Whose Flag Is This?

Anybody know?

I saw it the other day, and thought it was quite interesting.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Run it up the flagpole and see who salutes it."\\

Magic Eight-Balls Got Legs

They were sitting on our doorstep, much the way the Magic Eight-Ball arrived on our doorstep some weeks ago, with three black suction cups and a note explaining that they were "Eight-Ball legs". Well, okay, then they must be....

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Thank you."\\

[Update: Finally did find out who was doing all that stuff. He came by while we were in and gave us a "cuestick" (not sure what it really is, but it's pretty) to go with the ball. And its legs.]

I Forgive You For Hating Teen Moms

I have only just discovered the FB page "I Hate Teen Moms" and the unfortunately large group of pages which imitate it. Looking them over has helped me to finally understand why Jesus said "Judge not, lest ye be judged". Clearly, Jesus understood that most people who are extremely judgmental are trying to push away the possibility that they would not measure up to the standards they set themselves, and think that attacking other people they will somehow shield themselves from judgment. Lighten up, people. It won't work. In fact, the best way to feel better about your own failings is the opposite: to be forgiving and understanding of other people.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "I think Jesus said that, too."\\

Happy Birthday, Walden

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Hold him in the Light."\\

Christmas Truce Poem

Not long after I finished The Christmas Mutiny, I met a woman writing poems "to order" at the Saturday Market. I commissioned a poem on the subject of the Christmas Truce, but then didn't see her for several months. I learned later she had been out of town most of the time.
Yesterday, she was at the market again, spotted me and delivered the poem. I like it a lot:


The Christmas Truce, by Cassie Ruud

We will not fight today.
We will not let you order us
into these pukish
mud-blood-soaked trenches
on this day.
You took us from our families,
from the arms of our wives and children
and thrown us against each other
for reasons
we do not understand.
So we will not fight today.
We will stand a tree,
sing our songs,
play soccer out in No-Man's-Land
almost far enough away
to hide from the trench stench
We will pretend our darlings
are close to us, show
each other pocketed lockets
full of pictures,
smoke our pipes in silence and stare numbly into the fire.


//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Peace on Earth."\\

The Magic Eight-Ball Says, "Here I Am!"

Kathe and I were just out, and when we returned there was a package on the porch.
A note read only, "As the Magic Eight-Ball rolls."
Inside was, sure enough, an eight ball. It appears to be just the usual pool table type of eight-ball, but I am going to watch it for any signs of magical properties.
In the meantime, we have an eight ball. How cool is that?

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Totally cool."\\

Philmfotos

I saw this on Facebook today:

http://philmfotos.tumblr.com/

Nifty.

Before there was such a thing as Google Street Views, I imagined it, and added bonus features like icons floating in the air: you could move your POV in front of the icon and "look through" it to see things like notes on the location, historical images of the same place, paintings of the same view and, yes, stills from movies which were filmed on the spot.

And then there are sites like

http://dearphotograph.com/

and one I really like

http://sergey-larenkov.livejournal.com/

The Taming of the Shrew

It was pretty cool.

The weather was mild, also.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Kiss me, Kat(h)e."\\

I Am An Oddfellow, But I'm Okay With That

I have just come home from an Oddfellows meeting, and have been reflecting on the Oddfellows' call for honorable conduct and service to humanity.

Thinking about how profound are simple truths such as, "This, too, shall pass" and "governments depend on the consent of the governed".

Thinking about how my parents really did raise me to be a good neighbor and to help move the world forward (or at least not impede it).

Thinking about my relatives and their values, and how I do feel privileged to be a member of a family like mine.

Yes, really.


//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Psst -- all men are brothers. Pass it on."\\

Fifty-Two Pickup

A week from Friday, I will turn 52, and as of now I am resolved that the theme of the next year of my life will be Fifty-Two Pickup.

The cards are all over the floor, but I will pick them up, one by one. I will shuffle the deck thoroughly. I will deal everyone a new hand.

Many thanks to my hypnotherapist, Robert Plamondon, who helped me reach this resolution*.

Resolution: 1) A formal declaration of understanding and/or intent. 2) The achievement of clearer vision.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "That is how the game is played."\\

A very Good Piece of Music

Someone sent me this link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=GBaHPND2QJg&feature=youtu.be

Really a gorgeous piece of music. That's why, among other things, I used it in The Christmas Mutiny.




