It Ain't What It Appears To Be: Part I

Now, in the usual roles between siblings, the big brother (the title refers to age, of course, not size, but size usually coincides as well) looks out for, and takes care of, the younger sister. It is the proper order of things, so to speak. However, in my particular situation, it seems my little (younger would be a better description since neither of us are of a large size) sister is actually my big brother. Not in the sense of always watching everything I do (spying on me), as in George Orwell's novel, 1984. No. More in the sense of being always ready to lend aid, in any way that it may be needed, whenever it's needed. 
Yep, I would have to say that my little sister is, and has been, a better big brother to me than I ever was to her. There are times I feel guilty about this apparent role reversal. But our circumstances, mostly mine, have shaped this aspect of our relationship. I am a lucky son-of-a-gun, as my Uncle Louie used to say. I probably wouldn't be here at all if it wasn't for the support I receive from family and friends. As well as the companionship of my feathered friends, one now dead, and one alive and currently yelling (or, kicking and screaming, if you prefer). And of course, Albert. My untamed, but mostly friendly (at least to me), black bear. Don't tell anyone though. I believe it's most likely illegal to have a bear sleeping under your bed in the state of Connecticut. 
There is more to any life beyond what it appears to be. And if you don't believe me, better make a habit of keeping a firm grip on your hat.

The Illusion of Familiarity

There are author's I love, and have been reading (their stories & novels) for what seems to me to be a very long time. In my mind, they had become gods of the written word. I had done what all, well at least most, children do with their parents, set them on a much higher plane than myself. So, when I first met some of my  favorite writers, I was quite disappointed, to say the least. They turned out to be only human, with warts and everything. It took me awhile, but I finally was able to disassociate the writer I would meet, talk to, touch, and could like, or dislike, from the work they actually did. I learned that making a connection with a writer's stories, no matter how great a connection it might be, did not mean I would also have a great appreciation for the person doing the writing. But the important lesson, that no matter how I felt about the writer I would meet in person, it did not, and should not, lessen my appreciation for what they had written. I believe that a good story, be it short or a novel, is more than the person who created it.
Anyway (I still prefer anyroad), today I broke down & had my favorite online bookstore, Camelot Books, set aside a collection of stories by an author I haven't read in a long time. I will not mention his name. He is quite popular among certain circles, gets great reviews, and is highly unusual. My problem was, that while he was doing a book tour quite a few years ago in the US, I heard him do a reading in Boston. I have heard a number of authors read their own work, and some are better than others. Some are truly wonderful. This particular author was not one of those. In fact, I don't really know how to describe the effect his voice had on me. Imagine sitting down to listen to a magnificent piece of music, which is about to be performed live for you. And then someone runs their finger nails down a blackboard in front of a microphone. All I can say, is I haven't been able to read anything by him since. Mainly because I would kept hearing his voice, and would not be able to continue reading. Well, I think I'm ready to give him another try. But I'm not rushing it. 
It's amazing how quickly it seems we can forget some of our most pleasant experiences, and yet, the truly awful ones take forever to fade away. But I will not stop going to author readings. And I want to stress that, that particular author, who should not read out loud where people can hear him, is truly a wonderful writer. Go figure. Anyroad, I have never heard anyone else reading their work, or anyone else's, who had the ability to make me flee the room while screaming loudly. Thank God.

