Category: Navel Gazing

Goodbye 2020

No year in review because, I mean why? You can’t do any better that Netflix’s DEATH TO 2020.


But I won’t leave the year cynically. While I also had moments “when I couldn’t even see the point of steppin’ out the mother fuckin’ house,” I did make it to the new year and so did you, if you’re reading this.

We should celebrate!

My bag is sinkin’ low and I do believe it’s time…

This past holiday weekend, I went around with what I call my “Ultraportable EDC-In-Exile.” It’s smart to go with a lighter load every once in awhile, but one thing it does is introduce room for error. In this case, making sure everything I put in there gets back into my real EDC bag, my monster of a Filson 258.

Which, come Tuesday, I didn’t. Which then triggers all of my unresolved control issues and a rant of “Shit fuck goddammit, this is why I should never switch bags, one fucking bag is all I need, I don’t care how heavy it gets, I need everything, every day, all the time, why am I so fucking lazy??”

There’s that old organizational saw that says a weakness is an overused strength. It is a strength that I’ve condensed the gear I need to carry on a daily basis such that I have a good 99% of all essentials with me at all times without much thought. Who can argue with that logic? Certainly not a control freak. And, that’s a problem; not just for my spine, either.

I’m never giving up my Filson. It’s the bag I’ve always wanted, I don’t care how big people say it is! But… maybe I just don’t need every damn thing every damn day. And maybe, just maybe I might benefit from actually choosing (Gasp!) to be okay with going without every once in awhile.

I just need to remind myself that it’s okay to take a load off…

GTFO Here with this “Real Fan” BS

I’ve been meaning to post more besides Weeknotes, and I’m in a mood. So, why not let the two impulses dovetail?

You know, I used to have more patience for people who protect and defend their fandoms. Back in the day, there was a line to be held with the people who point and laugh for loving STAR WARS, or DOCTOR WHO, or any comic book. There was a good fight to be fought.

But now, I see “real fans” doing the pointing and laughing, targeting poeple with the gall to love what we love, except a little bit differently than how we do? Really?

And if you’re within spitting distance of my age and doing that (Yeah, I see you.), what the hell’s the matter with you? Try aging gracefully, FFS.

Please Pardon the Mess…

Thank god I have the urge to consistently blog at certain times of the year, like Good Friday for instance. Otherwise, I would never know how to come back from long hiatuses.

To be honest, life hasn’t been great for me over the past several months. Keeping up with a Weeknotes habit has been the absolute least of my concerns. I do plan on going back to them eventually, but right after some changes that I’ve put in motion start to crystalize. Basically, I just needed to empty out my head and replace it with things that make me happy… or at least happier in the long run.

Maybe I’ll develop the stones to talk about it in a little more depth. Suffice it to say that the two videos below pretty much spell out what’s happened to me over the past 5 or so months.

Here’s the before picture…

And here’s the after…

It really is amazing what you can do with the support of people who care about you, and the proper therapeutic interventions!

Geek Aging Gracefully (I Hope)

I came across a particularly fan-wankish take on something DOCTOR WHO related that I felt was based on some dubious assumptions. The point, though, isn’t about who’s right. It’s about how much I miss having the space and the energy to geek out over that stuff. I’ve basically let a lot of nerd engagement slowly seep out of my life over the past few years, and it doesn’t feel good.

I’m just a little older now than my father when he came to this country. When I got into comic books as a kid, he once told me about his experience with comics in a way that was a little wistful but distinctly long gone. Which made sense; it didn’t occur to 8 year-old me that he could, would, or should still be into them.

People went off on what Bill Maher said after Stan Lee died, and rightfully so. But this bit got to me…

…the assumption everyone had back then, both the adults and the kids, was that comics were for kids, and when you grew up you moved on to big-boy books without the pictures.”

I cringe when I read that because I’m part of a generation of nerds that came up around that attitude, from both the adults and the kids. Luckily, I’m also part of a generation that realized after a certain point, no one could really stop you flying your nerd flag so fuck that noise. But that didn’t mean the feelings of “Just grow up, already” went away.

h/t https://cheezburger.com/8771762176/mark-hamill-star-wars-aging-trolling

So yes, I am older, maybe a little wiser, but definitely more tired. I’d love to list all the ways the writer of that WHO article was “wrong,” but not today. No, I’m not looking to turn in my nerd card. But I guess what I really need to do is take a good look at my place in a field that’s changing in ways that I’d have loved to see 30 years ago but is also in some ways–and this is not a complaint, just an observation–maybe leaving me behind a bit because of my inability to keep up. I know there’s a “circle of life” thing where the olds sometimes just need to step out of the way and let the kids have their fun. But does that really mean I can’t have fun anymore? Probably not. But the question is, how?

