Radio and TV have incredible power. But until the last decade they were always constrained by time and signal power. You had to listen when the station broadcast it, and you had to listen where you could pick up the signal. 

Living out in the boonies we don’t get good radio or TV reception (no I don’t subscribe to satellite). Which is why the internet is so wonderful.

You can listen and watch almost anything when you want from almost any location–yes, even in Laketown, UT, Boonie Central. Millions listen to music, conservative talk, or libral talk (NPR) via the internet. I enjoy all three depending on my mood. But there’s so much more out there than music and blah blah blah, as much as I love it. For example, you can listen to the British BBC. You can listen to the Dutch. See what’s going on in Australia. Doesn’t matter that they are a number time zones away and all asleep when I’m working. I love the internet.  

One of the best programs I’ve heard in the last six months is the three-part “Parasites” presented by Radiolab. In a fascinating hour they address the following questions:

• Parasites: are they evil, or are they awesome?
• Should you get infected with hookworms?
• Can parasites exercise mind control over their hosts?

Along the way they tell a number of amazing stories. Listen now. You won’t be able to stop.

Get zinged, Baby!

Imagine running and dodging for thirty minutes through dimly lit corridors as kids with guns chase you down and shoot you with glee.

That’s what happened to me recently.

The kids were daughters 1, 2, and 3. On my team were dead-shot Nellie and daughter number 4. The dimly lit corridors were provided by the Cache Valley Fun Park. The guns were lasers.

This was my first time playing laser tag, and I must report that we had an absolute blast. For twenty minutes we dodged and ran and shot with wild abandon. It’s like paintball without any of the pain, unless of course you crash into someone.

Here’s how it works. You divide up into two, three, or four teams. The attendant gives each of you a vest and scans you onto the appropriate team (your laser has a bar code and is attached to the vest with a cord). There are markings on the front and back of each vest. If someone lasers those markings, you lose points. If you shoot someone else’s vest, you earn points. It’s that simple.

All the teams go into the half-lit battle room–cut up with walls, corridors, and windows–and the game begins. You try to kill them. They try to kill you. You try to shoot their bases, but if you linger too long the bases shoot you. It quickly turns into chaos fun. You shoot someone only to have a daughter sneak up behind you and nail you in the back. You flee, waiting to regenerate, only to find that sneaking daughter has followed you through all the twists and curves and kills you the moment you come back to life. But the next time you escape, and you’re the one that’s got them running. It’s like a video game except better.

The system automatically keeps score for each individual and each team so you can have a player on the losing team actually be the high scorer. We could have gone on for another hour.

Of course, me and my exceedingly svelte figure might have had to take a breather. Or not. I don’t think twenty minutes of aerobics has ever passed so quickly. And I didn’t have to follow some gal in a pink leotard to do it.

But you’re not there for the cardio-vascular benefit. Although I can see the ads now—the Laser Tag diet! Featuring Bob, a happy nerd who played laser tag for thirty minutes each day and lost 200 pounds. He could join up with Subway’s Jared so they could be geeky together. Hey, wait a minute. . . I’m smelling moo-lah!

The only negative is that the game isn’t bargain basement cheap–$4/person for 10 minutes of play, $10/person for 30 minutes. So we might not do that every time we take the family to Logan for some fun, but you can bet we’ll be doing it again.

Go shoot somebody. Feel like Captain Kirk. You’ll love it.

I’m a sucker for military stories. I wanted to be an ARMY Ranger was I was in my teens. Wanted to go commando. Still regret it to this day that I didn’t. And so when a friend told me about Lone Survivor by Marcus Luttrell with Patrick Robinson, I had to read it.

In June of 2005 four U.S. Navy SEALs took up a position on a godforsaken mountain in Afghanistan close to the Pakistan border. Their goal was to capture or kill a notorious Taliban/al Qaeda  leader whose small army had been ambushing and killing Marines. The problem was: three goat herders stumbled upon the SEALs not very long after they got into position.