//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Alle Menschen Werde Buredern".\\

Hope Needs an Eyrie

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cVOOXQo22o

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "What makes one step a giant leap is all the steps before."\\

Inside the Benton County Courthouse

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9soLYwwl87s

I first saw the Benton County Courthouse in 1966, when I was six years old.

Coming over the Harrison Avenue Bridge into town, seeing the Courthouse illuminated by floodlights, I was powerfully impressed with it.

I still am, really.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "It's impressive."\\

Wanna Buy a Sputnik?

We call it "Sputnik" because it has a fault that causes it to beep-beep-beep whenever any of the doors are open.

For the most part, though, it's in pretty good shape.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "And you could use the money."\\

"Are You Superman?"

"Are You Superman?"
By: Russ Burlingame on June 14, 2012

In : Comics
- Comments

A little something to brighten your day. This story comes to us courtesy of Jeff Watkins, the properietor of City Comics and Toys in Syracusae, New York.

His store–which sits in the Shoppingtown Mall food court, the onetime site of a battle between Tom Peyer and Rags Morales’ android Hourman and his foes–is one that we’ve written about before. A small retailer, Watkins loves comics and is often the only store in town to participate in things like midnight openings for “event” comics and organizing local conventions and signings.

He also, according to at least one young fan, bears a striking resemblance to the Last Son of Krypton:

Yesterday I walked from my store to my car through the mall. There was a special needs kid that was walking next to me. I was wearing a dark blue V-neck t-shirt and my thick Clark Kent classes. Hair was dark from the product in it and was firmly in place, except for the little spit curl on my forehead.

He kept pace and I said hello.

He had to ask me something.

He leaned in close and whispered “Are you Superman?”

I chuckled a little bit. “Thanks kid. No.”

His face remained dead serious.

“I won’t tell anyone.” He said.

“You’re very nice. Thank you. I’m not though. Superman isn’t re…”

And this kid had this look on his face.

“I. Won’t. Tell. Anyone. I promise. I swear.”

I’m an emotional guy so I was getting a little choked up.

“We are not supposed to talk about secret identities, kid. It can get dangerous.”

And he starts enthusiastically nodding in agreement. “I know. I know.”

When I was almost to the doors, I turned back and took my glasses off and I put my finger up to my lips and I went “Shhhhhhhhh.”

And as best as his limbs would let him, he gave me a thumbs up.

I’ve been welling up thinking about it for about 24 hours now. Thought I was crazy until I told Shanna last night and she had the same reaction.

100% totally true story and despite his disadvantages in life, perceived and real, I thank that kid for being a superhero yesterday.

The story went viral shortly after Watkins posted it as a status message on Facebook, with other comics fans reposting it to Reddit (where it made the front page), Cheezburger and other social link-sharing sites.

Jeff’s story is not only a great reminder that the characters in comics mean something–even to those who may not be old enough to read most of what the Big Two is putting out yet–but of the enduring appeal of a character like Superman, who is constantly facing those nagging “Is he relevant anymore?” questions.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "He's where you find him."\\

The Frankenstein Book, Chapter 2

Locke walked through the cramped aisles of shelves groaning with bound newspapers, towards the clerk’s desk at the rear. “I need a comprehensive article or series about the history of vitalogy, and a biography of Dr. Frankenstein,” he told the tall hoover at the desk. Perched on a stool itself five feet high, the hoover’s boxy head almost brushed the ceiling.

The hoover looked down at Locke from behind his desk (some eight feet from the floor – why so high?), silently climbed down and made his heavy-footed way down one of the aisles, which held not only the five-year print run of the Sun but those of the Evening Register, the Long Island Farmer, indeed every noteworthy newspaper in the city’s history, as far back as the Royal New-York Gazette. Mr. Day had bought the collection at auction when the Commercial Advertiser folded. There was every newspaper, past and present, that Locke could recall having seen, aside from the Negro paper Freedom’s Journal.

The hoover unerringly found the volume he wanted and carried it to a lectern of a more reasonable height where Locke could stand and read it. The hoover opened the book to the correct page without even having to flip through it, and even laid a finger at the top of the right-hand page, headed VICTOR CAROLUS FRANKENSTEIN in old-fashioned newspaper type.

“I can read,” Locke snapped. He might have apologized, even to a hoover, but the creature had already turned away, without the slightest sign of resentment, or even reaction, except to the implied dismissal. He climbed his stool and bent to his desk, his quill pen scratching away.

