On Those Horrible Magic Players With Their Big Ol' Ass Cracks

I’d like to repost a comment here from one Andrew Wright:

I’m a 6’4″ 300 lb Magic player and I don’t wear tailored clothes to a tournament. I like clever t-shirts and get them in the largest possible sizes when I can (always paying extra when I do) but clever t-shirts do not come in “Long” sizes.
When you see a 2x or 3x t-shirt, they are designed and built for people with large guts and/or barrel chests, not for people with a long torso.
After a bare minimum number of washes, even the long t-shirts start to shrink vertically (and the short/wide shirts become unwearable). Bowling shirts and other top shirts can hide this fact for only so long. T-Shirts I loved supporting webcomics, local stores, and other favorite artists are stacked up in my closet waiting until that day in the vague and distant future I ask for someone with a sewing machine to make them into a quilt.
This makes me massively sad.
I am a married man, a volunteer, a recognized leader in my community, and an announcer for a Roller Derby league for going on 6 years now, where I’ve won Volunteer of the Year in 3 of the seasons I’ve served. One does not earn these accolades by being a “cat-piss” person around women. And shaming men who look like me doesn’t make it easier to find clever t-shirts.
How well my t-shirt fits me does not tell you the story of who I am any more than what a woman is wearing tells me what kind of person she is.
So jerks like this guy who take photos making fun of people that face the same problem that I do without their knowledge or consent and post them to on the net for a comedy bit that uses these images as a take down of innocent bystanders, they need to know that’s not ok.
I don’t care what the “other people” think of my Magic habit, but I do care if people like me are going to be made fun of by their peers in public due to the oversight of t-shirt design companies.
Basically, if it’s not okay to shame someone or degrade someone for what they wear, does it matter whether that shamed or degraded person is male or female?

Mur Lafferty asked the very good question, “Do people view the Magic buttcrack incident any different from People of Walmart?” And the answer is that I personally do not. I’m pretty much not cool on people taking secret photos of ordinary citizens and then making fun of them.  That feels an awful lot like what bullies did in high school when I didn’t dress well.
And you know what?  All that bully-shaming didn’t actually make me dress better, as some people suppose it would.  What it did was make me ashamed of any clothes I had on, and eventually decide to wear a unitard-like outfit of “black pants, black shirt, sneakers” to everywhere I went because I didn’t even want to think about clothing, and felt uncomfortable any time I had to wear so much as a button-down shirt.  And I was so disinterested in clothing for years afterwards that I wore stained T-shirts and pants because clothing had become this null-zone for me.  My not caring had become, in a way, a rebellion against the assholes who hurt me.
Mockery is a remarkably shitty way of changing people’s minds.
Now, if someone had taken me aside and complimented me on the rare occasion I wore a shirt that looked good, and quietly pulled me aside to tell me that my hair was really wild that day and could maybe use some combing, and made me feel like they were on my side and happy to be with me no matter what, then I probably would have been a much better dresser.  I know, because this is what happened when Gini quietly started heaping praise on me for wearing more color, and when I finally found something that expressed myself without being too crazy, then I flourished into Hawaaian shirts and shiny boots and fingernails.  I shave now.  I pay a lot of attention to those details.
And that helps.  People look at me better in my stylish hat.  They treat me differently.  It’s actually somewhat of a revelation how clothes can make people treat you better.
Because when a bunch of kids are pointing and making fun of your pants, you don’t think, “Gee, if only I wore something snappier, I’d win their love!”
You think what you wear has the possibility of shaming you, and wear the least offensive thing you can – and don’t bother to learn the rest of the rules that go with it.
So yeah, I’m not down with the whole thing.  Some fat people have problems getting clothing they like, and have this awkward positioning between finding clothes they like and ass-exposure, and don’t always find that balance.  Or maybe they don’t even know.  And while yeah, I can see the argument that ass alley is unpleasant to some – it’s not to me, because my attitude is that as long as someone’s hygenic and isn’t stinking up the place, who cares what skin they’re showing? – I think if it’s an issue then that’s best done by quietly taking someone aside and telling them quietly that their ass is showing, as it should be in most places.
Because, as I’ve noted here before, shaming fat people actually makes them gain weight.  If you’re really concerned about these fat people cleaning up their act to make Magic tournaments more “welcoming” in some obscure way, then you’ll talk to them as human beings and try to resolve the issue quietly. Maybe suggest some T-shirt manufacturers who have better fits for the large gentlemen.  Discuss some practical approaches to reduce the sagging pants.
Otherwise: you’re there to mock and shame people, wrapped in a thin veneer of so-called humor.  That’s fine.  Be honest about what a callous jerk you are, and stop pretending this is somehow about “helping” them.

Why Are Millennials More Liberal And Less Trusting?

