The New Model Starfleet

[Okay, so it's Wednesday. I'll try to make up in verbosity what I lacked in timeliness]

How tall is today's tale? Just over a quarter of a million miles tall. And the best part is that it's all true, even if it is eerily similar to a tale told by a man who was, himself, half-fictional.

It all starts around 1638 or so. In Scotland, the National Covenant was pushing back against Charles I of England's attempts to "reform" the Scottish Church. The military and political reversals Charles was to experience would lead, in a few short years, to the "Short Parliament," the "Long Parliament," and, finally, the English Civil War. Into this environment arrived John Wilkins, a young churchman of respectable (if unspectacular) birth and a certified genius for mathematics and natural philosophy.

He also seems to have had a natural gift for not pissing people off, which was no mean feat in those days.

As a result of these gifts, he swiftly progressed from being a small-time vicar to being personal chaplain to a variety of increasingly powerful and influential figures — such as William Fiennes, and the King's nephew, Prince Charles Louis — who were to spend the next several years trying to kill each other. Not only did Wilkins come through that era unscathed, he went on to marry Oliver Cromwell's sister, become a close advisor to Richard Cromwell, and still survive the Restoration with only the slightest of inconveniences (Lavoisier would be so jealous).

Indeed, he is best known today for his accomplishments after the return to power of Charles II: specifically, the founding of the Royal Society, for which he was the first Secretary; and his treatise An Essay Toward a Real Character and a Philosophical Language, which contained quite sophisticated analyses of the ontology of natural language, and its explication in the construction of new, artificial languages (thus demonstrating, of course, that "Ontology Recapitulates Philology").

But just because his main claims to fame came after 1660 does not mean that he was sitting on his hands or kissing up to important people for the first 46 years of his life; far from it. In fact, in 1641, on the eve of the Civil War, he published Mercury, or the Secret and Swift Messenger, the first English-language work on cryptography (which is just the sort of thing that comes in handy during a Civil War).

Even that wasn't his first unique contribution, however: Before it, in 1640, he wrote what might be thought of as the Cosmos of its day, A Discourse Concerning a New Planet, which set forth in layman's English the discoveries and revelations of Copernicus, Galileo, Kepler, and other cutting-edge scientists.

But even that was not his first work: In 1638, he wrote a curious book entitled The Discovery of a World in the Moone, or, A Discourse Tending to Prove That 'Tis Probable There May Be Another Habitable World in That Planet. As the title indicates, he felt that the Moon was a simple terrestrial sphere like the Earth, and that, as a result, it was likely to be inhabited.

While he understood that there was no requirement for it to be inhabited, he — like many leading natural philosophers of his time — considered it only reasonable to assume that if God had created a whole great additional world, He would naturally not let it go to waste. And just as humans had spread their presence across the whole of the habitable Earth (and Canada), it was natural for him to assume that the Moon was likewise occupied by its natives.

Being English, however, he went one step further than most individuals who had embarked upon that same course of speculation: He reasoned that creatures living on the Moon represented a vast, untapped market. Just think of the possibilities for trade and commerce! And so, in the third edition of his book, published in 1641, he began to lay forth the steps which would be necessary to undertake such a mission.

He was, as Dr. Allan Chapman described in a lecture at Gresham College, living in "a sort of honeymoon period in the history of science, when immense possibilities were expected and things had not yet started to go wrong."

The previous century had seen tremendous upheaval in the store of knowledge of the world inherited from Greek and Roman sources. Vast gulfs of impossibility had been conquered by the newly-formed armies of Science; brave explorers had discovered new lands where none had been known before; it must have seemed entirely natural that anything might be possible. Enough science was known to allow him to get a good head start on his project; but not enough science was yet known to show him where it was impossible.

He knew that the Earth was a giant magnet; he knew (more or less) that the Earth had what we now call gravity; and he knew that they both operated in roughly similar fashions. It wasn't hard for him to conflate the two into one force. He used trigonometry and careful measurements to estimate the heights of the tallest cloud tops as roughly 20 miles above the surface of the earth; it wasn't that unreasonable for him to assume, therefore, that anything above that point would be free from the magnetic pull of the Earth. Therefore, all one had to do was to somehow make it the first twenty miles straight up towards the Moon, and the rest would be dead easy.

As for the vehicle, he ended up taking a 17^th century technological overkill approach to it. In addition to having immense wings coated with the feathers of particularly high-flying birds, it was to involve truly enormous springs, as well as every other cutting-edge gadget he could cram into it to propel it higher. He even played around with using gunpowder — not as a direct propellant, but as a method of applying tension to the springs, using a sort of gun barrel-cum-piston; almost a primitive internal combustion engine.

Goose wings and gunpowder springs: That perfectly encapsulates the heady combination of knowledge and ignorance that existed in the contemporary world of natural philosophy.

In the long run, of course, he never did land on the moon. He never even made a try at it. After all, England was slightly preoccupied with Civil Wars and whatnot until Wilkins was a comfortable middle-aged man with a family; and by the time the Royal Society was in full swing, discoveries by folks like Boyle and Hooke had thrown enough cold water on his earlier speculations to let him know that it was never to be: Outer space was a vacuum; space would be too inhospitable; springs could never be strong enough; and so forth.

It was too late.

And so, John Wilkins, who very nearly founded the first space program in the history of mankind; and who became the first human being ever to turn his gaze from the moon to a desk full of engineering calculations on how to get there; also became the first human to ever be disappointed by the cold equations of orbital mechanics and material science which conspired to keep him earthbound.

It has been just over 32 years now since Apollo 17 lifted off from the Taurus-Littrow valley on the Moon to return home. Looking up in the sky at night, I know how John Wilkins felt.

Twilight of Witch World

I'm going to get ahead of the curve, here, and post something before it's time to use parentheses surrounding two dates in my message title: Andre Norton is in seriously failing health, and has returned from the hospital into hospice care at home, surrounded by the comforts of cats and books and friends.

On February 20, the SFWA announced the creation of the "Andre Norton Award," which will be given out each year, starting in 2006, for the best work of fantasy or science fiction for the young adult market. This came three days after she turned 93, and one day before she left the hospital; and it is singularly appropriate, given how many people have been turned on to science fiction — or reading in general — by her books.

Those of you who might wish to send her cards or letters can do so at:

Andre Norton
c/o Sue Stewart
1007 Herron Street
Murfreesboro, TN 37130

Observer Affects

Who knew that even zoologists need Heisenberg Compensators? Nature is reporting that equipping voles with radio collars — for purposes of tracking their movements — causes changes in their birth patterns, with the ratio of males to females born tilting heavily towards the production of more males.

This also explains why high-energy physics experiments in vole decay regularly yield such apparently contradictory results. Nevertheless, researchers at CERN say they are quite comfortable with their overall statistical analyses, and are pushing forward with plans to build new accelerators capable of producing collisions in the two to three trillion electron-vole range.


In the meantime, researchers at the University of Pennsylvania are working to develop a "plasmonic cover," which could render an object invisible by using electron-density waves to prevent the scattering of light from the object's surface. While there are still immense technical hurdles to overcome, scientists around the world are already reported to be intensely jealous of how incredibly cool a name "plasmonic cover" is.

