Life as a Spectator Sport

Blogging from Kate's, just sitting around with coffee and toast on Sunday morning.

Darkover was a disappointment for me, though for Nick it was a revelation (a good two dozen kids with interests similar to his own). It was the smallest, quietest Darkover I've attended in years. Tales of the White Hart, one of the largest booksellers in the Baltimore area and a fixture at east coast cons for years, was conspicuous by its absence. I don't know what's going on there, but Kathy had just a small booth with boxes of zines and a few books, and Leo was not in evidence at all.

Kate enjoyed the music, I caught up with a few old friends and rather doggedly followed Nick around for a while, and then we went home. Not much to show for a whole day at one of the classic fantasy cons. A lot of people appear to have decamped to anime fandom.

Nick's new friends enthusiastically described next year's anime cons--Animazing in Durham, Ani-something in Richmond, and the big one, Otakon in Baltimore. Unfortunately for Nick, Otakon is only two weeks after Shore Leave, one of the major east coast Trek cons and my major con expedition for the year. So he may or may not be able to attend. Even if cost were no obstacle to attending two cons in a row, my work schedule may well make it impossible.

Thursday, November 27, 2003

Happy Thanksgiving, all. It's the best one for me in a while. Holidays are far more fun with a child in the household.

I'm over the worst of the labor--the pies are done and cooling on top of the refrigerator where the kitties can't check them out, the turkey is in the oven, the cranberry relish is in the fridge, sausage is cooking for a late breakfast. We'll be lucky to have dinner before three, but all that's left to be done is a salad, a batch of rolls and the sweet potatoes. I decided to forgo mashed potatoes, additional vegetables and the ubiquitous Bonnie's Pink Stuff (our family's version of jello salad, fruit cocktail, Cool Whip, etc.), with just three of us to feed. But I did make a pretty tablecloth out of a remnant I found at Walmart, and there's enough food to feed ten people, so I suppose we'll celebrate in traditional style.

Shelley is driving in rain through northern Kentucky, on the way to Minneapolis. I began our conversation this morning with details of what I had been cooking, the ingredients of the turkey dressing, and so forth, but she invited me politely to please shut up, as all she could look forward to was institutional turkey with canned gravy at a truck stop somewhere, and that only if she made good enough time through the rain to be able to take a real dinner break. When she gets to Minneapolis, however, she will be completely out of driving time and will have to be off the road for at least eight hours. So she will take some time off, she said, and visit the Mall of America, which happens to be conveniently near the receiver she's going to.

I've worried about her driving an 18-wheeler in foul weather, but she told me that she has opted "not to use chains," which means the company can't deliberately send her into conditions where chains would be necessary. I didn't realize she had that choice, and of course, it doesn't prevent her from getting caught in unexpected snow and ice, as has already happened. But without the chains, she can get off the road, telling her dispatcher that the conditions aren't safe. I suppose that at some point, she could do that anyway, but she can do it in much less severe weather if she doesn't have chains on the truck. She didn't want to push her luck, she said, in her first winter on the road, with no more experience than she has so far.

Kate is celebrating Thanksgiving with a crowd of old friends, gay guys she has known for twenty years or more. I envy her the houseful of people, the jangle of multiple conversations, the Macy's parade on television in the background, the smiling faces around the table. But I think I'll have enough to do this year with just Nick and Clarence to feed, and perhaps it won't be long before Kate and I can host that crowd in our own home.

Back to basting the turkey, and it's time to start the rolls.

Hope everyone is having as nice a day as I.

Wednesday, November 26, 2003

Here's my Saturday political rant, only a few days early. I'll be in Maryland on Saturday, enjoying a day of complete freedom from everything else in my life, at the Darkover science fiction/fantasy con (convention). A side note about Darkover: as a fictional universe, Darkover was the creation of Marian Zimmer Bradley. She happens not to be one of my favorite authors (except for Catch Trap, a book set in the mid 20th century). But the Darkover con itself has evolved into much more than just a celebration of the fantasy universe. It's the best east-coast con for book and zine sellers, one of the best for costumers and filkers, and also happens to be the only one where I get to see some of my non-Trek-fandom friends. So Nick and I will go up to Kate's on Friday, detouring to do a couple of store inspections in Richmond, and then we'll all go to Towson, Maryland, on Saturday. I had promised Nick a con visit and Darkover is also one of the most family-oriented cons I know of. He can wear the martial arts outfit I made for his Halloween costume and run around with the other kids to his heart's content without my having to worry about him.

