- Christmas Eve
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radconbob- December 24th, 2009
amused
It has been a year. As I sit home, alone but for the baby, and that is far from alone. She is entertaining. I am working on RadCon programming between trying to figure out how to make the World Con promotions work. Neither are easy, but neither are impossible. the baby is split between here police car with a siren. Even as I write she sfited and wanted on the rocking horse. Funny as it is, she keeps squeezing the ear looking for the switch to turn on the music. It has been a good year and all is well with the world.
- Closing in on the Wedding
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- radconbob
- October 31st, 2009
apathetic
Well, the day moves forward. Up at 6, off ot the Hotel. Sent daughter off for a one on one breakfast with Grandmother. Took remainder of family to breakfast.
took the baby then while the girls are out for Pedicures. She is running around the hotel room now. She is truly a girl. She found my wallet and emptied it.
I have her aold Amercan Basket Ball Association Basket Ball. She has been rolling it around half the morning.
She also has a little fake cell phone. It is funny, but her first clear word is now Hello.
Back to work on my hugo award winning novel.
Bob
- It Starts
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- radconbob
- October 30th, 2009
- touched
Hemmingway would be proud. I'm sitting in a hotel room, the cork from y bottle of scotch lying on the wooden table top, some clutter about, and my work in fron of me.
Of course I should be out to dinner now, so enough with Hemmingway. The wedding is officialy in the end game. I'm sitting alone in the empty hotel room, as noted above, my work is indeed a screen away, but first I keep my committment to chronical the wedding. Because Denver couldn't control it's weather, flights all over the west have been impacted.
My blessed mother, her virgin sister, and my two saintworthy sisters flying into the weeding sit, even as we speak, in Salt Lake City with a $7 voucher for a meal because the incoming flight was delayed and they missed the outgoing flight. Hence me sitting alone in one of their hotel rooms. They will be in some time before midnight I'm told, I simply have to be ready.
My plans had been perfect. I had shuttle arranged to pick them up, which I would ride down from the hotel, we would meet, I would ride the shuttle back with them, and hand them their keys. They would come to a room ready and stocked with refreshments and scotch we would order out chinese, sit and chat into the night, and then I would depart for home.
The daughter called. The parents of the groom, whom I had asked 15 times if they needed a hotel room. I could get them their room for pennies on the dollar with advance booking, called at 6 PM and announced they would take the room after all. God will strike me for the manipulative contrivances I constructed to get them the rade, but I did. I called back to declare victory. The daughter announced they now instead be staying at a Day's Inn.
I said nothing. I may have a quiet place tonight after all. The money? Not to worry. Barely a tenth the cost of a cake, so I'll not fret, the meaningful numbers used to calculate the cost of a wedding will not change for the this mere pittance.
So here I sit, faithful friends. Embarking into the endgame of my daughters youth, the childless chapter of my own life, and yet aware that daily life will not change, it will simply continue until the moment it does not. That, Mr. Hemmingway did understand. I shall avoid further comparisons so as to belay those thoughts already rounding your cerebellum and press alt shift and continue the meaningful work of editing, yet again, a novel that should have already won it's Hugo.
good night dear friends, and if you choose to kneel tonight, something long past in my life, remember Jay and all those who care for him and ask the big guy just what the hell he is thinking, and if he would be so kind, go in and fix what ever it was he screwed up.
Bob
- Thoughts on Stuff
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- radconbob
- October 26th, 2009
bouncy
The question to be asked of ourselves at any given time or on any given day is "What Matters."
Face it, we will die one day. We will be that pile ofr ash or that chunk of dead meat in the box.
So will our children. That beautiful baby that statistics tell us will likely live to be more than 100 will still be in the box. Their own box. And their children, pets, and grandchildren. The story will go on without them or us until Earths orbit decays to meet an expanding sun. Only a cinder will remain.
Mankind, our hopes, dreams, monuments and failures will cease to exist. And the story will go on without us.