Media Madness Monday

Well, it's been more than a month now since I introduced my last gimmicky theme, so I'm obviously overdue (by this time next year, I'll be wishing a happy 100^th birthday to little old ladies named "Gladys," and giving £5 to anyone who spots me on the street and says the magic phrase).

First off, it looks like even things which never started must someday come to an end, as last December's reports of a new Babylon 5 theatrical movie, to be called The Memory of Shadows, has been superseded by this February's cold blast of bad news from JMS, that financing for the deal has fallen through for good, and there will be no movie.

On to a quick bit of cinematic sport: Halle Berry became, to my knowledge, only the second person to ever show up to accept a Razzie Award in person (the first was Showgirls writer Joe Eszterhas), when she picked up her Golden Raspberry Award for Worst Actress, for the execrable Catwoman.

Some news on the DVD front: The 2004 remake of Masamune Shirow's Appleseed now has a R1 DVD release date of May 5. There's no word on a R2 release date yet, but I don't want to hear any whinging at all from a region that is getting both The Ascent of Man and Civilisation on DVD in April.

And speaking of That Region Beyond The Seas, one of the most interesting bits of movie news I've heard in a while concerns a new movie, starring James Purefoy and Natalie Portman, which, for obvious reasons, is scheduled to open on Friday, the Fourth of November. It'll be one to Remember, that's for sure.

Ook

Ah, the perfect start to a Fan Fiction Friday: Slashdot sez that a group of German Terry Pratchett fans have finished a fan film adaptation of Lords and Ladies, with all proceeds going to the Orangutan Foundation.

They have trailers online, although at the moment the servers hosting them have been rendered into their component atoms by the mighty force of fandom. For some mythical later date when they might return, however, here are links to the English trailer, the German trailer, and a quick scene with Cohen the Barbarian. For those who can't wait, there's also a Swedish mirror site for the English trailer, as well as a Bittorrent link.


But wait! That's not all! The part of the story which Slashdot missed (well, until I posted a message about it on the thread, at least) is that Lords and Ladies is not the only PTerry "Discworld" film nearing completion: LSpace has information about a group of Aussie filmmakers who are nearly finished with a film adaptation of the Discworld short story "Troll Bridge." Terry even wrote some new dialogue for the script.

Just one more pick at the 'Tics, oh pleeeease

Bestest visual comment ever on the WB fever-dream. (By Matthew Hunter on Golden Age Cartoons, hosts of the annual Design An Ugly Video Cover contest.)

Groundroast Day

From Greg Stephens' Zwol comes this glorious story of an enterprising group of individuals who weren't afraid to demonstrate that Starbucks, being environmentally enlightened, is now going so far as to recycle even space-time and linear causality itself!

How to Destroy the World

From Claude Muncey, via Electrolite, comes this Must Read Primer for the Mad Scientist who is not afraid to dream big.


The good advice doesn't just extend to the planning and implementation stages, either: "Take a camera. Most of the methods listed above are incredibly spectacular and witnessing them will probably be once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you, so remember to capture the moment."

Into the Garbage Chute, Felineboy

This Tuesday, for a change of pace, I thought I'd share a funny animal story with you.

Today's remarkable true-life tale of derring-do comes our way courtesy of Dr. Patricia Schroeder, Blues scholar and Professor of English at Ursinus College in Collegeville, PA (which, frankly, sounds like the kind of place you'd expect Professor Utonium to be from). Like our other animal tales, this one involves lovable pets, delicious food, and wanton household destruction.

Our story begins one night in the spring of 1999, with an innocent meal of smoked salmon...

One Door Closes...

Almost missed in the hubbub about Enterprise's cancellation was the likely-- but by no means certain-- announcement of Galactica's continued life. Slashdot discusses.

On the other hand, will Nintendo's ownzoring of Sci-Fi lead to problems with content?

Normal/abnormal dichotomy. I've been saying this for years...

Christie Davies sez this is Mapplethorpe doing SF illustration. (Work-safe.)

"Pleez, Joss! Pretty pleez! I'll be yor best frend!" I think the funniest thing about this story is how Wonder Woman and Buffy the Vampire Slayer are both "a kind of female superhero character." I mean, they're female and they're superheroes, but one's a normal teenybopper cheerleader with a Destiny, the other is a royal ambassador from a Land of Better-Than-We-Are. Extended conversation between them would be awkward. But y'know, they both punch and kick.

Or maybe Joel meant Emma Frost?

There's Still Room on T Campbell's Amazon Wish List

What better time than Jeri Ryan's 37^th birthday to mention that Season One of Star Trek: Enterprise arrives on DVD May 3 (in other words, just about the same time that Season Cancelled reverses its final polarity).

Beyond 2772

Getting away from Loonatics for a bit, I've recently rediscovered Technorati, and through it, found two SF-related tidbits from Wired.

Bruce Sterling on the latest intersection of architecture and robotics: the viab.

Biohybridism for those who've lost a limb. Way better than Vic Stone's deal.

Bleeding Edge Animation

The irrepressible Chex gets on the Loonatics' case, and reveals their fatal design flaw. If the episodes end with group hugs there'll be trouble. Talking of trouble, if WB names their leader "Buzz Bunny" as reported, well... I wouldn't Google the name at work if I were you.

Hot from our "News That Hasn't Happened... Yet" Department

Fwak imagines a further all-too-possible mutation of the Warner toon crew:

Loonateens!

F.M. Busby (1921-2005)

Victor Gonzalez' Trufen.net is reporting that Francis Marion Busby died yesterday afternoon in Seattle of intestinal problems, and complications from multiple surgeries to correct them.

Like many of his contemporaries, "Buz" made his mark in Fandom before going on to a successful career as a writer; and, along with his wife, Elinor, remained active in Fandom for the rest of his life. He and Elinor, along with Burnett Toskey and Wally Weber, edited Cry of the Nameless, the legendary fanzine of "The Nameless Ones" (Seattle Fandom in the 1950s and 1960s); they were also closely involved with Seacon, the 1961 Worldcon in Seattle.

Cry won the Hugo Award for "Best Fanzine" in 1960 — ironically, the only Hugo Award which he ever won, despite such memorable novels as Cage a Man, All These Earths, The Alien Debt, The Long View, and others in his "Rissa Kerguelen" series. He was also responsible for some excellent short stories, including "Getting Home" and "If This Is Winnetka, You Must Be Judy."

Further information, including funeral and memorial details, should be available later on his CaringBridge patient web page. His CaringBridge page also has a guestbook where well-wishers can leave their thoughts and condolences.

Fan Fiction Friday, John Constantine Edition

The miracle is not that someone wrote a Hellblazer/Buffy crossover, or a Hellblazer/The Vampire Lestat crossover; those are practically mandatory. Having Cancer Man try to use John Constantine as a go-between for a shady deal is clever, and Krychek/Constantine slash is unusual, but X-Files crossovers aren't exactly unheard-of in fanfic circles, either, are they? And anyway, Ethan Rayne/John Constantine makes a lot more sense as a slash pairing.

Putting John Constantine at Hogwart's is also a bit obvious, what with Tim Hunter, and all: but when it leads to things like Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Constantine's list of "Things I Am Not Allowed To Do Any More at Hogwart's" ("28. 'Ten points from Gryffindor' is an acceptable form of discipline. 'Peeves? I'd like you to do something for me' is not"), who could possibly complain?

