Oren Lavie’s Her Morning Elegance video is quite a treat. The music reminds me of a cross between Nick Drake and Michael Franks. The video is reminiscent of Peter Gabriel’s Steamroller from the 80’s, rich with nonsensical imagery rendered by stop action photography. The images are presented within the context of a young lady dreaming in bed. Give it a watch, if you haven’t seen it.
Oren Lavie's "Her Morning Elegance"
We had a rare White Christmas in Texas! (Okay, the snow didn’t quite cover the the tops of the grass.)
At least one of the dogs liked it:
Merry Christmas!
NASA put together a nice little “dance of the planets” video of Saturn’s moons as filmed by Cassini, put to the music of “The Nutcracker.”
Merry Christmas!
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| Jack Kerouac |
I recently encountered this quote from Jack Kerouac. It pretty much sums up the reason I write:
I want to work in revelations, not just spin silly tales for money. I want to fish as deep down as possible into my own subconscious in the belief that once that far down, everyone will understand because they are the same that far down.
— Jack Kerouac
I had a great time at FenCon this year. This makes the sixth year I’ve made it to FenCon.
Rather than give a complete blow-by-blow, I’m just going to hit the highlights. I’m sure a lot happened that I won’t even touch on, since there are so many tracks to follow.
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| Keith R. A. DeCandido Conducting Writer’s Workshop at Fencon VI |
I had pretty much committed to myself that I wouldn’t do the writer’s workshop this year. It’s not that I don’t enjoy doing them . . . I love doing them. But the time commitment is fairly substantial. If you’re in class with nineteen other writers, that’s nineteen critiques you have to do. That’s a lot of crits.
But then I heard that Keith R. A. DeCandido was teaching the class, and that it was to be a series of lectures and question and answer sessions with no crits involved. Count me in. And I’m glad I attended. Keith did a great job of covering the business side of writing. And as he put it, he tried to cover the topics that no one else covers. He did an excellent job.
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| Filker Tom Smith |
The Filk presence at FenCon continues to be strong. Carla Ulbrich was the musical guest of honor. She’s always been one of my favorites. She’s an excellent entertainer and performer. Her hubby, Joe G performed also. He’s technically dazzling, interjecting Michael Hedges-like two-handed tapping techniques, and his own brand of humor. And Tom Smith was at his hilarious best.
I went to several panels, and they were all good. Of special note was the “Endings” panel with C.T. Adams, Paul Black, Lois McMaster Bujold, Paul Cornell, and my friend Julia Mandala. As the panel put it, lots of people hammer into our heads the importance of starting a story off with a bang. But ending with a memorable ending that is surprising yet satisfying is a huge challenge and often overlooked.
The DIY Self-Promotion for Writers and Artists with Kurt Miller, Real Musgrave, Muff Musgrave, Gloria Oliver, Rie Rose, Steve Wedel, and Cat Conrad was excellent. I heard this same theme time and again at FenCon this year: There’s only one person in charge of your career: You.
The main guests were great. Paul Cornell is insane. In a good way. I also enjoyed Lois McMaster Bujold. Her keynote address wasn’t a speech at all. Right away she opened up the session to questions. The audience kept her busy. The session could have gone on for hours.
One of my perennial favorites is the “Four Redheads of the Apocalypse”
press conference, where Yard Dog Press writers, and friends, Linda L. Donahue, Julia S. Mandala, Dusty Rainbolt, and Rhonda Eudaly presented a press conference–in character–each of them portraying their character creations in FROTA. The session was capped off by a visit from Selina (Satan) Rosen who maintained the force her evil will by threatening to punish the disobedient by making them eat barbecued marshmallows.
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| R2D2 at FenCon VI |
Of particular interest was the life-sized R2D2 showcased by Glenn Pipe from Dallas Personal Robotics Group. R2D2 is a remote controlled robot that Glenn has been working on for many months. It moves about and makes the endearing sounds of the “realthing.” One really cool aspect of R2 is that he has an onboard camera and Wi-Fi that allows passers by to “tune in” with a personal device such as an iPhone, and see what R2 sees. Glenn can also use an iPhone as a remote control for R2D2. This is really cool stuff.
The thing that probably floated my boat more than anything was Howard Waldrop. I caught “An Hour With Howard Waldrop” hosted by Brad Denton.
