Glasshouse, by Charles Stross

You know what they say, "If you live in a glasshouse, don't throw stones....because the glasshouse might actually be a large experimental society floating in space and the people running the experiment will deduct from your score."

Er...that is what they say...isn't it?

"You've just spent an entire prehistoric human lifetime as an ice ghoul and people are needling you for having too many arms?" I shake my head. "I just assume you have a good reason."

The first chapter of Glasshouse gave me an extreme case of time-shock. At its basic level, the beginning of the book is boy meets girl with a duel to the death thrown in for a little action. Except that this is the 27th century, so things are a bit more complicated if you are not familiar with the rampant body-swapping, the robotic killer wasp-viruses, the persona back-ups, and the memory-erasing that is fairly commonplace in the future.

"...yes, maybe I was a tank. If so, at one time I guarded a critical network gate."

Robin and Kay decide to take part in an experimental society where they will be given new physical bodies and live for three years as if they are in the Dark Ages. Oh, and by "Dark Ages," they mean (you guessed it) OUR TIME. Robin vows to find Kay inside the experiment. Of course this is somewhat complicated by the fact that Robin (who is usually male, but has been a female a few times in the past, as well as a TANK) is given a female body and has to deal with the rigid conventions and rules placed on him/her by the experimenters.

"MINUS TEN POINTS FOR PUBLIC NUDITY."

The subjects are compelled to follow the norms of the Dark Ages society by a devious point system that awards or deducts points to individuals, couples, and small groups. At 'Church" the small groups meet and they can award or deduct points to other groups based on their behavior. As one character puts it: "It's an iterated prisoner's dilemma scenario, with collective liability."
This leads to 'score whores,' mobs, violence, and murder.


While reading, I enjoyed the portions of Glasshouse that took place...well..in the Glasshouse. The paranoia and the mystery of the experiment were much more engaging than the flashbacks to the censorship wars, the Linebarger Cats, and the tanks... Those sections lost me in a few places (maybe if I had known more about networks and computer viruses, things would have been different).

An Inconvenient Apocalypse

Jump right in! The water's refreshingly mutagenic!


Last night I dreamt about a post-apocalyptic world. Details were sketchy on how the apocalypse occurred, but it involved: massive floods, city-swallowing sinkholes, and extreme levels of radiation bursting out of the Earth's core. Most people died, but a few of us, had a special mutation that liked the radiation. Whatever was emanating from the center of the Earth activated a series of adaptations in us, and soon we were splashing around in the glowing, iridescent lakes, breathing underwater, and generally having a great time.


In my dream, I was a real jerk. The death and destruction didn't make me sad, horrified, or angry...no... it made me...annoyed. Things were going to be so inconvenient...


Then I set off to look for a hair stylist, because apparently my style was so pre-apocalyptic...**



**In waking life, I tend to put off getting my hair cut until it is so heavy it becomes a literal pain-in-the-neck...

Feed by M.T. Anderson

Sometimes, I pick up a new book and accidentally finish it in a few hours.... Feed, by M.T. Anderson is one of those books...

"We went to the moon to have fun, but the moon turned out to completely suck."

How could I resist such a tantalizing opening sentence?** Feed centers on a group of teens in a future where almost everyone has 'feeds' in their brain that spout constant information, entertainment, and, of course, advertisements.

"[The doctor] said, "Okay. Could we like get a thingie, a reading on his limbic activity?"

The linguistic degree in me loves the total DEICTIC DECADENCE (it's been a few years since I've had an excuse to use that phrase..) of the characters' speech patterns. There's no need to be precise and descriptive because, you know.... like... if you can't think of a particular word..you could just like, let your feed suggest it for you or send the other person a picture through mchat (instant mental messaging).

"Her spine was, I didn't know the word. Her spine was like...?
The feed suggested "supple."

Of course, Feed isn't all fun and games and silly teen-speak... The story packs a tragic punch along with chilling warnings about the dangers of rampant consumerism, media-overload, and societal-delusion. All in all, an engaging tragicomic read.

** Some of my preteen students don't even use full words anymore...here is an exchange that happened earlier this week:

Student 1: (rolls eyes at student 2 across the room) w....t....
Me: Don't say it! No acronyms for profanity!
Student 1: jk!
Student 2: (deadpan) lol

Childhood Nightmare Comes True: Monster Black Holes on the Loose!

MONSTER BLACK HOLE FOUND ESCAPING HOME GALAXY

(link to New Scientist, their image of the fugitive black hole is HILARIOUS)

I remember learning about Black Holes from my Dad. I must have been about 8-9 years old. At first, I thought he was just making up some crazy story to scare my sister and I into good behavior. But my Mom confirmed his story, and my Mom NEVER lied...

NO ESCAPE! THE TRUTH ABOUT BLACK HOLES...
link to a frightening lesson plan designed to instill a crippling fear of space in the youngsters of today...