So given that, what matters? Family? that tiny dog that thinks you are a god? That bottle, that cicarette, the moment of shared bliss that is the human sexual experiience? Perhaps it is the hope of a non corporeal existance that transends time?
My advice is no matter what it is, find it.
Find out what matters, who matters, Know it in your heart and live like it matters.
This is the only way I can see of making any meaning out of this existance, the only way to get anything out of this life. The outcome will still be the same, Nothing can change that. We only own the time between the birth and the box. We can only own a piece of the story, so I figure you need to make it a good one.
.
- (no subject)
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- radconbob
- August 16th, 2009
And it comes to a blissful end.
The week started badly. I'm an auditer for a company and was auditing an organization not liking to be audited. They provided a 28 page rebuttal to the audit report even in draft form and all but one stalked out of the meeting. This was a day I had anticipated being on vacation.
This forces work on Tuesday. I finish up about 10 AM and all is well. I leave work for my delayed and now truncated vacation.
I'm prepared. I have books on tape, most notably Sara Paretsky's Bleeding Kansas, an interesting but unfulfilling book that left me curious if she had ever been to Kansas, a Spencer Novel, again intersting, but unfullfilling, and so I am off.
My first stop is Bellingham. The Duchess, Her Grace, Alma Alexander and Deck Deckert have allowed me to live in their basement for two weeks. The food was so good I felt guilty and consumated my guilt by buying a box of peaches and treating them to home made Peach Cobbler. I wanted to make a crust, but making pie crust in a loaner kitchen is like rebuilding an engine on the back porch. It just makes a mess and I wanted to be invited back.
Deck is a master of the food processor and made an apple chutney that was too cool for words. It went well with the chicken he roasted one night. They let me carve the chicken. Not understanding that in the south carving the chicken means ripping off the wings and legs, popping off the breast and slapping the bits on plates.
I knew I was in trouble when, looking off the back deck, I commented on how healthly and fat the deer looked. Alma does not think of her back porch as a deer blind.
And then, as quickly as it started it was over. I was packed and headed to Camp Con.
Camp Con is in year three. A camping trip for writers and fans. I draw some ammusement from those who would dress in the manner of the 12th century and bemoan the modern world and then gasp at the thought of sleeping under the stars.
In my world, camping is a couple of blankets, one of which you use to pad the rock that is your pillow
I woke up around three AM and lay until a falling star hit the atmosphere, and then went back to sleep. I got up a few hours latter and cooked breakfast.
Then I came home.
Camp Con IV will be next year.
They let me trim a couple of branches, defeat Alma soundly in a game of scrabble, and help mount a for wild life viewing. I got the better of the deal.
- Time with Alma and Deck
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- radconbob
- August 13th, 2009
- content
It is 9:30 on a Thursday morning. Normally I'm on my third cup of tea, editing a report, answering my 20th e-mail and catching up on phone calls.
Today, as yesterday, I am sitting in the kitchen of Alma Alexander and Deck Deckert. My back is to the deck overlooking the woods. Otherwise I would spend my day looking at the squirrils.
To those who don't know them Alma, also known as the mistriss of fantasy and at RadCon as "the Duchess", and Deck, a retired newspaper man, are a sweet couple as seen on TV. They hold hands, bicker, and peck each other with gentle kisses to the cheek throughout the day.
I was invited to spend a couple days in their basement. It is so wonderful I want to stay. My cell phone doesn't work here.
It is like visiting a world of real perfection. The house reminds me of the Smith/Rusch household. Books. It is dedicated to books. Small offices and rooms are in place at odd locations and the feel is so welcoming and warm as to make you wonder if these people ever find any peace.
We went to breakfast yesterday morning. Hidden cafe, an elegant little place that I could have imagined eating the same breakfast in the same setting a hundred years ago. Two book stores later, Alma let me haul her bag of "trade ins" to one. The joy of browsing a bookstore free of the pressure of time. I bought 6 books.
We went to the Co-op where the grocieris were bought. The tomatoes were real. they looked as if they came right out of the garden. They were bought and packed into large blue cloth bags.