Locke looked at the wastebasket at the foot of the stool, surrounded by wadded sheets of paper and used quills that had missed it. As a boy, he had learned to write with a quill pen, but in recent years he had only seen hoovers using them. Next to the wastebasket was a cylindrical shape held together with a worn leather strap. Locke realized with a start that it was a bedroll, presumably the clerk’s. Did the creature sleep down here? But then, why not? He was only a hoover. Still, the idea of the hoover living down here, possibly not having seen the light of day since he was brought down here . . . .

Locke shook himself and looked at the article the hoover had found for him.

Six decades before -- in the same year that a terrible fire had destroyed a quarter of the city of New York, Adam Smith had published his essay on The Wealth of Nations, and the United States had declared their independence -- a medical student at Ingolstadt, Bavaria, had discovered the elixir vitae: a transparent golden fluid which could animate dead tissue.

When Frankenstein’s elixir perfused dead tissue, hearts would beat, lungs would respire. A brain invigorated by the elixir would awaken and send signals to nerves. The nerves would command muscles to action. The muscles would respond.

Even a discovery as amazing as that might not have transformed the world as much as it had, or as quickly, if Frankenstein hadn’t also advanced the art of surgery amazingly. Most reanimated bodies would have been little use as they were upon death: torn muscles and broken bones would be unable to function, damaged nerves would not be able to control a limb, disease-ravaged organs would not sustain a reanimated body. Frankenstein learned to graft a healthy limb in place of a ruined one, to splice the severed ends of nerves so they would function, and to give a healthy brain command over a body.

Frankenstein’s genius still might have languished for years. His handful of reanimated animals might have been mere curiosities, and his first disastrous attempt to copy the human form might have led a lonely existence. The final key component was Frankenstein’s invention of conservante, the transparent liquid which allowed him to preserve tissue against decay for months, even years. That allowed Frankenstein and his friend Henry Clerval to quickly begin producing their first ouvriers, a word which entered English as “hoover”.

Much of this was long familiar to Locke, but a good deal was new. As he read, he felt a growing curiosity that he hadn’t had before, and wished he’d taken the time to study vitalogy prior to this assignment.

Locke thought about just how much Frankenstein and vitalogy had changed the world. From the moment Nereus had knocked on his door to now, there had hardly been a moment when he was out of sight of a two-legged hoover or a four-legged kimmer, to say nothing of the street flowers cushioning his feet and the ravens and rocs flying over his head. Even the luminous fungi in the ceiling and walls that provided the very light he was reading by was a product of the Vitalogical Revolution.

It occurred to Locke that he actually did have an “in” to the vitalogist community. Freddy Waldman, two doors down from his own room at the Decatur, was an assistant to Dr. Lavenza, who had a little workshop or surgery or whatever it was called that turned out some kind of fancy servant hoovers for the upscale market. If he could get Waldman to introduce him to Lavenza, he could interview the man, and gain access to other vitalogists. Locke would drop by Lavenza’s place of business and ask if he could interview him – it was unlikely, but there was no harm in asking, and it would give him an excuse to “happen” to run into Waldman as he was leaving for lunch. Locke could then suggest they get something together.

That reminded Locke that he was feeling hungry himself. He must have been reading in the morgue all morning, running on nothing but a spoonful of Blue Mass. He had better be about getting some nuncheon before trying to interview anyone.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "There are some things Man was not meant to know...."\\

Not Babysitting

Over and over I heard it: "Babysitting today?" Over and over, I gave the same reply, always with a perfectly straight face: "No, he's my kid." At least nobody ever asked Kathe where she got the gay nanny: http://echidneofthesnakes.blogspot.com/2012_05_27_archive.html#1384367121943060380 //The Magic Eight-Ball says: "Admit it, you'd have loved it if that had happened."\\

Kathe and I went to a neighborhood committee meeting. There was talk of forming a watch. If so, I will want to join just to make sure nobody is "carrying" like George Z. //The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Heaven forbid."\\

Do You Read Me?

