You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Aw Shit’ category.
Aboard the Battlestar Steven Francis Murphy BSG-71
Location: CIC
Mission: Damage Control and Assessment
I’m running on three hours of sleep after learning that my father is back in the hospital last night. He is having heart trouble, trouble breathing, etc, etc. So that was part of my evening last night on the eleven month anniversary of Trinity and I. Mom’s down with illness as well and I’m having a bitch of a time finding the time and energy to get enough lecture material scraped together for Western Civ.
The problem isn’t knowledge or material. That I have plenty of. No, I just need the time to write the lectures into something useable so I don’t stand there in class and babble on like an idiot. I call those lectures Falling Down the Stairs Lectures. I used to give a lot of them during my first two years of teaching and it is a horrible experience that ranks right up there with a dream where one is naked in public yet no one notices.
In other words, I hate not being fully prepared.
Worse, I hate not getting at least four hours of sleep. It is a wonder I didn’t stand there in class and drool all over myself. As it is, my military bearing and two years of experience allowed me to slug my way through both lectures this morning. I wouldn’t say it was a cheerful experience but my 0800 students seem to know that crossing me is unwise.
Apparently tales that I threw someone out at 0830 for tardiness have gotten ’round the campus (though they are somewhat inaccurate, the general gist is true). My 0930 class is a bit more spirited but that isn’t a bad thing. Some of them will get a wake up call here in a couple of weeks.
Of course the other problem is that running on three hours of sleep makes doing physical fitness training problematic. It is a great way to injury yourself and for those that aren’t following John Birmingham’s blog, be advised that he snapped his ulna in martial arts last week (probably not due to fatigue). I’ve already got some problem spots, notably along the upper right arm near the tricep, some elbow and some shoulder trouble. I don’t need to blow something out when I have a 145 pound stack of weights over my chest because I wasn’t focused.
On the other hand, I was able to get the iPods operational using a campus computer to download iTunes. The iPods are both synced and prepped. I didn’t load any music onto Trinity’s iPod as I only had one of my CDs with me. I’ll try to reload iTunes on my laptop and see if that will work. If that doesn’t work, I’ll load a few songs onto Trinity’s iPod on campus while she is at an extra credit lecture.
As for Dad, well, he’s terminal, kids. We’re all terminal but he is closer to it than most of us are. Estimates range from tomorrow to a year from now. That said, Aunt Margaret said over at my facebook that we Murphys tend to be a stubborn lot (all those bad genetics I guess). He may well outlast all of us, beat the lung cancer and come in under the five percent statistic on remission/cures.
Makes you wonder how long he’d live if he hadn’t gotten Agent Orange related crap.
YouTubeage Action: James Bond OSTs to listen to while writing
When I write some action scenes, I tend to draw upon movie sound tracks, notably those by John Barry but he is not the only one. Here are a couple of my favorites.
This is called “Space March” and it is from the You Only Live Twice soundtrack. It matches the opening scene where an American space capsule is captured by a mystery spacecraft. The scene, if you haven’t seen it, is akin to watching a snake unlock its’ jaw to consume its’ prey, slow but inevitable. The Americans, of course, blame the Russians for the incident, which gets the movie going.
In a similar vein is “007 and Counting” which is matched to the video you see now. A rocket is hijacked by our bad guys in Diamonds Are Forever. It happens to be carrying a diamond augmented laser satellite and you can see where this is going.
So it goes, kids. Repair operations continue. I’ve got to pick Trinity up later from her therapy where she is trying to get her ship back to 100% or at least as close to it as she can.
Respects,
Steven Francis Murphy
Author of The Limb Knitter and Tearing Down Tuesday
North Kansas City, Missouri
The Writing Front: Rejected
Maternal Soldier came back today after a rapid reject at the target market. A realistic take on the future of warfare as the protag tries to find herself. Too long though.
Well, I could cut the combat scenes out. 
I’m used to it with this story. It just doesn’t quite seem to make the cut. She’ll get close but not quite. I can’t quite see why it won’t get there.
Oh well. Since my day is not going the best (no, I can’t talk about it so don’t ask, not everything is broadcast here at the Tree) it may as well have come on this day.
The Writing Front: Herodotus, Socrates and Mummies?