If the SEALs don’t kill the goat herders, they will almost assuredly alert the Taliban force. SEALs are the best. But four against two hundred doesn’t compute. If they do kill the goat herders, then they’re sure someone will find the bodies. The Taliban will claim US soldiers are killing innocent civilians.  And the US media will pick it up. The SEALs were sure they will end up being tried for murder. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The SEALs let the goat herders go. Within hours the Taliban show up. Four SEALs. Two hundred plus Taliban armed with rifles and grenade launchers who have the high position on a mountain with plummeting slopes and very little cover.

Lone Survivor tells the story of Marcus Luttrell, the leader of that SEAL team, his training as a SEAL and then that desperate fight in the mountains. He and the other three SEALs fought ferociously. He was the only one to survive.

I had to force myself not to read this book in one sitting. Not only do you get a great story, but you also get insights into what makes a SEAL and their system of values. You’ll get to know a man who makes you want to stand up for God and country. And you’ll marvel at the courage of those who fight in our armed services.

I loved this book. May God bless the men and women who risk life and limb for all the rest of us. For the rest of us, we can see what they face in this excellent first-hand account.

So let’s say you’re in a bar and a guy shows up, mistakes you for someone he was meeting, and you play along. Just for fun. You’ll let him know his mistake sooner or later. But then he slides a manila envelope to you and says, “Half of it is there. Ten thousand. You’ll get the rest when she’s gone.”

Would you say, “Sorry, dude. I’m not your hit man”? A woman’s life is on the line.

In Dean Koontz’s The Good Guy, Tim Carrier is too astonished to react. The man leaves. Carrier opens the envelope. There’s ten thousand in cash and a 5×7 of the woman. She’s Linda Paquette who lives in Laguna Beach.

A few minutes later the actual killer shows up. Makes the same mistake. What do you do?

Carrier plays along, tells the man that he’s decided not to go through with it and to take the ten thousand as a “kill fee.” The man leaves. Carrier goes to alert the woman. But very soon the killer and those who hired him realize the mistake. And now they’re after both Carrier and the original target.

The Good Guy was a wonderful story of action and suspense. It’s also a love story. Koontz portrays a deadly and frightening killer. But he also includes lots of banter between Carrier and Paquette. Both have secrets which are interesting to learn. And then at the end of the book, when you think it’s all about a kill, Koontz twists it. Then he twists it again. I loved this story and enjoyed the characters immensely. But the book went beyond mere entertainment. It’s a book that also makes you think about how you live.  

I should be working hard on draft 3 of Curse of a Dark God. But every now and again I need a break. I’m glad I took this one with Koontz.

There’s a joke that all horror movies would be over in two minutes if you just made the hero smart and gave him a gun.

Well, Correia gives his likeable hero a gun, but not just any old thing. If you’re going to kill a vampire, why not use a rocket propelled grenade or a flame thrower? In fact, if there were enough monster outbreaks, you might have a government agency. You might also find that agency was willing to outsource some of the monster hunting to private contractors (ala Blackwater). And you can bet they won’t be hunting with pea shooters. They’ll be doing it right, with brains and firepower. Correia, someone who loves guns (used to own a gun shop and shoot competitively in rifle, shotgun, and pistol) and monsters, wrote a story that does just that.

The idea of Larry Correia’s Monster Hunter International might remind you a bit of X-Files or Men in Black, but it’s neither. However, it is as  good as or better than both. Correia tells the story of Owen Pitt, a big lug of an accountant, who, as he was working late one evening, gets called into the office of his boss. No big deal, right? Except the fat man is naked, transforming into a werewolf, and vows to eat Pitt’s heart. It’s not quite how you want to end your day tallying debits and credits. Pitt almost dies in the encounter, but manages to “live the American dream” and throw his incompetent jerk of a boss from the fourteenth-story window and splatter him on a double-parked Lincoln Navigator below.

