farrandy

So today we said goodbye to Puck.

We first met Puck when he was just a puppy grub (and going by the alias of Tucker). He was one of a litter of Corgi-Pomeranian mixes, and was a little odd (even for that bunch) from the start. I picked him up to play with him and he fell asleep. Nothing would wake him up; shaking him, playing with his paws, rubbing his belly. He just slept--until all the other puppies fell asleep and then he was ready to go. When we brought him home, we quickly discovered what a trickster he was and so learned his true name.

He liked to bark at the door to go outside, and after you'd come from the other end of the house to open the door, he'd sit there with a doggie grin on his face, turn around and leave, letting you know it was a great joke. Sometimes, I'd let he and Esme out into the garage and go out 30 minutes later to find that Esme couldn't get out because Puck had planted himself in the dog door, and was watching whatever it is that dogs watch in the backyard, not letting her out (note that Esme outweighed him by nearly 10 pounds). We called this activity (the sitting, not the blocking) "gargoyling".

Puck was clearly the brains of the outfit.

He was a great dog, whether he was playing in a pile of blankets, rocketing around the backyard or sleeping on the newly washed laundry, with a Corgi and Pomeranian mix of fur that made him look like a little Victorian gentleman with a full beard and immense muttonchops.

But back around mid-September, he had been diagnosed with Prostate cancer, and given about 30 days to live. So I guess that since we got almost 2 1/2 months we should consider ourselves lucky. I know we're lucky to have had him in our lives, but he wasn't even 10 years old and he's gone far too soon, so right now, I just don't feel all that lucky.

So goodbye, little buddy. There are many tears being shed into the large empty space you've left behind.

I know from painful experience that they will diminish in time.

Just as I know they will never cease completely.

     "Whenever our ethnic or national prejudices are aroused, in times of scarcity, during challenges to national self-esteem or nerve, when we agonize about our diminished cosmic place and purpose, or when fanaticism is bubbling up around us--then, habits of thought familiar from ages past reach for the controls.
     The candle flame gutters. Its little pool of light trembles.  Darkness gathers.  The demons begin to stir."

-----Carl Sagan  The Demon-Haunted World:  Science as a Candle in the Dark

So yesterday, I went to the Scottish festival here in Tulsa, mainly because for the price of admission (note: do not buy your tickets online; they add on a $2.00 "service charge" which gets you nothing. Just pay at the gate) you can listen to a lot of live music.

[Okay, admittedly there were a number of fair lassies wearin' kilts, but this was somewhat offset by the number of big hairy guys wearin' kilts. It should be noted here that while there is some Scot in my ancestry, that was some ten or twelve generations ago, so I've never gotten the whole wearin' of the kilt thing. Nothin' against it, mind, but I'd just rather see 'em on fair lassies than big hairy guys. Anyways, back to the point of this entry....]

Yeah, live music! Aside from the traditional celtic folk groups and battling bagpipe armies, they also had some celtiod rock. Screamin' electric guitars mixed with fiddles, bagpipes and didgeridoos(!). There was also a band that consisted of one bagpipe and three guys on drums. It's really no wonder that these things were carried into battle; after about 45 minutes of that, I was ready to grab a sword and start whackin' at something.

I'm getting closer to the point here, trust me.

Many (actually most) of the bands would ask the audience to sing along to a song every once in a while. Usually just helping out on the chorus, but sometimes saying, "If you know this song, join in!" Sometimes all they wanted was a "Hey! Hey! Hey!" or some similar noise.

So why was it that I seemed to be the only one belting it out when asked?

Crivens, people! Why wern't ya fookin' singin' when they asked ya ta? Ya weren't watchin' nae fookin' television!

Er, sorry. I've been re-reading Pratchett's Tiffany Aching books with the Mac Nac Feegle and after the Scottish fair, that just slipped out.

Anyways, admittedly our culture teaches you to stop singing after grade school, or most people don't think they can't sing well--and, okay, some can't, but if everyone is singing, they'll get drowned out (especially at the celtiod rock stuff, it wouldn't matter--it was too loud for anyone to complain) Also, again admittedly no one payed to hear you sing when they came through the gate, but when the band asks you to join in, do so, dammit! Make a joyful noise.

Or at least a rowdy one.

Crivins!

So, today Terry Pratchett died. Knew it was coming, but.... dammit!

Why is it that the kind of people that the world needs most seem to die, when the type of people who pollute the world with their very existence just seem to linger on, continuing to do damage and reveling in it? Several names of the latter type are springing to mind, but I won't say them here. Not because I am afraid offending anyone, but rather because I just can't bring myself to use their names anywhere near Sir Terry's.

Instead, I'll just honor a great man with some of his quotes that would probably infuriate those people.

"Stories of imagination tend to upset those without one."

"The presence of those seeking the truth is infinitely to be preferred to the presence of those who think they've found it."

"Goodness is about what you do, not who you pray to."

And finally:

"It's not worth doing something unless someone, somewhere, would much rather you weren't doing it."

