to my room.

At the con I did some sketches. There were many people in costume, but with a sketch I needed people who stayed near me for a while. One was a teenager who was making a phone call, another a woman who was eating lunch, and others were on panels. I will post the sketches below.

If I ever go to Comic-Con again, I am going to pretend to be handicapped and use one of those power chairs. With warp drive.

This is a teenager in a blue suit with blue gloves and a blue ski mask. I have no idea what character he was.

The members of a panel about crime fiction. The only name I got was Max Allan Collins.

A woman eating a sandwich. She had black diamonds in makeup over her eyes Again, I don’t know what character she is.

Stephan Pastis of the comic strip Pearls Before Swine.

Stephen Notley, creator of Bob the Angry Flower, with a flowery foam board around his head.

A Day After Christmas Carol

“Good morning, Mr. Scrooge.”

“Good morning, Bob, my dear boy.”

“I just want to say again how wonderful it was of you to bring my family a Christmas goose yesterday. My wife sends her warmest thanks. She is taking Tiny Tim round to a doctor this very day, now that I can afford it with the raise you gave me.”

“I’m delighted, Bob. I tell you, I am a changed man. It feels so wonderful to help people. And from now on we will be closed for Christmas every year.”

“I assume that’s a paid holiday.”

“Er – what?”

“I don’t work on Christmas Day, but I get paid for it.”

“Get paid for a day when you don’t work?”

“New Year’s Day also, of course. I’ll need a list of all the paid holidays.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’m going to stay home on Saturdays now, too.”

“What, EVERY Saturday?”

“Sure, that way I’ll have two days to spend with my family every week. I’ll call it a – weekend. Yes, I like that.”

“Do you expect me to pay you for these Saturdays off?”

“Not at all. I don’t want to demand too much of you. You are my friend as well as my employer now.”

“That’s all very well, but…”

“How about three paid sick days and three paid personal days? And paid vacation, of course. One week the first year, two weeks after that.”

“Two weeks? I..”

“Oh Mr. Scrooge, you are so generous. Two weeks the first year it is. Now let’s talk health care. I need a plan that will cover Tiny Tim, with his special needs. And all the kids, plus pre-natal care for my wife when she has the next one.”

“Bob, I am trying to be a compassionate employer, but this is…”

“I’ll need family medical leave whenever a new baby arrives. Say, six months?”

“Six months off? Are you mad?”

“Don’t worry, that part is unpaid. But you have to hold my job for me.”

“But but but…”

“If Tiny Tim lives until he is eighteen, I’ll need to make enough to put him through college. All the others as well.”

“I am losing my patience, Bob…”

“You need to establish a pension fund, of course, so I can live out my golden years in comfort. I’ll pay into it, and the company can match that.”

“Bob, you’ll ruin the firm with all this.”

“I think we should unionize the shop.”

“What?”

“Use collective bargaining, so that all of your employees can get a good deal.”

“You’re my only employee, Bob.”

“If we don’t get what we want, we go on strike.”

“Strike?”

“We don’t work until we get a new contract.”

“Why, I’ll just hire new people. Er, a new person.”

“But you can’t, because only members of the union are allowed to work for you. No one will take a job here if we are on strike.”

“I’m getting very upset with you, Bob.”

“Don’t you see, Mr. Scrooge? These new rules will allow millions of poor people to become part of the middle class. They will be able to support their families, and live with dignity. They will buy houses and carriages and the economy will explode!”

“Are you saying that millions of poor people will rise up? That I will have to treat them as equals?”

“Yes, Mr. Scrooge, yes! Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Bah! Humbug! That would be social chaos! The poor are poor because they are inferior! They must be kept in their place! Now get to work! Do not expect any more Christmas geese from me! I expect you to be here every day of the year, and to accept any wage I feel it proper to offer! Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir, but there’s one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I think you just founded the Republican Party.”

101 Uses for a George Bush

This is my contribution to “101 Uses for a George Bush” at http://101usesforageorgebush.com

It has many other friendly suggestions to George about what his next job might be.

Jeopardy!

Good evening. I’m Alex Trebeck. Welcome to the third and final 2008 Presidential debate. The format for this debate has been changed, because the last two debates were stupefyingly boring. This is JEOPARDY!