Reality, Shmeality

One man's/woman's reality is another man's/woman's La La Land. What reality is to anyone depends on how he/she perceives the world around them. And so, one human's horrifying world view, could look like an afternoon at an amusement park to someone else. Or, put another way, one person's idea of heaven, could be another person's idea of hell. And vice versa. 
The play, No Exit, by the French author whose name is escaping me at the moment, Sartre, maybe? Something like that. Anyhow, the play put forth the premise that people are hell. And sometimes, I believe they are. Certain people, anyway. But for me, more often than not, they are the part of my reality that makes life bearable. 
When I was a boy, my father would take me with him to exciting places, like a garage while his car would be worked on, shopping for tools at sears, and other (for me) cold, empty, and lonely corners of the world that I found soul-numbing. So, at an early age I got a good look at how ugly and lonely the world could be if there was no strong, or any at all for that matter, emotional connection to the "real" around us. I don't blame my father for my feeling of insignificance, emptiness, and, yes, horror at seeing what I thought was the world of men that I would have to live in. He couldn't help who he was. If there was anyone who was not cut-out to be a father, it was he. But to his benefit, he did introduce me to fishing. And although I don't fish anymore, it was something I truly enjoyed all the way into college. 
But long before then (college that is), I discovered the liberation of the imagination through reading science fiction, fantasy, horror, noir, etc., etc. Speculative fiction. I began reading everthing I could get my hands on at a young age. Even today, I can never have enough time to read. I dream of living in a house on the edge of a forest, by a lake, with my books (I do have quite a few), and all the time in the world to read. And that is my idea of heaven.
Anyroad, I just finshed a collection of stories by an Author I recently met, and heard do a reading, Paul G. Tremblay. The collection is titled, Compositions For The Young And Old. I cannot praise it enough. I believe that art, be it literature, paintings, movies, etc., should expand and/or change one's view of the world.  Or, if you like, change one's perception of the world. And there is nothing wrong with just being thoroughly entertained. For me, all the stories in this collection do all of that. There wasn't one I didn't like.This would not be a book for the English learner, I don't think. It isn't that easy a read. And, some of the stories require a strong stomach, or at least not a queasy one. I saw it classified as science fiction, but I would not do so. These stories have elements of more than a a few genres, and are mostly dark, even when I find them warm, and human, they still show the dark side of human nature, and of life. But then, I've been told I do have an affinity for the unusual. 
I won't go into all the stories, as wonderful as I think they all are. I will mention just one, The Jar. It has to do with the addictive, scary of course, and exciting "benefits" of fear. And, it is at it's core, about how the characters' (a grandmother and grand daughter) perception, and enjoyment of being scared, changes as they age. It's a beautiful story. As many in the collection are.
Anyway (anyhow, anyroad), Eddie's understanding of reality is about to intrude on mine. He's going to need some attention. Eddie's idea of heaven is having fresh food and water on a regular basis, getting head-rubs whenever he wants them, having me on the couch so he can sleep on my running shoe for at least an hour or so a day, and having lots of commercials on television with someone whistling in the background (you would be amazed at how many there are now), so he can yell his little lungs out. 
If this is your first experience with this blog, Eddie is a 16 1/2 year old cockatiel (small parrot). 
And so. Adieu for now. 

What?!

I am not always sure what world I have woken up in, until some bureaucrat makes life easier for him/herself by making my life more difficult. Now granted, here in the US, usually if you are denied something because of improper documentation, you don't normally get sent to prison, or get shot. At least if you're a citizen. Even if you're not, normally the worst that might happen is you're deported. In some countries, the consequences of not providing, or being able to provide, all the paperwork requested, can be, well, severe.
But luckily I'm in the good ol' US of A. So the worst that happens, is some damn clerk can make someone else's life a temporary hell, forcing them to run around trying to get all the right paperwork, so they can continue to drive a car, get food stamps to feed their kids, get a prescription medication, start a new job, move into a house/apartment, or to get the proper medical care. As they say on South Park every time Kenny gets killed, "Bastards!"
All these little clerks and demigods better be careful. When Cthulhu returns to this world, things are really going to change. Just ask Lovecraft (H. P. Lovecraft: famous horror writer, now dead).

If Ignorance is Bliss, Is Enlightenment Painful?

Sorry. I have nothing to say. Well...not nothing. But nothing earth shattering. Water is still wet. The sky is still blue (when not cloudy). It is still better to love than to hate. (Although a lot of people don't really seem to be able to appreciate that last one.) Republican politicians still seem believe that lying to, and cheating the American people is the way to win elections, smear those they consider enemies, and gain the power they crave. And the bears (according to Albert), still want humans to get the hell off the planet. Or at least, move out into the countryside so they can live in our houses.   
Most of us seem to be stumbling through our days, only seeing what is right in front of us. Too many people don't want to know what's going on. And I can understand that, somewhat. Most of us do feel a bit powerless to change things, and it is easier to go along with what is, than to fight for what isn't. But for all those who prefer safety and ignorance, I would point out that their lives are boring, and in many cases, ultimately pointless. I think raising a ruckus can, at least sometimes, be a damn fine thing. I don't advocate violence, you understand. But when something's wrong, I think one should make some noise.
And I do have to admit that there are times I wish I were a someone like a Batman, a dark super hero, who not only went after the usual criminals, but those evil-doers who use the system to their advantage to attempt (and sometimes succeed) grabbing power for their own greedy and selfish purposes.
For not having anything to say, I guess that's enough for the moment. Remember, if you just look at what's right in front of you, you're missing all the realities(yep, plural; life exists on many levels) of life that are happening all around you, all the time. Later, Dudes and Dudettes...stay out of trouble. Unless, of course, trouble is called for... 