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| Howard Waldrop at FenCon VI |
Stories (the spoken kind) flew as Brad and Howard regaled the audience with tales of days gone by. During the session, Brad questioned Howard about the myths and legends of Howard Waldrop, and Howard debunked or affirmed them. Brad recounted of having heard that some fans had seen Howard on an elevator at a con just minutes before he was to participate in a reading of his works. Howard wrote studiously on a yellow legal pad. Legend has it that when asked what he was working on, he told his fans that he was finishing the story he would be reading to his audience in a few short minutes.
I attended Howards reading on Sunday. And sure enough, moments before his reading, I saw him seated in the hotel bar, writing in his yellow pads. Later he confessed that he was notactually writing the story. Rather he was transcribing it into larger print so he could see to read it. Hearing Howard read was a real treat.
That’s it for this year. I hope to see you at the next con.
A quick note about posts older than March 22, 2006: These posts originally appeared in my first blog run under the moniker of MoonDawg. Why a pseudonymn? I couldn’t say for sure. It just seemed a little safer . . . a little more fun.
But I really enjoyed writing many of those posts, so I have decided to migrate them over to this blog. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them.
I recently took my moon-dawg.com blog site down, but you can see these posts in their original format here.
My daughter Shae and I went to see Final Destination 3 the other day. I didn’t enjoy Final Destination One and Two all that much, so I didn’t expect to enjoy FD3. But I came to a realization: This movie doesn’t try to build dramatic tension by posing the question, “How will these kids get out of this terrible jam?” Rather it tries to be entertaining by posing the question, “What sick and twisted way will each of these kids bite the big one?” Once you come to terms with that, you can relax and enjoy the gorefest.
So a few days later, we are at Shae’s school for a parent/teacher conference. Shae is in a cheerful mood.
“My dad and I went to see Final Destination 3,” she says to her teacher.
Ms. Covington raises an eyebrow as if to say “Nice wholesome entertainment.”
Come on, I say to myself. She’s almost seventeen.
“My dad laughed every time someone died,” she said.
“I did not,” I protested.
“Yes you did,” she said.
So I thought about it. Some of the deaths were pretty funny, but I don’t think I laughed when the nail gun used a girl’s head for a pincushion, or when the preppy chicks turned into french-fries in the tanning beds. But I did laugh at some of the others.
“Okay, maybe I laughed at some of them,” I said.
“He was the only one laughing,” she continued.
Now, I’m starting to feel bad.
So we go into her counselor’s office.
“We saw Final Destination 3. Dad laughed every time someone died.”
Nice, the counselor said, not with words, but with her expression.
A few days later, she tells me, “Hey Dad, everyone thinks you’re twisted for laughing every time someone died in FD3.”
Everyone? “Who all did you tell?”
“My friends, my friends’ parents. My psychiatrist.”
“Your shrink? You told your shrink?”
She smiled smugly.
So I am thinking, A) No wonder this kid has a psychiatrist. Her dad laughs every time someone dies. B) Her psychiatrist is probably signing the papers now to have me committed.
So, I’ve been waiting ever since for the other shoe to fall.
One more time, as loud as you can, how does it go?
Shae, my 16-year-old daughter, had an unfortunate encounter with the side of the garage while backing out our 1990 Honda Accord. Ripped the bumper clean off. I had other mechanical issues with the car, so I took it down to the local repair shop.
“And while you’re looking at it,” I said, “Could you see if you guys can get the front bumper back on? It’s sittin’ in the back seat.”
“The bumper?” asked Jack, one of the nicest service writers you’ll ever meet. “You mean the bumper cover? It’s a big plastic piece.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That thing.”
The bumper is that big black ugly thing that the bumper cover attaches to.
As Jack busied himself at the computer, Cecilia and Brandon, the other service writers on duty, made small talk.
Jack typed in all the things we had discussed. He typed, asked a question, then typed some more.
Finally he asked, “How do you spell ‘fascia’?”
Fascia?
That stopped Cecilia and Brandon stone cold. “What?” They asked in unison. Cecilia looked at Jack like he had worms crawling out of his ears.
“I think it starts with an ‘F’,” I offered.
“What are you talking about?” Brandon asked.
“The bumper cover,” Jack replied. “It’s called a fascia.”
Now, Brandon looked at Jack like he had worms crawling out of his ears.