Read from The Christmas Mutiny at the Interzone tonight. Not a big crowd but I managed to read a chapter out loud without choking, so I count it as a success. Now on to the next reading. Eight-Ball, where will I do a reading next? //The Magic Eight-Ball says, "TBA."\\

Kathe heard a coyote yipping and howling last night. Sounded like it was about five blocks away, she said. Okay, Corvallis is only about 50,000 people, and I saw one just a couple of miles outside of town, but still a wonderfully spooky (and trickstery) thing. Sorry I missed it. //The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Be careful of wishing for a visit from a trickster."\\

Shoot-'Em-Ups

I have finally noticed that I read comics in two modes: one for Persepolis and Vogelein, and another for Birds of Prey and 52. The latter serve for me the function Ace Double Novels did for my father (what he referred to as "shoot-'em-ups"). I think other people establish these categories early in life, often discarding one or the other entirely. Not sure what that means, either the division or the timing, but it's something I have noticed. //The Magic Eight-Ball says, "A rolling stone gathers momentum."\\

The Ink Fairy

Okay, that's just weird.*

Spots of inky black liquid are appearing at seemingly random places around the house. So far there is (no pun intended) no pattern we can make out.

I'm tempted to walk through the house saying, "When I said I was hoping for ink, I meant publicity for The Christmas Mutiny!"

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Don't look at me, my ink is all staying inside."\\

* I think I'll make this a new tag.

It's Up There

I stood on the porch and looked up at the evening sky. There was just one brilliant light, high and bright. I thought it was too high to be Venus, and therefore presumed it was Jupiter. Which was cool, because someone I know is particularly fond of Jupiter.

But I looked it up, and it was indeed Venus.

But that's okay, because one way or another, it was Brightly Shining.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Shine on."\\

God Damn It All

http://pandagon.net/index.php/site/comments/a-young-black-man-being-late

Emmett Till was an awfully cute kid, too . . . .

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Inch by inch, row by row."\\

Goodlife

During his campaign, Gardner promised average voters would inspire his actions. One ad said, “I will always put Colorado families before the Washington special interests.” But in Key Largo, Gardner appeared to offer special interests lots of face time. He was seen on camera talking to an attendee who said he works for a bank. In another shot, he’s seen going charter fishing as part of the fundraising package—they head out on a group of boats including one named “Good Life.”

Re the S.S. Good Life, two references come to mind.
One is the obvious, the short story "It's a Good Life", that was made into a Twilight Zone episode (and a Simpsons Halloween special, also).
The other is even more pointed, that in Fred Saberhagen's Berzerker stories, when a human chose to serve the killer robots in their crusade against organic life, s/he was called a "Goodlife". I have long felt that this word, like "robot" and "flash mob", should make the transition from science fiction jargon to common language.
The Repub party, long under the influence of people who have turned Goodlife, has now fallen completely under their sway.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Live long and prosper."\\

So, I Hear There's This Doonesbury Strip . . . .

Some newspapers don't want to run it.

http://www.poughkeepsiejournal.com/assets/pdf/BK186474313.PDF

Others are only putting it up on their web sites -- that way, kids won't see it, I suppose.

http://www.gocomics.com/doonesbury/2012/03/12

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Some people have no sense of humor."\\

Christopher Robin and Pooh Come to an Enchanted Place

Tonight I read the last chapter of The House at Pooh Corner to a little boy, and we talked about it a little.

I remember my mother reading to me from that book (especially the Woozle sighting), but I definitely don't remember her reading me the ending.

Possibly she thought it would be too confusing for me. Or possibly she was simply interrupted by her fast-changing life, back when she was a college student and the mother of three preschoolers (good grief!). Or perhaps, knowing what a fickle child I was, I one day said, "Winnie the Pooh! Yuck! I'm not a baby!"

I read Winnie the Pooh to my own kids, but we never got around to The House at Pooh Corner. Not sure why that happened, either.

But I by-Christopher-Robin did read that last chapter to one little boy, anyway.

For whatever that's worth.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Leave them there."\\

The Christmas Mutiny, Now Available

My novel, The Christmas Mutiny, is now available for download at Amazon.

I hope people read it, and like it.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "They will, John. It's good."\\

Where Does It Hurt?

On my right side, near the lowest ribs, when I take a deep breath.

My left shoulder aches some days.

My right knee hurts occasionally, when weight-bearing.

My right shin hurts some days, with or without weight-bearing.

Both wrists ache occasionally. It doesn't feel the same as the hand pain that led me to have to wear hand braces at night and eventually to having surgery on one hand.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Watch and see how it changes."\\

Another Minor Loss

Awhile back at some web site or other, Kathe and I saw people discussing the moral blind spots of previous generations, and speculating on what our descendants might be appalled at our tolerating.

I'd like to nominate our persistence in pretending that dental and optical care somehow aren't health care, and shouldn't be covered on the same plan, or even at all.