I Had Some Wonderful Dim Sum While Travelling Between Inconveniences

Well first, my television's screen went fuzzy. Actually, it was more like snowy. Not a full blizzard, but the kind of snowstorm you wouldn't want to be driving in. So it seems I'll have to be acquiring a new tv. Nuts. Then, I had a run in with the Nurse Ratchett (not sure about the spelling, but the name refers to the character of the head nurse in the movie adaptation of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest) of my general practitioner's (family doctor) office staff. 
I think my doctor is a damn fine one, and most of his staff is excellent, also. With the exception of one. He has a nurse practitioner on staff, who is a serious "B". I'll let you figure out what the B stands for, but it ain't Buddy. Anyway, I talked to someone on his staff last week to call in a prescription I needed to renew for one of my immune system disorder's inconvenient (and a bit uncomfortable) symptoms, which I'm sure she did. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the pharmacy did not show receiving the request as of this morning. I called my Doctor's office, and talked to one of his staff, who then had me hold until the Iron Maiden (which is actually a device of torture used in Medieval times) came on the line, and said they showed the call to the pharmacy had been placed Friday. I said, fine, but the pharmacy didn't have the request. To which, she said, the call was placed, and was documented. She had it right in front of her. I said, fine, but the pharmacy didn't have the request. Then, she said, it had been done, as if I was questioning her authority in the matter. Maybe, when she got a chance she would talk to them later. Not having just fallen off the back of a turnip truck (an expression that means, I didn't just arrive in the big city fresh off the farm), I immediately called the pharmacy, and told them what the wonderful nurse lady had said. The woman at the pharmacy (who truly is wonderful), told me she would call the doctor's office. And lo and behold, I was able to get my medication. Amazing. How simple things can be. 
Albert, meanwhile,who was trying to remain asleep under my bed, had escalated from making snuffling noises, to loud huffing, and finally to growling. Albert is a bear, who just so happens to enjoy sleeping under my bed, particularly on hot and humid days like today, since I have an air conditioner. Eddie, my other roommate, a cockatiel, was yelling up a storm as he usually does when I talk for any extended period on the phone. He feels it's his duty to join in. He really does enjoy himself doing this.
Luckily for me, I was late for a birthday party, and had to bolt (or to use a really big word: I had to asquatulate, which means to leave in a hurry). Which made Albert very happy, and Eddie very upset.
Anyroad, it was a simply magnificent celebration, at a local Chinese restaurant, that serves truly outstanding dim sum. Between the excellent food and my wonderful friends, all my tiny inconveniences, were finally left behind. 
And may all your troubles, big or small, be as easily disposed of.   

The World IS a Strange Place, but The Weird is Where I Come From

I left the town I grew up in a long time ago. The name isn't important. You wouldn't be able to find it, anyway. No matter how you tried to get there. Not unless you fell into it by pure dumb luck. Which very likely would be bad luck.
Let's call my hometown, Little Valley. It fits. It is in a little valley, sitting right between several hills, with a  river running through it. Very picturesque as I remember it. The population has always been around 3,000, without much fluctuation as far back as I can recall. And everyone appears to be quite normal to those passing through, of which there are not very many. 
It's difficult to explain, but those who travel the roads that would, and should, carry them into Little Valley, suddenly find themselves on the other side of the small town that they didn't see. It might strike them as a little strange that they seem to be a little further along than they thought, kind of like there's a tiny blank spot in their perception. But the brief memory of something being out of place, quickly slips away, into the depths of their subconscious without even much of a ripple. You see, if you're not from Little Valley, it's simply not there for you to find. Oh, a few people stumble upon the town every once in awhile. But for them, that's not necessarily a good thing.
When I was growing up, there were stories about a very old tree that was very difficult to find, even if you'd been there before. And at the base of this tree was a hole. Well, more like a cave that was underground. And as the story went, this cave let to a kind of door, or portal, between worlds. Or, at least to someplace else. Depending on who was telling the story, it might be a wonderous and magical place, or, it might be a dark and scary place. I always thought it was just a story, until I was 12 years old. That's when I came across that tree myself. It was while I was hiking through the woods one day with a couple of my friends. That's also when I lost one of those friends. And never saw her again.
Enough. This is not a short tale, and I am wrestling with some strong emotions, and memories I haven't thought about in a long while. So, enough for now. You might find this a hard tale to believe. But I assure you, it's true. At least as true as I can remember it. And as difficult as you might find it to believe what I tell you, I guarantee, it is a much harder tale to tell.     