Other bits of British television also get their turn: Sometimes it's Mr. Steed and Emma Peel crossing paths with John Constantine; sometimes it's Doctor Who and his various companions who have the honor.

But all of this is still too normal, after its own fashion; too expected. We're talking about John Constantine, here! When you want to write about him, you've got to Bring the Weird. Twin Peaks is always worth a few weird points, but it's still not unexpected. If you sat down with a pad of paper and made a chart of all the media properties that you could drop John Constantine into, you'd have listed all of these at some point already.

Let's go off the charts, instead, now: Teaming John Constantine with TV psychic John Edwards (a Crossing Over crossover?) is a powerful step in the right direction; and dropping him into a Warren Zevon song that isn't "Werewolves of London" is a stroke of genius.

But beyond genius lies madness, and that is my preferred destination. For that is where you will find the terrible beauty of the John Constantine/Oh My Goddess! crossovers. Yes, crossovers. Plural. Including a musical.

After all that, who would balk at Sailor Hellblazer? I certainly wouldn't.

In fact, I'd probably scream, "Again! Again!"

Now We Know Why Buffy Went to Rome

What with Constantine opening to wildly divergent reviews (the Tomatometer, appropriately enough, is balanced at the moment precisely between Heav'n and Hell at 50%), what better time could there be to discover that Regina Apostolorum, the Vatican's Pontifical Academy, is currently holding advanced classes on Satanism, demonic posession, and the occult.

Thursday's lecturer, Rev. Gabriele Nanni, touched on the pitfalls of driving the devil from someone's body.

Priests must never be proud of their ability, remembering that they are merely conduits of Christ, he said. They must not perform exorcisms on people they suspect have psychological problems. And they should not get carried away and invent mystical gestures.

Wooden stakes, sarcastic quips, broad puns and ironic pop-culture references are presumably Right Out, then.

Enterprise, you are still loved

(Apologies for the appalling lousy byline... ) Enterprise fans at TrekUnited.com are attempting to raise $35 million to fund another season of the show.

In other news: a warped and unfortunately real-life version of the Siren myth has been playing out in the British Lake District.

Skin Care Ideas From Bed Bathory and Beyond

Now that our extra-special All-Wednesday Wednesday festivities have concluded, let me share with you today's entry in the "Life Imitates Art" competition:

SPIKE: Blood is life, lack-brain. Why do you think we eat it? It's what keeps you going. Makes you warm. Makes you hard. Makes you other than dead.

Blood^®: It does a body good.

Small Tail Tuesday

Well, the first Tall Tale Tuesday featured California mystics of the OTO. Our second was a funny animal story. Last week, it was back to California and the OTO again. So now, obviously, I am required by law to bring you a funny animal story, involving rodents, fruit, and lots of funny destruction. With cute pictures, of course.

If I can ever find a funny story about Aleister Crowley's pet duck, I can cause two weeks to happen at the same time, bringing about The End! of! Time! Itself!

Bwah ha ha ha ha.

Jack Chalker (1944–2005) [updated, Feb. 14]

UPDATE: Memorial Details Below

[from Feb. 11]
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America web site is reporting that Jack Chalker passed away at 11:12 AM this morning in Baltimore, MD, of complications from congestive heart failure. In addition to his many popular books in the "Well of Souls" series and stand-alone novels such as And the Devil Will Drag You Under, he was a three-time Treasurer of the SFWA.

He and his wife of more than twenty years, Eva C. Whitley, were also both very active in SF Fandom, participating both on-line and in person, including his stints as Toastmaster of the 1983 WorldCon and co-chair of Discon II, the 1974 WorldCon. He is also credited with co-creating the term "SMOF".

He is survived by Eva and two sons, David Whitley Chalker and Steven Lloyd Chalker. He is also survived by a great many books that have given pleasure to a great many readers.

---

Eva Whitley has posted memorial details on her LiveJournal, to which I have, for the sake of convenience, added hopefully appropriate hyperlinks (and one parenthetical phone number):

"A Memorial Service for Jack will be held on Monday, February 21 from 7-9 PM at The Marzullo Funeral Chapel, 6009 Harford Road, Baltimore, MD 21214." [410-254-5201]

"A special room rate has been arranged under 'Chalker Funeral' with the Best Western Hotel and Conference Center at the Baltimore Travel Plaza, 5625 O'Donnell Street, Baltimore, MD 21224. They can be contacted for reservations at (410) 633-9500 or 800-633-9511."

"In lieu of flowers, donations are being accepted at the Sierra Club, Save the Bay/Chesapeake Bay Foundation, the Baltimore Science Fiction Society and the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America Emergency Medical Fund."

Leave it to veteran conrunners to negotiate a room rate at the hotel. It's not too hard to view this as like being sent off with a convention, which is pretty cool.

Young Martian from Woking

But very early in the morning poor Ogilvy, who had seen the shooting star and who was persuaded that a meteorite lay somewhere on the common between Horsell, Ottershaw, and Woking, rose early with the idea of finding it. Find it he did, soon after dawn, and not far from the sand pits. An enormous hole had been made by the impact of the projectile, and the sand and gravel had been flung violently in every direction over the heath, forming heaps visible a mile and a half away.

---

And this Thing I saw! How can I describe it? A monstrous tripod, higher than many houses, striding over the young pine trees, and smashing them aside in its career; a walking engine of glittering metal, striding now across the heather; articulate ropes of steel dangling from it, and the clattering tumult of its passage mingling with the riot of the thunder. A flash, and it came out vividly, heeling over one way with two feet in the air, to vanish and reappear almost instantly as it seemed, with the next flash, a hundred yards nearer. Can you imagine a milking stool tilted and bowled violently along the ground? That was the impression those instant flashes gave. But instead of a milking stool imagine it a great body of machinery on a tripod stand.

---

Before the Martians landed at Grovers Mill or Bayonne, New Jersey, they landed in Woking, on Horsell Common. So how cool was it that, to celebrate the centenary of the publication of War of the Worlds, the Woking Borough Council decided to commission some Martians?

I don't know about you, but I think that most city centers (or centres, even) could benefit from the addition of some shiny death machines (here in Atlanta, we use automobiles). Heck, the Woking Borough Council went all out, and even included a tribute to the hero of the story.

There! Now you have something else to see the next time you go on a pilgrimage to Paul Weller's boyhood home.

The Greatest Stories Ever Told

I'm stepping a bit outside the bounds of what most people consider "fanfic" today, to look at some bits of fan fiction which are not based on any kind of famous media properties or bestselling novels.

First, let us recall the cautionary tale of Atlanta Nights, the collaborative effort at sustained and deliberate awfulness promulgated as a sting operation by a dedicated group of SF authors and experts. Upon returning from the ER, many readers of this work have wished that they could share their own stories of these fascinating characters with their fellow victimfans.

Well, never fear! The chance is now available to touch others as you, yourself, have been touched, with the Travis Tea fanfic site. And when you read these offerings, it is immediately clear that the people writing them truly are touched.

Another feature of the fanfic page is the missing Chapter 21, tragically omitted from the book during its original publication. And speaking of tragic omissions, there is none more famous in the field of SF fandom than the lost final chapter of that immortal classic, "The Eye of Argon". Written by the late St. Louis fan Jim Theis in 1970, it hit SF fandom like a face full of mackerel, with public readings quickly becoming a de rigeur event at finer SF cons.

