Blogcritics Author: Marcus Lessa

Satire: Meanwhile... Back at Redmond

Marcus Lessa — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 06:13:30 EST

Countering Google.
Google has recently announced their participation in a consortium with five other companies for the construction of an underground cable across the Pacific...Meanwhile, back at Redmond, a meeting is held to pitch ideas to counter Google’s massive web presence. Here's what the guys floated :1. Ask Steve Jobs what to do.2. Try buying...

Announcement: Short-content feeds

Phillip Winn — Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT

Sunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding.

Book Review: Morbid Cravings, A Novel by Gladys Furphy and Jessica James

Marcus Lessa — Wed, 13 Dec 2006 13:42:09 EST

I have always been a fan of the supernatural-slash-horror genre and its assorted mix of devilish creatures that drink blood, kill, maim or are otherwise mean just for the hell of it. There’s nothing like reading a book that makes you bite your nails off as you turn page after page after page and wonder what you would do if your consciousness were magically played down in favor of purely animal instincts – and I’m not talking about the nice ones. Enter Gladys Furphy and Jessica James with Morbid Cravings, A Novel. The book offers a feminist approach to the horror genre, in addition to providing a background for discussion of what is considered “normal” – a well-established, successful woman impaired by an eating disorder, or her werewolf persona, which is confident and cares for food to the extent that it must be obtained and eaten without further ado, free of the anguish and suffering associated with anorexia and/or bulimia. In Morbid Cravings, girls, be they in human or werewolf form, rule.There is merit in trying to entertain and raise awareness of an issue that affects the lives of thousands of parents and young women. Morbid Cravings knows the audience it’s aiming for. Gladys Furphy, who co-authored the book with Jessica James, is a mental health doctor who has worked with victims of anorexia and bulimia, and this experience shows when we are taken through the main character’s daily woes with her disorder. Set in the quaint little town of New Hamden, Connecticut, Morbid Cravings kicks off by introducing us to Hilda Brooks, an attractive young math teacher plagued by an eating disorder – to point that her condition defines not only herself but mostly how she reacts to her environment. At this point, it’s all about not eating. One day, as she leaves from a café after meeting friends Bev and Lindsay, Hilda is attacked by a wolf-like creature, but somehow manages to escape. Rushed to an E.R., Hilda is treated by Dr. Darren Starkton and not only survives, but, as she later finds out, develops an uncontrollable appetite. Of all things, for red meat.You know where this is going: the wolf-like creature responsible for the initial attack is indeed a werewolf and Hilda has become a … Wolfbitch, the politically correct and gender-sensitive nom de guerre for chick werewolves, as well defined by Jared Red Cloud, Dr. Starkton’s best friend, a Cheyenne with an uncanny connection to wolves. Morbid Cravings then takes us through Hilda’s slow but steady understanding of what is going on, her attempt to satiate her new needs and to cope with her, how can I put it, wolfbitchiness, and a police investigation that tries to make sense of the bodies besmirching the gorgeous Connecticut foliage. Dr. Adoni Lamont, a psychiatrist to whom Hilda turns for help, treats her while pushing his own agenda. As of now, it’s all about eating.While both authors' previous experience in mental health assistance certainly helps in making Hilda’s issues with her eating disorder sound truly convincing, there is, throughout the narrative, a continuous need to describe in vivid detail the psychological forces at work while the characters (or mostly the main character) are doing this or that. Most books will provide a certain psychological background of its characters; Morbid Cravings, however, really rubs it in. As we follow Hilda into her sessions with Dr. Lamont, we sometimes wonder whether the Wolfbitch is real or part of a complex mindtrip. I found that to be a distraction from the main plot, because if a shrink can talk sense into a wolf (or a wolfbitch, for that matter) then their hourly rates are more than justified. However, the story does move at an elegant pace, and I found myself curious and wanting to read on and find out what came next. And as the book progresses to its climax the psych-effect fades somewhat, and we’re led to the inevitable clash between the investigation, Hilda’s appetite and how she relates to the main characters. Modern life (at least in the western world) is riddled with attempts to define each aspect of human nature from a psychological standpoint. Additionally, these are times in which women (and thank God for that) are empowered at home, at the workplace, and in all areas of life (again, at least in the western world). Morbid Cravings drinks from that well in a very direct fashion, and, in doing so, presents the material in a way that will probably appeal to younger and, dare I say, feminine audiences. However, much like Hilda, when it comes to horror stories, I prefer mine rare, if not raw.

An attorney and amateur musician from the southern hemisphere baffled by many aspects of our current lifestyle.

