General Rubbish

Amazon wants you to pay down their J.K. Rowling auction debt

So, J.K. Rowling sat down and wrote the fictional Tales of Beedle the Bard, which is a book inside the Harry Potter universe. She made seven copies of the book; six were given away as gifts, and the seventh, the "Moonstone" edition, was put up for auction. It was thought it would sell for around 100k, but Amazon.com ended up buying it for roughly $3.98 million bucks. Yow.

To Rowling's credit, the money all went to charity, but Amazon is now selling "deluxe" editions to the tune of $100 bucks a pop. Ouch. This is supposed to be a replica of Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore's own edition, which he willed to Hermione in Book 7. Is that a bit ridiculous? Perhaps just the asking price and the complete getup.

According to Amazon, "Tucked in its own case disguised as a wizarding textbook found in the Hogwarts library, the Collector's Edition includes an exclusive reproduction of J.K. Rowling's handwritten introduction, as well as 10 additional illustrations not found in the Standard Edition (which is only $7.59) or the original. Opening the case reveals a velvet bag embroidered with J.K. Rowling’s signature, in which sits the piece de resistance: your very own copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, complete with metal skull, corners, and clasp; replica gemstones; and emerald ribbon."

So, if you've got Harry Potter money burning a hole in your pocket, order away. But I'd suggest you buy the standard version and use that other $92 and change to look for a new hobby.

Writing on the Metro

Riding the surprisingly empty subway to Union Station so I can hop on the train to San Diego. I'll be liveblogging most of Comic-Con along with Karina Longworth for Spout (www.spoutblog.com). Will Christian Bale surprise everyone and their mother by making a LAN appearance? Let's hope so, I need some more bad puns.

US Marines invade Los Angeles

My first test post from the iPhone, while driving in the middle of a Marine convoy. Safe? You be the judge.

Uncomfortable Bathroom Eye Contact

Have you ever made eye contact with someone in the bathroom? I'm not talking about while you're actually going to the bathroom, in which case guy etiquette requires that you stare straight ahead at the wall until you're done with your business. Of course, the drunker people get, the more often this turns into some drunken yahoo at a bar yelling loudly at you while you pee, usually something like "HEY MAN! THERE SURE ARE SOME HOT BITCHES IN HERE!" Naturally, he's peeing with one hand while holding his beer with another. Classsssssy.

That also brings me to the subject at hand. I noticed my zipper was down today, which meant it had been down all morning while I was meeting TV executives, talent, and other journalists. Either this means no one noticed, or that people were too embarrassed to tell me. Do you tell perfect strangers when their zippers are down, or do you let it be because that means you'd looked at their crotch, either inadvertently or on purpose? It's a quandary that continues to vex me.

Oh, in a side note, I did indeed survive the entire hospital ordeal. I'm not dead, although at times I felt like I was going to be living in that room hooked up to multiple machines for months. Thankfully, that only ended up being 8 days. But it was a pretty eye-opening 8 days. I've been thinking about moving back to Austin for years now, and this might be the catalyst I've needed to kick my butt into gear. Property prices and other reasons are too strong to ignore now.

I'm in the middle of a "Perfect Storm" July, with the Television Critics Association, E3, and Comic-Con, and today is day one. I'm jumping into the fray with my blogging dagger in my teeth, so check back and see if I've survived.

Me + Hospital = NONONONONO!

Hey everyone, thanks for all the well-wishings over on Facebook, through emails, and over the phone. Here's a short version of what's going on... I'm pregnant.

Okay, kidding aside, I woke up last Saturday and coughed up blood a few times. However, I felt fine so I hope it was just a fluke. You know, like peeing out of your ears, or inhaling through your thumb.

I went to the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books Saturday morning and attended a couple of panels, and around 1:30pm I just felt generally uncomfortable, so I headed home and got some lunch.

After I ate, I started feeling really short of breath, and so I called a friend to take me to the hospital. I thought I'd just drive myself, but I just had a tire fixed and the car had been feeling wobbly on the way back home from UCLA.

Once we got to the hospital, it took about an hour to see a doctor in the ER, another hour to get checked out and have an xray, and then another hour in the waiting room while they checked things over. They finally called me back and put me in a room with about four other beds, each separated by curtains. A doctor visits me, I get a shot for the pain (thankfully) and they tell me that they're going to do an EKG and a cat-scan, but that they're pretty sure I have a blood clot on my lung.