But there was an otter in the ointment: The text of "The Eye of Argon," lovingly transcribed from issue 10 of OSFAN, the journal of the Ozark SF Society, was missing its final chapter. As a result, the thrilling story of Grignr the Ecordian ends abruptly with the line, "The jelly like mass began to bubble like a vat of boiling tar as quavers passed up and down its entire form."

And then, in the January 2005 issue of The New York Review of Science Fiction, came word that a complete copy of OSFAN 10 had turned up in the Jack Williamson Science Fiction Library at Eastern New Mexico University. The very next month, issue 198 of NYRSF carried the text of the lost ending of this immortal work, which can now be read, in its fully-restored glory, on web site of the UK SF Archive.

No, no, that's okay. You can thank me later.

"The Greatest Science Fiction Story Ever Written!"

And other SF matches from one of Google's newest toys.

Just fun.

If We Have to Turn Down That Logan Kid, I'm Letting You Write the Letter

From the invaluable McSweeney's comes this touching selection of rejection letters from Xavier's School for Exceptional Youth.

Also, as an added bonus, the Secret History of Superman's Fortress of Solitude.

Heh Heh Heh. Bwah Ha Ha Ha!

Perhaps it's because I've been reading Shaenon Garrity's Narbonic book, but I find that I've been thinking about Jack Parsons a lot lately. Part of that dates back to my first "Tall Tale" post, where he scored a parenthetical mention; but the main factor was my sudden realization that, despite the prevalence of the concept in science fiction and spy novels, Jack Parsons was, as far as I can tell, the only actual example ever of a Mad Scientist Attempting to Destroy the World.

Admittedly, his attempt to destroy the world involved sexual rituals rather than weapons of mass destruction; and the destruction that he was attempting was a creative destruction, wherein the old Reality would be swept away and supplanted by a New! Improved! Reality!^®, as opposed to a, well, destructive destruction; but still, he was a Mad Scientist, and he was trying to Destroy the World. No one else that I can think of has ever really met both of those criteria.

So here's the kicker: The entire course of human history has produced only one Mad Scientist Attempting to Destroy the World, right? So what are the odds that L. Ron Hubbard, of all people, would be the person responsible for preventing Parsons from completing his experiments? With the shrewd tactical insight for which he would later become justifiably famous, he accomplished this feat by the simple expedient of leaving town with a vital component of Parsons' experiments by the name of "Betty,"^* as well as a vital component of Parsons' bank accounts called "cash" — still, who are we to quibble with his methods?

For his part, Parsons eventually decided that he could quibble, at least to the extent of chasing the couple down in Miami — only to discover that they had set sail just ahead of his arrival on the Dianne, one of the three boats they had purchased with his money.

At that point, Parsons did what any sensible person would do: He performed a full invocation to "Bartzabel" inside a consecrated circle in his hotel room.

Once the freak storm that ripped the sails of the Dianne to shreds had passed, and Hubbard had limped the boat back into port, Parsons invoked some really terrifying creatures: lawyers. Parsons sued Hubbard to recover two of the boats; Hubbard eventually sold the third, the Dianne. He also eventually married Betty; although it appears that he may have accidentally neglected the minor preliminary step of divorcing his first wife, Polly, beforehand (...which would make him a Pollygamist, right?). Well, who can keep track of all those little details, anyway?

As for Jack Parsons, he returned to California, where, in 1948, he changed his name to the undeniably euphonious "Belarion Armiluss Al Dajjal AntiChrist." Prior to that, he had married the elemental soul mate he had conjured, Marjorie Cameron. They never did succeed in conceiving the cosmic "moonchild" who was to have been the end-product of Parsons' and Hubbard's complicated ritual; after his death in 1952 (in one of those pesky "blowed up the lab full of explosive chemicals" accidents that happens to all of us from time to time), she went on to star (with Anaïs Nin!) in Hollywood Babylon author Kenneth Anger's mystical experimental film classic, Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome, as well as appearing with her friend Dennis Hopper in the 1961 mermaid thriller Night Tide.

No one's quite sure what became of that Hubbard fellow afterwards.


...And given that this all took place in California in the 1940s, am I alone in thinking that there's a fantastic Angel fanfic waiting to be written here? Or should I just wait until Friday for that?



^* Her real name was Sara Northrup, and she called herself "Betty," which, obviously, implies that everyone knew her as Nancy.

The Butter Dimension Rebuttered

Jeffrey Rowland's new comic starts today. Wigu Tinkle may have outgrown Magical Adventures In Space, but I sure haven't. :)

The Pull of the Bush

Various generally reputable media sources are reporting that Kate Bush will release a new studio album, possibly as early as March. Of this year.

Now, I could try to tie this in to Science Fiction by discussing "Experiment IV" or "Cloudbusting," but, really, why bother? We're talking about a new Kate Bush album. If that's not Science Fiction, I don't know what is.

According to some reports, the tentative title will be Duke Nukem For Ever.



[Postscript: She lives in Reading these days. If only we had some local conact in the Berkshire region, we'd be able to find out for sure, right?]

A Coupla Boings

Oops! Thanks to several of you for the correction to the second link.

Of course Cory likes this SF story-- it's almost one he could have written himself, right down to the garbage theme and the obligatory Disney reference.

What Arthur C. Clarke has to say about tsunami and ICTs.

Roger Dean movie in progress

The artist Roger Dean is working on a movie, Floating Islands, based on his Yes album cover paintings. (Thanks to Thomas K. Dye for mentioning it in his blog.)

Oh, the Treks You'll Take!

Star Trek, of course, was the tap root of modern fan fiction. Terms of art like "slash" and "Mary Sue" originated in Trek fanfic circles. I'm old enough to remember when the first slash authors were called "K/S ladies," which always made them seem like someone's grandmothers to me (some of them may well have been, of course).

I'm also old enough to remember when slash was seen as horribly transgressive and even dangerous; David Gerrold was worrying about it casting all of Trek fandom into disrepute as late as the second edition of World of Star Trek in 1979, even though by that time Bantam Books themselves had already published such borderline slash as Jane Peyton's "Cave-in," from their mass-market fanfic collection Star Trek: The New Voyages 2, or Sondra Marshak and Myrna Culbreath's novel The Price of the Phoenix (its 1979 sequel, The Fate of the Phoenix, was even slashier).

It's worth noting that slash grew from the very trunk of Star Trek fandom: Alternative, the first stand-alone slash zine, was published by Gerry Downes, a BNF who also published Stardate: Unknown, one of the most prominent non-slash fanzines. For that matter, some of the first major slash stories were written by none other than Leslie Fish, in zines like Warped Space and Lori Chapek-Carlton's Obsc'zine.

The Oxford English Dictionary's SF Fandom Vocabulary project, for what it's worth, cites Obsc'zine as being the origin point for both "Kirk/Spock" and its abbreviation "K/S". Just think — if they had called it "Kirk:Spock" fiction originally, we might today be talking about "colonic" fanfic instead of "slash" (as for the term "slash" itself, the OED currently dates that to 1984 in the letterzine "Not Tonight, Spock!").