Just the other day, Kathe told me that I couldn't have any more dental problems until she'd had some deferred maintenance taken care of on her own teeth. Alas, I woke up at 5:30 this morning with a toothache that hadn't gotten the memo.

A root canal and crown would have cost a thousand dollars we didn't have, so I got to have an extraction for $80. We didn't have the $80 either, but we might get it sometime relatively soon.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "At least it's over."\\

Another Small Sacrifice

Without my beard I look less jolly and ingratiating.

But more respectable. And younger.

I really dislike shaving every day. And I don't care much for having stubble.

Oh, well. Maybe this will help me get a new job. Something's got to do it.

Oh, wait, no it doesn't. Maybe I just won't get another job, ever.

Still, if I quit trying, I definitely won't.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "It does make you look younger, though."\\

Camelot 1:16:48 -- Look Familiar?

In 1967, even George Lucas didn't know who C-3PO and Princess Amidala were -- so what gives?



And how on Earth did it take until 2012 for someone (me) to notice?

Oh, also: We made it to Aumsville today.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Sometimes a coincidence means something really profound. Other times, it's just this thing that happened."\\

Bit Wet

We awoke to a drip from the ceiling. The pan that was supposed to catch the drip had overflowed due to very heavy rainfall.

We went out so Kathe could serve some papers and were first amused by swollen creeks, then annoyed by water crowding the lanes, then alarmed by overflow running right over the roadway, and finally blocked by flooding that cut off one route and then another.

We never did make it to Aumsville.

Oh, and in a non-rain-related matter, our daughter Mestowet called from Georgia. It was good to hear from her. I also noticed something that I hadn't before: whenever I hear from one of our kids, I think of how grateful I am to Kathe for making it possible for me to know them. That's true of each of my kids, as much as if she had borne them: I wouldn't have known any of them if it weren't for her. Thank you, Kathe.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "I'm glad you made it back safely."\\

Lights Out

This site is observing the Internet Blackout.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "-------"\\

New Web Site Coming Soon

Soon, if all goes well, the link above these words will be live, and my web site, designed by Kathe's son Jake, will be up and running, offering my stories for sale.

Jake asked me to write summaries of some of my stories for the site:

The Christmas Mutiny, a Young Adult novel of alternative history, about 50,000 words.
Several young people are present at the famous Christmas Truce of 1914, in which for a brief moment enemies lay down their arms and enjoyed a moment of peace. History says that after the truce, they went back to killing one another for another three years -- but perhaps there are other worlds than ours...?

"Rattler Lil", a Western fantasy, about 4,000 words
An adolescent boy finds a surrogate mother, as do many other strays in a frontier town. Miss Lillian Clay seems to be a good person to have around, especially where children and rattlesnakes are concerned. And there may be more to "Mama Lil" than the neighbors suspect.

"The Right Man", a story of alternative history, about 2,000 words.
It's the fall of 1932. The Great Depression is at its worst. An army of unemployed men are occupying the Mall in Washington. How will President Hoover remove them? He needs to find the right man for this job.

"Frankie", an incident at a 1930s candy store, about 1,500 words.
Is Frankie really that Frankie? What race is pulp magazine her Dusty Ayres? Why doesn't Frankie listen to The Romance of Helen Trent? None of these questions will be answered.

"Secret Identity", a writer's thoughts at work, about 1,000 words.
What makes a man a hero? Can we always tell? Do we need to?

"Gandhi Versus Hitler", a story of alternative history, about 1,000 words
Everybody knows Gandhi could never have stopped Hitler. Everybody knows that....

"The Salmon Cage", a science fiction story, about 5,000 words.
An old man ties his boat to a salmon maturing cage while it drifts across the Pacific from Macao to Canada. A silent boy stows away. Much against the old man's wishes, they gradually bond during a very difficult crossing.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Good. Now go make some money with it."\\

List of Defunct Automakers

Could be useful for writing historical or alternate-world fiction.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_defunct_United_States_automobile_manufacturers

And while I'm at it, here are links to fictional car companies:

http://dictionary.sensagent.com/list+of+fictional+companies/en-en/#Automotive
http://www.coloradostangs.com/auto-news/24985-auto-autoline-after-hours-holding-first-annual-automotive-fantasy-draft-%5Bw-video%5D.html
http://nerowolfe.org/htm/tidbits/tidbits.htm#heron

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Have you driven a Heron lately?"\\