Weblog | I don't like the word blog, it's ugly. Anyway, new content happens here. (Swedish dito)

About me and the site | Twenty-something male who likes text. Obsessed with things such as books, reality, communication, and one or two tv-shows.

Archives | Things written here since... well, 2001. Some of it is good, some is utter shait.

Books | Books read, not books written. So far I've struggled to maintain unpublished.

Photo | I like my camera and it likes me.

Links | Outwards, away, flee.

e-mail | J. Nicklas Andersson

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Splitting skull

I thought yesterday was bad. I honestly thought that it was all downhill from there but I was, for once, wrong. It is worse today and at the same time a bit better. The narcolepsy bit is gone, and not a moment to soon. The eyes don’t move as if they where imbedded in jelly and someone switched of the double frame rate. Time functions normally. I want to scream at people for no reason at all. Gut them up like... like... I don’t know, A fucking mime? Whatever. Now this is personal, I will not cave in. Headache be damned. I can drink tea instead.

Read something else: like the Being Charlie Kaufman article. Or a book by Tim Powers, after all it’s his not-quite-birthday today.

Negative things

I think I was sick a bit towards the end of last week. I’m not sure, as the way my life looks now my non-sick days looks pretty much like how they do when I’m sick. Other fun things are withdrawal. No cola-based beverages in two days. Result: headache and something that can be best described as narcolepsia. If I see a bed, I fall asleep. Hopefully, it will end soon.

The annual book-sale

The great beast February — to steal a phrase from Clive Barker — is here again. This means that most bookshops have their annual sale. Me, I don’t rush. I’ve been there and learnt my lesson. Initially it is impossible to find anything at all, too many people running up and down the aisle, picking up and then dropping the books somewhere else as far away from the other copies of the same book as possible.

But mainly I wait because many of the books they’re offering are not interesting and far too many of them shows up year after year. Well, either that or they just look the same.

I want to find the books no one wants, the ones in the bottom, pushed aside for bestsellers, the ones that aren’t mentioned anywhere in their sales catalogue. The weird scrawny books everyone scoffs at because they do not fit in the usual categories. These are hard to find the first days, so I’ll wait for the heap of rubbish to be bought and carried away by others.

Almost anyway. I had to submit an order at SF bokhandeln so that I might at least get one of the books they listed.

A Mojo

After watching the extras (more specifically I’m referring to the Thompson-Depp correspondence) on the Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas DVD, I’m hell-bent to get a Mojo. Not the sexual innuendo liquid from the Austin Powers movies, but one of those paper-eating monsters towering thirty centimetres above the table that they later retconed and sold to the public as a fax machine. Personally, I think Mojo sounds better. Not as sterile and more in tune with the possibilities of using it in new personal ways. From scribbling down words with a big black marker to typing out pages on a printer. (The last option is of course the most boring one can make. Letters written on typewriters on the other hand are ok.)

Thankfully, if you’re content not getting a state of the art model they’re not too expensive. After that, all you need is someone to write a fax-to-blog-plugin and I’m all set.

Early, Too

It’s sick I tell you. I’ve already had a few hours of sleep and here I am — awake at the dawn of mankind at 7:00. Why? There is no reason for it. I should be asleep God damnit, but I’ve tried and I can’t.

Could it be that I didn’t have any dreams tonight? No trapezoidal imagery of duct tape, talking sporks or people run over by huge paint-rollers draped in a grotesquely green bathrobe. This is not how things are supposed to be.

For fuck sake, I haven’t been up at this time an hour since... never. At least that’s what it feels like. What’s going to happen? What do you do at this Godforsaken hour?

Not a plain vanilla comic

Rediscoveries are something of a mixed bag depending on how long it’s gone since it was “forgotten” or how you saw things the first time around. At times, the old premise that you can never go back holds on to you and will not let go no matter how much you shake and crawl around on the floor. I can, for instance never really go back to reading some newsgroups. The old cabal withered away and left, some remained but it was never the same. New people had of course taken their place, but it was a trade down for me. It wasn’t worth it.

Other times, there is a warm mirth inside. It is just like before. Everything just clicks and it is af if nothing really happened, that the time without it was just a bad dream with horrible and evil maimed children in. Goats is like that. Unlike other online comics — I won’t mention Sluggy Freelance — it never went stale. (Right now, Jon The Half-a-genius is in the middle of a Twix-story, something that can get tedious for non-fans.) Just remember: no-one knows why there are babies ducttaped to the ceiling.

Philip: What’s the layer of earth between the crust and the core called?
Toothgnip: Vanilla.
Philip: I thought it was the mantle.
Toothgnip: No, that’s a baseball player.
Philip: So you’re saying that there’s a thick layer of vanilla-coated baseball players under the ground?
Toothgnip: They come out at night to do product endorsements.