David Frum, who’s the kind of conservative I wish was heading the party, notes some distressing tendencies of Millennials – namely, that they’re more liberal, less patriotic, and less trusting.  He then goes on to attribute this to the usual dubious studies showing that increased ethnical diversity causes people to be less trusting.
I think the answer is simpler: the Republicans have eroded the very concepts of “trust” and “patriotism” with their policies.
Now, of course, no single answer is going to sum up a whole generation’s tendencies – a full compilation of answers regarding “Why are Millennials less patriotic and trust less?” would include “cynicism generated from the Internet,” “the still-ongoing echo of independence from the 1960s counterculture,” “distrust of a government that’s often shown itself to be distrustful,” and a thousand other things.  It’s never as simple as a single vector, and problem-solvers should always acknowledge that.
But the problem with the Republican party is that it’s forever trying to recreate the hard-work culture of the 1950s without incorporating all of those obligations that employers felt to workers.
I’m just old enough to remember the 1980s shocks of layoffs.  There was a time when, if you got a job, you could expect to earn a decent wage from it for life.  Think about how crazy that sounds today: you got one job, and you could, if you wanted, stay at the same company until you retired.  Hell, my Dad and my stepdad both lived that particular dream.
That’s because, culturally, the idea of layoffs was something repugnant.  People didn’t want to do it, because they felt some obligation to their employees – I’m not idealizing the worker/employer relationship back then, but there was some sense among the top executives that if you hired a man, you couldn’t just fling him out the door without a very good reason.  And that reason was not “We need to look good for our shareholders this quarter.”
But the Reagan Revolution sold us on the idea that layoffs were good!  They increased business mobility!  They allowed people to get rid of the deadwood!  They made it so you didn’t have to be so careful hiring people who you might have to keep for years!  And so, within my lifetime, we’ve seen a situation where companies treat workers as disposable cogs…
…and workers, who are not dumb, have adjusted by treating their employers as dispensably as their employers treat them.
Most people have jobs, now, but they’re on the lookout.  They could be laid off at any moment.  They could get fired.  They don’t expect to be here for twenty years, or ten, or even five – at some point they’ll get a better offer and move on.
…and you wonder why this generation doesn’t trust?  Hell, there’s a straight line to be drawn downwards, and you note it, David: “Just 19% of millennials say most people can be trusted, compared with 31% of Generation Xers, 37% of the silent generation and 40% of boomers.”
If you want patriotism, yeah, it sounds good to call to Kennedy and ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.  But that Kennedy line was set in a time where the government did do things for its citizens, assive efforts: it helped soldiers everywhere get housing and education after World War II, because it felt an obligation to those who’d helped it.
The Republican party is not that government.  The Republicans wrap themselves in a philosophy of sacrifice, but the truth is that the sacrifice is all on your end.  Want a guarantee of a job?  Can’t do that.  Want assistance if the corporations decide to start hiring overseas?  Can’t do that.  Want some help if you fought for our country and need a hand?  Uh, no, we just voted that down.
What I’d like to see would be a conservative call for obligation – not the slavering ass-kissing to the glorious job creators, but a serious questioning of the contract between employer and employee beyond just the paycheck.  And then a serious analysis of what we owe to the men we ask to go and get shot, traumatized, and killed to protect US interests.
It’s all very well to spout the Ayn Rand line that we should all be self-sufficient, but telling us “You’re on your own” encourages neither patriotism nor trust.  It encourages a cold-hearted analysis of one’s own interest, in true Ayn Rand style, which tells us that we should use people for our own needs and walk away.
And that’s the conservative culture.  That’s the Tea Party, telling us that if you’re not rich it’s your fault, and only the hard-working will survive.  That’s throwing this new generation into a snakepit – and it is a snakepit that Reagan and his ilk created.  This distrust is the direct result of his policies.
Maddening thing is, there’s good bits in the conservative culture, a wellspring of charity and help to those they think are needy that doesn’t get highlighted enough.  But when you say, “Nobody should take money from my pockets to give to the lazy!”, what you are saying in a very real sense is, “If you fall, you’re on your own.  And no government will help you willingly.”
Is it any wonder that the Millennials are hearing that message all too clearly?

The Most Helpful Stephen King Quote Ever. I Mean This.

My dear friend Kara, who’s got her own fantasy series coming out soon and a couple of nonfiction books on the shelf, was angsting a bit at the state of her career.  I got an agent.  Maybe she should have gotten an agent!  Is she doing writing wrong?
To which I always think back to the most helpful thing ever told to me by a writer, and of course that writer is Stephen King:

If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn’t bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.