I was joking at Facebook about a collision that was taking place in my mind with regard to my two upcoming history courses, Western Civ and American History One. The historical ingredients were all sort of mashing up with each other (perhaps that is how it is for my students?). I’ll, of course, get it all sorted out and running in the right direction by time I lecture.
That said, folks following me at Facebook said, “Write it.”
It is a new wrinkle, away from what I’ve been doing. We’ll see.
The Teaching Front
Prep continues here and there between housework, domestic duties and other obligations. I snuck away from the resupply mission to Wal-Mart to read the Ancient History textbook for my course. I’m really, truly, enjoying this textbook. I have not been able to say that about any of my previous textbooks. Yeah, they are readable but not enjoyable.
In fact I’m starting to think that our real problem is that our textbooks are so completely dumbed down that there is not enough meat and potatoes for the students to latch onto. At this rate we’ll be putting the textbook on Twitter and then the students truly won’t know a fucking thing.
On other teaching news, my second eight week course, American History II, is now maxed out. This semester I’ll have 120 students, which seems less in my mind than previous semesters. I think the reason it seems less is that I am teaching only nine hours this time around and I probably will not have to cover for anyone for longer than a day at a time. When I cover for a peer for a long period, I mentally add those students to my own overall load. So I’ve had semesters where I’ve been responsible for nearly 150 to 180 students.
About the size of two companies of infantry. If only I got an Army Captain’s pay.
Other Fronts
With my courses concentrated on Tuesday-Thursdays, I’ve been pondering part time work. The problem, especially when I am writing new notes, is finding something that will wedge into the rest of my life. I think a potential solution may be to apply for substitute teaching positions at the local school districts. This might provide a little extra money here and there. I’d have to cut a class or two in order to do this, but I don’t forsee being called that often.
I could do security again, but they’ll push for evenings and weekends. My eight week class makes evenings problematic and I hate losing my weekends.
You know, there is a solution here. I just don’t know what it is.
Respects,
Steven Francis Murphy
Author of The Limb Knitter and Tearing Down Tuesday
North Kansas City, Missouri
We’re still settling in so this is a quick note from Panera’s to say that the movement took place earlier than scheduled. Trinity and I have moved in (no thanks to a fucking worthless shitbag of an older son who may be in the Marine Corps but is no fucking Marine in my book and for those wondering this Infantryman will cheerfully say it to his face PERSONALLY if he likes).
I know plenty of Marines and we do engage in the usual interservice rivalry but this particular Marine seems to get his rocks off treating his mother like shit. And he is hiding behind his combat deployment to justify being a drunken, surly little shit.
Anyway, any other Marine who is reading this blog, if you’d like to adjust this asshole’s headspace and timing, drop me a message. I’ll cheerfully give you his name, unit and commanding officer.
Which, folks, should be a sign of just how pissed off I am. I’m not mad about the failure to help. No, I’m mad about the complete lack of respect.
In fact, we moved in with zero help.
Frankly, Trinity is more bothered by it than I am. My life has always been configured for movement sans assistance. The only piece of furniture which gave me pause was a love seat but I was able to shift it on my own without any help. Trinity’s bum shoulder prevents any work of that type. But she helped with 90% of the gear that could be moved with one hand.
We’re quite a team.
And this entry is a bit longer than I planned. She is still at the Pod working over the laundry. I had to check e-mail to see if anything came in from the Client or if there were any last minute end of semester issues (there is on the later).
I suspect before too long the chapters will flow in hot and heavy from the Client. I am used to handling five chapters or more when there is nothing else distracting me. By Wednesday Trinity will be in her new job on campus so I’ll have time to get the work done.
So it goes.
Respects,
Steven Francis Murphy
Author of The Limb Knitter and Tearing Down Tuesday
The Limb Knitter-Part Two is available at the Beam Me Up Podcast hosted by Paul Cole.
Research Project Number – 04
Well, it took me long enough to sort out what the issue was with the latest chapter. Turns out it was a reading malfunction on my part. Once I got it sorted, it was a simple matter to make the changes, which are mainly detail and cosmetic in nature.
The project is moving slowly, partly due to the various disasters which affect life on my side of the aisle and obligations on the client’s side of things. Still, we are moving forward.