On to the rant. I can't do better today than to refer you to Now Entering Laboville by Daniel Labovitz. This is his entry from yesterday:

I have to say, I'm getting sick of the Orwellian revisions of history being practiced by the White House, various Republican groups and now, the GOP.

Recently, I noted an instance in which the White House press office altered the transcript of a speech that President Bush made to the Australian Parliament to "correct" a misstatement by Mr. Bush. [Me: look at the post on Labovitz's site for November 5, 2003] The official Australian transcript recorded what President Bush actually said. I also linked to two instances of conservative Republican websites being "altered" to remove offensive material; in one case, the offensive phrase was edited and the piece reposted, and in the other, the offensive article simply disappeared off the group's website.

Today, it is reported in the New York Times that the Republican National Party digitally altered a clip of the President's State of the Union address to make him sound more "presidential" when they used the clip in a campaign commercial. [link] The Republican National Committee claims that they merely edited out a pause and fixed a mangled word ("vile" instead of "wile"), so what's the big deal?

Well, here's my take: the big deal is that it is dishonest, plain and simple. Sure, it's a small lie, but that doesn't change the fact that it's a lie. Same thing with changing the transcript of the President's speech in Australia; sure, he meant to say we "seek" a democratic China, but the fact remains that he said we "see" a democratic China, and the official transcript ought to reflect that. The thing is, legitimizing the small lies blurs the line between what should be permissible and impermissible in governance, and makes it possible for the bigger lies to gain a foothold.

[As an aside, I think that the ability of members of Congress to "revise and extend" their remarks is equally dishonest, and ought to be stopped. If you're not going to keep an accurate record, why bother keeping a record at all?]

Unfortunately, the pattern of the Bush administration seems to be to advance "small" lies and then hope that nobody will notice the truth, or, if they do, that the people insisting on truth can be painted as petty and missing the forest for the trees. As a tactic, it's insidious and inimical to the ideal of democracy.

You might also want to check out his post of November 12. The redefinition of "financial institution" has given the FBI some interesting new places to mine personal data, without recourse to warrants and all that inconvenient legal paperwork. If the Bush administration never does anything else (we should all be so lucky), it will have created a governmental monster with its hands in everyone's back pockets, bank accounts, travel records, postal transactions and a host of others that most people would never think of as "financial institutions."

Sunday, November 23, 2003

If you are even vaguely a fan of the Patrick O'Brian Aubrey/Maturin novels, or of Russell Crowe, and have not yet seen "Master and Commander," stop whatever you are doing and go watch it now. I have run out of superlatives. Russell Crowe IS Jack Aubrey. If he never plays another character he will have defined a whole genre in this one role, just as Leonard Nimoy defined a genre of alien in his role as Spock in Star Trek.

Paul Bettany was less successful as Stephen Maturin, but that was more a problem with casting than with his performance, I think. He simply was not the right person for the role. He looked too young to be the older Dr. Maturin, for one thing, and he didn't seem sufficiently Irish (though my impression of the character is indelibly colored by Patrick Tull's reading in the audio book editions). Others have said they loved his portrayal as Maturin, however, so I suspect my opinion is in the minority (though a reviewer for Time Magazine said essentially the same thing).

The movie took considerable liberties with the book, of course, but O'Brian's story was not unrecognizable, even so. My only real quibble was the change to the vessel which Aubrey and his crew were sent to find. In the book, it is an American privateer frigate, the Norfolk. In the movie, the ship was changed to a French privateer named Acheron. I don't understand the reason for the change--allegedly it was to avoid portraying Americans as the enemy, in this time when America has painted itself into that metaphoric and literal bullseye. But to make the vessel French seemed to me to play on the ill-feeling many Americans have nowadays for the French. Perhaps that was not intended but I think it was an unfortunate side effect.