Dreaming History

One of the characters I met at Readercon a week ago, happens to be a well known, and award winning writer, Howard Waldrop. I happen to be reading a book currently, Custer's Last Jump, that collects all his stories that he wrote in collaboration with other writers, such as Leigh Kennedy, Steve Utley, and George R.R. Martin. 
In the story he wrote with Leigh Kennedy, they take the story of the Trojan War, and turn it into something very real, and personal. The story, which is about the Greeks Trojan Horse trick, focuses on only a handful of characters, both in the past, and in the much closer present. The point is, they did a wonderful job of breathing life into an ancient story, and made me think about this moment in time, and appreciate it, in a way I not ever done so before. What seemed to be such a simple story to tell (simple in appearance only, I would wager), brought history to life for me.
Most of the history teachers I had in school were really quite boring, and would do their best to kill our (my and my fellow students') imaginations. I do remember one history teacher whose class I enjoyed because of the stories he told. And they were fantastic stories. 
History should not be considered a collection of past events that no longer have any importance, and are viewed as being akin to the Dead Sea. Dead, that is.
We view time as linear. I don't believe it is. I once heard a theory (I think it was also put forth in a movie) that all the moments in time exist at once. If you could just turn the corner fast enough, you might meet Cleopatra, Benjamin Franklin, or Homer before he wrote about Odysseus. 
Anyroad. History is all around us, all the time. And every day we are witnessing history as it happens. Particularly in this age of the computer, ipad, and the smart phone. It's become quite a connected world. But we are not just connected to the present. We are always connected to the past as well. And we should remember that. After all, you can't know where you're going, if you don't know where you came from...  

Guns & Violence go together like Ham & Cheese

Yes it's true that people kill people (gun owners justification: guns don't kill people, people do), but guns make it a heck of a lot easier to accomplish.
Guns have been a part of the American culture from the very beginning. They played a large part in the founding of the country, i. e. during the Revolutionary War, and have been an intricate part of American life ever since.
And I believe they were a necessary tool in the birth of this nation, and  they are still necessary today, but in a much more limited sense. 
Guns are too easy to get, and too many people have access to them. As long as that continues to be true, there will always be bloody massacres like what took place this early morning in Aurora, Colorado. The shooter was on no one's radar. From what I heard on the news, his only criminal violation before today was  a traffic ticket. And yet, he walked into a movie theater and shot and killed at least 12 people, and wounded at least 38 others, including women and children.
These type of mass shootings have actually become a part of our culture, it would seem. And that, my friends, is a sorrowful and horrifying fact. 
I don't believe there are more than a small percentage of people who have the maturity to handle firearms with the necessary responsibility, and level headedness. I'm not sure I can believe there's enough intelligence or maturity in the entire human race, for people to be allowed to have weapons of any kind. We really haven't evolved much beyond our kin, the monkeys. 
So mourn the deaths and injuries in Aurora. And pray we can learn how to stop it from happening again.     

A Funny Thing Happened On My Way To Shangrila

Some of us are always trying to look behind the curtain (If you remember- for those of you who have seen the movie- in the Wizard of Oz, when the dog Toto reveals the man behind the curtain to be the actual Wizard). We seem to always be attempting to pierce the veil of the world around us. We just don't always go about it in the right way.
I believe the real trick to seeing the world around us, is not by vision, but by perception. Most of us, myself included, are always viewing only that part of the world that is right in front of us. Tunnel-vision, if you will. When in actuality, to pierce the "veil of reality", we need to step back, and widen what is being seen to include everything that is around us. The world truly is a marvelous place, and the simplest of things can be astounding to behold when observed in the right "light". Of course, it's not always easy to trick our perception into seeing the true nature of the world around us. It's why marijuana was -probably still is- such a popular drug, and also psychologically addictive. In my younger years, I would definitely say I was an addict.  But as with anything that is abused, it creates it own set of problems, which, in the end, overshadow any benefit. At least in my case. So, I moved on. 
 Shangrila, defined in the dictionary as a remote idyllic hideaway, is not really any one particular location, as in the stories, but resides directly behind your eyes, and can be anywhere you happen to be. Most of us are looking for Shangrila in one way or another. Call it whatever you like, happiness, peace, home, the place we belong in the world, or whatever you prefer. But like the Chinaman, who no matter where he goes, is always home, because he carries China in his heart, that is also where Shangrila is as well. So, you see, we really don't have to go looking for it. It's right here inside. We just have to figure out how to open the door.
Sound familiar? It's been said before. And probably much more eloquently at that.     