Jeopardy theme music swells. Cameras pan over the set, with three contestants standing behind podiums.

In this special edition, the Grand Prize will be the Presidency itself. Yes, the elections have been cancelled, and the winner of tonight’s show will be sworn in on January 20th!

Audience applauds wildly.

Our first contestant is Barack Obama. Barack, you used to be a community organizer?

Yes, Alex, when I got out of law school I -

He was a communist orgy arranger!

That is John McCain, our second contestant. You told us that you were a POW in Vietnam for five years.

Yes, and I was a POW in Vietnam for five years!

You tell the story so well, John. Now, there are only two major Presidential candidates, but to fit the normal format of this show we needed a third contestant. Meet Sharra, my Pilates instructor.

Hi, Alex. I’m very flexible on the issues that face America.

She’s very flexible in all ways, folks. Rrrrruff.

Nice gams, toots. I should have chosen you for VP.

Here are the categories. The Constitution, The Economy, I love “U” in which all the answers begin with “U”, and The Beach Boys. Barack goes first.

The Constitution for 200, Alex.

This is guaranteed by the first amendment, along with freedom of religion and speech.

Buzz!

Barack.

What is the right of the people to peacefully assemble?

Correct.

What’s the Constitution?

It’s not your turn, John, and that is not correct.

No, I’m asking. What’s the Constitution? I’ve never heard of that.

Choose from the board, Barack.

The Beach Boys for 400.

Buzz!

John.

What is Bomb bomb bomb, bomb bomb Barack?

I haven’t given the answer yet. Besides,  wasn’t it Bomb bomb bomb, bomb bomb Iraq?

Barack, Iraq, sounds the same to me. I pledge that America will have victory over Barack!

Hey, I am not America’s enemy.

Yeah? Why is your middle name “Sidney?” Are you in league with those damn Australians?

That’s your middle name, John. Mine is “Hussein.”

Damn Australians.

I’ve lost track of whose turn it is.

Buzz!

Sharra?

I’m a California Girl, Alex, just like the Beach Boys sang about.

So you are, Sharra. Yowza. But you need to put that in the form of a question.

I love “U” for 1000, Alex!

All right, John, we’ll try to get back on track with this answer. This is an institution of higher learning -

Buzz!

Yes, John.

Who is unrepentant terrorist Bill Ayers?

Incorrect.

Buzz!

You had your turn, John.

Who is unrepentant terrorist Bill Ayers?

Still incorrect!

Buzz!

Sharra.

What is a university?

Correct!

I went to Australia once. That one over there hasn’t been to Australia in over 895 days.
What is he afraid of?

Everyone! This game is important! The winner becomes the President!

Alex, I would like some time to respond to Senator McCain’s distortions.

This isn’t a debate! This is JEOPARDY!

Jeopardy music swells, and camera pans around the set.

Stop! Stop! I’m Alex Trebeck! I am the most respected game show host on television! Whoever is playing that music, I can fire your ass!

Music stops suddenly.

Thank you.

I went to Sidney, and Melbourne, and even went to see – AHA!

What, John?

Ayers Rock! Unrepentant terrorist Bill Ayers Rock! You ARE working with the Australians!

They don’t even call it that any more, John. As a fellow senator, you should know that…

Screw This! Play the music! I’m Alex Trebeck and I give you the next President of the United States! SHARRA!!

Why thank you, Alex. Thank you, America!

This was where Abraham Lincoln slept while he was President.

What is the Lincoln Bedroom?

Correct! I’ll meet you there on Inauguration Day!

The Great Cat Debate

There is a lot of tension in my household these days. We are on tenterhooks, waiting to see if sanity, civilization, rule of law, and all around decency will continue in this country, or if John McCain will be elected.

Actually, not everyone in my house  agrees who is the best candidate for President. My two cats argue about it all the time. There are no humans other than myself here, of course, because I like sanity and civilization at home as much as in the country.

Goblin, a gray and white short hair who was born in the comfort of a house and has never missed a meal, is a supporter of John McCain. She likes McCain’s pledge to change everything while at the same time letting it stay exactly the same.

Zorro is younger and was born in the streets. He is a black and white long haired male (neutered, of course, like the democrats in Congress.) He was part of a community of feral cats until he was four months old. Then he was caught in a trap and taken to a shelter. I adopted him and he has been an agent of change ever since, at least when it comes to tearing up any rolls of toilet paper I leave where he can reach them.