What was i thinking?

Somewhere in the murky and seldom seen directory nestings on my computer, there is a folder called “comic sketches.” It does contain a lot of crap, some quality work and a few things that I just can’t explain. I spend a few hours a day devising comics, both the offline and online variety. A feeling that I’m not good enough to transform the images in my head to paper as well as being a fair amount more lazy than I should be make sure that I don’t get further than the mental planning bit.

This is one of the things I can’t explain. There are no notes what-so-ever on this subject anywhere and I can’t even remember drawing the picture.

(Right now, about 35 minutes until Buffy on TV4. “Amends” I think, which is a filler episode. Good, but not even near the excellence later on.)

Real dead bookshelves

“Dear Lord!” was the first thing that sprung to my mind. It was also the second and third thing I could think of, it kept going like a mantra in a maze. I couldn’t turn it off and no other thoughts were available. On the fiftieth take the world was spinning so fast that I instinctively bellowed out a “what the hell kind of sick person is it that keeps doing this?” Horror, utter mind numbingly horror. I didn’t think it was possible to sink this low but apparently there is no bottom to the inhumanities of humanity. It is as if we’re devolving into barbarians with no regard for art and culture.

Papers thorn out and discarded. Papers that used to have words on them. Papers that one time belonged to books. Books now destroyed, never to be read again. And what for? To be turned into... a bookshelf? I cringe. But then again, I cringe when I see people underline things in their own books. I cringe when they fold the corners in order to remember where they were. I don’t just cringe, I want to go back to the blue room when I hear a book spine crack — soundlessly — as they place the book open with the word down towards the table. This is... I suffer a loss of words.

At first, I thought it was fake books. Wood made to look like it was real, perhaps with a bit of leather to create a classy look. But no. Real books. Real live books where hurt — killed even. Hunted down like sheep. And the worst part? Just as John, I think they look rather nice and cool, even though it is murder of some sort. I just don’t think I would be able to be in the same room as shelf as this. Ever.

Things I need to do

• See if there is money on the right account. If so, can I afford a record or two with Thea Gilmore and/or the Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead DVD.
• Burn what episodes I have of the Frantics to CD for backup. This should have been done ages ago. Mail cd and see if those I don’t have are available somehow.
• It is said that Lost in La Mancha is coming soon to region 2 DVD. Look it up.
• Listen to The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets. Is is possible to do an acoustic cover of the song “The Innsmouth Look”? Hell, can I even find the lyrics?
• Get a higher bridge to the guitar.
• Try to remember to get a new string to the bas as well.
• Eat something.
• Memorize the lines to the Pitchfork Disney.
• Mail people about fanzine articles could be a good idea.
• Go out. Breathe and take photos.
• Organise the books. They’re on the floor again and I thought I saw some empty shelf-space somewhere.
• Read grammar books. One month left till exam.
• Sleep now?

Short stories

I’ve been reading the Avram Davidson Treasury. It is good. No, it’s better than good. It is brilliant. Utterly brilliant, and it pains me because I’ll never be able to write like that. The Golem, the first use of American Dental Association as secret agents, he even manages to bring quality to a “let’s kill tghe aliens”-story. But most of all his use of language. At times it almost feels as if I’m reading something by Peake — but different of course. In Davidson the language serves as a backdrop, not an active character within the story. If you understand what I mean.

Oh, and I almost forgot. The book in question, one of the few things from Avram’s pen currently in print that isn’t published by a small press publisher, is set masterfully in Garamond. Don’t know which version only that it is not the ITC bastardisation.

Re: fantasy

Johan Anglemark wrote about fantasy — in Swedish though, so all of you can’t read it — and he had some thoughts that I agree with. Genres are not there for the readers, but for the marketing departments. I’ll translate a small quote below (and he’ll probably hit me in the head with a blunt instrument the next time I meet him because of the small but significant errors.)

When I think of fantasy, the authors that comes to my mind are people like Guy Gavriel Kay, Peter Beagle, China Miéville, Mervyn Peake and John Crowley. Books that are well written, very complicated and intelligent. Nevertheless, the fact that they’re marketed as fantasy has the effect that they never receive a real chance to reach out to a wider scope of readers. All this because people are driven away from the genre thanks to the more known authors.” (Before this he described how good fantasy authors tend to completely disappear under all the swill. /Nicklas)

For some it doesn’t help that the book isn’t released as a fantasy. For instance, Tim Powers’ latest book Declare (excellent author, excellent book) was labelled as a thriller by the publisher. I don’t think it had more sales because of that, which is sad because it deserves it.