The Teaching Front
I got most of the tests from last Friday graded. Results were surpising given the essay question from hell I gave them.
From 1898 to 1919 we have watched the United States of America evolve from a regional power in the Western Hemisphere to a global power on par with the imperialist nation states of Europe. Describe, in detail, the specific historical event which brought about this transition and the motivation behind this event. Further, describe the evolution of American Power from 1898 to 1919. Use additional historical examples from your understanding of the lectures and hte reading to describe your understanding of this time period.
You know, to me, it doesn’t seem that difficult. Yet during the fifty minute period I had only two students turn their test in. The other students furiously scribbled past time and I had to sardine them all into a conference room while they finished. One glaring problem I noticed in the lead up to the exam were outlines which confused domestic policy with foreign policy. This essay question is essentially a foreign policy question (yes, you can split hairs and say that without a good domestic policy you won’t have a good foreign policy) yet outlines provided events from Theodore Roosevelt’s Domestic Agenda.
So I threw a bonus question on the test for five points asking the students to describe the difference between foreign and domestic policy. They also had to provide historical examples from the time period in question.
The majority of the students didn’t bother to answer it. They should have as it explains why some of them had trouble.
That said, results were positive for many.
I do, however, need to generate an essay for the third exam which does not chew up more than fifty minutes. Many students have classes at 0900 and that isn’t fair to them.
Physical Fitness Front
Trinity and I hit the gym today for a workout. We did mainly lower body work as she is due for some medical work on the upper body. We put in three miles around Macken Park on their track enjoying a glimpse of springtime sunny weather. After this we hit the pool for some hot tub and water slide time.
Not a bad way to spend part of the afternoon.
The Rest of the Day
We camped out at Panera’s in Gladstone where Trinity said, “I get more homework done here than anywhere else. Why is that?”
“Because there is food here?” I replied.
Respects,
Steven Francis Murphy
Author of The Limb Knitter and Tearing Down Tuesday
When it rains it pours. Let’s run ‘em by the numbers.
First, The Crosseyed Bitch (the soon to be reluctantly mine ZX-2) failed inspection. Bad brake pads on the right front (which explains why it pulls to the right even though I think I mentioned that before) and a bad light.
Cost so far? We’re looking at $380. I see it this way, $100 lost from substitute teaching and another $280 for repairs. Granted, my parents will cover the $280 but the day was a costly one.
And of course it wouldn’t pass inspection. Did any of you honestly think it would? That would be too easy by far if it did.
It gets better.
My father almost certainly has lung cancer.
If you add up his ailments, we have prostate cancer and multiple myeloma (a blood cancer as I understand it) along with a heart muscle that more or less resembles a chunk of hamburger. It really is a medical miracle that he is still alive since his diagnosis in 1995. Throw the lung cancer along with some potential kidney troubles and one has to ask, even if they do not care for the man (and I generally don’t) just what bowl of cereal he pissed in for this.
It will be hard on my mother especially.
Then again, I suspect he’ll soldier on through it
All of this generalized chaos impacted everything else today. I suppose it is no surprise since 19th March is the day Operation Iraqi Freedom started in 2003. Just meant to be a shitty day I guess.
One is almost afraid to ask what tomorrow will bring. Frankly, I don’t want to know at this point.
Respects,
Steven Francis Murphy
Author of The Limb Knitter and Tearing Down Tuesday
Aboard the Battlestar Steven Francis Murphy BSG-71
Location: In the Field
Mission: The Usual
Mood: Frazzled and Irritable
Ever wonder what happened to your spare time? I wonder what happened to mine. There are days when I feel like I do not get any spare time at all. Zip, zilch, zero. None.
Sometimes you just need some space to breathe.
Or more to the point, sometimes you wish you could be someone else for a few days. Or maybe that person you used to be that had a lot of time to themselves without any demands from anyone at all.
If wishes were fishes.
Vehicles
For example, my parents are hot on my fucking ass about getting a vehicle inspected which will, in turn, be transferred over to me. Lock, stock and barrel. We’ve done this sort of thing before and it always ends badly.
By badly I mean that the vehicle almost ALWAYS has some sort of problem. My parents would argue otherwise but regardless the end result is a catastrophic mechanical failure which costs me time, money and endless aggravation to clear. I have an itching feeling this is about to happen again.