I recently transcribed one of their debates about the Presidential election:

Goblin: McCain is NOT exactly the same as Bush.

Zorro: Come on, G,  Those two are sniffing the same catnip. They were separated at birth, then sewn back together in 2004. I always knew Georgie has half a brain, now I know where the other half went.

Goblin: But McCain is a maverick.

Zorro: Maverlick is more like it, he licks Georgie’s  ba—

Goblin: Watch your language.

Zorro: Well, you know, the things I don’t have any more.

Goblin: McCain will reform Washington and clean up Congress.

Zorro: No Republican is going to clean up nothing. They are dirty like a dog that’s been rolling in shit and eating it too. They got it all up inside themselves, there is no washing that off.

Goblin: I said watch your language.

Zorro: And I said Republicans ain’t a fucking political party, they are a motherfucking, shit eating organized crime outfit.

Goblin: You are a disrespectful, untamed creature.

Zorro: Yeah, but I’m cute.

Goblin: True. I hear that Obama doesn’t have any pets, Are you sure you want to trust a
man who doesn’t love animals?

Zorro: McCain has dogs. Big dogs. You want a dog lover to run the country?

Goblin: As long as he picks up after them.

Zorro: I’m sure he ain’t doing that himself, but maybe he could give Sarah Palin a job she
can handle..

After that the cats ran off where I couldn’t hear them. I’m sure they haven’t agreed on who the best Presidential candidate should be, but they do seem to have come to a consensus about the best place to vomit so I will step on it in the middle of the night when I go to the bathroom.

The “R” Word

The “R” Word

There are words in the English language that are considered so terrible, so horrible, that they cannot be uttered outside of a hip-hop album. Children get in trouble if they say these words in school. Movie ratings are based on how often some of these words are said. The Federal Communications stands ready to fine anyone who dares say them on TV or radio.
I propose that a new word should be added to the list. It is a word that symbolizes evil. A word that has brought the United States of America to its knees. A word that is so offensive and disgusting that it should never be said out loud in public. The word is, of course, “Republican.”
It makes me shudder to even use the word in this column, but it is my grim duty to discuss this swear word, this four syllable symbol of degeneracy, corruption, treason, and shopping at Barney’s.
Believe it or not, there are still people walking around, in the light of day, with no shame, calling themselves Republicans. They disguise themselves as decent human beings and mix in with the rest of us. How they hide the unbearable Republican stench is unknown.
These creatures still have a political party that runs a slate of candidates, like normal people who actually believe in democracy. There are, and this is so breathtakingly awful that I am loathe to report it, people who would actually vote for these candidates.
The word Republican needs to be so reviled that no one would dare even think it without then washing his or her mind out with soap. In fact, I think the word could replace all the other swear words. The normal swear words describe bodily functions and anatomy and the act of making sweet love. These words are nothing compared to “Republican.”
Imagine a man hanging a painting, who hits his thumb with his hammer. Wouldn’t he blister the ears of any listeners much more effectively if he shouted “Mother Republican!” When a car cuts you off in traffic, wouldn’t it be satisfying to raise your middle finger in his direction and shout, “Republican you!”
The other day a man screamed a word at me because he thought I hadn’t turned right on red fast enough. The word describes the posterior opening through which any human being, indeed almost any life form on this earth, excretes waste. It was hardly an insult at all, because I do possess what he mentioned. If he had shouted “Republican!” now that would have really hurt.
The new swear word “Republican” would encompass the entire foul record of the Republican party that has replaced the values and traditions of the United States of America with lies, torture, spying on it own citizens, war for greed, cancellation of basic human rights, army troops policing our streets, no response to natural disasters, taxing the poor to make the rich richer, ruination of the economy, looting the treasury, firing US attorneys for doing their jobs, prosecutions of political enemies, appointing supreme court justices and Attorneys General who willingly subvert the law, using loyalty to the president as the only qualification for government jobs, refusal to testify when subpoenaed by Congress, and, worst of all, NOT BEING ABLE TO PRONOUNCE “NUCLEAR”!
The Republicans have republicaned us in the republican until we can’t republican straight. Republican this. I’m going to go get republicanfaced.