Good work for a bean counter. When Pitt finally recovers, he gets an offer he can’t refuse (mostly because of the alluring agent that comes to recruit him), and he joins Monster Hunter International (MHI), the private contractor who sends out special force teams to use any means at their disposal to kill monsters. Unlucikly for Pitt, one of the baddest monsters around is just about to ruin the world forever, and Pitt finds himself in the middle of the fight.

Correia fills the book with enough action for any red-blooded male, a variety of bad mamba jamba monsters, and wonderful characters. There’s romance and heroism (I got a lump in my throat at one part toward the end), but his signature is his humor. I laughed again and again.

Part of that humor stems from the fact that Correia has an ear for good lines. Part stems from his delight in taking common tropes and stereotypes and twisting them. And this is another one of the things that I enjoyed immensely about the book. For example, the team of newbie hunters that Pitt joins is not made up of square-jawed males and females with Navy SEAL backgrounds, although some in the company do have that. Nope, Correia puts together an accountant, librarian, school teacher, and stripper (all people who faced some kind of monster and are ready for payback), and he makes them believable hunters. 

This tongue-in-cheek tweaking is everywhere. There are elves in this book unlike any you have ever seen. But he also makes it personal. Owen is not your typical accountant. Even a number of the minor characters get this treatment. For example, one of the people on the team is a Black guy with Rasta hair. But Correia doesn’t choose from what Correia calls one of the four Hollywood stereotypes. Nope, this guy plays against those types. He isn’t the comic relief, the gangsta, the sports dude, or scary male. He’s his own man, a shy virgin with a good heart. Correia also gives his characters interesting backstories. And one of the delights is discovering them.

I encountered a few minor flaws in the presentation, but these are easily overlooked. Easily. There’s also quite a bit of profanity (and so those who wish to avoid it are forewarned). However, when I turned the last page Friday night, I looked up at Larry who was lying on his bed in our La Quinta hotel room in Denver, his concealed .45 and 9mm guns on the floor beside him, and said, “Wow. WOW.” And then I think I said, “Dude, what a marvelous read” or maybe it was “Oh, great lord of zombie destruction tales do not smite me,” but I’m not sure because I was still thinking about the perfect last line of the perfect last scene of the last chapter.

Now, those exclamations of satisfaction and delight had nothing to do with the guns on the floor, that Larry’s a deadly shot, or that he’s a big 6′3″ Portugese. It has nothing to do with the fact that he and I were on a book tour together. I don’t read books that don’t grab me. End of story. I stopped doing that long ago. I don’t care who wrote them. And I don’t give false praise. False praise irks me to no end and does nobody any good, especially not the receiver. The truth is that Larry’s book was simply too good to put down. It pulled me in with the opening quote and kept delivering the goods until the end. And if you don’t believe me, you read the quote that both inspiried and opens the book and tell me you don’t want to turn the next page.

“You know what the difference between me and you really is? You look out there and see a horde of evil, brain-eating zombines. I look out there and see a target-rich environment.” ~Dillis D. Freeman Jr.

Yeah, it got ya, didn’t it. The ride is waiting folks. Just go on over to Amazon. Correia is going to be a writer to watch.

You’re name is Mitch Rafferty. You’re a gardener. You have no past as a cop, spy, or Navy SEAL–you’re just a plain old petunias and begonias guy. You’re working in someone’s yard when you get a call on your cell phone. You answer. And the guy on the other end has your wife.

He tells you that you will get him two million dollars or you’ll never see her again.

You’re lost. This has to be a sick prank. You’re just a gardener. You know peat moss and mulch. You don’t have two million. Heck, you have, at the most, $11,000 in the bank. You tell him this. He tells you he knows.