Okay, what?!

Anyhow, I get the tests done, which takes a couple of hours, have a breathing treatment where I breathe this white fog stuff (one of my lungs had become partially deflated) and then they told me yes, the cat-scan confirmed blood clots. On both of my lungs.

So, they admitted me to the hospital, and I was checked into an extremely dingy, narrow room so they could run more tests. Since Saturday I've had blood drawn at least 20 times, had a chest x-ray each morning, had several ultrasounds, and three breathing treatments each day. Oh, plus I am hooked up to oxygen, a heart monitor, and two IVs with drips containing antibiotics, blood thinners, and saline.

Also, they have me on several meds; a painkiller (which I can request every 2 hours, wahoo), anti-nausea meds (because of the painkillers), and some sort of stomach meds because of all the other meds. Oh, and an oral blood thinner in addition to the one I have via IV.

Fun, right? Anyhow, I've been confined to bed and unable to get up. Which also means unable to shower. Which means I got a sponge bath the other day. I wish I could say they had a celebrity lingerie model charity sponge bath service here, but they don't.

I've been hearing from doctors (4 or 5) the whole time, and no, they don't know how they all formed. They all kept asking if I'd flown anytime recently, because you can develop blood clots on long flights, but I had only taken a short flight to Austin in March. Then they thought I might have a genetic history of blood clots, which I don't, nor does my immediate family.

Which is why I've been getting tons of blood tests. They're trying to rule out the genetic factor. If they do, I only have to take blood thinners for six months. If they don't, I might have to take them the rest of my life. Yikes. We've heard back from some of the genetic tests, and so far they've all been negative, which is good.

Now, I told them I'm a writer, and sometimes I'm in the same position for long periods of time. They said that could definitely have caused it, so for everyone else out there in one position each day, remember to break it up with walks and stretches! I tended not to do that because of all the freelancing I'm doing. Aye carumba.

Anyhow, on Wednesday morning I had my oxygen tube off, and they asked if I took it off for discomfort, and I said no, I had just wanted to rub my face. The doctor happened to come by then too, and they checked my blood/oxygen levels, which were good. So, they decided to take me off oxygen. Later, they took me off all my IVs and the heart monitor as well. I was free! The first thing I did was take a long shower because I looked like a vagrant who had stumbled in from a mental ward.

Wednesday night, they told me they'd be moving me to another room, and seriously it's been like moving from The Fleabag Motor Inn to The Ritz, because my new room is so much nicer. Let's just say it's a plus that I don't have to listen to the man in the room next to me moan, or hear 48 beeping IV alarms. I'm still on the pain shots every now and then, and I get blood thinner shots in my stomach (ouch) twice a day now. But, they've told me it looks like I'll be going home in a couple of days.

So keep me in your thoughts and prayers. At this point, I'd love to get home to get over all of this and not see a hospital until I develop super powers or something. My Mom and Dad both flew out (despite my warnings of "I'll be fine!" and "Don't worry about me!") and they literally made this week a billion times more bearable. Several of you have come to visit me, and I thank you immensely for that. The hospital is a depressing place, and it's been great to see all of your faces.

I'll post an update as soon as I have one. Thanks again, everyone.

My day job is science fiction: io9

Are you an unrepentant neophile? Do you sometimes think post-apocalyptic futures and alien invasions are pretty cool? Want to know what's going to happen next to the climate, the shape of skyscrapers, the contents of your genome, or your favorite scifi TV show?

Then it's time to check out io9.com.

io9 is a brand new blog about science fiction and futurism published by Gawker Media (and edited by yours truly), and it is now live! We'll be bringing you the latest about science fiction in all media, as well as futuristic science, design, and art.

Ride the nanowires over to io9.com today. Brain implant sold separately.

Amazon offers up Science Fiction HD-DVDs for 30% off

Either this means that HD-DVD really needs a shot in the arm, or Amazon is feeling particularly gracious with their stock of HD-DVDs. Either way if you love science fiction and have an HD-DVD player, you win.

Now's your chance to stock up on things and finally get that copy of The Last Starfighter in high-def.

Wave your hands in the air like you moderately care

Andy: "Sparky, look! What's that?! A spaceship?"
Sparky: "Woof, woof!"