Yet my balls are in a vise because I’m still stuck where I was in 1995.
Car?
Or
Rent?
I do not make enough to cover both.
So I miss out on an opportunity to subistitute (a hundred bucks for an hour of work) in order to get this fucking car inspected for the big transfer which CAN NOT WAIT at least ONE GOD DAMNED FUCKING MONTH.
Can’t wait. MUST BE DONE RIGHT FUCKING NOW!
So, that is one thing that has me pissed completely the fuck off.
The Teaching Front
We moved to the end of the World War One in my 0800 American History II class. I have a test that needs to be prepped but I have to pull it out of my ass tomorrow before 1400 hours because the FUCKING CAR HAS TO BE INSPECTED RIGHT FUCKING NOW!
So there is four hours of my life shot down the fucking toilet again. After I shot another six down the shitter last week waiting on another place to pull their head out of their ass and get to it.
Can you tell that I am not happy about this car deal?
In any case, the test has to be prepped and to the copy center by Thursday or I’ll be hard pressed to run the test on Friday. Not that anyone gives a fuck about that.
In the Noon Substitute class we finished the French Indian war and are moving toward the Pre-Revolutionary Period. The upshot about this work is that it means my May Paycheck will be substantial.
The irritating part about that May Paycheck is that if only we were willing to wait ONE FUCKING GOD DAMNED MONTH I’d be able to get all of this crap with the FUCKING CAR under control. But my schedule be fucking damned because it has to be done RIGHT FUCKING NOW!
In the second eight week class we started American Reconstruction. They are suffering as much with that material as I am with this car so it is safe to say that while misery may love company, I do not feel any better knowing they are miserable along side me.
So it goes on that front.
The Writing Front: Rogue Knitter
There is no progress because I have all of this other stuff to do including the car which has to be dealt with RIGHT FUCKING NOW!
See a pattern? Historians are trained to see patterns. I see a god damned fucking pattern.
Research Project Number – 04
No progress here. See above. The same chapter is still sitting in my hopper and I can’t fucking get to it due to the car, people talking to me, people in my shit, people chewing up gobs of time, etc, etc, etc.
Work? Why should I do any god damned fucking work? Heaven forbid that I concentrate on the two fucking things that might move me into the fucking future. I’m tied down with all of this other crap that can’t wait and it has to be done RIGHT FUCKING NOW!
So, tell us how you really feel?
Like I can’t get a damned thing done. I guess I’m supposed to quit teaching and writing, shove my dreams up my ass and spend my time working at what my father calls “A real job” (like the one I have isn’t fucking real enough).
For the record, we would not be on this side trip off of the original course of my life if my father had been just a little bit more fucking supportive when I started college. I’d have my commission as an officer in the Army, be a Major right about now and well on my way toward a tolerable retirement.
And for the record, I’m getting tired of the following things.
1. Being told I’m an idiot with the money. If you hold this opinion, kindly shove it up your ass.
2. Being told I’m hard on the vehicles. The vehicles tend to be shit to start with. See point one.
3. Being told I’m selfish and self centered. Umm, I do have obligations that stretch beyond the fucking car that has to be inspected RIGHT FUCKING NOW and other issues.
4. Being called an Idiot in general (even if it is a joke, the joke is wearing mighty god damned thin).
5. General efforts to reduce my autonomy. If I want a loss of autonomy, I’ll join the Army (and yes, I can get around the medical issues so do not think for a fucking instant that I can’t).
The Fencing Front
Something good to report. I tried some advice, fencing without my glasses on. It seems like odd advice but most of my fights were without glasses and I won most of them. In my two bouts I won one with cleaner hits and no off target strikes. In my second bout I narrowly lost to my opponent (4/5) but I still did better than previously.
Good news on this front.
Respects,
Steven Francis Murphy
Author of The Limb Knitter and Tearing Down Tuesday
Maybe something else someday if I can get some fucking time to work on it.
Aboard the Battlestar Steven Francis Murphy BSG-71
Location: Classified
Mission: Pondering the Future. Yes, Again.
The Good News Fronts First
I’ve got good news and I’ve got a rant coming. I’ll do the good first.
