Tag Archives: science fiction

The One About Saying No

As a chick and a parent, I’ve said no somewhere in the billions of times. I’m talking about this:

Bugger bugs.

“Stop.”

Bugger continues, upping their game and laughing.

“No, stop. I’m serious.”

Bugger kicks it into high and taunts.

I raise my voice, lay hands, force a stop.

Bugger gets feelings hurt and accuses me of overreacting.

Brothers, boyfriends, friends, coworkers, even my dad. It’s been omnipresent in my life.

Never really thought much about it other than to be annoyed. Today, being home sick and bored to tears, I watched a couple of movies. Guess what they both had in common.

Scenario One: The woman tells the man to stop because she doesn’t want to get into the water. He chases her, corners her, forces her over his shoulder before throwing her into the pool. The whole time she’s screaming for him to stop. She’s MAD when she gets out of the water and the man stalks off because he thinks it’s NOT FAIR that she’s angry. She runs after him and apologizes.

Scenario Two: The woman has had a traumatic past that has not been disclosed to the man. He puts on a mask and stalks her around the dark house. The whole time she’s backing up, trying to get away, and screaming for him to stop. When she slams the bathroom door on his hand in an effort to lock herself in, he’s pissed. She apologizes to him and explains her traumatic past as a way to make him understand her reaction.

No means no. All the time. Every time.

No, don’t want to go out with you.

No, I don’t want to be tickled.

No, you can’t have a hug.

No, I don’t like to be scared.

No, I don’t want to have kids.

No, I don’t want to get my extensions wet.

And no I won’t apologize to you for the response your actions wrought.tumblr_naqc5foddz1rxmno2o1_500

TL;DR: Stop making this normal. Reject it and don’t fucking apologize for asserting yourself. Thinking men are too fragile to be told no is a Rook mistake. Let them deal with it.

 

 

 

 

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The One About Rogue One

Growing up, Star Wars was my thing. Had the action figures and  basically played pretend for years. Cut the head off of a blue mop handle and a green broom one. Got in trouble and SWORE never to do it again. Then endured the grounding that followed when Mom brought home red handled replacements.

Broken fingers. Bloody knuckles. Lumps to the head. Lightsaber duels were my first secret fight club.

Even made up my own character because Leia wasn’t badass enough – plus there was that slave girl thing. Ugh.

Saw Rogue One and LOVED it. Loved the story. Loved the homage to the 70s. Loved the set dressing. Loved the settings. Loved the characters. Loved that it was dark. But even with all the love, there was just something missing.

Chicks.

Group of evil scientists – all dudes.

Crowds – no chicks

Military /Rebel Base – Mon Mothma

Wait … no.  That’s it. Mon Mothma.

Squad of assassins, saboteurs, and spies – DUDES.

In the Star Wars universe, there are only moms, displaced princesses, Mon Mothma, and Jyn. Even the droids are male.

I’m not even looking for more female speaking parts. But can’t we just be part of the regular everyday Star Wars background?

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TL;DR: There are females in the world. When you exclude us completely, it’s distracting. Some of us are even FANS. Ignoring us is a Rook mistake.

The One About Sticks

I don’t pretend to have all the answers. Hell, I don’t even pretend to know where the answers live. I might have seen them once from a distance, but I probably wouldn’t recognize them if I saw them again.

There are all these self-help books out there. They all basically say the same thing. They want you to know that you’re not as worthless as you feel and there’s HOPE for you. It’s not that easy.

Hope can suck a frog.

Sure wish I could do that.

Go suck a frog.

I hope one day I’ll..

Go suck a frog.

With a wish and a little fairy dust anything is possible…

Go suck a herd of frogs.

Get off your ass. Stop internally beating yourself up and take some action. My daddy used to tell me, “You’re not a tree. If you don’t like something MOVE.”

TL;DR: If you don’t like something go get your stick and CHANGE it. Sitting around wishing is the same a pissing an moaning. That’s a rook mistake.a2NXEze_700b

The One About Tex Thompson

A few days ago, I wrote about Chuck Wendig. I do feel rather stalkerish about him, because he’s such an unknown to me down here in the land of red dirt, pine trees, and big hair (closer to God and all). Now, I have to tell you about Tex Thompson’s books.

As a kid JohnWayne was a holy word to be whispered in awe and only in the correct setting, followed closely by Glen Ford and The Dallas Cowboys (Though to be fair, Cowboys was usually shouted along with bless Tom Landry and then Jimmy Jones. However, I’ve never heard much praying for Jerry Jones at my momma’s house.)

To love the twisted-alt-weird-fantastical-post-apocalyptic western that is One Night in Sixes, you don’t need any of that. You don’t have to love westerns. You don’t have to be from Texas. You don’t have to believe me about anything else. You don’t even need the love of story to get into this book. It will give it to you. I will not send you down the wrong rabbit hole.

This book is deep. Social injustice, slavery, love, and loyalty are layered in with a master’s hand.

If you’d follow Mookie into Hell. If you’d take the train with Harry. Then you need to follow Elim out into the night. You’ll be a believer.

TL;dr: OMG Read One Night in Sixes (and the sequel Medicine for the Dead) because it’s pure story joy.

Don’t skip reading this book because you think you don’t like westerns. That’d be a rook mistake.

 

The Other One About Food In SciFi

Luke’s aunt and uncle drank blue milk.  Alex drank his laced with barbiturates.  Warf, Muad’Dib, and Londo all consume some sort of worm or worm byproduct.  I won’t get into the alcohol particulars here.

Future cuisine scares me.  There’s no joy to it.  No flavor.  Where are my tortillas or pad thai? And if I have to eat worms, where the hell is my Sirracha?  It all seems to be created as a bet between some middle school kids as to who will eat what for a dollar.  I’ll pass.

I wonder if writers forgot that it’s a basic part of ourselves to enjoy what we eat.  If they feel that obtaining sustenance is an obstacle to be overcome.   And sometimes it is.  But that would be a far cry into the future from where we are now.  Celebration?  We eat.  Memorial?  We eat.  We even have special foods that we only trot out on certain occasions that aren’t even that fancy.  When’s the last time you had sweet potato casserole without Black Friday sales looming on the horizon? And when people come to visit, we don’t just play a game or watch a movie or even just talk.  We eat.

And we go to restaurants.  We look for new places to eat because we’ve eaten at the last place too many times.  We are food obsessed.  We sweat cheese.

Even soliders in the field get local foods when they can.  No one was ever meant to live off of MREs forever.  Sure, you could survive, but that’s not living.

(Unless you make the field pizza or a cheesecake.  That was some good stuff right there.)

Jason Henniger on NPR had a few things to say too.

http://www.npr.org/2013/07/13/201181637/food-in-science-fiction-in-the-future-we-will-all-eat-lasers

The One About Food in Sci-Fi

Now this may be a series as I do some research. But staring at a big egg breakfast with chicken fried steak bigger than my plate (and my stomach) has got me to thinking about the foodie aspect of science fiction.  I know lots of fans are foodies and some are not.  But other than an occasional glimpse at what’s for dinner during a big political hoohaw or on Ten Forward, I can’t really think of food playing much of a role in my reading/watching.  Like, I said, I’m probably wrong and I have done 0 research on the subject.  Don’t crucify me.  I’m just typing up thoughts in my favorite DFW diner and mopping up the grease that’s pooling on my home fries.  That said, point me in a direction if you’ve got a favorite food sc-fi or even fantasy story.  I’m interested.

Help me, Lord Insulin.  You’re my only hope.

(The above is a joke.  I take my diabetes as seriously as Wilford Brimely takes his mustache.)