Reality Might Be Far Stranger Than You Think

Being around a lot of writers of speculative fiction (a good categorization actually: usually includes everything from science fiction, fantasy, horror, magic realism, slipstream, etc., etc.), and all the, at least partially, crazy fans of said (meaning the previously mentioned) writers, even if only for a day (as in my case at Readercon this past Friday) is a truly strange and wonderful experience. As exhausting as the overall day was, I loved every minute of it. 
I can never get enough time to read. I have been reading speculative fiction since I was somewhere around 10 years old. Some of the authors I saw on Friday I had met at other Readercons in the past, such as Michael Swanwick, Elizabeth Hand, Paul di Filippo, Peter Straub, Jeff VanderMeer, and John Crowley, to mention a few. And I got to meet some authors for the first time, like Elizabeth Bear, Gemma Files, Paul Tremblay, Howard Waldrop, James Patrick Kelly, and Andy Duncan. I was able to sit in on readings by Matthew Kressel (a newer writer), Jeff VanderMeer, Paul Tremblay, and James Patrick Kelly. Matthew read from a story taking place in the future, as the last humans are being evacuated from Earth. It was a very touching story, where the central characters are an old man trying to preserve his family's home and land, and a young girl from the poor side of the tracks, so to speak.
Jeff read from a new novel, which although finished, has not been published, yet, with the title of Annihilation. Another book I'm just gonna' have to read. Paul Tremblay read from his new book, Swallowing A Donkey's Eye. Yep, that's the title. Now, I haven't read much of Tremblay, but after sitting through the reading, I can honestly say I will be reading more. Swallowing A Donkey's Eye won't be officially released until next month, but the publisher, Chizine, made several copies available, and of course, I managed to pick one up.
My favorite reading of the day (and that's saying a lot, 'cause I truly enjoyed them all), however, was by James Patrick Kelly, who read from a novella (much longer than your average short story, but not as long as a novel), The Last Judgement, which was published in Asimov's (a science fiction magazine). It took place in a world where all the men had disappeared years ago, so there were only women. The section of the novella he read from, was about the meeting between a young private detective (she was born after the disappearance of the men), and an old woman (who not only was around before the disappearance, but had been married and had a child) who wants to hire her to recover a stolen painting. The story itself is filled with humor, but the way the author read it was hysterical. It was a great reading. And now, dammit, I'm going to have to try to track down that issue of Asimov's so I can read the whole story.
You know, sometimes we have tunnel vision, and are only able to see our own little world right there in front of us. Yet, there's a much bigger world unfolding all around us, all the time. And the possibilities of where we'll be tomorrow are endless. In the meantime, however, I must take care of some mundane tasks in my own small reality, so I can spend time later considering that larger world around me. Sigh. 
Happy trails to y'all. 

Did Anybody Get the Number of That Truck?

And the recovery continues. Age is not a pretty picture. Of course, having CFIDS (chronic, fatigue, immune dysfunction syndrome-there's a mouthful for ya') doesn't particularly help either. Oops. There I go complaining again. A bad habit that is quite common among us humans.
Anyway, I did manage to drag myself out of bed and get in a quick jog before showering. After which, I then uncovered Eddie's cage to allow the light of day into my little feathered brother's life. Hey, we might not be the same species, but we share this planet, as well as the marvelous gift of life. And no matter your circumstances, I believe life to be a precious thing. Even Albert, my other roommate (who happens to be a large black bear), believes in the sanctity of life. Although he does wish that the majority of humans would find another planet to live on. He's currently sleeping in his favorite spot, under my bed. Again, I have no idea how he gets under there. It really is amazing.  
So, next time, maybe I'll talk a bit about what I experienced at Readercon, but I'm gonna' let those events gel in my head some more.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch (a quite cliche line once used in a lot of old movies, and serial tv shows), I have a plan. My day will go a little like this, I hope. First, some Irish style oatmeal (hey, that's what it says on the box), and of course, the Sunday paper. Then, if I can light a fire under my butt, I will do a bit of cleaning. Following that, if I can still stand up, I will start unpacking a whole lot of books, and begin finding them homes back on my bookshelves, or anywhere else I can set them, as long as I won't trip over them.
And finally, maybe I'll have a little time to indulge in the wonderful pastime of reading. With a bit of luck. 
Anyroad, whatever your situation in life may be, I do hope you can, in some way or other, appreciate this extraordinary thing we call life.  