So there I was, in the backseat of the car, staring at the blur of passing trees, scared to death that I would one day find myself being sucked into a point of infinite density. I felt helpless and desperate; like when I woke up from the re-occurring nightmare where I 'fell off' the side of the moon and drifted through space, waiting for my oxygen to run out. (I was one kid who NEVER wanted to be an astronaut). As I struggled with my new despair, my sister spoke up, "Hey, are we at the Mall yet?"



Twenty years later, I rarely dream of black holes. Though, I admit a bit of the old fear returned when I found out that there's a SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE right here, in our own galaxy...

"At least, " I thought, " it's not going anywhere..."


Or is it??


As long as roving MONSTER black holes are roaming the Universe, who among us can truly feel safe?

Dystopian Desserts: Cherry Zombie Cake

The timer rings insistently. You hurry to the oven, shut off the timer, and grab the nearest potholder. The sweet smell of freshly baked cake wafts around you and you open the oven door...


You gasp.

What have I done?

The thing sitting there on the rack belongs in a science fiction movie...


Your cake is the soul-sucking gray of a nightmarish atomic future. Here and there it oozes a blood-red fluid that pools on the uneven surface. It looks like you pureed a zombie and threw the mess in a cake-pan. Besides its unoffensive smell, there is nothing about this dessert that tempts you to pick up a fork...


It bleeds for you...


So you pick up a knife instead and cut into your unfortunate creation. The way the red liquid beads unsettles you, but you persevere. You cut yourself a slice of horror and toss it on a plate. Bravely now, you pluck a stray crumb and bring your trembling hand to your mouth.




It tastes....ok.




Not great.




But it doesn't taste like post-apocalyptic despair you were expecting...




Mostly it just tastes like cherries...which makes sense considering it is a Cherry Cake.

Snow White and Turing

Today I did a bit of research about suicidal philosophers for the story my husband requested about robots killing themselves. ( I figured out why he wanted me to write this story when I heard him repeatedly cursing out one of the upstairs computers a few days ago...)

One of the things I found was that Alan Turing killed himself by taking a bite out of a cyanide-laced apple. (Which has led some people to wonder about a certain computer company's logo ...though, supposedly there's no link...) But, wow, of all the ways to kill yourself, that's surely a memorable and symbolic way to go, almost as if it were engineered by a poet.

Next on the list was Kurt Godel, which made me sad, because I didn't know he had committed suicide. Apparently, he had an extreme fear of being poisoned, so he would only eat food after his wife had tasted it. When his wife was hospitalized, he refused to eat. And so he died.

***

Hopefully, the Roboticide (not it's actual title) will be finished soon, and I can research something less tragic...

Watch, not Make: A Cautionary Tale

Brains are funny things. Sometimes strange ideas for stories suddenly appear in your mind while you are driving to work. Why? I don't know, but I have a sneaking suspicion it might have something to do with parasites...

Umm...a warning, this story isn't the sort of story you think it might be when you first start reading...er..well, I guess it is for awhile-- nevermind, see for yourself.

Watch, not Make

The silver flecks in his deep blue eyes glittered in the flash of lightning. She tightened her grip on his arm.



“I shouldn't...” he said.


Thunder rumbled in the clouds, the storm was getting closer.


“Shh,” she said tangling her fingers in his wavy, chin-length hair, “it doesn't matter.”


He sighed and turned towards her, concern creased his forehead.


“Is this truly what you want?” he asked. She could feel the deep tones of his voice reverberate through her body like the ringing of a church bell. Did he really have to ask?


“More than anything,” she murmured. Heavy drops of rain began to fall. She lost herself in the intensity of his silvery blue eyes. Lightning flared. The muscles in her chest tightened and her throat ached. Thunder roared across the sky.


And then he kissed her.


His warm, smooth lips met hers and he held her face in his hands. She felt the damp feathers of his wings as they folded around her. Though her eyes were closed, she saw the blaze of light. She felt the electricity surge through every cell of her body.


Then her heart stopped.


When she opened her eyes she couldn't feel anything at all.


“I told you, I shouldn't have let myself-”


“What happened?” she asked.


“I should have been watching out for you!” his face twisted in anguish, “Not making out with you!”


He was the only thing she could see, everything else was obscured by a soft mist.


“It's ok,” she said. She tried to reach out to him, but in place of hands, she had only dim sensations.


“No, it's not,” he said, “I couldn't save you, I was too...distracted.” The mist began to lift and she could see that he was staring down at her burned body.


“It's my fault,” she said, “I should have known there would be serious consequences for making out with my guardian angel.”


“This is about as serious as it gets,” he agreed, frowning.


“So...do you want to...?


“You don't have any lips. You're incorporeal.”


“Right.”