These days, of course, fanfic and even slash are seen as unremarkable: The producers of Xena, for instance, formed a feedback loop with their fan community, amplifying the relationship between Xena and Gabrielle by including increasing amounts of subtextual innuendo in their scripts, which lead to slashier fanfic, which caused even more blatant subtext, until X/G slash was, by the end of the series, canonical (which, by some definitions, means that it was no longer slash). They also bought scripts from fan fiction superstar Melissa Good (including one for a never-produced third musical episode, which would have had Xena and Gabrielle meet up with Sappho — originally to have been played by k. d. lang).

What surprises are left in the Star Trek fanfic universe? There is already a fan fiction TV series, more or less; and there are books like Steven R. Boyett's Treks Not Taken, consisting of a series of Star Trek vignettes, like "The Crusher in the Rye" and "The Vampire LeForge," written in the style of other, more famous authors. Is that fanfic? Well, it's pretty hard to claim that Aslan Shrugged, below, is fan fiction and Boyett's "Fandom Shrugged" isn't.

So where, as they say on Buffy, do we go from here? Well, here are two otherwise unexplored areas of fanfiction creativity that I have come across: First off, via the Zwol message boards, comes what can best be described as dōjinshi based on Star Trek: The Animated Series. Given how well the art style of the animated series lends itself to easily-produced web comics, I'm surprised I haven't seem more stuff like this (there's also fumetti-style adaptation of "Yesteryear," one of the finest episodes of the animated series).

The second — and more outré — type of original fan fiction, was "Ensign Stuart Hershfeld's Journal," the modern equivalent of an epistolary fanfic, which consisted of a series of LiveJournal entries from Hershfeld, a young starfleet officer who really hates his job. And his ship. And most of his crewmates. And especially his ship's senior officers. And pretty much everything else in the universe, too, for that matter. He didn't make all that many entries before he either tired of it, or got his conciousness trapped in a living energy field, or was blown to smithereens by some kind of glowing purple space weasel or something. Shame, really, because the entries that are there are hillarious.

Finally, though, in honor of the passing of Enterprise, let's give Lore Sjöberg the final word, as we look back on the internet's first Enterprise slash fiction.

Fan Fiction Friday Bonus Early Edition

I intend to return later today, to honor the passing of Enterprise with some Star Trek fan fiction.

"What is this?" I hear you saying, "People have written fan fiction about Star Trek? How strange and marvelous this universe must be, for I have never considered that such a thing might be possible!"

Well, it is true; however, before we get to that, I have come to honor another momentous occasion: the hundredth anniversary of Ayn Rand's birth, which happened on February 2. And I will do this in the way that Ayn herself would undoubtedly have preferred, if only she were totally different in every respect than she actually was: by sharing with you some fan fiction.

But not just any fan fiction, oh no! For this is Aslan Shrugged^*, which expertly merges Rand's Christian apologetics and mysticism with C. S. Lewis' love of pure reason and hardheaded materialism, to create what must surely be the finest Ayn Rand fan fiction I have read all week.

So far, not only the intro, but parts one and two are available.


While you're there, be sure to check out their heartwarming tale of a magical pig and his very special friends, Shelob's Web.


^* Thanks to Electrolite

Dead Two Days and Counting...

Two things happened to remind me that Enterprise was dead today:

This strip, about which Randy says "I look forward to the hate mail," and my first blog-related hate mail. Well, no, it was more like angry mail. But still.

I recognize that there are some readers of this blog who liked Enterprise. Perhaps not a majority, but a number. I guess I should've kept myself in check-- I've already vented my spleen about the biggest reason I left the series. No reason to add insult to fatal injury. It's effort better directed toward preserving Battlestar Galactica.

Enough heavy stuff. Enjoy this send-up of a classic Spider-Man story from my childhood, which, I'll wager, has fewer defenders than Enterprise.

The Mirror of Erutuf

From New Scientist comes a report of researchers in France who are attempting to create a "mirror" designed so that when you look into it, it will reflect back to you the image of your future self, five years down the road.

The "mirror" is actually a monitor which displays a live video feed from a camera. However, before the picture from the camera makes it to the display, it is fiddled with in real time by a computer which has been monitoring every aspect of your life by means of a network of high-resolution cameras placed throughout your house.

It sees you when you're sleeping; it knows when you're awake. It knows when you've been exercising, or sneaking that late-night piece of double-fudge cheesecake from the back of the fridge; and using all of that information, it decides just how many pounds to add or subtract from your future self, and how many wrinkles, grey hairs, and additional chins you will acquire. Similarly, once you finally begin that long-delayed diet, and actually start using the cobweb-festooned stairmaster in the corner of your lumber room, you can watch your future pounds melt away and a presumably slimmer and healthier you appear in the mirror.

It's the Magic Mirror from Snow White as voiced by Simon Cowell; it's the city in Sheckley's "Street of Dreams, Feet of Clay" shrunk down to just your house.

Frankly, I can't imagine that there will be a very robust market for products designed to make you look older; on the other hand, just imagine the fun you could have if you got root access to that system! You could have it show people with ghastly unexplained scars, Borg implants, or even a really bad mullet. Or just not show them at all, leaving them to assume that in five years' time, they will become vampires.

Bricks of Madness?

H P Lovecraft is on a collision course with George Herriman in Mikael Oskarsson's webcomic Flick, in one of the best take-offs of the Krazy Kat style you're ever likely to see.

EDIT: Just one "t" in Kat. Drat.

Love In Cons

It's cute. Read it quick, before it disappears beyond the subscription wall.

And Wednesday reports it so I don't have to: Enterprise is dead. And all I can say is, thank God.

It's Still Tuesday Here...

...even if it's already Wednesday for Wednesday.

With that in mind, I present a true classic of the internets ("classic," of course, means "you've read this a thousand times already"), as archived on Jerry Pournelle's web site^*. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you a Chaos Manor Special Report: "Dogs in Elk"!




^* By astounding coincidence, this story contains exactly as much useful information about computers as Dr. Pournelle's typical "Chaos Manor" column for Byte used to.

Next on Discovery Channel's Monster Mortuary

Well, okay then: This is obviously my week for grave sites that most people wouldn't be caught dead in. From the BBC comes this report from the Ghanaian town of Accra, which seems to have become the center of a cottage industry for custom-made surrealist coffins. Sort of the ultimate case mod, you might say.

Have you ever wanted to be buried in a giant Coke bottle? Or an enormous snail? Well, then, this is the place for you. Be sure to look at the picture gallery, while you try to figure out who would want to be buried inside a chicken.

The true highlight of the piece, however — the magnum opus that could only have been conceived by a tag team of Hieronymus Bosch and Grant Morrison — is the coffin shaped like, well, the entire female reproductive system.

The womb tomb: Boy, do I wish Sigmund Freud were alive to see that. It would kill him.

The final little crowning touch, the end-zone dance at the end of the article, for me, is the caption to that picture, which I swear I will someday use as the first sentence in some kind of post-cyberpunk short story: "In another showroom, a polished uterus waits to be picked up by a gynaecologist."

Guaranteed to Give You the Wiggins

Who knew? For a mere $5000, you can have your very own Speaker for the Dead!

New Signs of the End Times

Why should I let Wednesday have all the fun with the Apocalypse?

After all, like Valen, I was taught by Jesuits. I know the vital role that Matthew 27:48 plays in the Culture Wars. I even understand the military history of the hill of Megiddo.