I have not seen any of Russell Crowe's other movies, but I will now have to find and watch them. He appears to be one of those rarities--a truly intelligent actor, with a wide range of other interests and the ability to, as one reviewer described it, "inhabit his character." Much has been said about his learning to play the violin in preparation for the film, but I didn't realize until after seeing it that he already played the guitar. One of my favorite scenes from the film was of a madly grinning Aubrey tucking the violin under his arm like a guitar and strumming it. I watched to see whether the fingering matched what I was hearing (it did), and mentally complimented the actor and the director for their attention to detail, but we may well have been seeing as much of Russell Crowe in that scene as Jack Aubrey.

Speaking of accuracy, Captain Andrew Reay-Ellers, one of the consultants for the film, had this to say about its historical accuracy:

It is as full a film as I have ever seen -- there is just so much story, such compelling characters, and such a rich texture of details. Being one of the historic consultants, I’m very proud of what I think is the greatest level of accuracy for this period that’s ever made it to the screen. There’s virtually a documentary hidden beneath the fictional story. I think a lot of people are going to want to see this multiple times -- and that every viewing will reward them with new details.

The full interview with Reay-Ellers is at MaximumCrowe.net and is worth reading.

The one really unfortunate consequence of this film is the loss of HMS Rose (the tall ship replica that Fox purchased for the film) as a sail training vessel. Few enough of them remain in the world today, and Rose was the largest and one of the best. The HMS Rose Foundation apparently expected to put the ship back in service as a Sailing School after the completion of the film. What I have heard, however, is that the changes that Fox made to permit filming in the vessel were so extensive that it can not easily be refitted to meet US Coast Guard requirements. There has been no suggestion, though, that Fox is in any hurry to sell the craft, which means, I hope, that someone is thinking of making another film. The O'Brian discussion groups and mailing lists are full of ideas for which book should be adapted next.

Whichever one it is, I'll be there to watch it.

Friday, November 21, 2003

It's official--we're going digital by the end of the year. No more film to purchase and have developed. No more photo sheets and binders and endless copies of forms and hurried trips to the post office or UPS. Just one set of forms for each store, from which the online form will be filled out.

There's really no reason why even that part of it couldn't be done electronically--just download the online store data to an application running on a Palm or other handheld. I should throw together a demo program for my prime contractor to look at.

After I get some sleep. After I get tomorrow and Sunday's work finished and sent off. After I get the house clean and the laundry done and another set of review sheets put together for Nick's history and math lessons.

I like driving. I don't mind spending hours in my own company. I enjoy this work, even if there is more of it right now than there was supposed to be. But I am weary of driving to West Godforsaken, as Kate would say, inspecting one or two stores, driving back to arrive home at two in the morning, and then turning around at seven and doing exactly the same thing again in a different direction. Time for a break.

I haven't had a free weekend in months, and the strain is beginning to catch up with me. But next weekend, Nick and I will attend at least one day of Darkover, a science fiction/fantasy convention in Towson, Maryland, and spend a couple of days with Kate, and if all goes well, I'll come home feeling more like a human being.

Wednesday, November 19, 2003

Whew, what a crazy week this has been--due mostly to my own stupidity, I'm afraid. I had a 20-store package that was due on November 14 and another one due on December 5. The cover sheets for these were virtually identical. The only thing distinguishing them was the due date, and you can guess what happened. I had the call orders spread out while I was entering them in my own database, and I picked up the wrong one to go out and work on. I had called my contact in the field office on the 14th to ask about something else, and she remarked that she had received the package I sent. "But where is the one that's due today?" she inquired.

"That's what I sent," I said, not understanding what she meant.

"No, you sent the one that was due in December."

My heart sank, because I knew instantly what had happened. What it meant for me was that 20 stores were going to be at least three days late. I've got them worked and turned in now, but it was a hairy three days, driving like crazy through the rugged mountains of western Virginia to get to all of them as fast as possible.

