Interesting JMS Facebook Posts & Tweets

[Jan]

Yes, the poster noted that while a number of Trek people (which I gather meant cast) had changed their profile pics, she hadn't noticed B5 people doing so.

While I don't disagree with JMS at all, in this particular case I did change my pic. Because sometimes there's really nothing an individual can do to help effect change except to show support. In the instance of the cases being argued before the Supreme Court this week, there's literally nothing else I can do to help. But in this case, doing that has entered the national conversation and CNN put together some interesting figures on what's happened on FB:

http://politicalticker.blogs.cnn.com...dia/?hpt=hp_t1

Jan

[Jan]

Since this may end up being discuss-worthy, I've moved the last several posts down to the existing Marriage Equality thread in Off Topic.

Jan

[Jan]

April 1 1981: I came to LA with $600, no friends or framily in the business, to see what I could become, most of which was instantly consumed by rent and moving costs. Many nights staring at the ceiling, no gigs, no income, selling everything I owned just to cover expenses, wondering if any of this would work out.

Sonuvagun. Never surrender dreams.

This photo was taken a few months after I arrived in LA to further my writing career. Right in front of the Hollywood sign, no less. (With appropriate nearby signage.) Smug, cocky, self-involved little bastard.

https://www.facebook.com/#!/photo.ph...9402959&type=1

[Looney]

Ha!

$600 would only have covered a portion of one month's rent for me in LA 10 years ago. It wouldn't even cover half of it for the same place now.

[Jan]

$600 would only have covered a portion of one month's rent for me in LA 10 years ago. It wouldn't even cover half of it for the same place now.

In the Preface of "Tales from the Twilight Zone", JMS says that his wife had gotten a job offer to do research for Carl Sagan. It sounds as though that job didn't last long, though.

Jan

[JoeD80]

Rent in LA in 1981 was not super-expensive. The housing boom didn't occur until about the mid-80s and then another crazy increase in the late 90s. Interestingly, I know how cheap rent was in 1981 because I was researching old JMS articles in the library once, and came across the rental ads in the 1981 paper - you could get a one-bedroom in Santa Monica for about $250 / month at the time!

[Jan]

Oh, Zing! Found on Twitter:

A poster copies what JMS said about being a "Smug, cocky, self-involved bastard" back in 1981 and asks if the adjectives have changed over the years.

Yes, the word "successful" now appears somewhere in there.

Jan

[phazedout]

jms just posted a series of messages on twitter, since Jan is probably asleep I thought I'd reproduce them here

Just fell down the steps leading to my office which is weird because there AREN'T steps leading to my office and...oh crap I'm in hell again

And they STILL haven't done anything about the decor.

What's even funnier is that you can actually tweet from Hell. (Or is that redundant?)

Turns out there's an entire section of Hell JUST set aside for tweeters.

It consists mainly of demons yelling "NO ONE CARES WHAT YOU HAD FOR DINNER STOP SENDING TWITPIX OF YOUR FOOD!" for all eternity. Seems fair

So I'm sitting with Beelzebub and he's like, yeah I invented Twitter not that Dorsey guy, and I'm like, really, and he's like, HELL yes

Apparently demons invented not just twitter but instagrams, taxes, reality TV and standing in line. And the confessional, just for laughs.

I'm told, however, that demons did NOT invent plague, pestilence, famine or death. They insist it was the Dutch. I have no opinion on it.

It's good to see that some traditions are intact, however, and that English remains the official language of Hell. We earned it, after all.

Taking a walk around Hell. Asked a nearby demon what their flag looks like. "Why, all of them," he said. Not sure I like the sound of that.

@jonbry97 Why am I in Hell? I'm a writer. All the best writers go to hell. Frankly, I'm flattered they'd have me.

Just a second...Lucifer is over there, laughing hysterically. Let me try and find out what this is all about. BRB.

Okay, that IS funny. Turns out those cute kitten youtube videos are actually soul-stealers designed to secretly pull your soul into hell.