Look, just as long as I don’t turn into this, okay…*

(*this = a gatekeeper harshing on a younger person’s geekery)

“You gotta try to keep your head above the water / You gotta try to keep a step ahead of time…”

I’m in Cleveland in the house where I grew up, and I dug up that picture of my sixth birthday. It brings to mind a couple of things. First, my mother who we lost before the holidays, which necessitated traveling a week before I’d planned. Second, it’s a pretty funny reminder to myself that the struggle is real. That’s right, Don, raise that fist!

It was a collision of blessings and curses. Things gained, things lost, people lost, opportunities gained, lost, and re-gained. My writing life all but halted this year. It was only because of the connections I have with my friends and allies in the SF/F/H writing community (You all know who you are!) that kept me going.

The first part of 2018 will be finishing up all the old business (mine and my mother’s) from 2017. And then I’ll ease back into my backlog of short stories in preparation for rejoining proper society (read: the SF/F/H community) at Boskone in February. As for the rest of it…? Well, I’m usually further along at this point in formulating a loose idea of what my resolutions will be for the new year than I am right now. What can I tell you, it’s been a busy few weeks. And anyway, I’ve become less and less of a “Resolutions” person over time, and more of a “Here’s a GTD Projects List for the Year” guy.

2017 had its way with us. And if you’re like me and most people I know, we need some get back (metaphorically speaking) in 2018. How? Well, Mom might not have said these exact lyrics to me, but if I boil down everything she’s said to me over the years, it all comes down to the same good advice…

Thanks, Mom.

“You thought I was sleeping at the wheel / I thought that you were driving”

I’m hoping we can skip the usual apologia this time. We’ve heard it all before, right? New job role/title + ill family members + all the things = not enough time to blog. I knew you’d understand — thanks. So, let’s catch up…

NERD CORNER. I’ve never had so many personal objects at the dayjob, but since this is the first private office I’ve had, why not? I’ve been waiting for someone to call me out for daring to have THE PLAYBOY BOOK OF SCIENCE FICTION AND FANTASY at work, even though nothing in it comes close to being as salacious as the DANGEROUS VISIONS books. I’m curious to see what would happen if I was reported to TPTB for having AGAIN, DANGEROUS VISIONS which has a piece called “The Big Space Fuck.” Could I get nailed for a book having a story written by someone who’s sort of a big deal in the institution for which I work?

CURRENTLY READING. The memoir LITHIUM JESUS by Charles Monroe-Kane who tells the story of his path through mental illness, missionary work, faith healing, activism, and various forms of self-medication in (judging from the 3/4 of it that I tore through in two days) every sense of the word. I heard about this book from Monroe-Kane himself in a video from a MOOC I took — he had me as soon as I heard Northeast Ohio (where I’m also from) and faith-healing in the Philippines (because, Filipino) in the same sentence.

BINGE WATCHED. A throwback to my early 2000s late night cable anime viewing RURONI KENSHIN on Netflix. I was nostalgic, what can I tell you? There’s a lot more humor in it than I remembered there being when I caught it (half-awake and sometimes drunk) after midnight on Toonami back in the day. I recalled a lot more angst, but that might just been a reflection of my life at the time. After a few episodes though, I realized that the series resonates with me and my life at this point in time, as a person trying to make my way forward a decade after a dark period.

ALSO BINGE WATCHED. Thanks to Amazon Prime and my Smart TV, THE NEW YORKER PRESENTS. I have more thoughts on it, which I’ll save for later.

LEN WEIN. I can’t tell you with any certainty just how many Len Wein comics I’ve read in my decades of comic book nerdery. Just that I recall a distinct period where I saw his credit so many times, I thought he wrote all the comics. It’s foolish obviously, but I still had that same childhood sense of awe when I approached him a few years ago at the 2013 Rod Serling Conference. RIP, sir.

++

Thanks for the title, Rick…

“It’s such a crude attitude / It’s back where it belongs”

For the first weekend in several weeks (at least since 4th Street Fantasy), I’ve had time to just sit and catch my breath. I got back to New York last Tuesday after 2 weeks+change in Cleveland, and after two days of utter exhaustion and incomplete recovery, I went back to work. No writing to speak of, but I think this is the one (and only!) time I can completely forgive myself. So, let’s catch up:

PROGENITRIX UPDATE. Mom started her rehab the other day. So far, so good except for a PEG tube glitch that necessitated another trip to the ER last night. She’s okay, though. I have to say though, this whole experience has driven home how privileged I am (in the social sense of the word) to have had a job in healthcare for so long. It’s given me a certain level of patience and peace of mind most people don’t have otherwise. Understandably, when it’s you or your loved one, you don’t want to hear all the reasons that doctors or nurses can’t return your phone calls, or why one or another near-miss happened. Your natural reaction is, “WTF, you jackholes!” I had it too, but I understood exactly how/why these sorts of things can happen, I could see the various providers and aides doing what they could, and I communicated that to them.

