Oct. 2nd, 2015

My tweets

Oct. 2nd, 2015 12:02 pm
thornsilver: (Default)
  • Thu, 12:11: Feeling very not good right now.
  • Thu, 20:34: On page 323 of 349 of Armada, by Ernest Cline http://t.co/67YkgZeum9
  • Fri, 06:29: What extra fun am I having for an interview trip today? Is it torrential rain? Yes, it is! Why'd you even had to ask?
  • Fri, 09:16: So far a day on nope.
  • Fri, 11:50: Dear driver who managed to splash me head to foot today despite my umbrella, I hope somebody fucks you sideways with a chainsaw soon.
  • Fri, 11:57: Joke: a feminist and a Muslim walk into a bar. Punchline: they are both often victims of stereotyping. (1/2)
  • Fri, 11:58: Bonus punchline: it was actually a feminist Muslim. (2/2)
thornsilver: (kitty tastes the rainbow)
The J/Z train platform is a raised platform in an open air. And it shakes. When there are trains coming. When the wind is strong. When a pigeon craps at it, for all I know. (To be sure, I have previously been exposed to this, I just blocked it from my mind with great prejuduce.) I had to wait for a train for quite a while (for reasons) and I spent this time feeling mildly nauseated and worrying that I will a) fall, and b) fall off the platfrom, through the tracks (which are mostly made of holes, btw), and all the way to the street below. No, I had to reason to think this. (I don't think I ever heard of anyone falling that way way either, actually.) I held on to the supporting columns and billboards and upgraded my grip to deathhold every time the platform actually started to sway. Finally I managed to drag myself to the bench and plant my ass there. I was still looking outward into empty space, but at least I felt less dizzy.

This trip has also been "improved" by cold wind, rain, and that one driver who splashed me head to foot (thankfully after my job interview).

I still feel pretty frozen, even though I am currently sitting in home in a hoodie and layered with warm lap throw, warm laptop, and warm cat.
thornsilver: (kitty tastes the rainbow)
ArmadaArmada by Ernest Cline

My rating: 1 of 5 stars


I just looked at the back cover praise blurbs of this book, and I really have to wonder--WHAT were these reviewers smoking?

I have tried several times to come up with a coherent review as to how bad this is, but every time I felt totally inadequate to the task. Still, I feel like it is my responsibility to warn you.

Basically, you should only read this book if you are a 12-year old male rabid gamer, who is not much of a book reader (so you will not be turned off by the shortcomings of "Armada" writing style and poor editing), and who somehow managed to not be exposed to a million better interpretations that pop culture already created for this plot.

(Seriously, what were they smoking, and can I have some?)



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