Today I am making white beans and ham hocks, with cornbread followed by peach cobler and Ice Cream.
I anticipate how Deck will announce the meal. He will will growl out the word Breakfast or Supper at the head of the stairs and the accoustics will carry it down to Alma's office. She will bring her charming grumbling self up from the basement and eat with a vigor that is astounding a liberating.
They don't let me do much. I'm not allowed to do dishes. I've convinced them to let me trim a tree and move a couple of heavy bits of furniture.
It has been a wonderful couple of days with a wonderful couple of people.
I will regret my departure and anticipate my (oh please invite me back) next opportunity to visit Bellingham.
- Reno Has the World Con in 2011
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- radconbob
- August 9th, 2009
- excited
Renovation Wins the 2011 Worldcon
Renovation
The 69th World Science Fiction Convention
RCFI
PO Box 13278
Portland, OR 97213-0278press@renovationsf.org
www.renovationsf.orgFOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Montreal - The Reno in 2011 bid won the right to run the 2011 World Science Fiction Convention in voting conducted by Anticipation, the 2009 World Science Fiction Convention. Renovation will run from August 17-21, 2011 at the Reno-Sparks Convention Center. The Atlantis Hotel will be the main/party hotel, with additional rooms supplied by the Peppermill and Courtyard by Marriott.
Renovation has a stellar line-up of guests of honor: Tim Powers, Ellen Asher, Boris Vallejo and the late Charles N. Brown.
Tim Powers is a leading speculative novelist, whose books include The Drawing of the Dark (Del Rey, 1979), The Anubis Gates (Ace, 1983, winner of the Philip K. Dick Memorial Award and the Prix Apollo), Dinner at Deviant's Palace (Ace, 1985, winner of the Philip K. Dick Memorial Award), On Stranger Tides (Ace, 1987), The Stress of Her Regard (Ace, 1989, winner of the Mythopoeic Award), Last Call (Morrow, 1992, winner of the World Fantasy Award), and Declare (Morrow, 2001, winner of the World Fantasy Award). Tim has frequently taught at the Clarion science fiction writer's workshop.
Ellen Asher was the editor of the Science Fiction Book Club for thirty-four years and three months, thereby fulfilling her life's ambition of beating John W. Campbell's record as the person with the longest tenure in the same science fiction job. Ellen is a winner of the New England Science Fiction Association's Edward E. Smith Memorial Award for Imaginative Fiction (the Skylark) and in 2007 received a World Fantasy Award in the category Special Award: Professional.
A native of Peru, Boris Vallejo has created a great volume of work for the Fantasy field, having worked for virtually every major publishing house with a science fiction/fantasy line. Boris has also illustrated for album covers, video box art and motion picture advertising. His mastery of oil painting is immediately and abundantly clear to anyone who looks at his work, and his classic sense is as much an homage to the old masters as it is to anyone contemporaneously working in the Fantasy genre.
Charles N. Brown was Publisher & Editor-in-Chief of 29-time Hugo winner Locus magazine which he founded in 1968 and had been involved in the science fiction field since the late 1940s. He was the original book reviewer for Asimov's, edited several SF anthologies, and wrote for numerous magazines and newspapers. Charles died unexpectedly on July 12, 2009, while flying home from Readercon. To acknowledge Charles' lasting impact on our field, he remains a Renovation Guest of Honor.
ENDS
Memberships for Renovation may be purchased at www.renovationsf.org. In addition to individual memberships, Renovation will also offer a family rate.
For more details on the convention, visit www.renovationsf.org. We encourage your input to help us create a memorable Worldcon.
For complete voting results, see the Anticipation website: www.anticipationsf.ca/English/Home.
Direct press questions, or requests to be removed from the Renovation press release mailing list, to press@renovationsf.org. General queries to info@renovationsf.org.
