Inhuman Swill : Page 15
Why is my blog called Inhuman Swill? Because you can unscramble the pieces to make William Shunn.
I, Ender, having been born of goodly parents...
Via Paul Melko by way of David Moles, I encountered this morning a fascinating essay by SF writer and scholar John Kessel exploring and repudiating the morality of intention that underpins Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game and attempting to explain...
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Howl’s Moving Castle
Japan’s grand master of animation reimagines a modern English fantasy classic.
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The Last Starfighter: The Musical
A new musical based on the beloved film blasts audiences into battle in space.
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A tribute to the Class of ’84
The following remarks were delivered at the Sheraton City Center in Salt Lake City, Utah, on the occasion of the Davis High School (Kaysville) 1984 class reunion. The opening paragraph is in response to master of ceremonies Jodi Allison, my...
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Tarnished Iridium, or Strutting Peacock, or Elvis—Lost Fellow
It didn't actually turn into a riot two weeks ago at Iridium, but it looked like it might for a few minutes there. The first indication of trouble came early, though we didn't recognize it as such as the time....
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Getting medieval on my ear
Just got back from the doctor's office, and through the miracle of medieval medical science I can hear again! I am, as Dr. Kong terms it, "a little waxy." "I am too," he said. "Some people have no wax at...
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Observing Brooklynites observing John Turturro
I guess this is celebrity week here at Memos from the Moon. I can't seem to stop droning on about the subject, and I really can't seem to get away from droning on about the subject as it relates to...
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Observing John Turturro
I ran into John Turturro again today. (Not today as you read this, but today as I write this, which is more than a month before this memo is scheduled to appear.) Well, okay, I didn't really run into him....
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Breaking the ambulance in
This is the story of why I'm cautious when I cross the street—though still perhaps not as cautious as I should be. I got off easy, after all. I was—what?—eight or nine years old? The family was living in Bountiful,...
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Occasionally, um, terrifically satisfying
It must be going on two years ago now that came home to my Brooklyn apartment to find a message waiting on the answering machine. Much to my delight, the message wasn't for me, and I found it entertaining in...
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