I do have to comment on one of them. Any reader of this blog knows that I love living in the country. I love the quiet, the slower-paced life, the multiple relationships you form when you live near and go to church with and work with the same people. I just love country folk themselves. But there are some occasional drawbacks. One of them is that in remote areas, where people define their location by whom they live near, you can't necessarily depend on their directions.

"Where are you located?" I asked on the phone as I drove out toward Hurley, Virginia. "I have Rt. 631 as your address but I can't find a 631 anywhere in Buchanan County."

"Yep, it's 631," said the twangy male voice. "We're in the Little Pearl community."

"Does that run off 83?" I asked doubtfully, thinking that I recalled seeing a sign for Little Pearl somewhere along Rt. 83.

"Sure does, honey."

I thanked him and hung up and continued. But there was no Rt. 631 that turned off from 83, and no sign that said "Little Pearl." I drove all the way from Grundy to nearly the top of the mountain, long past where anyone with a Hurley address would have been. I couldn't call back because cell phones just don't work out there. So I stopped at another store to ask for directions. "Little Pearl . . . " the clerk said thoughtfully. "Sandra May, isn't that back over Elkins Branch?"

Sandra May agreed that it was, and between the two of them, they managed to tell me where to turn off Rt. 83. I did indeed find the store on the other side of a considerable, and unexpected, up and down drive (I had assumed that Elkins Branch was a stream, not a mountain). Just before the store was a highway number sign, and it became apparent why I hadn't been able to find the highway number before. It was 641, not 631.

"I've got the wrong address for you," I told the store owner, just making conversation. "It should be Rt. 641, but someone typed it in wrong, because my paperwork says 631."

She gave me a strange look. "No, honey, that's right. It's 631."

"But--the sign out there on the road says 641," I protested.

She shrugged. "We don't pay no attention to those," she said. "You need to find us, just say we're in Little Pearl. Anyone can tell you where that is."

I couldn't put that down as their address, of course, since Little Pearl doesn't have its own post office. "I think I have to change it to 641," I said with an apologetic smile, and she gave me one of those looks that country folk bestow on outsiders.

"The ABC man, when he gives me his bill," she said, "it has Rt. 631 on it. So I reckon that's what it is." The implication was clear. If the ABC man could find the store, what was the matter with me?

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

My daugher saved a woman's life today. Early this morning, Shelley called from somewhere in Ohio. She was at a shipper's guard shack, coming in to pick up a load. "Mom," she said, "the guard here is diabetic and I think she has low blood sugar. What should I do?"

I replied, "Give her something sweet--candy or juice or something like that." I was about to ask whether the guard had specifically said that her blood sugar was low, when Shelley said, "I got her to check her blood sugar and it's 21, and she's acting really spaced out."

"Call 911!" I said immediately and forcefully. "And then get some sugar into her if you can! She's in insulin shock!"

Shelley yelled, "Okay!" and hung up and I crossed my fingers and prayed. About ten minutes later, she called back. "A fire truck is here," she said, "and I think the guard is going to be okay. I had some orange juice in my truck, so I gave her some of that and she's already a lot better."

She told me that the woman said she'd been fine, when "something came over her."

"She was sweating," Shelley said, "and couldn't focus on anything--it took her forever to write down my truck number and my load information. I thought at first that maybe she just had a fever, but you don't go from being fine to being in that condition in a few minutes if you just have a cold or the flu. I don't know what made me think of diabetes, but I asked her and she said, yes, she was diabetic. So then I got her to check her blood sugar, but she was so far gone that she couldn't tell me what a normal reading would be and I wasn't sure if 21 was low or high, so I called you."

I said to her, "You know you probably saved that woman's life, don't you? A blood sugar of 21 is just about rock bottom. In another few minutes, she could have been dead."

"Yeah," Shelley agreed. "There's another truck here now, but it was half an hour behind me. She was all by herself in the guard shack."