So don't bother me with the Mark of the Beast. Speak not to me of plagues and portents and the resurrection of the dead: For verily, I say unto you, I know the true signs of our impending doom.

The Circle Unbroken.

Sooner or later this had to happen: Trekkies, but for LOTR fans.

Far more entertaining than Alone in the Dark will likely be is watching reviewers meow about it. As I write this, its Tomatometer reading is 3%. (I especially enjoy watching the reviewers-- plural-- who START to call it the worst movie ever, then back away in horror from the precipice, realizing that making that claim would actually ENCOURAGE some people).

And Xeni Jardin of BoingBoing and NPR on James Cameron's Aliens of the Deep.

Fan Fiction Friday

...or, You HopedThought I'd Forgotten All About It, Didn't You?

From Making Light comes word of the inevitable Whedon/Tolkien musical extravaganza, Once More with Hobbits. So far, the only complaint I've heard about it is that it doesn't include the Scouring of the Shire.

After such an effort, what new worlds could there be for Joss to conquer? Well, he could always collaborate with another one of his favorite writers, Aaron Sorkin!

...Until he actually does so, however, you'll have to make do with these stories of a young, blond Slayer who was Called when Buffy had her sic transit Gloria moment: It's Donna the Vampire Slayer!

Expect lots of walking quickly through corridors and crypts, trading serve-and-volley quips.



If, on the other hand, you prefer catblogging, well, then, here.

噢，這真是個快樂的進展…㆒噢，这真是个快乐的进展!

In the spirit of the Buffy database mentioned earlier comes (via Electrolite) the Firefly Chinese Pinyinary, your comprehensive guide to all of those exotic Chinese phrases spoken by the crew of Serenity.

My favorite? Hard to say, but "我的媽和她的瘋狂的外甥都㆒我的妈和她的疯狂的外甥都!" ("Holy mother of God and all her wacky nephews!") is a strong contender.


(Boy, won't this test your browser's font rendering...)

Cartoon Cartoons!

Good news-- albeit news you can probably already guess at-- for cartoon addicts.

And a webcomic made just for them, recommended by one "no one in particular." I like it... though I'd like it a bit more if it were designed to fit in my screen.

I Was Hoping It'd Be Named "Zaphod"

In the end of Peter David's Future Imperfect, one of his best comics stories, the time-lost, intelligent Hulk cremates the body of his now-aged best friend, Rick Jones. He spreads the ashes over Captain America's shield and hurls it into the air, where it travels for miles, disappearing from sight.

"Where do you think it'll land?" someone asks him.

"God willing," he replies, "somewhere exciting."

That's more or less how I feel about the naming of the asteroid Douglasadams.

Farewell again, you glorious nonsensicalist.

Postscripts

The glorious meta-narrative surrounding the Publish America article T mentioned includes (via Making Light), the newly immortal literary classic Atlanta Nights, by "Travis Tea," details of which can be had from Beth Bernobich and Sherwood Smith (via Crooked Timber).

Also, a passing aside in my post about Tom Whitmore and the Ordo Templi Orientis referred to the story of Jack Parsons, cofounder of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory (still sometimes called the "Jack Parsons Laboratory") and follower of Aleister Crowley. Lo and behold, today's Salon includes a review and interview about Astro Turf, a book about the early days and culture of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory (subscription or free DayPass required).

The Vanity of a "Non-Vanity Press"

Writers beware...

This is What Jonathan Had in Mind When He Invented the Internet

via Victor Gonzalez at trufen.net comes word of Buffyology, a web site which features "Every Buffy character, episode, cast member, writer and director and every word of every show, in a searchable database."

Want to find the first use of the phrase "Scooby gang"? Want to know which episodes feature dairy products? This is the web site for you, then.

Tall Tale Tuesday

Today's Tall Tale involves classic Science Fiction Fandom and a shadowy and controversial religious organization.

And no, the "shadowy and controversial religious organization" isn't the one you're thinking of; although, in an odd way, it nearly was anyhow.

The Hero of our story is Tom Whitmore, conrunner, fanzine fan, and owner of Berkeley's legendary The Other Change of Hobbit bookstore; and the shadowy and controversial religious organization is the Ordo Templi Orientis, the mystical order founded by none other than the infamous "Great Beast" himself, Aleister Crowley.

The fundamental scripture of the OTO is the Liber AL vel Legis, or The Book of the Law, which was originally written in longhand by Crowley on April 8–10, 1904, in Cairo, Egypt, allegedly as dictated to him by a spirit called Aiwass. This longhand original, along with numerous other significant documents and papers, disappeared sometime after the 1962 death of Karl Germer, Crowley's chosen successor as head of the OTO. When Germer died, the OTO was largely moribund, and there was no clear central authority. Eventually, though, a former student of Crowley's named Grady McMurtry stepped up and began reorganizing the OTO, albeit not without a certain amount of disagreement from other individuals and organizations which fancied themselves as the rightful heirs of Crowley's mantle.

And that's where things stood in 1984, when Our Hero entered the story.

Without further ado, then, I give you his tale, as originally published in Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden's fanzine IZZARD in 1987: "Raiders of the Lost Basement"

Utahraptor SF.

I wonder how many conventions have conversations that go like this.

Reading is Fundamedical!

I was at Greg Rucka's website, looking for any new information about the progress of the Whiteout movie, when I stumbled across the heart-warming story of ECW and WWE Wrestler Lance Storm, who believes he has found the cure to his career-ending back injuries in a Greg Rucka novel, Critical Space.

Hah! Take that, Brad Metzler! Take that, Michael Chabon! How many wrestlers have you cured lately?


As an aside, how cool is it that Lance Storm runs a Book Club for his fans on his web site?

They were maybe expecting tofu?

East of the Web have posted a neat, short Terry Bison story, They're Made Out Of Meat.

The rivers of Titan

More from Titan and the Huygens team: methane rain falling on the water-ice hills, carving out a river system and flowing out to mudflats. Two worlds playing the same song on different instruments.

Gimmick Time!

There is something of a tradition, in the blogging community, of taking a moment on Friday to relax and kick off the weekend with a little something different. Catblogging is probably the best-known expression of this; other blogs turn to science for a change of pace on Fridays.

That's too easy: cats are already as vital a part of Fandom as Jewish minutiae and chocolate; and science? Puhleeze! If all those other bloggers are going to be just like us, well, then, we'll just have to be even more like ourselves than they are. Hah! That'll show us! them!

With that in mind, I give you: Fan Fiction Fridays!

I was going to lead with my chin by starting with what internet connoisseurs have long held to be the ne plus ultra of fan fiction horror, the vanishing point towards which all things tasteless converge: Anne Frank fan fiction.

Unfortunately, as you can see if you click that link, in the two years plus since knowledge of this phenomenon spread across the internets, the folks at fanfiction.net have seen fit to purge that particular category from their listing. The near-universal reaction of shock and revulsion it caused may have had something to do with that decision, I suppose.

Now, before you rush off to scrub your brain clean with bleach, let me reassure you that at least it wasn't Anne Frank slash. Mostly, it seemed to be girls about Anne's age who, reading her diary, connected with it on a deep, personal level. In fact, the more I think about it, the more it seems like an understandable reaction, born of a surfeit of empathy. These were girls, it seems to me, who wanted to reach back through time and share whatever portions of Anne Frank's burdens that they could.