*cue weird alien music*

If you've ever seen a classic science fiction film from the 1950s and watched a dish-shaped UFO fly into view, then you've most likely heard a Theremin. It's the electronic musical intsrument that provides the "OooooOEEEeeeeeOOoooeEEEE" sound that you usually hear during those moments. Plus, you play it without touching it, which is just plain weird, and very cool ... as is evidenced by this video of someone playing "Video Killed The Radio Star" on one. A note you can take from this: remember to turn it on.

Now, you can't really stroll down to the corner music store and pick one of these up, so what better way than to roll up your sleeves and build one yourself? Make: magazine has a PDFcast that will take you through the steps, and you'll be waving your hands around in the air maniacally in no time.

Science Fiction armaments for your protection

It's no secret that fans of science fiction love to spend money buying things that you wouldn't find in say, the White House. That is unless the First Lady has added a replica of the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey to the Lincoln Bedroom. Something that would probably benefit the current administration. Of course, so would a dictionary. You can just see the president approaching it slowly, like the monolith, opening it and exclaiming, "My god ... it's full of words!"

Now, if you're a self-respecting fan of science fiction, particularly of the 1950s and steampunk varieties, then you may be sorely tempted to hand over your hard-earned cash to the New Zealand based special effects house Weta. In exchange, you'll be picking up one of Dr. Grordbort's Infallible Aether Oscillators. Or as the laymen like to call them, "rayguns."

Yes, some bored techies at Weta workshops decided to tinker around and build these pretty nifty rayguns. Then a bright marketing person must have had the gem of idea to sell these, in specially designed, velvet-lined cases, to gullible science fiction fans around the globe. What better way to show your love for retro sci-fi than with a non-working hunk of die-cast metal that costs hundreds of dollars?

I've already pre-ordered the Victorious Mongoose.

Ender's Game vs. The Last Starfighter

Fair warning: if you haven't read Ender's Game or seen The Last Starfighter, then you probably don't want to keep reading this unless you're in the mood for spoilers.

So your race is facing intergalactic extinction. You've been pushed to the brink of existence. What do you do? Spend time training new troops, building a mega-spaceship to take your race to another galaxy or ... develop a video game that looks for a prodigal savior to come and prove themselves through skill with a joystick?

Apparently if you're Orson Scott Card or Robert Preston, that's exactly what you'd do. It’s actually pure (evil) genius if you think about it. You know all of those Wiis, PlayStations, and Xboxes sitting dormant in living rooms, bedrooms, and basements across the country? Perfect little training units. With a little tweaking of code you could churn out an army using The Sims 27 in no time.

In a nutshell, that's the plot of both Ender's Game, the classic science fiction novel from 1985, and The Last Starfighter, which hit screens 1984. Race faces extinction, video game gets programmed to train potential saviors, if they beat the game ... then they suit up for the real thing.

In Ender's case, he didn't know that the game he was playing all along was actually the real battle. It's a good thing he didn't decide to just screw around in the game and try and smash his ships into the nearest planet, because those were real pilots in those ships. Who knows what would have happened if he had to keep hitting the 'continue' button.

Now, the real rub lies with The Last Starfighter's Alex Rogan. He was playing an actual quarter-sucking arcade game, and when he hit the high score, lights and celebration ensued. Then The Music Man himself appears from the sky in a flying limousine and whisks him away to fight interstellar battle. Sounds simple, right? Well, consider this. In Ender's Game, Ender literally wipes the enemy out completely, unwittingly committing genocide. However, Alex only destroys Xur and the Ko-dan Armada, meaning there are going to be some really pissed off Ko-dans somewhere who are going to come back and whip the snot out of someone as revenge. Of course, Alex decides to become a teacher for future Starfighters, and takes his eye-candy girlfriend with him. But if the Ko-dans pour on a little speed, then Alex and the human race are
pretty much sunk.

But what's really puzzling is how the aliens decided to put the Starfighter game on Earth to begin with. Were there tons all over the planet? Only one? Did they go to other parts of the galaxy? Do they even play video games near Alpha Centauri? One disappointing fact about the actual arcade game used in the movie comes via Wil Wheaton, whose scenes were cut from the film. He told me "The one thing I remember clearly about that film was how disappointed I was when I saw the totally awesome video game on the set, and the only thing in the cabinet was a 4x4 grid of incandescent lights in varying colors." Not very inspiring. It boggles the mind. Since there never was a The Last Starfighter 2: Even Starfightier, we may never know what happened to the other cabinets.