She had to go on and get unloaded, so we hung up, but I've been sitting here glowing with pride at her for being so level-headed and quick. If Clarence had a blood sugar level of 21, he'd be dead and gone. This woman is just damn lucky that Shelley came along when she did.

Tuesday, November 04, 2003

Yeah, I know. I said I'd keep political comment to once a week. It's becoming more and more difficult to do that. During the 60's, when people my age were out marching and occupying their college deans' offices, I was cracking the books. Now that most of them have turned into complacent moralizing flag-wavers, I'm the one who gets politicized. Life is strange.

Courtesy of Dave Pell at Next Draft is this excerpt from last week's presidential news conference. I was sitting at the computer listening to it, but wasn't fast enough to get a recording or to transcribe as Bush was speaking, so I'm grateful to Dave for catching it.

Question
You recently put Condoleezza Rice, your national
security adviser, in charge of the management of
the administration's Iraq policy. What has
effectively changed since she's been in charge?

And a second question: Can you promise a year from
now that you will have reduced the number of
troops in Iraq?

Bush
The second question is a trick question, so I
won't answer it.

The first question was Condoleezza Rice. Her job
is to coordinate inter-agency. She's doing a fine
job of coordinating inter-agency. She's doing what
her -- I mean, the role of the national security
adviser is to not only provide good advice to the
president, which she does on a regular basis -- I
value her judgment and her intelligence -- but her
job is also to deal inter-agency and to help
unstick things that may get stuck. That's the best
way to put it. She's an unsticker...

Now that's a very interesting reply. What exactly is stuck here (besides Bush's brain)?

It's hard not to speculate that the whole policy is stuck, stuck in a mindset that equates might with right, and also, more specifically, stuck in a corner. We supposedly won the war--"Mission Accomplished!" the now infamous banner proclaimed. But Donald Rumsfeld was a bit more honest in his interview on Meet the Press: "We will win this war!" he declared.

Shades of Vietnam and Lyndon Johnson. Don't we ever learn?

Saturday, November 01, 2003

Saturday's Political Rant

I'm not a conservative. I'm not a liberal either. I try to judge each situation and each person by the same kind of common sense benchmarks I would apply to the rest of everyday life. Granted, my response to the George W. Bush U. S. President and Naval Aviatior 12" fully poseable action figure! was a bit emotional. But I've refrained from voicing a lot of other emotional reactions, so I think I'm entitled to an occasional one.

The article from which the following quote is taken prompted one of those emotional responses, though a more positive one than Plastic!Dubya generated. The article appeared in OregonLive.com, the online version of The Oregonian, a newspaper serving counties in northern Oregon and southern Washington. The author is Becky Miller, a former senior aide to Bill Sizemore (of Oregon Taxpayers United fame). She had just read Al Franken's book "Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them: A Fair and Balanced Look at the Right."

Miller IS a conservative, by the way. But her reaction to the book must have surprised many of her conservative friends. I encourage you to read the full article, but I thought this brief excerpt revealed that despite the wackos on the fringes of the Radical Right, there's at least one conservative who really cares about her country.

The leaders we conservatives have trusted have taken advantage of our trust to line the pockets of the wealthy and powerful, and it's time we rose up and drove out these greedy liars. They've hijacked and distorted our belief system for their own gain, and in doing so are destroying our credibility.

And if we decent, honest, hard-working, patriotic, true-blue conservatives of this country neglect the duty we have to our children and grandchildren, we will never be able to work with those decent, honest, hard-working, patriotic, true-blue liberal Americans that these lying creeps have taught us to despise. We will never be safe to debate them or, when warranted, to listen to them and maybe even agree with them. We will never be safe to work out our differences or to work together. And we will never be able to build on the all-American sense of unity that burst forth following 9/11, only to disappear shortly thereafter in a cloud of lying, greedy partisan politics.

As one of those decent, honest, hard-working, patriotic, true-blue more-or-less-in-the-middle Americans who who would like to leave a viable country to my children and grandchildren, I'm grateful to Becky Miller for having the courage to speak out.

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