Seriously.  I love that quote.  Because on one level, selling enough writing to pay the light bill is not that hard.  In Ohio, that could be $75 depending on the time of year and your house.  It’s a tiny sale.
On another level, selling that fiction is hard.  That’s a three-cent-a-word story, and the markets for those are ridiculously competitive, and getting in there is a hell of a job.  Or self-publishing in an overcrowded, noisy market well enough to stand out and make $75 from individual people is a hell of a job.
Seriously x2.  Writing is a tough goddamned business to be in, and most writers I know have this magical ability to erase all of their past accomplishments and focus on what they don’t have, leading to the inevitable neurosis string of I’d be happy if I just sold a story.  I’d be happy if I just sold a story to a pro market.  I’d be happy if I just sold three pro stories to get into SFWA.  I’d be happy if I just got nominated for an award.  I’d be happy if I just won an award.  I’d be happy if I got an agent.  I’d be happy if I….
This is why sane people don’t marry writers.
And yeah, Kara hasn’t written her bestseller yet.  Maybe she hasn’t earned tens of thousands from her writing.  But damn, selling enough to pay a light bill is a mark of courage, and in her rush forward to better things let her (and us) not forget this grand achievement.
And if you haven’t yet paid your light bill, let me tell you: one story to the right market can do it.  And then, quite seriously, I’ll consider you talented.  I may consider you talented without any story sales, of course, but paying one light bill is the perfect goal for a beginner: it’s both really difficult and very much within reach.  And it’s a fine mark of distinction.
Get out there.  Get your light bulb on.

What Will The Outside World Think?

It occurred to me today that I have a burnt circuit.  I do not care what people on the outside think about the things I love.
This is partially from Magic’s recent #crackgate, wherein a douche went around photographing fat people’s ass-cracks at a Magic tournament, and partially from fandom’s reaction to Jonathan Ross being rejected as the Hugo nominee.  Both precipitated hand-flutterings from people – “Man, this makes us look bad to Those People.”  Those People, of course, are the millions of folks not really invested in the Hugo or Magic or whatever, to whom this ugly introduction may make us look bad.
I don’t give a shit about Those People.
And maybe that’s not fair.  But I got bullied a lot by people who looked like Those People, and at some point a switch cut off: I really don’t care what Those People think, ever.  My hobbies were always weird, like walking lead figurines around a pencilled dungeon and pretending to be a wizard, and so I gave up on the concept of legitimacy.
I love what I love.  People may think it’s funny – will think it’s funny, in fact.  They may paint me as an asocial nerd, or some fat dude with an asscrack, or whatever, as they have since I was twelve.  And I spent a lot of time trying to convince people that “No, my crazy hobby isn’t that way!” before shrugging and moving on.
Because the truth is, what I do is a little weird.  And if you’re not inclined to like it, well, it’s pretty easy to make fun of.  And if you want to do that…
…fuck it.  Do it.  I mean, it’d be nice if the entire world thought of Magic players as well-groomed smart guys going on adventures (for many of them are!), or science fiction fandom as a vanguard of approaching world culture, but… it’s not necessary to me.  I’ve given up seeking approval from random groups of people – many of whom are just looking for an excuse to laugh at strangers anyway.
Which is not to say I don’t worry about being inviting.  If Magic’s full of mouth-breathing douches who constantly make jokes about women and gays, well, I’m concerned, because if someone wants to play Magic I think they should feel welcomed here.  I’ll work to muffle those dorks best I can.  And if some idiot is walking around with a camera at a tournament with the specific intent of mocking people there, then that makes the people at the tournament feel bad, and so fuck him, kick that douche out, he’s hurting my people.
But in general, I don’t care if we’re presenting a good or a bad image to the world at large.  I’m a man of ridiculous endeavors – polyamory seems bizarre to people, science fiction seems bizarre to people, Magic seems bizarre to people, and hell, even my love of fireplay is pretty damned weird.  I’m not going to spend a lot of time as an ambassador to the mainland from the Archipelago Of Marginal Pastimes, pressing the flesh and trying to convince them that this is a perfectly lovely thing to do.
No.  Either you get it instinctively.  Or you’re open-minded enough that you try it and love it.  If you’re the sort of person who’s going to slot me into a pre-fitted box, I’m not going to spend time engaging with you, I’m going to walk in and out of the goddamned box at will to show you that it’s a mime’s construction made of thin air and intent.
Some of my hobbies have gone mainstream – hey, I can play Dragon Age on my XBox and have that be perfectly okay for a middle-aged man, mostly! – and that’s great.  But I don’t think that happened because videogames made a conscious effort to dress up nice and be cool – videogames stayed videogames, and eventually enough people played them that force of sheer numbers bowled them over into the “mostly acceptable” column.
Maybe that’ll happen with Magic.  Maybe it won’t.
Either way, I’ll still be playing.