I wonder if any of them wrote alternate endings for Anne's story.

Actually, I wonder if any of them didn't.

At any rate, it's hard to get categorically upset at the notion of Anne Frank fan fiction and still praise things like Bill Mudron's astounding Anne Frank Conquers the Moon Nazis, isn't it? For that matter, my favorite song on one of the great albums of all time, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, is a love song to Anne Frank. Jeff Mangum wrote an album so beautiful and perfect that it scared him out of music entirely; and by 2010 it will probably have joined The Velvet Underground & Nico, Pink Moon, and Sister Lovers in the pantheon of obscure-at-the-time discs that get reverently namechecked by musicians in Rolling Stone and NME profiles.

So maybe there's something to Anne Frank fan fiction, after all.


But never fear! I have a replacement which, I think you will agree, represents a whole new evolution of the fanfic concept: Steve Perry fan fiction.


Hah! Take that, Jasmine and Inkblot! Take that, Emerald Ash Borer! Your puny powers of Friday distraction are nothing compared to the awesome power of Steve Perry fighting an immortal, wraith-like assassin!

Fulfilling a Vital Need. I Guess.

I can't. I just can't.

As single as I am...

I can't bring myself to Ask Deirdre for advice to the lovelorn comic-book geek.

I just can't.

(It's like sending Ann Landers material to Maxim, you know?...)

Futuropolis UK

Dreams of a future British megacity running from coast to coast across the Pennines, Liverpool stretching out to sea on stilts, and The Stack: a skyscraper in the shape of, um, things in a stack. The readers' comments aren't universally supportive. The giant Manchester teddy and Rubik's Cube might be controversial, but I have to say I like the look of the Bradford park and lake.

Surveys Worth Taking.

Who is the science-fiction reading public?

And if you're a published SF author, how does that pay?

Dancer, Will Robinson! Dancer!

I tend to avoid repeating Slashdot, because so many people check it already, but this story just ties in too damned well with my last post: Agence France-Presse is reporting that Japanese scientists, including Tokyo University's Katsushi Ikeuchi, have taught the Kawada Industries HRP-2 robot the steps and movements of traditional Japanese dances, in an effort to preserve that aspect of their cultural heritage for posterity.

Japan: Land of the Dancing Robots.

Oh, did I mention that the robot was designed by Yutaka Izubuchi, creator of RahXephon, and designer of mechas for Assemble Insert, Mobile Suit Gundam ZZ, and Gasaraki, among others? That probably explains why it flies and comes equipped with a giant freaking sword, right?

In The Next Century, You're On Your Own

A while back, I compared the past and the future to different countries. I also noted that the converse was true, in that by looking around the world today, you could catch glimpses of the past or the future.

Bits of the past are everywhere, of course. Some of them float around like junk DNA in the genome: rituals whose origin is forgotten; laws and customs designed to solve problems which no longer exist. There are also places where the past is still alive and kicking, like the Sentinel Island natives shooting arrows at curious helicopters in the wake of the tsunami. In other places, the past has been suddenly (and often violently) overrun by the present, as illustrated by this 2002 Frontline story about the arrival of television in Bhutan, where it was prohibited until 1999.

It's easy to spot the past when you look around, because we already know what it looks like. Spotting the future isn't as easy, although you could improve your chances a lot by simply looking at Japan. I wouldn't go so far as to say Japan is the future, but I would say that Japan is Science Fiction (the USA, if we're shifting our geopolitical metaphors to genre, is Big Budget Summer Blockbusters, of course).

That's one reason why I love Warren Ellis' web site: He has a keen eye for those bits of news from Japan which are beyond the comprehension of our puny 21^st Century human intellects. I'm not even talking about such overtly science fictional things as the fact that the band "Disaster Area," last heard from in the Hitchhiker's Guide, is apparently touring Japan even as we speak; or more obviously futuristic things like NEC's new Universal Translator. I'm talking about the fact that they bathe in Radon.

That's the sort of thing that shows a true, living dedication to the craft of being Science Fiction.

What sort of thing happens when you take too many relaxing swims through radioactive pools? Well, you start to think that ice cream hot dogs are a good idea, for one. Then you produce children's television shows like Gimme Gimme Octopus. Finally, you end up making Dinosaur Battle Tank Fetish Porn films.

O Brave New World, That Has Such Creatures In It.


Now pardon me while I go shoot some arrows at the hovering battle robots.

The science of hit songs

The music industry is using new software to predict hit songs, according to the Guardian today.

Cartoon Report.

The following post is for followers of Cartoon Network only. Everyone else, go on about your business.

Well, I feel I kind of let blog readers down by pushing Megas XLR just before its season finale, which dumps some really great backstory on us and then promptly renders it all irrelevant without doing anything with it first. I was really looking forward to what they seemed to be leading up to: that our Big Bad was actually POSSIBLE FUTURE Koop, not alternate-reality Koop. I guess they haven't closed that possibility completely, but it looks like they either missed it, or more likely, put it in and then wrote it out in Draft 3. (In fact, the whole thing feels rushed, as if whole scenes were deleted.) Instead we got the usual robofight with fewer moments than usual of cleverness or charming stupidity. Not their best.

Ah, well. On the up side, Marv Wolfman turned in a great script for Teen Titans that restored a lot of Brother Blood's credibility in the episode's final six seconds.

Finally, Justice League Unlimited. The "Old Yeller" plotline was really gutsy, and the characterization was stellar. But listen, y'all Cartoon Networkers-- do you think we could prevail upon you to show some of the episodes of the Justice League series that led up to this whole thing? I know it's true to the comics, but some of us don't like the story continuity to be impenetrable. Strange but true...

Fish Emporium

Thanks to Drooling Fan Girl for this masterlist of mp3s of filksinger Leslie Fish.

If You Can't Beat 'em, Join 'em.

The Battlestar Galactica blog. Only one entry so far, but boy is it a good one...

The Siren from Titan

New Scientist is reporting that ESA scientists at Darmstadt and American scientists at Green Bank have picked up the carrier wave signal from the Huygens probe, indicating that it has deployed successfully into the atmosphere of Titan.

Actual telemetry from Huygens, if any, won't be available until later this afternoon, pending retransmission by the orbiting Cassini spacecraft.

Pastel Defender returns

Sci-fi webcomic creator Jennifer Diane Reitz, who has been resting after a heart attack last September, is back working on her current comic Pastel Defender Heliotrope which came out of hiatus on Monday 10th January. Here's wishing her well.

Filming for the new series of Dr Who has been hit by a scarcity of midget actors.

Manga News Service

Also from Warren.

Some Punch Lines Write Themselves

From New Scientist, via Warren Ellis:

"That's no moon. It's a space station!"

And Now, A Word From Our Sponsor...

I've got an article in Comixpedia today. Just a roundup, really, but worth your time if you're interested in comedy.

Working on a new and better homepage for tcampbell.net. Thanks to everyone who wrote in with comments.

Still Taking Applications...

Note the slight change to the header. If you're getting a kick out of the Science Fiction Blog and would like to help perpetuate it, I'll set you right up.

More on the simulation hypothesis, definitely the best part of the original Matrix.

And finally, if you're not watching Megas XLR, why not?