Fiction Can Be Strange, But Writers Are Beyond Strange

I love going to Readercon. Even though I have to run around like a squirrel trying to collect nuts at the last minute before the cold winds of Winter come screaming down from the North. I can only have one day at Readercon, mainly because of Eddie, who will not allow me to leave him alone overnight. The last time I left him alone while I went to Bora Bora for a weekend, he had a wild party with some of his feathered friends, and trashed the place. There was bird poop everywhere.
Anyroad (anyway; anyhow), I left around 8 am yesterday morning, and arrived at the convention around 10 am. I didn't pre-register, so it took me about 3/4's of an hour to get through the rather long line at the registration desk. Then the race began. I brought 2 large duffel bags and a backpack, all filled with books to get signed. If I was not waiting in line at the Autograph desk for the various author signings, I was on my way to catch an author as he/she left a panel presentation (there were different discussion panels every hour featuring 3 to 5 writers with, of course, an audience that sometimes took part, and usually at least, got to ask questions after the presentation). There were also readings given by a wide variety of Authors (one at a time of course) every half-hour. I did get the chance to listen to 3 or 4 of the readings, which I did enjoy, two in particular. 
I did have a wonderful time. It was, however, very exhausting. My one regret was not having the time to socialize as much as I would have liked. As it was, I always had to know where I was going next to track down my next illusive signature. I did also, get to sit in on a couple of panels, where I was hoping to corner one or more of the participating authors, in order to coerce them to sign their books for me once the panel ended. Don't misunderstand me, I truly enjoyed the panels I sat in on. There were enough wonderful characters (both writers and fans) there to send a dedicated people-watcher directly to heaven. Cons (Conventions) are their own world. As I heard one fan say while waiting in line to register, "I love coming here and leaving everday reality behind." The fans are as interesting to observe as the writers themselves. And writers are a different breed of human. About as close to the average, everyday commuter, as a hunter in a tree, holding a rock,and waiting for the next brilliant idea to pop up. 
Anyroad, I am completely wiped-out ( I got home around 8:45 pm), and my back is killing me (those damn books are seriously heavy). The household chores, that I am always doing in such a timely manner (heavy sarcasm), are circling me like Indians (Native Americans) on the warpath circling a wagon train in the Old West (you'll have to check back to the 1800's for information on wagon trains, since we really don't travel that way anymore).
Eddie, meantime, is keeping a close eye on me. He starts screaming if I get anywhere close to the door. He wants to make sure I'm not going to sneak off  anywhere. Again. He's definitely going to make me pay for abandoning him yesterday. Ah, well. Life, at least for the moment, is very far from boring. 
Today's word to the wise? If you don't like the way something looks, change your point of view. Or, simply find something else to look at. 
Anybody good at giving back massages? I could really use one...

Help! I'm Drowning in Books!

Tomorrow morning, bright and early, I will be headed for ReaderCon just outside of Boston. I try to go every year, but of course, it depends on my schedule as well as my current state of being (referring to my health, mostly). Luckily, a friend of mine will be able to lead my Friday conversation group. Meanwhile, I will load as many books into my car as I believe I can signed during the course of the day, and head north. Then, I will proceed to run around like a madman trying to catch all the various authors of the books, using Readercon's program schedule as a guide. But that will be tomorrow.
I love going to Readercon, and one day I hope to actually spend an entire weekend there. Unfortunately, I cannot leave Eddie on his own overnight, and presently there's no convenient way to take him with me. Heck, there's no convenient way to even type this post with Eddie here. He's already interrupted me for three headrubs, and right now he's climbing up and down my arm like a crazy bird.
Anyroad, I gotta' put some breakfast together, after which I'll have to put myself together, and then head downtown. Hasta Luego/Zai Jian. See ya' later.