Without Warning Fan Fiction: The Falcon Masters
If you trot on over to Cheeseburger Gothic you can see my fan fiction piece for John Birmingham’s novel, Without Warning. It is getting a good bit of reaction and pondering at the present time. I was inspired to send it to John when he published Jose Clavell’s own fan fiction piece, which is also thought provoking, changed my mind about Puerto Rico and features the F-16.
It looks like the response to both stories means that Savo will dust off his editor’s cap and resurrect The Mini-Burger here at WordPress. I may work up something specific for that project later this week. We shall see.
So, if you are looking for fresh Murphy product, go to Cheeseburger Gothic.
The Publication/Podcast Front: The Limb Knitter
Kudos to SF Signal for giving me this idea. SFSignal is a news blog of sorts with a heavy amount of daily links salad. One of those links led me to these folks.
http://www.wrfr.org/
In particular, it led me to the Beam Me Up Podcast run by Paul Cole. Ted Kosmatka has a story up at this community radio station in podcast form right now. After a look at the submission guidelines, I figured it couldn’t hurt to drop Paul a line.
I sent him both of my published, paid stories. Tearing Down Tuesday is probably too far over the line and Paul said as much. However, The Limb Knitter past muster and it looks like, if all goes according to plan, that Paul will have The Limb Knitter on his podcast before the end of the Semester. Jason Sizemore at Apex gave his nod to the project so we’re rolling.
If this goes according to plan, this will be the first time one of my stories has been read for podcast format. It will be broadcast on the community radio station as well. If time permits, I’m going to listen to the live broadcast.
So, good news there as well. Everyone wins. I get a plug, Apex gets a plug, Paul has a story he likes and can podcast. Everyone is happy.
What more can you ask for?
The Writing Front: Rogue Knitter
Word Count: 1300
I worked on an overall plot outline today. I’ve already got an ending in mind for it, which is a good sign. I’ll try to write another 250 to 300 words later.
Other News
On other fronts it is yet another day of wondering why, just why, can’t I get some very basic needs met. Here are some pet peeves of mine.
1. Don’t look over my shoulder when I’m at the computer.
I hate this. I have always hated this. It drives me absolutely fucking batshit. It isn’t about privacy. I will actually print whatever it is off and give it to someone if they’ll just get off my shoulder. Honest.
2. If I’m typing and your talking, I soon won’t be typing, especially if you are talking to me.
Human communication in the form of vocalization is akin to leaving a mike keyed on a radio network. I’m typing along and all of the sudden someone is talking to me or talking loud enough for it to trip my thoughts up. You can imagine what it is like when I start typing what they are saying as opposed to what I was thinking.
That is if I do not stop and stare at them. Or pound the keyboard (been done before but not lately).
3. I am not being difficult when I ask a question.
No such thing as a stupid question, right? Well, some folks see questions as irritants. I am like this sometimes but even I realize there is a need to answer them, even the irritating stupid ones (which is why my classes have specific times available for that task).
Not everyone who is asking a question is trying to be difficult. Or start a fight, or anything else. They just want a fucking answer.
Lately I’ve thought that maybe, in addition to a number of other things which are pressing against me, that I should just say fuck it and rejoin the Army. To hell with the, “Well, if you deploy to a combat zone, you’ll get blown into a veggie.” If I am going to get hollered at, ordered around, ignored when I ask questions, or whatever then I figure I may as well go reenlist and at least get paid for the privilege.
Sometimes enough is enough.
Now I’m going to go let my brain turn to mush for a couple of hours.
And for the record, it isn’t just any one individual who is causing this trouble. Many parties are guilty. If you are a Pondering Tree reader and exist in my reality (rule of thumb is that if we’ve got a continent or an ocean between us, it ain’t you) maybe you get a fraction of it.
On we go.
Respects,
Steven Francis Murphy
Author of The Limb Knitter and Tearing Down Tuesday
Aboard the Battlestar Steven Francis Murphy BSG-71
Location: Situation Room
Mission: Pondering
The Writing Front: Rusty
I’m rusty. That is all there is to say about it. I am rusty. Over the last couple of days I have tried to write a few items for various projects, some of which I can’t really get into. They are projects I should have some strength in, mainly combat scenes or scenes leading to combat. And yet . . .
