*rueful look* God love ’em, but those convention organizers have surely put in a heapin’ helpin’ of cheese. Ironically, there’s a lot of interest once you get past the stupid bits…but geez, those stupid bits!
They should also feel free to get rid of those “hosts”. At any time. Now.
OTOH, I really liked the firemen and that county chairman from somewhere in the Appalachian bits of Ohio. He got “chillbumps” on his spine…what a great way to say it!
Now THAT’S a Patron Saint!
From National Review’s Corner, where Michael Novak informed us:
Just past 39th St. I remembered that Mother Cabrini, the first New Yorker declared a saint, is the patron saint of parking places and taxicabs. Swift prayer for help.
Taxi swings around 39th corner, out of nowhere, stops and takes us in.
That might even beat St. Anthony. But do follow the link to learn less folkloric facts about Mother Cabrini.
Get Well Soon, Pippa!
It seems that Simon and Talis’ daughter, Pippa, is in sick and in the hospital. Your prayers and thoughts would be appreciated!
I remember being in the hospital when I was a kid. The experience was much softened by getting to pick out a toy from the Ruth Lyons Children’s Fund, as all kids in the hospital around here did and do. (I got a yellow dog/bear.) You forget about that sort of thing until this sort of thing happens, so I am mentioning it here now.
I wish Pippa lived in the Tri-State, so she could get a toy from Ruth Lyons, too!
Things Get Better
To soften the pain of bibliocide, I got to watch (or listen, mostly) the live broadcast of President Bush’s rally in Troy today. It was a good long speech. We then went to “the dollar store that takes credit cards” to buy some snacks for my Worldcon travel nourishment. I also got to refresh my soul at St. Ignatius of Antioch Maronite Catholic Parish’s famous Lebanese festival. This year it lasts two days and has even more Lebanese dancing and food. (Good thing, too.) I bought a sampler of all the Lebanese desserts except the brownie. And then I got up and danced on stage when they went and pulled people up. Mwahahahaha! This was, however, an extremely humid day here in the Miami Valley, so piglike sweating did occur.
Bad News, Good News
Interesting things tend to happen when I’m about to go on a trip. Fortunately nobody I know seems to have decided to die on me this time (cross my fingers and knock on wood). But I did have a (somewhat) traumatic experience.
Every so often, I’ve thought to myself, “I know I bought that book, and I don’t remember selling it or giving it away. So where is it?” Well, this week, I found out where it was. In a box in my parents’ garage.
Good news — it wasn’t where the washer-hose flood was.
Bad news — it had been a temporary nest for mice.
So not only did I have books that were moused along the edges, I also had books which had provided a latrine for mouse byproducts. If that wasn’t bad enough, several books contained, or had been stained by, their stash of poison peanuts. (Thus the temporary nature of the nest. Fortunately, the mice had the consideration to die elsewhere.)
In the end, it turned out that most of the books were only lightly soiled. I simply cleaned off the bits of spine which had happened to receive bombs from above, and then deodorized every book. (I’ll do this again before I reshelve them — maybe several times, depending on how the odor returns. But it must have happened several years back, so there wasn’t much stink except when I cleaned things off.) Only the top layer of books were dead losses, and most of them were easily replaceable. But the third book of a Carole Nelson Douglas series, Dickson’s Young Bleys and The Chantry Guild, and Drake’s Old Nathan had to be sent to the dump. A Fish Dinner in Memison‘s front right corner did become a Mouse Dinner in Beavercreek, but was surprisingly clean for all that and remains readable. The Eddison book next to it was also moused. But on the whole, I was lucky. I blame myself for forgetting to retrieve them.
Another Person Who Writes like Joy
Elliott posted “I’m Not the Only One”. Check it out, everybody, and spy into Joy’s head! Also, go over to Screaming Writer and follow JCF’s comment. Joe Clifford Faust is a decent sf writer with some interesting stuff to say. And he’s from Ohio, which makes him even more Righteous.
The Mirror of My Work
Last Wednesday, the hose on my mom and dad’s suddenly decided to let go, and the treasurehouse that is our garage got soaked. Of course the water headed straight into the old schoolbooks my mom had saved for her tutoring and home instruction. Of course it headed straight for all the old schoolwork she’d saved for my brothers and I. And of course my mom didn’t call me when she needed help. She’s very good at giving it, but not at taking it!
But I finally found out what had happened (on Saturday). So last weekend I was going through some old schoolwork at my parents’ house, and discovered that in kindergarten I had drawn a picture of “A MARCIAN HOW IS HAF-HUMAN”. I guess back then I paid more attention to Dad’s Star Trek reruns than I’d remembered. No pointy ears or other discernable alien traits, though; I guess that’s why I put a caption on it.
I didn’t remember as much of it as I used to. I could look at my own stuff and not be able to tell it apart from my brothers’, until I realized that I was the only one who drew such heavy, jagged crayon lines that it looked like an attack. (I do remember my aesthetic objections to crayoning too lightly, because I liked solid color. But clearly my artistic aims did not translate well to paper. No wonder they kept sending me to the counselor.) I still recognized my old teachers’ handwriting, though.
I did remember one Thanksgiving project, though. I remembered being upset that I’d accidentally spelled “cornucopia” as “CORNUCORPIA”. (The “R” was indignantly scored out.) I didn’t remember what I’d shown coming out of the horn of plenty, the things I was thankful for: a very doggy-looking “HORSE” and a pinkly convoluted, but reasonably realistic “BRAIN”. Similarly, when they gave my brother Kevin the pencil, he told them all about our visit to an Army museum down South, and how when he grew up he was going to drive “a big Army truck”. (He now owns a surplus, camo-colored deuce-and-a-half.) He also made a “SCIENCE MUSEUM” out of construction paper shapes, complete with three “PLANETARIUM” half-circle domes — which served as a sort of tribute to our brother Sean’s obsession with them.