Of course the joke's on him because anybody who's sat and watched the damned things all night already KNEW that.

Just asked Lucifer if there's anything he'd like me to pass along on his behalf to the world of the living. Stand by....

Lucifer says as follows: "Humans are told only they have free will, but if that is true, how then did we fall from grace but by free will?"

He continues "In the Garden, why did GOd warn Adam and Eve about the fruit, but not the snake? Why did he not explain what a lie was?"

He goes on: "It was a set-up. WE were set up because we were competitors. God invented hell for us. So we invented the church."

Anything else? I ask. "Yes. Tell the living to stop wearing those stupid skinny ties. It's pissing me off." No idea why that's important.

As I leave Hell for the world of the living, I pass the door marked "A Division of Exxon/Mobil." What I can't tell is if that's Hell or us.

And so I return safe and sound to my office, and my computer, and...oooh, look...new kitten videos on youtube.

here endeth the lesson....
Alan

[Jan]

Thanks, Phaze! I love it when JMS does that but it's a royal pain to bring over here. I particularly liked one small side exchange:

A poster asked JMS what the weather was like in hell:

It was quite chilly. So it may not in fact be that we are suffering global warming, but rather that Hell has sprung a leak.

Jan

[phazedout]

just thinking of you Jan, what did occur to me was I'd hit post and find you'd done it already, but I figured pre coffee pre 6am even you coulndn't manage that...
Phaze
on the "of course I was up at 7 am to attend a 7:50 nspin class in my gym.. the funs" ID

[Jan]

Earlier in the week somebody tried to claim that JMS said in his scriptwriting book that one could never sell a script without prior sales (he didn't-he said one couldn't sell a *series* without a track record) and called JMS a dream killer. Last night somebody came on and stated that JMS was the exact oposite of a dream killer.

Waking suicide?

Somebody was surprised that JMS' Facebook page is actually maintained by JMS himself.

Yes, I am he. Tremble before my august majesty. And my september white hair.

Jan

[phazedout]

Hoping this doesn't make it difficult for Jan to wield the mighty hammer of spam for the posts above, however around 5 hours ago (so about 11pm est) Joe posted the following rant

So thanks to my wonderful genetics IÆve always looked considerably older than I am. At 18 or 19 I could walk into any bar with friends and not get carded, whereas they always got nailed. (Ironic since I was the only one not looking to drink.) When I worked on Murder She Wrote in 1992 I was walking back to the office on the Universal lot after lunch one day, accompanied by my exec producer David Moessinger and supervising producer Bob ôSwannyö Swanson. Bob was making a cultural reference he wasnÆt sure I would get and asked, ôSo how old are you, if you donÆt mind my asking?ö

ôThirty-eight,ö I said.

When people say ôhe literally stumbled over his own two feetö they generally donÆt mean he actually stumbled, they just mean the person was shocked. So you will understand the distinction when I say Bob *literally* stumbled over his feet when he heard that. When he recovered, he poked a finger in my chest and said ôEither youÆre a LOT older than 38, or you come by a hard road.ö

ôI come by a hard road,ö I said, and Bob was smart enough not to inquire further.

Okay, so why am I telling you all this?

Ever since my hair turned white after Babylon 5 (in my forties), every time I walk into a deli or restaurant that offers Senior Specials thereÆs always some clown trying to shove the triple-damned thing at me. Again, and literally: since my FORTIES. I know they mean well, I know theyÆre supposed to do it, but still....

Anyway, I got into the habit of saying something along the lines of ôIÆll have the roast beef dinner, NOT the senior special because IÆm not that freaking old.ö

So I took a walk today and stopped in for dinner at a deli in my neighborhood (I wonÆt identify this to avoid getting the individual in question in trouble.) Placed the order with the caveat noted above. Then, just out of curiosity, I asked ôAnd what the hell IS a æSenior SpecialÆ?ö I assumed it was some specific discount, but wanted to know. Writers ask this stuff because you never know when information like that can come in handy. (ôAgent Wilson knew the man sitting across him at the deli wasnÆt really Professor Talmadge because he failed to ask for the Senior Special, as was his wont.ö)

ôThe senior special is a ten percent discount over what the meal normally costs,ö the server said.