So I Got An Agent, And He's A Good One

While hunting for an agent, I would occasionally ponder just how ludicrous this whole “traditional publishing” thing was.
“Selling a book isn’t your first major milestone,” I told Gini.  “So you’d think that ‘getting an agent’ would be your first major milestone, but no!  It isn’t!  ‘Having an agent ask to look at your book’ is.  And think about that!  There’s sad authors who go whole careers without even having an agent ask to look at their work.
“Only in this business, man,” I muttered.  “Only in this business is getting someone to read the first three chapters of your book considered to be a major triumph.”
But it is, really.  Authors speak in hushed tones of “the partial” – and, God willing, “She asked for the full manuscript.”  Now, this is usually code for “The agent will spend four months pondering it, only to tell you very kindly that it’s not for them,” but that’s not the point.  The point is that getting someone to look at your book means that you’ve escalated your game to a certain level!  Lots of people don’t get that far.
Sad?  True.  The two go together, like peanut butter and chocolate.
So when I got the contract in the mail announcing that Evan Gregory of the Ethan Ellenberg Agency had indeed signed me as his client, thus vaulting me to the next step of the trad-pub game, I couldn’t have been happier. Actually, that’s a lie.  As y’all know, I’d been in a depressive slump, so while I was super-happy, I also approached the happiness like a distrustful stray cat, waiting for a boot to be chucked at me.  Even today, I keep re-reading those emails with a wary eye, as though on further examination they might turn out to be from some helpful Nigerian prince who will help me transfer his fortune into my bank account.
But dudes.  Done deal.  And now Evan begins the haul of schlepping my books about to publishers, which means God willing I will have news for you at some point.  This stuff takes weeks, months, years.  And even more luck.
And I schmeared this news all over Twitter yesterday, but that felt too ephemeral.  I know some day I’ll want to look through my archives so I can ask, “When did I first get an agent?”  And here will be this blog post, telling me. Reassuring me that shit actually happened.
As a first step, it’s a pretty darned good one.

A Very Brave Girl Shaving Her Head For Her Sister

So my goddaughter Rebecca.  Still has brain cancer.  Still on chemotherapy.  Still sucks.
However, my other goddaughter, Carolyn, is shaving her head to help raise funds for her sister.  If you know Carolyn, you know the kid’s a born performer, has been doing song and dance routines at parties practically since she’s been born.  She’s in plays every other week, with her long brown hair.
So for a young girl to shave her head to help raise funds and her sister’s spirits is pretty amazing.
The Meyer family has always been a little magical, if you ask me.  They’ve been loving and supportive through some amazing things.  And I’m really proud of Carolyn for volunteering to do this.
If you want to help Carolyn out, you can donate to St. Baldrick’s to help her team.  She’s trying to get to $6,000, and she’s currently at $5,114.  As is usual with these sorts of donations, any amount will help (and we’ll take prayers if you have no cash). We love Rebecca, we love Carolyn, and we love all the Meyers in their time of need, and it’s little silly things like this that help cheer us up.
(Rebecca is doing as well as can be expected, by the way.  The MRI shows no sign of regrowth as of yet, but the chemotherapy is hard, particularly on a little girl.  So given that a large part of her issues are psychological now, donating helps show her that she’s at least doing some good in between all of the chemotherapy poisoning.)

The Medicine Of Sand And Heart

Now that they have Roto-Rootered my heart, I must be on medications to reduce my cholesterol.  (Ideally, you’d do that via diet alone, but my cholesterol levels were record-high despite my diet not being all that bad – my body loves to manufacture tiny globules of artery-clogging stickiness.)
They have switched my medication from Crestor (a pill) to a packet called Welchor, which supposedly is heavy-duty stuff that helps to reduce the risk of diabetes.  And Welchor is fascinating, because it’s a suspension.
Essentially, you open a packet and dump some white powder into eight ounces of fluid – they suggest water, or diet soda.  And mix it well.  And drink it.
And it is entertainingly disgusting.
Thing is, Welchor is almost tasteless – a hint of lemon flavoring, but that’s it.  The problem is, it lurks in the drink, hovering in it like a flavored octopus, never dissolving but hanging menacingly in the liquid.  And you drink the fluid, and you think, “Oh, that’s not bad,” and then a pile of silt forms at the back of your throat and chokes you.
No shit.  Silt.  This fine sand that clings to the back of your tongue.  A pile of it.
Now me, I take this as evidence that it’s working – I imagine Welchor as like an cleanup chemical dumped on an oil-stricken beach, and when it gets into my veins it’ll stick to fat globules in the same way it stuck to my mouth, and destroy them.  But as far as making this palatable, it’s hard, because unlike other medicines taste is not the problem.  It’s pure, plaster-dust mouthfeel, and I don’t think there’s a liquid that will solve that problem because it’s a suspension.
I’m going to experiment further, but the packet doesn’t suggest hot drinks, so I suspect that dropping this in tea will make it worse.  Maybe the smoothies.  But that adds smoothie preparation time, because Gini sure doesn’t want this shit.