And yes, I think that the genre — after all, this imaginary idioglossa of literature hangs over us all — needs help from its readers to lift up the good stuff and make it easier to find. It won’t happen by itself. Now, I believe the publishers would want to do this themselves if they could, but I doubt they can afford too. It is easy to keep Robert Jordan in print as he sells lots and lots of books, while a book by John M. Ford only have the initial printing and then the books are gone. You can’t write “an epic by the next Tolkien” and expect millions of sold copies for a singleton about mobster elves with suppressed feelings like Ford’s “The Last Hot Time.” (It did however have a blurb by Robert Jordan for some reason, but then again, he’s a blub slut and the book was published by Tor.)

Always food

Why is it that everytime I sit down by the computer when it’s getting a bit late and thinks “I’m going to read newsgrousp/weblogs/choice C,” there will always be someone who brings up food.

This time it’s worse: Helena brings up chili. I’m getting hungry here, it’s soon 1AM and I’m not going to go out and cook something. I refuse. But I’m hungry — and I want to eat food. Damnit.

Update: You know it’s really bad when the stomache begins to make sounds that could come straight from an old C64 game.

Oscars

I have seen very few of the Oscar nominated movies this year-- probably one two or three — but that will not stop me. These are those that I decree are fit to win. Not all, because some of the awards I really don’t care which will win and which will lose.

• Best Picture: Chicago — it may be a musical, but the only competition is from the Polanski crowd. I haven’t seen any of the nominated here, but it is going to win with the popular vote.
• Best Actor in a Leading Role: Nicolas Cage (Adaptation) — it is a Jonze/Kaufman production. It must win for that alone.
• Best Actress in a Leading Role: Damn if I know, but probably Julianne Moore (Far From Heaven).
• Best Actor in a Supporting Role: Christopher Walken (Catch Me If You Can) — it’s Christopher Walken. What else need to be said?
• Best Actress in a Supporting Role: Meryl Streep — once again the Jonze/Kaufman thingie.
• Best Director: anyone but Martin Scorsese.
• Best Original Screenplay: Todd Haynes (Far from Heaven)?
• Best Screenplay beased on other work: Charlie Kaufman & Donald Kaufman (Adaptation) — pure genius. Also worthy just for the fact that he’ll get to share the Oscar with his non-existing twin brother.
• Best Animated Feature: Probably one of the Japanese cartoons.
• Best Cinematography: Conrad L. Hall (Road to Perdition) — it looks beautiful, which I believe is the criteria.
• Best Art Direction-Set Decoration & Best Visual Effects: Let’s just give these two to the Tolkienists.

Finally on DVD

Hold the phone! One of my favourite movies of all time will be released the 24th March (on region 2 that is.) I don’t know if it will contain any extra features, but it probably won’t. But who cares? Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead is good enough to be bought anyway.

Victorian London

Dictionary of Victorian London is extensive. Everything you wanted to know, more or less, about Victorian London can be found there.

Too bad it’s not that well marked up, as those of us who use other browsers than IE might encounter glitches.

(Found at Interconnected)

A game of comments

They turned Mornington Crescent into Mornington Nomic — which was and is a great idea. Now Kevan and friends gives us BlogNomic.

Reflexive pronouns take two

Just to prove me wrong about reflexive pronouns, Sten Thaning sent me a link to a PDF about Wanyi Reflexive-Reciprocal Constructions. (To be fair, it was not a language I was familiar with, but it still managed to shoot down my confidence.) With it he had the note: “Read it and weep. Especially the table at page 2. Or the one at page 6.” I didn’t weep, I think I got a mild headache. This might be because I don’t understand Wanyi, but I don’t think that had much to do with it really.

On the other hand, the document was interesting. At times Wanyi seems perfectly logical, but then without any warning it takes a sharp turn left and everything changes. Languages are not easy.

I can cut things again

I found my pair of scissors. They were in the fanzine box under my desk the whole time. I’ve been going bonkers about them since just after Christmas. And to think I found them just because of a throwaway comment on the Sverifandom-list.

Terry Gilliam

Onion interview with Terry Gilliam (saw this thanks to Sore Eyes)

If you make films of a certain size and scale, you’re not going to be able to get away from Hollywood. That’s unfortunately, to me, the most depressing aspect of Man Who Killed Don Quixote falling apart, because we’d managed to raise $32 million without a penny from Hollywood, without even a distribution deal, nothing. It was me trying to show that we could make it. By European standards, that’s a really big budget; by Hollywood standards, it’s below the norm. But it was enough money in Europe to make a spectacular film, and I was determined to show that Hollywood doesn’t have to be everywhere all the time. But I’m afraid that with the failure, the inability to make the film, we lost that. At the moment, the way financing is in Europe, Hollywood is absolutely necessary.”-- T. Gilliam

Right now, I really want to see Lost In La Mancha

Clone one and I buy it

And while we’re at it, why don’t we clone some Dodos instead of cows and horses and humans? In the meantime, when the scientists look for Dodo DNA, lets just sit here nice and quite and wait for the third instalment of Nowhere Girl even though it is a wait until April (earliest). Which means April is going to be a killer month. Mark my words.

language nut factory

Hi there.