ôBut itÆs the same meal, right?ö

ôNo,ö the server said, ôitÆs smaller portions, since older people donÆt need to eat as much.ö

I straightened in my seat. ôDo they KNOW theyÆre getting smaller portions? Does it say that anywhere in the menu?ö

ôNo,ö the server said.

ôHow MUCH smaller?ö I asked. The server shrugged, no idea.

ôOkay, so go ahead and bring me the roast beef dinner,ö I said, ôAND bring me the senior special roast beef dinner on the side.ö

ôYou want two dinners?ö

ôYes, the regular one, and the senior special on the side.ö

After some back-and-forth about whether or not the manager would allow that, and my indication that I really didnÆt care what the manager wanted, they brought the two dinners so I could do a side-by-side comparison. After a rough and admittedly not totally scientific examination (I didnÆt have anything upon which to weigh the food), my sense was that there was 20-25% less food in the senior special than in the regular version.

I called the server back. ôSo let me see if IÆve got this straight. The senior special, for which theyÆre paying 10% less, has 20-25% less food.ö

The server nodded, not yet perceiving the outrage. ôThatÆs why Sundays are really profitable for the restaurant. The seniors really come in large numbers, and the profit margin is great.ö

ôDonÆt you think that seniors, who have a hard time making ends meet and may come up a bit short in the food department on a regular basis, might prefer to pay 10% more for that extra food, some of which they might opt to take home with them?ö

The server didnÆt respond, seeing now which way the conversation was going.

ôIf itÆs a senior special," I continued, "and you want to be nice to the older crowd, why donÆt you give them the same meal for, say, five or ten percent less?ö

ôBecause that would be û ö and the server hesitated before saying the word.

ôIt would be a discount,ö I said, finishing the sentence.

ôYeah, but we donÆt do a Senior Discount," the server said, and with one sentence all became clear: "ItÆs a SPECIAL version of the food. ThatÆs why we call it the Senior SPECIAL, not a DISCOUNT.ö

ôAnd the æspecialÆ part of that is that theyÆre being ripped off, am I correct?ö

Which pretty much ended the conversation, except for a parting ôItÆs how EVERYBODY does itö the server fired back en route to the kitchen.

So if youÆre reading this and youÆre in the Senior category, next time you go into a restaurant ask if that menu item is a Senior SPECIAL or a Senior DISCOUNT, and if itÆs the former, you can do what I do and say youÆre not that freaking old, but if you ARE that freaking old, tell them youÆre not that freaking stupid.

This concludes your rant for the day.

Alan

[Looney]

Ha!

I can't wait to share that story with my father. He is SOOOOOOO in love with making sure he gets a "Senior" status everywhere he goes that he'll really appreciate this.

[WorkerCaste]

Good Lord! I never would have suspected that seniors were getting ripped off on those deals. I wonder how widespread that really is. Talk about a morally questionable business model.

[Jan]

In response to the tragic events of the Boston Marathon bombing, JMS posted the amazing words from his 'black issue (#36) of Amazing Spider-man and gave permission for it to be reposted.

The last time there was a bombing on our own soil...and how terrible a thing it is that one can say, "the last time"...that echoed so horrifically across the country...the day 9/11 became a part of our cultural identity...I was asked by Marvel to write something about the events of that day, and those that followed. In watching the news today, the words came back to me, and I thought I would reprint them here, minus the specific references to 9/11 itself...the last time this happened....

And wouldn't it be great to say "the last time" and know that it WAS the last time this would ever happen?

The words from that piece appear below. They are, sadly, *just* words...but they are all I have to give.

We interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you the following special bulletin.

Follow the sound of sirens.