Then your wife screams over the phone. The wife who you love, who makes  you whole. They let her talk. It’s not just one man. And then, just to show you that they’re serious, they kill a complete stranger who is walking a dog across the road. They shoot him in the head. You know they’re watching you. You look around and can’t see where the sniper is hiding.

You’re a gardener. They have your wife. If you go to the cops, they kill her. If you don’t deliver, they kill her. What do you do?

That’s the premise of Dean Koontz’s The Husband. I listened to this on audio book, read by Holter Graham, and, folks, I don’t think a book has gripped me like this in a very long time. And that despite some quirks in the reader’s presentation. I’m coming to respect Koontz as a writer more and more. I can’t recommend this book highly enough. Go get it. Read it. Do it before they make the movie.

Take a runty warrior and a slow-witted wizard who have been contracted by a veiled bride willing to pay diamonds to anyone who would fetch an oh so precious box from the castle of a dead wizard. A castle from which no adventurers have returned. Well, except for Thogar the Mighty. Of course, he’s now Thogar the One-Armed Madman. But let’s not quibble.

At first blush you might think, whopee, another fantasy quest. But this isn’t another quest. This is an Eric James Stone quest, and it’s full of surprises.

I was fortunate enough to hear Stone read his story at CONduit this May. He takes his listener on a ride full of humor and adventure. Then, if you’re like me, he will make your heart lurch. I loved this story down to the last line which is pure poetry.

You can find it in issue 13 of Orson Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show.

My youngest’s birthday fell on Thanksgiving this year. We asked her what she wanted to do. She said she wanted to go to a hotel to swim and then play a game as a family, so Nellie and I went to work. Nellie got the game. I got the hotel. Both were great.

The game was Last Word by Buffalo Games Inc. It’s fairly simple. There are subject cards with categories on them like “vegetables,” “breeds of dogs,” or “places you find water.”  Then there are letter cards. Each player gets a subject card.

The round starts when someone flips over a letter card. If you can think of a word that starts with that letter in your category, you shout it out, slam your subject card down, and then everyone else tries to come up with words that start with that letter and fit the category.  Or you try to think of words in someone else’s category if they beat you to it.  There’s no order to it–you just shout out the words as they come to your head.  The last one to come up with a word before the timer buzzes wins that round. The twist that makes it so fun, however, is that the timer is random.

You can play individually, in teams, or some mix (our youngest and I teamed up). Because of the random timer, anyone who can think up a word can play, which means our daughter who is eight could compete with the one that was seventeen.

We had a great time. One of the funniest things about it is that everyone is desperately trying to come up with words. Some fit, some don’t. Some don’t even exist. For example, when we did the category “male names,” number 3 shouted out “Mancake.” We couldn’t stop laughing. I think that one is going to enter the family vocabulary.

We also had a great time at the Park City Peaks hotel. As far as rooms go, they were good rooms. The bed was a bit too soft for me, but perfect for my wife. We got them for $65 a night, which isn’t bad at all. But it was the pool that made the experience. 

The pool is an actual pool, not the big bathtubs some newer hotels offer. For example, the deep end is six feet deep. But the cool thing is that half of it is indoors and half of it is out. And the outdoor portion is heated. There’s also a large heated hot tub outside as well. In the picture it’s the thing producing the long row of steam in the back.

It helped that we didn’t have much snow so the place wasn’t crawling with skiers. In fact, we had the pool mostly to ourselves. So imagine: there we were on a November night in this alpine setting, the steam rising off the water, swimming and horsing around underneath the winter stars. It was marvelous. You can be sure we’re going back.

BTW, we had Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant. Let me recommend this to you. It makes the day a breeze. You can still have your homemade turkey dinner, but picking up the turkey  a few days after the holiday allows you to get them for cheap, cheap, cheap.

My daughter was playing this song on her internet list. The tune and singer’s voice grabbed me. I downloaded it based on that. Then I really listened.

Oh, man.

