Sometimes ya just gotta return to your roots, ya know?

A really truly playable harpsichord, made entirely out of Lego (except for the wires, of course. I cannot help but be impressed. (But not appalled. I’ve got too many peculiar obsessions of my own to be appalled.)

…to note that today is Sir Arthur Sullivan’s birthday. In his honor (or despite), I shall quote a few of W.S. Gilbert’s lyrics:

The Pirates of Penzance, on discovering the Major-General’s (yes, that Major-General) daughters on the beach:

Here’s a first rate opportunity to get married with impunity

To indulge in the felicity of unbounded domesticity

You shall quickly be parsonified, conjugally matrimonified

By a doctor of divinity who is located in this vicinity.



The daughters, encouraging the constables in their duty (I love to sing this, which is unfortunate for those nearby….):

Go, ye heroes, go to glory

Though you die in combat gory

You shall live in song and story

Go to immortality!

Go to death, and go to slaughter.

Die, and every Cornish daughter

With her tears your grave shall water

Go ye heroes, go and die!

(Go ye heroes, go and die, go ye heroes, go and die.)



The constables reply,

Though it’s very evident (taran-tara taran-tara)

These intentions are well-meant (taran-tara)

These expressions don’t appear (taran-tara taran-tara)

Calculated men to cheer (taran-tara)

Who are going to meet their fate

In a highly nervous state

(Taran-tara taran-tara taran-tara)



I could go on and on, but I think this will do for tonight.

So my three-year-old daughter bounced into my lap the other day.

“I’m Piglet!” she cried cheerfully.

“You’re Piglet?”

“Uh-huh!”

“You’ll feel differently about that when you’re older.”

“No I won’t.”

Yes, I do believe she will.

I went to the doctor yesterday for my monthly checkup and weigh-in; I lost 8 pounds over the last month, which makes 34 pounds total since I started my diet three months ago. It might have been more than 8 pounds, but I was sick for a week a couple of weeks ago, and wasn’t able to go for my daily walk for a couple of days; and when I started walking again, it took me a few days to build up to where I’d been. But I’m not complaining; 8 pounds is just spiffy.

34 pounds. My 14-month-old daughter weighs half that, and I really don’t see how I could carry that much around with me and not notice. I certainly don’t feel that much lighter on my feet.

But I’ve still got a long way to go.

Every so often I hear something I call a “Perfect Song”–though that’s a woefully imprecise name for it. What I mean by a Perfect Song is a recording which is so perfectly itself that it couldn’t possibly be altered without breaking it. The music and the singing mesh perfectly together, and the whole thing usually has a unique feel to it. Any other recording of the same song is going to have take an entirely different approach, because these recordings can’t be beaten at their own game.

These aren’t necessarily my favorite songs, mind you; just recordings whose perfection I’ve noticed over the years. Anyway, here are a few of them.

• I Heard It Through The Grapevine, as recorded by Marvin Gaye–the copy I have is on the Big Chill soundtrack. This is the first recording whose perfection I ever happened to notice.
• Take Me To The River; the Talking Heads’ version. With all due respect to Al Green, his version lacks that killer bass riff.
• Down On The Corner, by Creedence Clearwater Revival. Plus, it’s just so dog-gone happy!
• Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy; the Andrews Sisters, of course.
• Long Cool Woman (In A Black Dress), by the Hollies. This song is entirely unlike anything else they did, and it’s by far their best song. I’m told that this was a throwaway B side; instead of overproducing it to death and making it sugary, they just cut loose and wailed. That’s not always a recipe for success, but they made it work.
• Good Vibrations; The Beach Boys–ooooo-eeee-OOOO-oooo-oooo.

There are others, of course; these are just a handful that came to mind at the moment.

Limyaael’s Rants is a collection of essays on the craft of writing fiction in general, and fantasy fiction in particular. One gathers that Limyaael has read far too much bad fiction, and wants to improve the output of would-be writers of fantasy.

I found this quite some time ago now, and forgot to post anything about it.

As I noted a while back, when I get sick I reach for old favorites like
Watership Down or I reach for a not terribly deep series that I
can chain-read. You get one guess which of those this is.

These are the first five books in Weber’s “Honor Harrington” series.
Honor Harrington is a starship captain in the navy of the Star Kingdom of
Manticore. She’s a skilled strategist, a brillant tactician, devoted to
her duty, a natural leader, and nearly indestructible. Also, she has a
knack for getting into difficult situations that require indomitable
courage and steely resolve.

I’ve written about these before; click on Weber’s name in the title for
links to my earlier reviews. For the most part they held up pretty well
on third (or is it fourth?) reading; on the other hand, a couple of them
had sections that I simply skipped.

This is the fourth Flashman novel in the order of initial publication; I
skipped the two intervening novels because this one brings us back to
Central Asia and the lands of the Great Game.

The book begins with a lengthy explanation of how Flashman, always
content to play the devil around London, is dragooned into going to the
Crimea as a galloper for General Raglan. The Crimean War was one of the
few times when the 19th century cold war between Russia and Great Britain
actually turned hot, though the cause in this case wasn’t the possibility
of a Russian invasion of India, but of a Russian invasion of Turkey. The
Ottoman Empire was still a “power” in those days; I use scare quotes
because it was rather a senile and incompetent power, right on the verge
of collapse. But nobody in Europe wanted to deal with the mess that
would follow the breakup of the Ottoman Empire–and rightly so,
it finally broke up with the first World War, and we’re still picking up
the pieces even today. Anyway, England want to war with Russia to
prevent Russia invading Turkey, and much tragedy ensued.

It was an extremely bad day in Balaclava for our Harry; a determined
coward, he was forced to participate in the Thin Red Line (when a
thin line of British troops held off a Russian cavalry charge), the
Charge of the Heavy Brigade (when a brigade of British cavalry charged
a much larger force of Russians–uphill–and somehow survived the
experience), and the famous Charge of the Light Brigade, Exhibit A
in the annals of stupid military decisions, where for no good reason
a brigade of British cavalry charged down a long, narrow valley lined
with guns on both sides and the far end and were largely blown to bits.

Flashman survived, naturally, but was captured by the Russians. He
later managed to escape, was captured near the Caspian Sea, and was
imprisoned in the same cell as a rogue named Yakub Beg, leader of
the armies of the city-state of Khokand. After their escape, Flashman
is forced to help Yakub put paid to a Russian army which is trying to
conquer Khokand and surrounding regions so as to pave a way to India.

Yakub Beg’s an interesting character; Peter Hopkirk’s
book The Great Game doesn’t have much to say about his
earlier career, during which he would have met Flashman, but later on
Yakub conquered the city-state of Kashgar, across the Pamir range
from Khokand, and set up a little kingdom for himself there at the
western end of what was then called Chinese Turkestan. As its ruler,
he was to play a major role in the later period of the Great Game.

Anyway, “Flash Harry” is in his usual form throughout. He tells a
good tale, but otherwise goodness has little to do with it.

It consists of Benedictine, Polish vodka, champagne, and a cherry.

They call it a Ratzlinger.

(Heard in e-mail….)