Some things are beyond words.
Beyond forgiveness.
Beyond comprehension.
Because only madmen could contain the thought, execute the act.
The sane world will always be vulnerable to madmen
because we cannot go where they go to conceive of such things.

Even those we thought our enemies are moved.
Because some things surpass rivalries and borders.
Because the story of humanity is written in tears.
In the common coin of blood and bone.
In the voice that speaks within even the worst of us, and says "This is not right."

Also here are those who face danger without fear or armor.
Those who step into the darkness without assurances of ever walking out again,
because they know there are others waiting in the dark.
Awaiting salvation.
Awaiting word.
Awaiting justice.

Ordinary men.
Ordinary women.
Made extraordinary by acts of compassion.
And courage.
And terrible sacrifice.

Ordinary men.
Ordinary women.
Refusing to surrender.

Ordinary men.
Ordinary women.
Refusing to accept the self-serving proclamations of holy warriors of every stripe,
who announce that somehow we had this coming.

We reject them in the knowledge that our tragedy is greater than the sum of our transgressions.

There are no words.
There are no words.

The death of innocents and the death of innocence.
Rage compounded upon rage. Rage enough to blot out the sun.
And the air still filled with questions.

“Is it going to happen again?
What do I tell my children?
Why did this happen?”

What do we tell the children?
Do we tell them the evil is a foreign face?
No. The evil is the thought behind the face, and it can look just like yours.

Do we tell them evil is tangible, with defined borders and names and geometries and destinies?
No. They will have nightmares enough.

Perhaps we tell them that we are sorry.
Sorry that we were not able to deliver unto them the world we wished them to have.
That our eagerness to shout is not the equal of our willingness to listen.

Or perhaps we simply tell them that we love them, and that we will protect them.
That we would give our lives for theirs and do it gladly, so great is
the burden of our love.

In a universe of Xboxes and Itunes, it is, perhaps, an insubstantial gift.
But it is the only one that will wash away the tears
and knit the wounds
and make the world a sane place to live in.

We could not see it coming.
No one could.
We could not stop it.
No one could.
But we are still here. With you.
Today. Tomorrow. And the day after.

We live in each blow you strike for infinite justice,
but always in the hope of infinite wisdom.

When you move, we will move with you.
Where you go, we will go with you.
Where you are, we are in you.

Because the future belongs to ordinary men and ordinary women,
and that future must be built free of such acts as these,
must be fought for and renewed like fresh water.

Because a message must be sent to those who mistake compassion for weakness.
A message sent across six thousand years of recorded blood and struggle.
And the message is this:

Whatever our history, whatever the root of our surnames,
we remain a good and decent people
and we do not bow down and we do not give up.

The fire of the human spirit cannot be quenched by bomb blasts or body counts.
Cannot be intimidated forever into silence or drowned by tears.

We have endured worse before; we will bear this burden and all that come after,
because that's what ordinary men and women do.
We persevere.
No matter what.

This has not weakened us.
It has only made us stronger.

In recent years we as a people have been
tribalized and factionalized
by a thousand casual unkindnesses.

But in this we are one.

Flags sprout in uncommon places, the ground made fertile by tears and shared resolve.

We have become one in our grief.
We are now one in our determination.
One as we recover.
One as we rebuild.

You wanted to send a message, and in so doing
you awakened us from our self-involvement.
Message received.
Look for your reply in the thunder.

In such days as these are heroes born.
The true heroes of the twenty-first century.
You, the human being singular.
You, who are nobler than you know and stronger than you think.
You, the heroes of this moment chosen out of history.

We stand blinded by the light of your unbroken will.
Before that light, no darkness can prevail.

In their memory, draft a covenant with your conscience,
that we will create a world in which such things need not occur.

A world which will not require apologies to children, but also a world whose
roads are not paved with the husks of their inalienable rights.

Graft now their echo onto your spine.
Become girders and glass, stone and steel,
so that when the world sees you, it sees them.

And stand tall.

Stand tall.

Stand tall.

J. Michael Straczynski