I cannot tell you how much I love this song. I love the melody and phrasing, Aslyn’s voice. I love the lyrics. I love the true story behind them. Gracious Lord, this is what it’s all about.

This youtube is of a live performance. She gives a great into to the song. She tells how her grandfather Wally, who was in the Coast Guard when he young, met his wife Fae. They were married for 55 years. Then Aslyn tells how she found Wally, a few days after Grandma Fae died, sitting in his rocking chair holding a black and white picture of his wife, his eyes wet with tears. Fae had written on the picture: ”to sweetest boy I’ve ever known.” You gotta listen to that intro. Then you have to get the Lemon Love album version of the song. It’s 99 cents on Amazon.

Here are the lyrics. I’ve added the little spoken part you get on the Lemon Love version that’s not in the live performance.

“Wally”

[Aslyn's grandfather]

Hello, I’m Wally. I’m the man that had the good fortune of one day of finding a companion that would live with me for more than 55 years. No man could have ever asked for a better wife, or better friend, than the one I found across the dance floor at the USO.

[Song begins]  

Dear Wally, I’m writing this letter sincerely.
To tell you you’re the “sweetest boy I’ve ever known.”
Remember that USO when we met.
You almost didnt go.
Well, me and your two sons are very glad you did.
Cause when your eyes found me I could hardly breathe.
I wanted you.
Glad you wanted me.

I never stopped falling in love with you, Wally.
From the first day I saw you
I was sailor-bound, I just knew.
You had me, I was yours.
We danced out on the floor.
And with each passing day.
I only loved you more.

That night was pure magic.
Who would have imagined.
It would become 55 loving wonderful years.
Your job was not all easy.
Those last years I could hardly speak.
But when I looked at you I knew nothing had changed.
And when I was leaving.
I could feel you hurting.
But then I saw those angels and I knew your love would want this for me.

I never stopped falling in love with you, Wally.
From the first day I saw you
I was sailor-bound, I just knew.
You had me, I was yours.
We danced out on the floor.
And with each passing day.
I only loved you more…more… more…more… more

So while you’re waiting
Know that I’m saying I love you
I love you………

I never stopped falling in love with you, Wally.
From the first day I saw you
I was sailor-bound, I just knew.
You had me, I was yours.
We danced out on the floor.
And with each passing day.
I only loved you

You had me, I was yours.
We danced out on the floor.
And with each passing day.
I only loved you more..

Dear Wally…

Laughs are lovely. I just came across this wonderful parody by novelist Jim C. Hines which will give you a few for free. Enjoy!

Slush I Read
by Jim C. Hines

(Apologies to Seuss)

I read slush.
Slush I read.

That slush I read.
That slush I read!
I do not like that slush I read.

Do you like fanfic with vamps?

I do not like them Mary Sue.
Why do these vamps all worship you?

Here’s a tale from D & D!

I do not want your D & D.
I do not like your elf PC.
I can not stand your purple prose.
I want to punch you in the nose!

Would you like a hot sex scene?
I wrote it for my online ‘zine!

Go to Hines’ site and read the rest right now

I died laughing. I have no idea if this is going to be any good, but the trailer is great! Two thumbs up!!

You can scare the crap out of me (Aracnaphobia), and I will love you forever. You can make me bite my nails in terrible suspense (Wait Until Dark, The Village) or throw supernatural at me (Poltergeist) and I will sing with praise. But the moment you do gruesome, the moment you start showing me entrails and organs, my discomfort level shoots through the roof.

And this is why I would not have finished  I Am Not A Serial Killer by Dan Well’s if I had just picked it up off a shelf–because the main character is the son of a woman who owns a mortuary. We get to see him help process a mutilated body very early in the book, pumping fluids in etc., and Wells knows his craft so I was THERE. I’m sure it’s not too gruesome for some, but I just have issues with organs. I don’t know why. I also have an issue with clowns.