They Also Found Jenga, Played With Stone Ziggurats

A couple of quick postscripts to that last article: In addition to the sequential art pot, archaeologists in Burnt City had earlier found what they claim to be the world's oldest backgammon set. The twenty positions on the rectangular board (which was made of ebony imported from India) are formed by an engraved serpent coiled around itself 20 times. In a terra cotta box next to the game board, archaeologists found 60 game pieces made of agate and turqouise.

Unfortunately, backgammon is no longer played with sixty pieces; and, needless to say, someone managed to misplace the instruction booklet sometime during the last fifty centuries. That's going to lower its value considerably on eBay, of course; which is a real shame, because they still have the original box.

Also, while trolling the web for an up-to-date link to the d20 picture (Christie's moved the link that all of the contemporary articles pointed to once their auction was over), I came across the web site of a dice collector named Arjan Verweij, whose collection includes not one, not two, but three ancient fourteen-sided dice — two of bronze, and one of iron. Interestingly, the photo of the dice used in the backgammon article, above, seems to have been lifted from his web site. Ooooops.

Still not a 23-sider in the bunch, of course.

Perhaps They Should Call It "Keen's Pot"

...or, "Okay, Then: This Comic Probably Predates Eisner":

From Scott McCloud's unfortunately permalink-free Morning Improv comes word of a natural companion to the previously mentioned 2,000 year old d20: Archaeological excavations in the "Burnt City" site in the southeastern Iranian province of Sistan-Baluchistan have turned up what the Iranian Cultural Heritage News Agency is calling the world's first animation.

The item in question is a small pot which features, around its circumference, a series of drawings depicting a goat leaping up to eat the leaves of a tree and landing again. As animations go, the frame rate is pretty lousy (or maybe it just needed some more tweening), but it's certainly an impressive first step. Also, the characterization is minimal, and the plot is fairly thin; still, equally simple goat stories have been known to hold our President in fascinated thrall for minutes on end.

Of course, unless you want to think of the pot as some kind of inside-out zoetrope, it's not an animation, per se; rather, as Scott McCloud pointed out, it is a comic strip.

Rumor has it that archaeologists found another partially completed pot nearby which had glyphs that, when translated, indicated that the pot strip was on hiatus, but would hopefully be updating soon.

The Dreamer

Can you spend all day reading articles and biographies and tributes and obituaries of one man, and still not come close to scratching the surface? Of course you can, especially when that man is Will Eisner.

As Neil Gaiman said, in explaining Eisner's impact on the comics field to a reporter, "It's as if Orson Welles had made Citizen Kane and redefined what you could do in film, and then carried on making movies until now." Mark Evanier recalls Frank Miller commenting, upon reading one of Eisner's recent works, "Isn't it embarrassing that a man in his eighties is kicking all our asses?" And Peter David mentions having Will Eisner autograph the Eisner Award that PAD got in 1992.

My Eisner story is a small and boring one; I only met him one and a half times. He was doing a signing at the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund booth at the 1999 Dragon*Con here in Atlanta. Moments before the signing began, I ran into him — literally, almost — in the maze of linear passages, all alike, that was the cavernous Dealer's Room. I could tell he was unsure of where to go, so I was able to point him towards the CBLDF booth. A little while later, I lugged my handful of Spirit comics up to the table, bought a copy of The Christmas Spirit from the CBLDF for him to sign, and had him autograph a print of the Spirit originally done for the National Cartoonist's Society in 1976.

My parents both knew who Eisner was, because of The Spirit, of course; additionally, my father remembered his many years of work for the Army, drawing cartoons, posters, and instruction manuals, many featuring the pathetic GI, Joe Dope. Given that I came by my pack rat genes honestly, I hold out some hope that one day dad might run across some old Will Eisner manuals or posters at the back of a trunk somewhere.

Will Eisner was Scott McCloud before Scott McCloud was. He was Frank Miller before Frank Miller was. He was Milt Caniff back when Milt Caniff was, and later he was Art Spiegelman and Harvey Pekar and many, many more. How long was he active? He knew Bob Kane before he created Batman; and he turned down Siegel and Shuster's Superman before they got it published. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that he had done inking and touch-ups on The Yellow Kid and Krazy Kat, back in the day. His career basically spanned the entire history of American comic books, and yet he was still absolutely at the head of the field.

Consensus Building

Intriguing short story on commercialized thought patterns (via Boing Boing).

RIP

RIP Kelly Freas, one of the greatest SF illustrators of our time and a seminal contributor to MAD Magazine.

Convergence

Larry Niven sponsors Kevin and Kell.

Out With the Old, Part I

Some of these may well be old hat; the rest of them, I suppose, will just be "hat," then. At the very least, I hope that none of them have been posted here already.

First, in the spirit of the previously mentioned "Starship Dimensions," somes a similarly valuable reference work, Michael Paulus' "Skeletal Systems." I somehow doubt that Shmoos have that much internal structure, however.

As much as I've been nattering on about history lately, you'd think I would have mentioned a web site that lets you design your own Bayeaux Tapestry before now, right? Well, to make it up to you, I'll throw in Teresa Nielsen Hayden's handy numerical guide to the dubiousness of saints. It's hard to pick one favorite aspect of the list, but I think I'll have to go with the discovery that the instruction to "[subtract 15 points if the saint] is a member of the current lineup of the X-Men" was not, in fact, a reference to anyone named Xavier; rather, it was aimed at the astoundingly dubious Saint Barbara, one of the Fourteen Holy Helpers (of whom there are nineteen) who, thanks to cross-cultural borrowing and Santeria, became, in the New World, an orisha who fights injustice, named Chango, or Oya-Yansa, or Storm: "Here comes Oya with her luminous crown. Here comes Oya with the wind and the rain. She travels the forest, flying over hills. Here comes Oya, queen of the wind and rain."

Heck, even Saint Barbara's dwelling, a tower with three windows (to symbolize the Trinity) wound up with a second career. Perhaps you've seen it somewhere before.

Of course, if you're going to have religious links, you pretty much have to include the Sea Monkey Worship Page, don't you?


Finally, for something completely different: my favorite news article, ever. I know of no better illustration of the admonition that "of course the Truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense."

Sokoth, Her Chest Uncovered

I wanted to do a quick-and-dirty dump of a bunch of old links which had been clogging up my brain, so that there would be room in it for some new ones; but first, I rummaged around and found a sound clip I had grabbed from that bizarre stag film I mentioned yesterday. Listening to it, two things struck me: First, I was wrong about "marijuana!" — the narrator said "dopəh," with a peculiar emphasis on the "p" sound, as though she were going to say "dopaminergic" instead, only to think better of it at the last moment; and second, that the whole thing was even stranger than I had remembered.

Not only did it have that peculiar pre-Griswold culture shock moment I talked about, but much of her narration was spoken in a verb tense and aspect that English doesn't actually seem to have. As near as I can figure out, it was Present Progressive, with all of the auxiliary verbs replaced by commas. For instance, instead of saying "Lucy catches a fish," the narrator would intone, "Lucy, catching a fish."

After listening to this again, I suddenly had another moment of disconnection, when I realized what the stilted narration reminded me of: "My God!" I thought. "This must be the first porn movie script in history to be written in Darmok!"

Maybe we've all been mistaken about just what, exactly, Darmok and Jalad were doing at Tanagra.