Satire: 'Tis the Season - Me, Dad, and Hugo Chavez

Marcus Lessa — Fri, 1 Dec 2006 17:47:25 EST

Brazilian newspaper Folha de S�o Paulo recently published a story saying Mr. Hugo Chavez, current president of Venezuela, has forbidden traditional Christmas imagery in all government bureaus. (Folha de S�o Paulo's article is in Portuguese but can be translated.) According to Wikipedia, Mr. Chavez is the "...leader of the 'Bolivarian Revolution,' promoting his vision of democratic socialism, Latin American integration, and anti-imperialism. He is also an ardent critic of neoliberal globalization and U.S. foreign policy." Mr. Chavez says traditional Christmas imagery originated in the United States. He says Christmas in Venezuela should be Venezuelan, with no influence from the imperialist devil. Still according to him, while nativity scenes and decorations with the local plant, Flor de Navidad, (Christmas Flower) are a yes-yes, Santa Claus, the Christmas tree itself, or hanging stockings are a no-no.That's Mr. Hugo Chavez. Now my Dad has a direct approach, like telling his seven-year old son that Santa is but a figment of our imagination, probably fostered by evil toy stores, and that Christmas, in itself, is just a way to insure year-end fights with close and distant relatives you spend the year trying to get away from. That's a man whose sense of communion is somewhat lacking. He can't even be considered a true Christian, but does so little affection for our Savior's birthday come from a sheer lack of religious values? I don't really think so. I firmly believe that in his case, he played the hand he was dealt.I take a middle-ground approach. Provided the prying relatives are not there and I'm surrounded by people I like, I sometimes force myself to attend such parties. After all, there is sense in celebrating one who sacrificed for the greater good. If you're not into that, there's free food and snacks, so don't spoil the party for everyone else. Try to be a good sport. However, I am sure if I had kids, we would cook a nice Christmas dinner, exchange gifts, and look and sound surprised at the nice presents Santa left them. I just don't see the point of doing it as an adult. That bubble was burst a long time ago.Earlier this year I had decided to have my father and sisters over. I would cook the traditional dishes, sit back, and revel in my sisters' happiness at us all being together. My father doesn't live in town and he comes maybe once or twice a year, and that's it. My plan was thwarted, however, by my sisters' mother, who decided the girls should spend Christmas Eve with her relatives. Poor kids. Count me out, though.So, it's just Dad and me. My wife is spending the night with her family. To spice things up a little I decided to have Hugo over. You know, the guy that, just like us, isn't too keen on the current Christmas imagery."Buenas noches Hombre," says Hugo, coming in the door in olive green combat attire."Ehm, Hugo, this is a blog post. Everyone speaks English. What's with the fatigues?" "Mierda. That's all right. Don't tell George W., but I've been taking some classes at Berlitz. This?" he asked, looking at his uniform, "I thought I'd dress informally."Shaking my head in disbelief, I turn to Dad and say, "Dad, pour the man a drink, will you?""Are you a Communist?" Dad asks Hugo."Si, I mean, no. I am just a humble politician trying to achieve the greater good by spending a great deal of taxpayer money."Dad frowns and whispers to me, "He's either a Communist or a Liberal Democrat."After pouring drinks, we try to make small talk with Hugo. This proves impossible because he always makes a point of talking about Simon Bolivar and the great South American experience (of which Dad and I know, and care, nothing about). To make things worse, he's a spitter.It's been less than two hours and Dad and Hugo have already taken opposite sides to every topic that comes up. It's starting to sound like Christmas with the family already. In desperation, I leave my own house under the excuse of buying another 12-pack.I return to find Dad standing in the hallway with a big smile on his face. "Where's Hugo?" I ask."Fidel called," he laughed, "inviting him over to Christmas dinner and promising that Santa had left him a lovely present. I didn't get it all, but it appears Hugo was pouting at not having been invited to the annual 'Xmas on the Island' party. To his delight, Fidel will be playing Santa this year after all. Oh, and he just lifted the ban on Christmas trees and the like back home. Talk about a one-man show if there ever was one.""I have to blog this," I mutter, reaching for my laptop. "Dad, check on the girls, will you?"So much for Christmas with Hugo. In the end we didn't hit it off, but one thing is certain: we never dislike Christmas for rational reasons, even though we pretend to. It's always because Christmas has traumatized us in ways so silly and absurd that we, as rational beings, are loath to speak out loud lest we make absolute fools of ourselves. That's okay by me. A simple rule of thumb is to surround yourself with people you love and show them how much you love them - if for any reason, just for the sake of paying it forward. Believe me, sometimes life changes and even these apparently small things can be taken away from you.This year, I'm doing just that. It's Dad and me.

An attorney and amateur musician from the southern hemisphere baffled by many aspects of our current lifestyle.