PASSING. In two different senses of the word, here are a couple of calls for submissions that I’m passing on. I might’ve technically fit in the past with what they’re looking for, but you might be a better fit now! They’re both for Belt Magazine, that’s published me before:

THE COLUMBUS ANTHOLOGY “…will attempt to capture what Columbus is becoming, and to define a distinct cultural presence for Columbus and its citizens. Through the voices of local artists, activists, writers, musicians, and other enthusiastic residents who want to contribute, “The Columbus Anthology” presents a collective wisdom through its collected work.”

BLUE CITY, RED STATE. “We’re collecting essays about living blue in a red state—whatever that means to you—by writers who live in or have ties to a Midwestern state.”

IT’S ABOUT TIME. ‘Nuff said

That’s about all I have energy for today. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have a scotch or three before I head out to get some things done… and then return home for two or three more.

“I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain…” [March 2017]

Well, I warned you last time this wouldn’t look pretty. That there is 7 days of writing in a 31 day month. Still, better to light an inch than curse the dark.

One of my VP20 crew told me, “Output is not a measure of value.” Which other friends and loved ones have told me before, of course. I’ve always known this intellectually, but deprogramming is hard. I’ve taken a step in that direction (I hope) by realizing that maybe for right now the fact of having to re-invent my writing process wheel after the sorts of interruptions I’m facing (almost exclusively dayjob-related stuff) is just a feature and not a bug.

That doesn’t mean I stay happy with it, though. But maybe I don’t have to resent it so much until I can make changes. And changes are on the horizon. I’ve got a new short story I’m working on for a particular market; just 3 weeks until the deadline. Plenty of time–if I can stay on the stick, that is.

Isn’t This How Imelda Got Started?

I had a wardrobe malfunction at Boskone. I’d worn down my faithful 2+ year old pair of Doc Martens flat, and I’d discovered they’d finally split on both feet. And boy was I pissed about it. Not so much because of the shoes, but because I’d decided against my better judgement that I didn’t need to lug two pairs of shoes with me for a two day trip, and that lace-up Docs (which had become part of my de facto convention “uniform”) was the way to go to a con in Boston in February.

The day after I got back, I went to my local shoe store for another pair of Docs and a second pair of something. And then I saw these…

I knew nothing about Blundstone boots or their history. They looked nice and so I tried on a pair of #500s (the ones in the middle). They were amazingly comfortable, and so I walked out of the store actually wearing them. I did buy the Docs and broke them in over a couple of days. But I kept going back to the “Blunnies,” as they’re called. And when I realized that I’d worn them exclusively for at least 5 out of the next 8 days, the only logical solution was to go back for a second pair.

My choices were between the black #063 (the top shoe) and the rustic brown #585 (on the bottom). I tried them both and they were just as comfortable at the #500s. And of course, having “mark” written all over my face, I get offered a discount for buying both “today only,” a deal which I would “never find anywhere else” (and with cursory research on the interwebs, I kinda believe it). So I did.

The #063s are still in the box for now, as my “dress” shoes, which of course means I’m tempted to get a nice, comfy pair of #587s.

At this point you’re asking yourself if I’ve now resorted to shoe reviews on my blog. No, the point of this screed is to take a moment to stop myself and ask, “What the fuck are you doing, man?”

I mean, never mind the exorbitant costs of buying four pairs in a week. Yes, this is sort of a positive — I don’t foresee actually needing a pair of shoes for at least the next five years. But getting #587s when I have a new pair of Docs? See, at this point I have to reckon with the horrible realization that this must be pretty much how Imelda Marcos got started. And lest you think her legendary shoe obsession was merely just a symptom of government corruption run amok, let me assure you that my mother’s collection, which filled up closets no larger than any you’d find in a 3 bedroom house in suburban Cleveland, was no slouch. It must be a predisposition in the genetic makeup of my peoples. And now I’ve become its latest victim.

Also, have I finally reached the age where I’m just done with laces?

I think I need to find a group, or something. That’s within walking distance. Because, fuck, these Blundstones are comfortable…