Nancy Kress blogged about this matter a few months back. It is much akin to the sensation one gets after taking too much time away from the gym. I have trouble with certain writing tasks anyway, namely a more leisurely and detail filled descriptive narrative as opposed to the tight, minimalist form I am used to. However it is more than that. I am having trouble with writing tasks I am strong at. Oh, it won’t take as long to get back into the swing but still, the issue concerns me.
Healing Hands of the Killer is up for recycle for an anthology project that will be taking submissions here in the next couple of months. I need to get the dust and rust knocked off the cocks and sprockets or I am going to have a hell of a time getting that story ready. And at some point I really ought to see about writing something new.
Maybe I’ll get to do that this summer.
Speaking of Summer . . .
Well, it doesn’t look like there will be any teaching per se. Though I have heard different stories on this and to be fair, the story changed a couple of dozen times before the semester ended. At the last minute I got feelers to cover one class but I begged off out of a certain level of first year fatigue and an abiding sense of doom over trying to write a new batch of lecture notes on the fly during the summer semester for American History One.
Of course, all I did was delay the inevitable. I spent last fall writing the notes on the fly and in every respect (in my opinion) they are inferior to my American History Two notes.
So here is what I have to do. I have to try and keep my options open for a teaching slot should one appear. I have heard various rumors that something might pop up yet. On the other hand, I can’t count on that slot so I need to find a summer job again.
Oh, and I have to do this when the unemployment rate is at 8.1 percent and rising. Great. The pragmatic move would be to apply to all of the security companies and wait for an assignment. I’d like to do this about as much as I’d like to tenderize my testicles with a ballpeen hammer.
There are, of course, options. I’ll try to apply for some of them this week. What I’d like, if I have to stay local, is to sit at some local lake collecting user fees while reading and writing. That would be ideal even if the pay is not the best. Barring that, there are a couple of out of town options, one of which would be a science fictional option of sorts that I would enjoy. There is the possiblity of traveling to California to stay with Trinity’s relatives (the saner ones, I hope, as the ones in Missouri make Jerry Springer’s guests look down right restrained).
It used to be, once upon a time, that summer was the time of The GREAT HOPE.
Now it is the time of The GREAT UNCERTAINTY.
Things worth reading: Here Be Monsters by John Birmingham and Friends
Awhile back when Journalspace was still operational, John Birmingham set up a sort of round robin writing exercise for a zombie story set in an alternate history circa 1800. The British First Fleel arrives in a place called Sydney to find a ruined city of steel and glass overrun by . . . well, zombies. We are told the story through the eyes of Lieutenant General Sir Watkin Tench in an address to the Royal Society in 1808.
In our own history, if memory serves, the First Fleet would have encountered a world class harbor and settled there. They would not have found Sydney in any state other than her natural one. However some event seems to have zapped Sydney from the future, one where she is infested with Zombies, into this past. Tench relates in chilling detail the efforts of the British sailors, marines and their prisoner-colonists to deal with the Scourge and save the survivors from the future.
This story can be found in the Australian Anthology Dreaming Again edited by Jack Dann. John gave me a copy as part of a gift pack he brought over from the Land Down Under. It is nice to see the finished product of that round robin, even though I did not participate in it. I knew I was out of my depth on the matter.
However, if you can snatch a copy, give it a read. It has my recommendation.
So it goes.
Respects,
Steven Francis Murphy
Author of The Limb Knitter and Tearing Down Tuesday
Conventions.
I do not normally do them. In fact, I have a deep and abiding dislike of crowds in general. So when John Birmingham said he was slated to do Comicon and asked if I wanted a pass, I had to admit that I went back and forth in my own head about it.
John will be there, so it’ll be cool.
Umm, so will a pissload of other people, who will probably not be cool.
Granted, I do not consider myself to be the grand purveyor of cool points. Further, as a Civil War reenactor of four years standing (since retired as the war only lasted four, why should I fight longer?) I really do not have much room to snicker at people who dress up in funny clothes.
Well, umm, aside from the reality that the Civil War did happen and reenactors do provide some sort of educational value whereas someone in a Storm Trooper outfit probably doesn’t. And sure, I’ll be the first to admit that some of this gear is pretty cool but to see it all gathered en mass without any sort of regimentation at all is just a bit much.