Earlier today I had coffee, but enough about that. Earlier than that I made a startling revelation. Grammar is fun. This brings up the shear possibility that I might in fact have taken the first steps on the dark path towards being a language nut. Nice. Later, between coffee and class, I stifled a laugh somewhat effectively when a group of high school students walked past and one of them moaned about the evils of having to learn reflexive pronouns in school. Reflexive pronouns just don’t make the cut for “hard.”

The second part of of book three is finished

While I have yet to read Steven Brust’s Path of the Dead — bad, horrible me — or even acquire it for that matter, I still jump up and down when I read that Lord of Castle Black is due in August. Wonderful news.

When I found some new authors that popped up onto the buy in hardcover, I contemplated about removing someone. Brust was one of the few whom I never even considered. While the cost/paper count-ratio isn’t the best, that served as a important part of why. People who write short books should be encouraged as much as possible — even more so when they write fantasy. (I would buy and read laminated restaurant menus if Brust had written them.)

It turned out I didn’t need to revise the list. Most authors on it take their time writing, they don’t throw out a book every year. Sometimes it takes even longer than that. (Question: would the books of Tim Powers be just as good if he spent less time with them? Probably not.)

I am under orders to update my web log so that I can talk about my toe fungus. Unfortunately, I lack toe fungus, and thus have little to say.”
-- From Steven Brust’s web log.

Tomato sauce

1. Pour the contents from a can of squashed tomatoes into a pot. If it looks anything like it did for me, you might have to add some water in case you don’t want it to be all tomatoes and no sauce.
2. Put the pot on the stove and crank up the heat for a minute or three.
3. (Update 4/2) Slice fresh muchrooms and fry them in butter until they have colour. Then throw them into the sauce.
4. When it is hot, turn it down to low heat and let it bubble a bit with a lid on.
5. Add a tablespoon of Sambal Oelek. In most cases this is enough.
6. Then use a little bit of salt, cummin, chilli, pepper, and curry — but for Christ sake don’t over do it. Stir around. Taste.
7. Turn up the heat a notch or two and wait three minutes. All in all, it should be finished within ten minutes.
8. Serve with pasta and vegetables. Eat.

In case of more people, add water and squashed tomatoes. I doubt you have to add more of the spice. That tablespoon of Sambal Oelek alone makes the whole thing pretty strong.

White ground

Not only is it colder than a week ago, it has started to snow. Much snow, in fact it is way too much for me. Snow by itself is not the problem. Only when it comes in a stormlike fashion, sweeping in and in a few hours leave a thick layer of white powder on the car. And a good advice: sneakers and snow don’t mesh well. The feet get cold and wet. The wet part is probably the worst. Stay away from that.

I can’t help to wonder, could the Morning News Non-Expert Cold in NYC help even here?

Remember to layer when you dress. Try a short-sleeved T-shirt, a long-sleeved T-shirt, a wool sweater, a hoodie, and then an overcoat, scarf, hat, gloves. Now light the overcoat on fire. [...]

Pavlov's Bell

I’m going to hell. There is little I can do about it now. First I did a recording on Star of the County Down, for which I probably recieved the title destroyer of all things sacred from some. Now, I ruined a Aimee Mann song as well. You don’t have to listen to this, you can listen to the original instead. The original is much better, I promise you.

Beside the whole can’t-change-note ordeal, I’ve noticed something else as well. I sound sort of nasal when I sing — which is weird. If it gets more nasal I think there is a law that says I must move to Brooklyn.

Weather or not

It’s cold. A bit too cold actually, since my fingers get kind off numb. It has been like this for a couple of days now, except that until now the warm air inside had been able to make me blissfully unawares about it. Today was different. My throat was sore, the fingers goes numb at occasions as I said 46 words before this, and oh boy, what a lousy time to shave. No, I didn’t cut myself. It is far simpler than that: a beard tends to keep your face warm. Too bad I had to do something. You see, I was heading to the Harry Knowles territory — and when that happens you shave. Fast and in panic.

I know I said that I like cold better than summer heat, but that’s like saying that I prefer to only be maimed in the leg rather than to be squashed under a 16-ton weight. If I could have a third option, I would choose it in a heartbeat. But with my luck it would probably be a return ticket with the Titanic.