“Just say ‘bumper cover’,” Brandon said with no enthusiasm. The coffee hadn’t yet kicked in. “Those guys back there won’t know what you’re talking about if you say ‘fascia’.”
Jack nodded. “Bumper cover.”
Darned six-cylinder words.
***
This incident reminded me of another brush with an anomalous vocabulary that happened a few years back.
Daughter Ray, who’s now 20, was a freshman in high school. Her freshman year, she was a cheerleader. A big football game was coming up, and the girls were in the gym making signs. Signs like “Go ‘Stangs!” and “Yea, Team!”
Ray and her cheerleader friends busied themselves with painting signs and hanging them in the gym so the signs could be transported to the football field once they were dry.
In walks the coach. He eyes each of the signs, smiling and nodding. His eye catches one sign in particular, and he reads it out loud.
“Pul-ver-ize the Panthers.”
He pauses for a moment and then says, “Girls, you can’t use big words like that. This is football. Those guys out there on the field aren’t going to know what you’re talking about.”
Pul-ver-ize.
He turns and leaves.
Sheesh! Darned six-cylinder words.
Just a little background: I am the IT Director for a “major market research company” in the Dallas area. I’ve been working for the same company going on 28 years.
A few years ago I was standing around, talking to a few of our software developers, reminiscing about Star Wars.
“Yeah,” said Brandon. “Star Wars was great. Anything that came before it was blown completely out of the water. Nothing even came close.”
“Yeah,” said Greg. “Say, what Star Wars toys did you have?”
“Everything,” replied Brandon. “I had all the action figures, a couple of light sabers. But the coolest were the Imperial Walkers.”
The others chimed in with oohs and ahs. Yeah. Imperial Walkers.
I was beset by a sudden wave of melancholy. Don’t get me wrong. This was all well and good. I love Star Wars. I love talking about Star Wars. You will find no greater Star Wars fan than me anywhere in the galaxy. But the conversation had taken an unexpected turn.
Star Wars toys. Hmmm.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You guys had Star Wars toys when you were kids?”
“Yeah,” said Greg enthusiastically. “Imperial Cruisers, Imperial Walkers. Light sabers. Action figures. You name it.” He raised an eyebrow. “You mean you didn’t?”
I studied the coffee stain on the floor. It somehow resembled Princess Leia’s hairdo.
I realize that I suddenly felt a little out of place in this conversation, and I wondered if my hair was looking a little grayer than usual.
Finally, I blurted out what was on my mind.
“I didn’t have Star Wars toys because I was working here when Star Wars came out.”
Eyes grew wide, and there were snickers all around. “Sucks to be you,” someone said.
Yeah. It sucks to be me.
“Don’t you guys have something to do?” I finally said and stormed off.
***
Memories of all this came flooding in the other day as my family and I watched When Star Wars Ruled the World, a behind-the-scenes documentary about the making of Star Wars. It aired on VH1.
The documentary was talking about how many times people had seen Star Wars in the theater when it first came out.
Some people had seen it scores of times. In an interview with Kevin Smith, he talked about how he was relieved when Revenge of the Jedi finally came out because he knew he was never going to get laid if he was traipsing off to the movies all the time going to see Star Wars.
“How many times did you see Star Wars, Dad?” asked Ray, my 20-year-old daughter.
“You mean in the theater? Not counting on video?”
“Yeah. In the theater.”
“I think I saw it seven times.”
Ray laughed. I love it when Ray laughs. She has this evil sounding cackle.
“Seven? You saw it seven times?”
“In the theater,” I said. Of course I knew where she was going with this, but I thought it would be fun to play along. “I know that kind of pales to 28 times that some of these guys saw it.”
My wife looks up from her magazine. “I don’t think she’s laughing at you because you only saw it seven times. She’s thinking that even seven was excessive.”
Rachel is smirking. Her finger and thumb go to her forehead in the shape of an “L”.
“Oh, wait a minute,” I continued. “That only counts the times I saw it the first time around. I saw it at least two more times in the theater with you guys when they re-released it a few years back. That makes nine.”
Rachel covered her mouth and pointed at me.
Heavy sigh.
I turned up the volume on the TV to drown out the snickering so I could hear more of the tale that told of an age a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, when Star Wars did rule the world, and I secretly sat in the theater rapt in wonder, hoping someone would show up and give me my father’s light saber and whisk me off to save the galaxy.