So when we arrived at the convention center on 34th Street, which reminded one of the Crystal Pavilion of London (though at the time I couldn’t even remember the name of the damned thing, that is how out of it I was) it was a bit . . . strange, to find oneself buffetted by so many levels of Media Fandom. It is easy to see why the Snottier Literati Wannabes of the SF community complain about.
That said, conventions in general are not my thing. I like guns, but I don’t go to gun shows. I like books but I generally do not go to book signings unless John Birmingham is there or maybe Nancy Kress. I’m really, truly, deeply, not a crowd sort of guy. And this place had such a miasma of hormonal nervousness that it put my teeth on edge.
So what’s to say? Well, these folks are potential customers and they all seem to like either science fiction or fantasy. They seem to be younger, in the 12 to 28 age group though there were some older ones running around. They were enjoying themselves and it was their convention. As such, I should not be doing anything more than reporting on what I saw, which was a massive opportunity to open your wallet and shove it down a deep hole for something like Frank Miller’s Black and White Batman, which was on our traveling gift list. Since it was priced at ninety dollars US I immediately hit the Command Veto Button on that Fiscal Fire Mission and informed Trinity that the person wanting that item could find it on Ebay if they liked but I wasn’t subsidizing it.
Birmo and I were joined by CraigWA, Tarl having decided that Friday was a geekout dose too far for him. For a couple of hours we wandered around in various stages of awe, horror, fascination, bemusement and then awe again. I gotta say that the take away prizes were the Stormtroopers and the men dressed up as Ghostbusters, complete with particle accelerator packs.
I think I’d have been more impressed if there had been some test firing of the implements in question but Comicon, as is much of NYC, appears to be a Weapons Safe Zone. The fucking killjoys.
John was slated for a panel on Science Fiction and Fantasy writing which was advertised to be content free. At the same time I had a wounded Trinity back at the local anchorage in need of my attention as well as John’s leave to attend to her if needs must. I was going to manfully stick it out for both panels but after a dose of the first one decided to throw in the towel.
Why? Well, I can’t remember the person’s name but the panel drove on into the standard issue Gender Discrimination Score Points for Political Correctness issue to which my brain muttered, “Ho hum, here we go again.”
Fortunately for me, Trinity called on the cell at just that moment, preventing me from going to Weapons Free on a person I didn’t even know.
I picked up a couple of Star Wars stuffed toys for Trinity, who is a Star Wars fan. She felt bad about not going until she saw the light saber fight on YouTube and some of the flickr shots.
“Maybe staying in bed with a busted knee was better,” she said.
“Babe,” (yes, I call her babe, get the fuck over it because she calls me that too) I said, “a root canal without novacaine would be better.”
Thus it was decided by the Burger Meister, CraigWA and Myself to egress on foot for our lodgings. We made the hike from 34th Street to 52nd in short order. Birmo had to return for a suvudu.com interview (which still hasn’t appeared on the internet as I type this) for Without Warning. Craig, meanwhile, obtained intel on carriage rides through Central Park.
I, on the other hand, had work to do of the non writing related sort. Birmo was slated for a private function that evening so Trinity and I would be flying solo.
More on that later.
Umm, yes, I know there are no pictures. Go to flickr and punch in NYC Comicon and you’ll find a shitload of pictures. Trust me.
Oh, there was one delicious little bit of pleasure to be had. More than a few of my American SF literati PC Nazis attended this function. Without their realizing it, I passed within mere feet of them.
In one case, very close.
Fortunately, I’m not the crazy nutter I’m often marked out to be by these assholes.
Right?
Respects,
Steven Francis Murphy
Author of The Limb Knitter and Tearing Down Tuesday
Expeditionary Report: NYC 2009
At 0545 hours Friday morning, Trinity and I flew out on a Midwest Air Boeing 717 for NYC, with a layover in Milwaukee. I had not flown on a plane of any type in sixteen years so the changes were some what interesting. The Midwest Air 717 was fitted with leather seats throughout the aircraft. It was a comfortable flight with no real problems from pressure, ear popping or the like.
We arrived at LaGuardia on time and picked up our bags. The weather was cloudy and cold. A GoShuttle took us from the airport to the hotel.
