Sunday, October 16, 2011

Top Ten Worst Science Fiction Covers: Fancy Pants Protesting: Ignoring my blog

Behind my neatly ordered armies of Classic Literature on my bookshelf resides a swamp of torn covers, folded back pages, grease spotted titles - a veritable swamp of, well, Science Fiction and Fantasy. 


Not that my Hardy, Maugham, and D.H. Lawrence (etc, etc.) ever go unread! I love them just as much as the books I stuff in the back - but the covers. 


Dear Sweet Jesus of Nazarene.  


If you are not an ardent fan of Speculative and Science Fiction - get thee to a book aisle.
I can even see your return from said book aisle now, eyes blinking in confusion, nose wrinkled in disgust, saying:

"Who would ever read that shit? Who??"


Well, sir. I do.


But why, oh why do they have such FUCKING AWFUL COVERS???  Dear reader, HAVE YOU SEEN THEM?! These authors are masters of their craft - yet must have surely given the cover page job to a poor drunk cousin they felt bad for, saying "Have at it, Andy. Just don't get your liver disease and jaundice on the final draft before you send it."

Here are the top ten worst ones:
Take a look at anatomically incorrect women bearing massive swords!

But wait. I wanted to include some of mine.



Don't laugh, Muthafuckas. 


     Just about all of Robert Jordan's covers are epic failures. The bodies are never correct - even to an untrained eye. I took the most basic of art courses, and damn. This fucker's shoulder is GROWING OUT OF HIS NECK.  Oh, and he has a size 27 waist with 52 inch shoulders. To better defeat darkness with, I assume.


     There are scads more with worse covers I could post - but the back of my bookshelf is a mess, and I'm not re-organizing the whole damn thing just to show you. So just giggle quietly to yourself and thank your deity or lack of, that you do not have a fetish with a form of literature that INSISTS on embarrassing itself. 




On a related note. Why are you reading this? Shouldn't you be OCCUPYING WALL STREET?


     I, like many people, have mixed feelings. Should there be a protest? Absolutely. But should it be because the middle class is feeling the pinch now? No, you idiots. No.




     Listen. My income is in the lowest 10th percentile. I don't have health insurance. I do hold a full time and a part time job. Have I "occupied"???


     Fuck no. I can't take the time off of work. The day before payday all I had for dinner was a can of chickpeas. I'm sure as hell not occupying nothing but a goddamn grocery store when I get paid. 


     And that, my friends, is the sad truth about America. I support and cherish those struggling, those counting pennies and tightening belts to make it to the protests, those people for who it is not easy to protest - but I'd simply like to kick the middle class brats who are mad because mommy and daddy won't pay for college, or because they have to stop shopping at Hollister and work a shit job.


Interestingly enough, I'm feeling a bit irate at the art scene. I'm talking about those people who "wander" around the country in a wannabe Kerouac style, pretend to support themselves off their art - but really have ol' Mom or Dad wire them money to subsist. The people who know that - ultimately- if they get tired of the hipster-artist existence - a plane ticket home is just a phone call away. 




They dress up and go to the protest - look! We can have fun and protest too!

Circus.


  


















It's actually members of an art collective based in Brooklyn.



This was an photo taken at Occupy Times Square within the last day or so. 

     That's the image that will burn into my brain when I clock in Monday, wishing I could represent my class, and myself.


     And I'm judging harshly. I know. 
But instead of trying to squeeze out time and money to rally and protest - I find myself thinking, "What's the point?"










     These days are crazy and tumultuous, and I find myself wondering at the intense public wave of sorrow of Steve Jobs passing, while Troy Davis is long forgotten after a few weeks. 


     P.S. Yes, I have a Mac. No, I don't really care - other than the general, vague compassion one feels at a stranger dying. He had the best care possible. Steve Jobs backpacked across India tripping on acid in his youth. He had a full life. DON'T WASTE YOUR TIME FEELING SORRY FOR A DEAD STEVE JOBS.  Too many events are spinning themselves out - countries crumbling, keeling over with debt or war. People, like Troy Davis - are already forgotten. 


It's almost as if the world doesn't want to really remember, doesn't really care. As long as there's T.V. dinners and Dancing with the Stars. 










*Lastly*
To those still reading - thank you. My updates are rather sporadic, sometimes just a line or two, due to scheduling conflicts of life in general. Mea Culpa. Those blogs I read and comment on, I truly enjoy (or enjoy riling). 


I'll leave on a positive note. 

"What do you call a one-legged woman?"

"Eileen."


Get it? Do you get it??