Posthuman Blues

I got the galleys for my Mars book for last-minute corrections. Formatted, it's about 300 pages. One thing I'm certain of: If nothing else, the book looks cool. I like the fonts, typestyle, etc. I lugged it to Starbucks this evening and managed to get about half-way through. The first half suffers from some repetition that needs to be cut, or at least downplayed, but overall I'm pretty happy with it. There are a couple nagging style issues, but it's little stuff (i.e., is "Space Age" spelled with capitals?) Parts of it are too wordy. I need to tighten up the prose a bit, at least in the first section. This should help minimize repeated references.

But at the same time, I can't simplify too much; the first several chapters consist of walking readers through alien territory, showing them the sights (often without benefit of illustrations). So maybe I'm being too hard on myself. Time will tell.

At least I can rest easy knowing that Martha Stewart is behind bars (or as good as)! That menace to society! Finally, justice!

What a joke. Martha, love her or hate her, is harmless. She's checking into the cinderblock hotel because she acted on an insider stock tip, for Christ's sake. Meanwhile, that bastard from Enron -- who deliberately and maliciously screwed people out of their life savings -- is going free because he had the good fortune to be chums with W.'s clan.

There are industrialists reaping the Bush administration's environmental myopia by unleashing toxic substances into our air and water. No questions asked. They get away with it. As John Shirley has bluntly and repeatedly pointed out for the benefit of those who can't accept we're living in a dystopia, "they just don't care if you die."

Keeping the herd distracted by sending interior decorators to jail while actual criminals trash the planet and compromise the well-being of entire populations because of sheer neglect and greed: It's a good thing.