Finding the Oasis of Sleep In the Desert of the Night

Dreaming is an important factor in both the waking world (if you have no dreams to fulfill, life can be somewhat empty), and the nocturnal state of sleep (you may not remember your dreams, but our subconscious minds need the process of dreaming). Lacking dreams to live by, or the subconscious outlet of dreaming while our bodies sleep, can cause a lack of well-being and happiness. And of course, lack of sleep can cause anger, mental breakdown, poor judgement, clouded thinking, and, in a word, insanity. 
Now, I'm not saying that I am insane, but I do have a sleep problem that is related to my immune system disorder. Last night was my first decent night of sleep since Tuesday or Wednesday of last week. And yes, after a couple of bad nights of sleep, I get a bit fuzzy, and my ability to see reality in a clear and healthy way, well, it becomes impaired, to put it mildly. It's best during these periods, for me to lose myself in a book, or to let the television set entertain me as best it can. Needless to say, at these times, I do my best to stay home, and do as little as possible. That's generally not by choice. It's about all I'm capable of for the most part. 
Over the weekend, I managed to read a large, as well as largely entertaining book, watched some tv, both bad and good (bad tv has no redeeming qualities, and you usually can't remember what it was you watched), ate some simple meals that required no cooking, and gave Eddie many headrubs. 
Albert spent most of the weekend out and about. He doesn't like it when I spend all my time in the apartment. He claims the place starts to smell took much like a "human" cave. As opposed to a bear cave, I guess. 
Anyroad, I'm going to see if it's possible to accomplish anything of significance today. But I will cautiously attempt to not overdo it.
Insomnia is a huge problem for many people. I hope as you wander through the desert of your night, you are able to find that deep, cool well of blissful sleep. Have a wonderful dream or two while you're there. 

Free At Last!

Independence Day has come and gone. Regardless of how "less than perfect" this country may be, it still is the land of the free. At least for the moment, and hopefully for a long time to come. 
And for me? All is mostly well. Albert is catching up on some mostly spiteful semi-truths and propaganda by watching Fox "News" on tv (he really likes to start his day with some bear-like anger), Eddie is napping on my shoulder, and I am drinking a cup of Tazo Focus tea as I type this. Unfortunately, before I head for the Library to play talk-show host for my Friday conversation group, I must try to balance my checkbook as I eat breakfast. So maybe more later, depending on whatever surprises life throws at me as the day progresses. 
Remember, folks, the world could end at any moment on any day. Make sure you make every minute count. 
I'm sure I don't know what that means...Hasta Luego (Until Later)...

Happy Fourth of July

We are a nation of upstarts. And it all started with the Boston Tea Party, which has no connection to the much more recent appearance of the conservative Tea Party started by the Fox News network (don't let 'em kid ya', they started it) as a refuge for those out-of-touch-from-humanity morons to espouse their beliefs in the principles of greed, selfishness, and of course, every man's right to line his pockets (except for the poor and disadvantaged). Which includes corporations since they have been declared as having the same rights as a person. They don't seem to understand the difference between freedom, and being able to do anything you like regardless of how much it hurts others. Or, put another way, they confused about the difference between being able to drive a car, and the "ability" to run over whoever gets in their way.
But enough about the brain dead, and heartless.
The fourth of July is a remembrance of whence we came (where we came from). And as they say (I need to google who they are), you can't know where you're going, if you don't know where you came from. As a young country, we have come a long way. I think it's important that we keep moving in the right direction (forward) as we have been, even if it is slowly. Some would have us move backwards, which would benefit them, but would have a terribly destructive impact on this Country.
Anyroad, wherever you are in the world, I hope you have a reason to celebrate being alive for another day. Here in the state of Connecticut, in the USA, the sun has come out, and it definitely is a good looking day. It is a bit humid (quite humid, actually), so for those without air conditioning it might be somewhat uncomfortable. I did manage to get in a jog early in the morning, while it was still drizzling, and before I had to get Eddie up to prepare his castle (cage; but it's a big cage) for the day, and get him fresh food and water.
Albert, my bearish other roomate (he is a bear, actually), is sleeping at the moment. He has become quite nocturnal lately. He claims it's safer to do his wandering around under the cover of darkness. He's somewhat spoiled for a bear, I think. I do believe he really prefers to be inside in air conditioning on days like today. And they say it will get into the 90's today. That's in Fahrenheit, of course.
For me, I hope this will prove to be a low-key kind of day. I have a huge book (The Skylark; a limited edition of a novel by Peter Straub; the title of the trade edition is A Dark Matter) to read, and everything else  I could possibly need for the day. 
Well, a bag of peanut M&Ms would be nice. But I'll live.    