Now the ride was not much worse than trips I have taken in vehicles in Saudi Arabia and Korea. Vehicles missing each other by mere inches, near collisions, lots of honking, that sort of thing. Trinity, on the other hand, was a bit more concerned.
The first hitch was that we could not check into the room until 1600 hours. Trinity and I, thus, had some time on our hands. The hotel did store our bags while we made our first foray into Manhattan. Among our first stops we hit a hot dog stand, which Trinity said was the best she had ever had, a Starbucks for a hot venti tea (it was cold and I found I was stopped up something fierce), our first run through Times Square (depicted in the below entry) followed by a wandering and meandering trip that brought us to the New York Public Library.
At the Library we signed up for NYC Library cards (which John later pointed out, enabled us to outgeek everyone at Comicon) and toured the building. We did see the fabled reading room on the third floor, which featured an internet facility at one end.
Got into some trouble for hitting the internet (quality time in NYC, is a precious thing, kids) and we’ll skip that part of the trip. Needless to say, some patching up was required.
We finally got checked into the hotel room a little early (for some reason the hotel staff took some pity on us).
So, what to say about the hotel? Well . . . for now, let us simply say that we did not get the best room. We had a jacuzzi bathtub that did not work in jacuzzi mode and it was at least four to six inches higher than any tub Trinity and I were used to. We both slipped in the damned thing.
I slipped getting into the thing, nearly knocking Trinity over. I managed to break her fall (just barely) and save the day. It was for naught as she fell later on getting out, truly busting up one of her legs and putting a hitch in her giddyap for the rest of the weekend.
Birmo himself was tied down with obligations at Random House but he made contact with us around four or so (perfect timing). I met him down in the hotel bar for a drink while we waited for Trinity to get her battle rattle on.
It is interesting to meet someone in person after years of corresponding to them via the internet, first by e-mail and lately by Skype. Birmo has a way of gliding across the floor that he probably picked up from martial arts training. He’s low key in his speech with a very dry sense of humor. We exchanged hostages, fudge in our case from Missouri (he had received a care pack of BBQ stuff previously) and books/wine in his case. Trinity became the proud owner of a copy of He Died with a Felafel in His Hand and I got three books. More on those later.
Took our first true cab ride to 18th Street to meet CraigWA and Tarl of New Hampshire. It was the first cab I’ve flagged down since Korea and I was trying to do this during the height of rush hour and shift change.
“Why is it taking so long?” Birmo asked.
“Yeah, why aren’t the cabs stopping, babe?” Trinity asked.
“It is rush hour and shift change,” I replied. “I read it somewhere. Between three and six is the worst time to try to get a cab. Trinity, why don’t you show some ankle or something?”
I was, however, able to flag one down. With a little bit more effort on Birmo’s part on the communication’s side, we linked up with Craig and Tarl at Rosano’s.
Mexican in NYC? Yeah, it does seem like some sort of punch line to a joke, doesn’t it? It was recommended to Birmo by his peeps at Random House so Mexican it was. I tried to get some photographs but the combination sangria, whiskey and Dos Equis made my photographs virutally unuseable. Craig and Tarl both had far superior cameras and perhaps they came off better.
CraigWA and Tarl both are in the IT industry with the former working in Scotland and the later working in the States. Tarl had reconned Comicon early on Friday and decided one trip was enough.
I wish I could say I heard more of the conversation but by now my left ear felt as if it was stuffed with sludge. Craig and Trinity had a very animated conversation, of which I could hear very little. Instead I talked to Birmo and Tarl, which eventually lead to a discussion about After America, the current project.
An arm wrestling match nearly ensued over the ticket, which Tarl won.
We walked back to the hotel, dropping off various members of our party along the way. NYC is, in some odd ways, smaller than you think, bigger in others. Getting from 18th Street to 52nd Street did not take near as long as it would if you tried that in Kansas City.
After a night cap, Friday shop was closed up. The rest of the events are classified Top Secret Ultra.
Overall, a good first night though I was already catching a horrible cold. My ears were jammed, my sinuses compacted and the tub slippage incidents were rather worrisome.
There was a bit of humor involving some texting but I think we’ll keep that on the downlow.
More on the next pass.
Respects,
Steven Francis Murphy
Author of The Limb Knitter and Tearing Down Tuesday
Those that done said stuff