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163 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 24, 2012


A bunch of Occupy types [from the Occupy social movement of the early 2010s] came and set up their own sector of camp where those in need of inspirational political analysis could get jacked up on ideology in the morning before work began. [...] Over the entrance to what became known as Camp Coffee they hung a banner that read, "Occupy Space."NEW (Badasstronauts):
A bunch of Occupy types [from the Occupy social movement of the early 2010s] came and set up their own sector of camp where those in need of inspirational political analysis could get jacked up on ideology in the morning before work began. [...] Over the entrance to what became known as Camp Coffee they hung a banner that read, occupy space.This next one's impact may be less obvious. This takes place when they speak over radio to Bobby who is stranded on the International Space Station (the window is the time they can broadcast to him; he doesn't literally fall out a window). The rocket planned to come rescue him has just been named.
But by then, Bobby Junior had fallen out of the window, and the ISS continued its crazed orbit around a planet that no longer cared. Only Space Jesus could save him now.NEW (Badasstronauts):
But by then, Bobby Junior had fallen out of the window, and the ISS continued its crazed orbit around a planet that no longer cared. Only Space Jesus could save him now.Changes to the actual content are certainly Hendrix's doing. Most of them don't add anything meaningful, as discussed earlier, and I don't see the point in most cases, but maybe his 10-years-wiser writer brain took issue with the original in some way. The change that stood out the most for me was this particular character:
... everyone turned to stare at Ginger Flynn, hovering in the doorway. She was seventeen years old and she looked like a poodle. Bleach blonde hair blown up in a puff, big across the chest and extreme in the rear end. Too much make-up and clothes that proved all taste was in her mouth. "Beauty pageant's another night, darlin'," Walter snarled.NEW (Badasstronauts):
... everyone turned to stare at Tiara Flynn, hovering in the doorway. She was seventeen years old and she looked like she'd wandered in from a toddler's beauty pageant. Less than five feet tall with the makeup and nails of Whitney Houston, wearing big body curls that she'd lacquered with too much product, wearing a jewel pink hoodie and a pair of shoes made for a chihuahua, it seemed clear to everyone that all her taste was in her mouth. "Strip club's down the road a ways, darlin'," Walter snarled.For whatever reason she was renamed Tiara from Ginger, consistency matters: TWICE later she is still referred to as Ginger, leaving the Badasstronaut-only reader wondering, who the fuck is Ginger? "Find and replace all" was a bridge too far, it appears. It also struck me as odd when, one time half-way through the book, "the fact that she was Black" was thrown in as the reason why some Black people showed up to join the rocket-making crew, when this could have been established when she first appeared before a group of white rednecks in the most racist state in a racist country, rather than a detail tacked on later to be able to say, "some Black people were there also". Maybe I'm simply oblivious to subtext in her new introduction? Does "makeup of Whitney Houston" mean she's Black?
I have tried and tried to write serious, but I just can’t manage it. My hard drive is full of very dark, very intense stories I spent years writing and they are all loathed by everyone who reads them. In college I even wrote a very, very serious play about AIDS that won an award. The play was performed once and the (small) audience spent the entire three hours peeing themselves with laughter. Afterwards, people came up and told me how funny they thought it was. I wanted to make a bold statement. Instead I made people laugh. I came to realize that that wasn’t entirely a bad thing. In terms of tips, I’ve only got one and it’s not even mine. John Waters once said “Good taste is the enemy of art.” Replace “art” with “comedy” and you’ve got the formula that works for me.