A Reading in Progress: I Am a Strange Loop

I AM A STRANGE LOOP

No, it's not a confession (though I can see how you might be confused), it's a book by Douglas Hofstadter. In the forward, he mentions several other possible titles such as the accusatory, “You are a Strange Loop,” and the gawky, “'I' is a Strange Loop.”

Ok, I admit it, I really like the title... it's one of the main reasons I bought the book.... Oh right, and also because I enjoyed Hofstadter's other book, Godel, Escher, Bach, and I was in the mood for something thought-inducing (or thought-reducing, if you are into reductionism)...

I'm currently on page 110 out of 363. The subtitle “Idealistic Dreams about Metamathematics” leers at me from underneath my bookmark.

So, what is it about? It's about the self; self-reflection, self-perception, self-realization, and let's not forget, SELF-REFERENCE. It's about consciousness and the strange loopy-things that happen in your brain (or someone else's brain, if YOU are not self-aware..) Above all, it makes me think that creating a robot that has the same level of consciousness as an average adult human (instead of just acting like it does) will be (very)^infinity difficult.

That's what I'm getting out of it anyways.

Flipping ahead, an intriguing collection of subtitles await me:

“Where Does a Hammerhead Shark Think it is?”

“Double-clicking on the Icon for a Loved One's Soul”

“Children as Gluons”

“....But Am I Real?”

Personally, I've never been able to convince myself that I'm real...(and not just programmed to THINK I am) so that last sub-chapter should be eye-opening.

Eye as a Strange Loop

Extra Credit: How do YOU know YOU're real?

Everyday Evils

Every time we met I shred a little more of your life...yet you can’t stay away. You need me, but I find you worthless. I throw out the shards of your existence without a care. I’ve known you since you were first formed, and in mere weeks I shall bear witness to your destruction at my hands. Yes, pencil, I’m the sharpener, and I’m talking to you…

***

Conversation with a Circus Snake

“I think we all remember what happened last time you tried to take on a constant,” Lenny said to Erin as he wriggled into his lycra suit, “I mean, why can’t you just leave it alone? What did the gravitational constant ever do to you?”

Erin glared at Lenny, “I don’t know why I even bother talking to you,” she hissed, “You’re nothing but a circus snake. Now why don’t you go do some fun tricks with a clown? Bastard.”

“Oh, come on, Erin, don’t be like that, it’s just that I’m sure you could do better things with your time than defy the constants of the universe.”

“What? Like squirm across a tightrope?”

“Ouch, Erin, that’s low.”

“So's your center of gravity.”

“Fine, be that way. Look, I’ve gotta go, it’s time for my act. Gimme a call when you’ve destroyed the universe.”

Erin watched as the circus snake slithered off to the main tent, the spangles on his costume sparkling in the mid-winter sun, “I’ll show you,” she muttered, “I’ll show everyone.”

Chocolate Bird

I hate chocolate. I hate birds too.

One day, I went for a walk in the forest. The sun was shining and the birds were silent because I had shot them all with tranquilizer darts yesterday. I hummed to myself, my spirits were high, and unhampered by obnoxious squawks and chirps.

But then I saw something in the middle of the path.

It was a bird…

...made out of chocolate.

My anger rose. I lifted my foot to stomp on the hideous abomination, but it began to speak to me, “I shall never forsake you if you never forsake me. You shall have anything you desire, if only you spare my life.”

“Forsake this!” I said, stomping the chocolate bird into the mud, “All I desire is for you to shut up.”

I smiled, the birds were silent once more. I continued down the path, inhaling the sweet, refreshing air of my sanctuary.

A breeze blew through the verdant forest. Then the trees began to cry. They did not cry salt-water tears, but limp birds. Thousands of feathered bodies rained down on me. They knocked me to the ground, bruising me. Tiny beaks stabbed at my tender skin.

“What the hell?” I exclaimed shaking my fist at the leafy canopy.

Then I remembered the tranquilizer darts....

Now I am buried under a pile of silent, sleeping, birds; waiting for them to wake up.

Arts and Crafts: A Family Tragedy

I made a black hole today, I didn’t mean to, but I did. It happened during arts and craft time at school. We were supposed to make little dolls out of popsicle sticks to represent our family members.

I swear that there is no black hole in my family.

I’m just not that good at arts and crafts.

I couldn't bear to leave it there, massless, friendless, alone in the universe… So I brought it home to show my family.

“That’s one singular sensation,” said my dad when I showed him what I had made, then he laughed, a lot, like what he said was funny.

“Can’t you see I’m stuffing food down my face? Get it away from me,” said my sister.

“I’d put it on the refrigerator, “ said my mom, “but I'm not sure that I have a strong enough magnet.”

“You know, “ said my dad entering the room because he had thought of some new things to say, “I just can’t stay away from your art project, I don’t know why, because it really sucks,” and then he laughed some more.

“STOP LAUGHING!” yelled my sister because she was angry.

She was angry because she was being pulled into the black hole.

Oops.

I’m not allowed to do arts and crafts ever again.