Tosher

I hate it when people start a piece of writing with “According to Webster’s Dictionary” or similar cringes before the audience. But whenever I think of Daniel Tosh (which is seldom) I can’t help but think of the (British English) definition of “tosh”, which is “nonsense, trash, bullshit”. I checked out the etymology today at the Oxford English Dictionary and didn’t find one. (Aside to the OED: Be ashamed.) But one of the early appearances of the word was in cricket slang, where it referred to “bowling of contemptible easiness” (a “meatball” in terms of American baseball slang). So maybe it’s a variant of “toss”–a throw that’s contemptibly easy to hit.

The takeway, I think, is “contemptible easiness”. Is there a better way to sum up Tosh’s schtick than that?

Normally the guy doesn’t appear on my radar, because I have more reliable sources of funny stuff on the internet (starting with the internet).

But I’ve been hearing and reading stuff about him lately because of this business, where he apparently was trying out a riff on rape jokes, a member of the audience objected, and he speculated about how funny it would be if the audience member were gang-raped, then and there.

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The Re-Mazing Spider-Man

Can You Spot the Double Entendre?

I went to see The Amazing Spider-Man last weekend, like millions of my fellow Americans, some of whom had seen it before.

Sometimes I felt like I’d seen it before, too–but as someone who’s been following Spidey’s career for well over 40 years (albeit intermittently and lazily, since that clone-saga-thing) I have a high tolerance for repetition. On balance, I liked it a lot.

My sort-of-review below the jump.

“Swing Into Action!”–Generous Jim

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Renegging: Bad reviews and bad ideas

Maybe I’m more haunted by the Zeitgeist than I think. While I was mulling over my post on negative reviews this weekend, writers stung by bad reviews were bouncing all over the internet.

For instance, a guy who bragged about his cunning plan to give a one-star review to the woman who had the temerity to give him a two-star review on Amazon. Spoiler alert: it didn’t work.

(I link to the Making Light entry because the reviews themselves have been expunged. Also I don’t want to drive traffic to the guy’s site. He doesn’t even have lists of things!)

A more productive response to a bad review (not just a negative review) appeared at Salon.com around the time of the King slapfest and I was remiss in not mentioning it before. (This came up in the comments section, along with other good points by Charles Stross and others.)

In passing: Making Light is one of the few places on the internet where reading the comments section is not a waste of time, due to their ruthless and humane moderation policy.

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Negging: On the art of negative reviews, and containing two (>2<) lists

I was reading an extremely negative review of my third book the other day, and found it a strangely painless experience. I felt like I was watching a cat chase the red light of a laser pointer around a room: there was something essential about the process that the cat (and the reviewer) just didn’t get.http://www.vetstreet.com/dr-marty-becker/are-laser-pointer-toys-really-safe-for-my-cat

That’s not necessarily the reviewer’s fault. It’s a writer’s business, especially a writer of genre fiction, to make an impact of a certain type on the audience, and if that fails to happen it’s most likely the writer that’s to blame.

On the other hand, I sort of feel that if someone thinks the last eighty pages of one of my books is genuinely irrelevant to what has gone before, they weren’t reading attentively enough to have their opinions taken seriously.

Shortly after reading that dumb takedown of one of my own books, I read a dumb takedown of Stephen King.

Jump into the dumb!

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Purfuit of Happineff!

Checking in here to wish a happy Independence Day to my compatriots, a happy Wednesday to all.

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Roming Again

Having gotten married and having moved all our worldly possessions to one flammable location, and placed them under the protection of a pair of fire-breathing slavering beasts and a gang of meth-addled bikers, Diana and I flew off to Italy for a few weeks of workingvacationmoon.

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Moved to be moody, and moody to be moved

THE SIXTEEN STAGES OF MOVING

1. I want to move.

2. I hate to move.

3. I ought to move.

4. I hate to move.

5. I have to move.

6. Find a place to move to.

7. I will pack up my things. Tomorrow, sometime. Or the day after.

8. Oh. I move tomorrow. I guess it’s time to pack.

9. So. Many. Boxes. Of. Books.

10. I hate to move.

11. How important is a cleaning deposit, anyway?

12. Ow.

13. I hate to move.

14. Moved.

15. I’m glad I moved.

15b. But I am never moving again.

15c. And next time I’ll do it so cunningly that there will be no stress whatsoever.

16. I want to move.

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Make Womb! Make Womb!

As fate and my innamorata would have it, I watched (within the space of a few days) two movies based on old Ira Levin novels: The Stepford Wives and Rosemary’s Baby.

It seems crazy to give a spoiler alert about movies a couple generations old, so I’ll cut to the chase. Both stories end with the main character, a woman, happily at home in the heart of her family, and in an extended and supportive community.

In other words, these are nightmares.

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Bath of the Titans

Wrath of theTitans posterOn Friday evening I set out with an intrepid band to see The Maltese Falcon on the big screen at the Valentine theater in the big town of Toledo. Through a set of hilarious circumstances we ended up eating dinner at the Burger Bar, where prettty good burgers were eaten but no Maltese falcons were seen. Later, still craving a cinematic fix, we mistreated ourselves to Wrath of the Titans.

My bathetic reactions after the jump.

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A Proclamation

“All citizens take notice that Carnival is decreed for tonight. Turn back the clock. There will be music, dancing, happiness at the Carnival. By order.”

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