A Bear in Hand, is Far Less Trouble Than A Republican in the Bush

Albert has his problems, and he does create a few for me as well. It's not always easy living with a bear who comes and goes as he pleases. Not to mention the noise he sometimes make while sleeping under my bed. But all in all, he's not bad company, and his heart is in the right place. He's not trying to screw over his fellow bears, or any humans for that matter. And he's not destroying the environment and wiping out other living creatures, all for the sake of making a buck. Another big point in his favor, is that he doesn't twist and spin the truth into half-truths and lies, for his own purposes. I'm not sure he would even know how to not tell the truth.
Well, the same can't be said for certain Republican politicians and pundits, well represented by those low-life propaganda-spouting Fox News egg-suckers. And that's all I have to say about that. (For the moment, anyway). The sad part is, there are actually people out there who not only listen to them, but actually seem to believe their b---s---. Ok. Enough.
It's July 3rd, 2012, the day before July 4th. I have no big plans for tomorrow. In fact, if things go the way I want them to, Eddie and I will spend the day at home. I can't speak for Albert, who at this moment is asleep in his customary place. He woke me when came in early this morning as the sun came up. Unfortunately for me, I was unable to fall back asleep due to his snoring, which is quite loud, even for a bear I think. 'Course, I really couldn't say for sure, since I haven't spent much time around sleeping bears, other than Albert. In fact, Albert is the only bear I've ever spent any time around at all.
Anyroad (you may substitute anyway, or anyhow, if you like), I made use of the early morning awakening, and went jogging. It was a very nice morning to be out and about. But it was an even nicer morning once I climbed into the shower, and then had a cup of tea. Absolutely wonderful.
And so, to prepare for what I hope to be a relaxing holiday, I must take care of few not particularly pleasant tasks, such as doing my laundry, and going to the supermarket. Into every life, some chores must fall. Often, on a daily basis. 
I hope you all are doing well in the continuing struggle of living, and I do hope you have at least one someone  to share those struggles with. A man I know, who runs a publishing company in the UK, always ends his emails with Take Care of Each Other. Not a bad sign off.

In My Dreams, Romance is a Dark and Stormy Night

Love stories are universal. It seems, however, that there are some cultural differences. In conversations I have had with many of my Asian friends, as well as what little I know of Chinese love stories in literature and movies, it would seem that most traditional Chinese love stories are sad, and tragic tales. In other words, there aren't a lot of happy endings. And yes, there are American love stories that don't end well. Look at the movie, Love Story, for instance. But in general, we Americans really do prefer a love story with a wonderfully happy ending. In real life, however, I don't think this happens very often. But I do hope it happens more often than my experience would suggest.
When I was young, well, much younger than I am now, I had a close relationship with a young woman of my own age. We had a very close connection. One that ran deep. And one that at that time I not only didn't fully understand, but I also did not fully appreciate. Being young and very foolish, after a few years had passed, I grew fearful, and broke it off. I'm not sure even now of exactly what I was afraid of, although part of it was not feeling worthy of the love of this beautiful soul, and possibly being a little intimidated by her love. She was a wiser person than I in many ways, particularly I think, in the true meaning of love. And so, in a somewhat typical male response to the fear of being trapped, I ran off. And I have regretted it ever since.
I did try to contact her a couple of times in the next couple of years, and I did manage to talk to her briefly once. But I had caused her too much pain, and she did not want to see or talk to me. Many years later, I convinced my brother Jeff, who had mastered the internet long before I even owned a computer, to try find her for me. Using his internet tracking sources, he claimed she had been married, had two children, divorced, and moved to Canada, where the trail went cold (he couldn't track her any further). Jeff, however, had thought it was a really bad idea to try to hunt her down after such a long time. I always suspected he had simply made up everything he told me in order to satisfy my need to try to find her. It would have been his way of trying to protect me from what he believed could only end badly. 
During the course of my conscious day to day life, I do not think of my lost young lover of long ago very often. But my subconscious never lets me forget her for very long. Over the course of these many years, from time to time, I will have a quite haunting, and by now somewhat familiar, dream about her. In the dream, I am either talking to her in person, or on the phone. Or, I am talking to someone else in an attempt to find out where she is. In last night's dream, I was talking to my cousin Jim (who actually, at this moment, is somewhere out West). In any case, in all the dreams, whether I am supposed to meet her later, or just trying to find the address of where I have been told she is, I can not get there, and it becomes a desperate hunt. And of course, I have no way to get in touch with her. That is always how the dream ends. I cannot describe the feeling of utter melancholy that envelopes me, upon awaking. 
So, I find that a part of my life has become a tragic love story. And I will always wonder, what would have been, if I had not let fear drive me off. I will never know...