The Man and His Wisdom

When I was seven years old, I learned from Clint Eastwood never to put ketchup on a hot dog. It was sound advice, and I’ve never regretted listening to him.

So, on this fundamental, childhood level, invoking little things that changed my life, there’s something fantastic about walking through a bookstore and seeing a book titled Wisdom with the man himself on the cover. I love it. It’s one part photobook, one part essay collection, and I really do think it deserves its title. Neither Morgan Freeman nor Patrick Stewart appears, which does disappoint me a little bit (Stewart may be just a few years on the young end of the project’s scope), but overall I very much enjoyed my time with it, and I’ll be buying a copy soon. The book’s website has a great trailer, which sums up the book better than I could.

Part of Mr. Eastwood’s entry, particularly, caught my attention, so I copied it down to share with you here:

Take your profession seriously; don’t take yourself seriously. Don’t take yourself seriously in the process, because you really only matter to a certain degree in the whole circus out there. If you take yourself seriously you’re not going to be able to move forward and use your best artistic instincts. You’re going to be hampered by always wanting to look in the mirror and see if you have enough tuna oil in your hair or something like that.

I don’t think anyone would regret listening to that, either.

Notes From the Void #2

Wild Cards, for those of you unfamiliar with it, is a series of shared-universe books where a space-alien germ bomb was set off over New York City on September 15, 1946. The virus, dubbed “Xenovirus Takis-A”, killed 90% of the people it infected (they “draw the Black Queen”). Of the survivors, 90% were horribly mutated (“Jokers”), and the remainder – that lucky 1% – developed superpowers (“Aces”). From there, the world wanders forward in a very roughly-parallel history to our own, with the butterfly effect in full force. For example, McCarthy investigates “dangerous wildcards” instead of “potential Communists”, and, misappropriating something Terry Pratchett said of Discworld, black and white set aside most of their differences so they can gang up on green. They’re very well-written, grown-up superhero stories, and I’m a huge fan (warning: the books are streaked with violence, sex, politics, and moral greys, and even longstanding favorite characters can and do die).

Aside from a hiatus in the late 90s, the series has been going on for a good twenty-odd years now, and a lot of very big science-fiction/fantasy names have taken part (George R. R. Martin edits, which should say something). Somehow I missed the release of the latest volume, Suicide Kings, back in December, but I got a chance to correct that this Monday. It was a good read, in that way that only a favorite, familiar series can be, though I have to admit that the older books felt more immersive. Unfortunately some of those (and even the reprints) have gotten disturbingly expensive, but the new trilogy (Inside Straight, Busted Flush, and Suicide Kings) is still in print. I’ll be happy to offer some good starting points if anyone is interested.

Also, while I’m pretty sure she isn’t playing Chrysalis, this cosplayer takes “anatomically pretty” to a whole new level. It must’ve taken hours to get ready.

It’s been a long and slightly painful week and I’ve drifting in and out of sleep for a couple hours now (hence the post-midnight update), but I have most of tomorrow (today?) set aside for writing. We’ll see how that goes.