"World Science Fiction Society", "WSFS", "World Science Fiction Convention", "Worldcon", "NASFiC", "Hugo Award", and the distinctive design of the Hugo Award Rocket are service marks of the World Science Fiction Society, an unincorporated literary society.
- C, S. Cole Birthday
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- radconbob
- July 27th, 2009
Got this little note on my computer. C. S. Cole's Birthday is coming up. I can only say that if we are, at any given time, the sum of our existance then I look forward to seeing Carol after she has had another year to build on what is possibley the most joyous collection of beauty, grace, personality, and just plain good nature I have ever met. Improving on that is both a challange and an opportunity, and I look forward to the result.
Happy Birthday Carol!
- My Weekend On Orcas Island
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- radconbob
- July 25th, 2009
It was a weekend that was everything it was destined to be. Sue's daughter was getting married. Her second. On the original marriage, I joined her biological father in walking her down the aisle. The service was in a tiny little church with stained plastic windows in a meadow. This time her brother did, he did a good job. About half of the people were late. Most had never driven on a dirt road. You had to drive on a dirt road to get to the church.
It started Thursday. I took a day off. We got up early. Out of the house at 0530. Baby was good. Daughter was in a vile mood. Memories of when she lived at home. God how I had missed those mood swings. And all it took to get them back was to put her in a truck at 530 in the morning.
I'm set to drive. Of course the panicked passengers when I saw the sign, no services for 32 miles and I only had a quarter tank of gas. Stopping was important. The sighs I heard when I passed McDonalds. Stopping was important.
I passed the sign that said Bellingham, 38 miles. I wanted out. I wanted to go see Deck and Alma. But I had to go to the wedding. Stopping wasn't important.
There was a Detour. It was designed to lead you away from the Ferry. I found out things about my passengers map reading ability. I tried to explain the concept of a scale on a map to estimate distances. They were confused. I drove a nice loop. Saw Deception State Park. Went by the detour again. This time we found the Ferry. Daughter was in viler mood.
Ferry ride was nice.
Go left when you get off the ferry. That's what the map said. The young woman running the ferry traffic controle insisted I go right. I found dirt roads. Gravel roads. Unmapped roads. I was the only car she made go left. We were confused.
I found the house. It was easy. Once you drove the circumference of the Island. Not that much.to drive. It is a pretty island.
I could go into details of the 90 degree afternoon in a sealed up unvientilated church. The thunderstorm that interrupted the outdoor reception. The step mother that, when complimented on the wedding, responded, with a glare at the mother, "well somebody had to do it."
The cliff over looking the island that the mother fantacized pushing the stepmother off of.
But use your imagination. A keg of beer, three gallons of 80 proof liquer. the thunderstorm. Yes, I didn't want to leave. this is the stuff writers love to watch. But the baby was cranky. The rain was falling.
I get on the Ferry tomorrow. I'll miss Orcas Island. I might come back. Alone.
- The Nazi's and Me
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- radconbob
- July 3rd, 2009
- satisfied
I have a hobby.
It includes Nazis.
I live in a town where white supremecy is the given norm. Even people I associate with defend them because "with all the mexicans you have to stick together."
Well a half dozen times a year they do a major tagging effort on the RR Bridge near my house. Every time it happens I go down and paint over it. Somethimes I take a friend. Some times the people I ask surprise me by asking why would I paint over the swastika when there's "mexican" tagging town the street.
It might be my Jewish Grandma. Might be the three uncles I had in uniform fighting the Nazi, or it might just be because I don't like republicans on a general level.
Any way this last round was a bit over the top. It took me a whole gallon.
There is no moral here, but I really do wish that these people would go home and sheetrock the inside of their garage so they have a nice place to paint thier poorly formed swastikas, poorly spelled hate language, and their mildly poor choice of colors.
Well, all I can do is go into home depo on occassion and buy a couple of gallons of mis mix paint. Get some great colors. It is fun to paint over a red swastika with a bright yellow satin.
I do look forward to the day when I go down and don't have to consider that I might find the stuff, but I don't think it will happen.