Clowns are, by far, the scariest things around. And this is not because I read the book IT by Stephen King as a wee lad because I didn’t. It’s because they’re painted vessels of evil. End of story. They’re perfect examples of the freakazoids that lurk in the uncanny valley.

Anyway, I’d heard Wells read a portion of this book that had all of us in the room crying because we were laughing so hard. So I read on, telling myself I had to at least get to that part. And I am so very happy I did. 

I Am Not A Serial Killer is young adult story about a good-hearted teen named John Cleaver who is a sociopath with all the traits shared by serial killers. John’s in counseling, but more importantly, he is convinced he can prevent himself from becoming a serial killer by keeping rules he’s made for himself like not watching people for too long and complimenting someone when they make him angry. Such rules, he hopes, will keep him from feeding compulsions he won’t be able to resist.  The problem is a real serial killer has come to town (but unlike any you’ve seen before). And John may be the only one who can stop him. Will he let go of his rules to save the town? Or will he keep his monster asleep while others die around him?

It’s a fascinating situation (without a clown in sight, may the writing gods be praised). And Wells takes the reader on a journey through it that includes mystery, dread, and humor. In the hands of some other author, that would be enough. But Wells does more than entertain us. He gives us things to think about. He gives us great characters to boot–come on, when was the last time you read a book where the hero was a likeable sociopath? And most of the gruesome is up front anyway.

Read this book. Skim the body processing if you must. But you simply don’t want to miss the rest. It was a fabulous read and I recommend it highly.

The US version comes out in March of 2010. But you can get the UK version now on Amazon UK, Borders UK, etc. The links are all here on Well’s site.

I think I must disagree with half of everything Paglia says (I’m a Republican, she’s a Democrat). But when you can write like a kung fu master, you have to be read:

Advanced whack-a-mole is clearly needed for that yammering smarty-pants Newt Gingrich, who is always so very, very pleased with himself but has yet to produce a single enduring thought.

Holy schnitzel, that’s what words are for. I’m still laughing and nodding my head. Can I be Camille for a while?

The fact is while Paglia is clearly liberal, she’s not a party lemming. This is one of the things that is so refreshing about her. She’s not afraid to call ‘em as she sees them, even if that means roasting her own party or praising the other.

More here: Too late for Obama to turn it around? Plus: The left’s visionaries lost their bearings on drugs — but the GOP is led by losers

And here: Paglia page.

What superpower would you rather have–flight or invisibility? What do others choose? Why? What does it say about you?

Want to hear about a gal named Zora who, as a teen, made a list of everything that a superhero would have to know how to do, things like flying helicopters and diffusing bombs, and then set out to do it. Zora finished her list, btw. She’s a bounty hunter now.

You can hear this right now on  This American Life episode 178: Superpowers .

It’s a fabulous hour-long program.

Everybody knows that we got into this recession because banks began lending money to people who had terrible credit ratings, right? People who didn’t have to prove they even had a job. I mean, how long are you going to stay in business when you keep handing out dough to people you never hear from again?

But is that all there is to it? And was it really just the fault of congress because they told Freddie Mac and Fannie May (the organizations that purchased loans) that they had to start purchasing these highly risky things? Or was it all those greedy Wall Streeters?

In this must-read article, “How it All Came Crashing Down,” BYU econ professors explain how we got into this mess—and what we can learn from it.

But that’s not the end of the story. Ira Glass and the folks at This American Life uncover deeper causes of the problem in their must-listen show “The Watchmen” (no, not the movie). I mean, come on, we were told these high-risk loans were as dangerous as milkshakes. Shouldn’t SOMEBODY have seen it?

President Obama keeps saying that the root of the problem was that there wasn’t enough government oversight. Sounds good, doesn’t it?  We’ll get disinterested Uncle Sam to protect us from all these investment bullies. But if we dig a bit deeper, it appears that Uncle Sam was one of the major players at the root of the mess.

Ouch.

Read. Listen. They are two fabulous pieces.