As many of you may know, I lost a dear friend last week. I wrote this with the intent of posting it, then realized that I was writing it more for myself. But here it is anyway, if you're interested.

Suzette Haden Elgin; A Few Memories.

“The fountains of my great deep are broken up and I have rained reminiscences for four and twenty hours. The old life has swept before me like a panorama; the old days have trooped by in their old glory, the old faces have looked out of the mists of the past; old footsteps have sounded in my listening ears; old hands have clasped mine; old voices have greeted me and the songs I loved ages and ages ago have come wailing down the centuries!”
-----Mark Twain

Gosh, has it really been over thirty years? Where did the time go? Oh yeah, where it always goes; into the past, reachable only by memory….

If memory serves (though lately I find that memory does not deserve the generous tip it used to get), it was at a convention in Kansas City in the early 1980’s that I settled into a filksing. There in the circle was a woman with salt and pepper hair in a long braid who somehow radiated grace just sitting there. When her turn to sing came around, I was delighted to find that she could sing and play the guitar with a skill that surpassed most of the filksingers I had ever heard (and I include myself among that number—tragically, whenever I play and sing, I also have to listen to myself. I later learned that her musical talent was honed by the fact that she had been performing in coffeehouses since before I was born). Sometime during the evening, she sang The Song of the Bridgewraith, which was her take on the old folktale of the Phantom Hitchhiker, so I followed with Bringing Mary Home, another variation on the same tale. The woman looked at me and said “I didn’t know there were other songs about bridgewraiths.” To which I replied, “I didn’t know they were called bridgewraiths.”

And thus I met Suzette Haden Elgin, and like most people who had the pleasure to know her, I am a better person for it.

This is not going to be the story of Suzette’s life (you can find that elsewhere); just a few of my memories of her. Do not seek for any order—either chronological or of importance—or meaning in them. I’m just writing them down, partially to share and partially as catharsis for a deep loss. I shall try my best to keep it light.

Of course, much of our relationship centered around music. I was—and still am—musically illiterate. I play by ear (though I prefer to think of it as playing by heart). I can listen to a song and, if it’s not too sophisticated (read: hard), I can usually start playing along by the second verse, provided that the person is in standard tuning (not always a given in those days). Since Suzette came from the folk music scene, and “borrowed” a lot of the tunes she set her songs to, I was already acquainted with the music, and was able to accompany her immediately. I am reminded of a line from a song (I think it might have been by T.J. Burnside): “There’s not a word yet, for old friends who’ve just met…”, it sort of sums up what happened. I’ve only had that happen a couple of times in my life. When it does, you feel as if you are touching magic.

So we played a lot together. It even led to our putting out two tapes of songs and accompanying songbooks. The first was Dragons, Cows and Kudzu and the second was Soon to be a Major Embarrassment. Suzette came up with that title and I still think it’s one of the best titles ever (for anything—it would work well for most movies and be an honest political slogan). I pulled them out and listened to them not to long ago. They’re not half bad—by which I mean Suzette’s part is really good. The later tape was recorded at Suzette’s house by her husband George, a man who is every bit as charming as Suzette—and just as talented. Not only musically talented, but he could build just about anything, including their house, which, by the way, was an underground house.

Yeah, that’s right. Suzette and George lived in a hobbit hole, filled with books, musical instruments, sturdy furniture (much of which was built by George), home grown vegetables and a couple of large friendly hounds. I remember coming out of the house one day just as the sun was going down and surprising a herd of deer in their front yard. Realizing we were there, they bolted for the nearby woods without making a sound. Suzette muttered something about how hard it was to keep them out of the garden, but only after she, like I, had gasped at the utter beauty of the scene. She and George had lived there for years, but had never taken it for granted. They lived there until just a few years ago, when age and health concerns made taking care of the house and property too much of a burden.

I have a feeling that a lot of people thought that Suzette was older than she actually was. I know that I did before I learned better. This might have due in part to that salt and pepper hair, and the fact that she walked with a cane. The cane was due to the fact that she suffered from post polio syndrome. Try as it might, it did not slow her down. I remember one time after a convention; a group of us were going to go to a restaurant across the street from the hotel. Suzette, George and I walked across the street and when we arrived at the door to the place, we looked back at our compatriots, who hadn’t made it across the street yet (though we had all started out together). Suzette just leaned on her cane and said, “Well, I guess we’ll just wait for the young people to catch up with us.” But I think that another reason that people might have misjudged her age was, well, her wisdom. And I suppose that is why I (and so many others) will miss her. I’m sure she gave many people advice. I know she gave me some. I’ll give a few brief examples.

She once gave me piece of advice which kept me from making what would have been the Biggest Mistake of My Life. I won’t go into detail about it; this is about Suzette and not me (and admittedly, it still embarrasses me some to this day). Ask me about it. Maybe I’ll tell you. Maybe not.

Once I was chairing a convention while dealing with chronic pain. I had seen several doctors about it to no avail. Still, duty called. I put on a happy face, didn’t complain and no one was the wiser. Well, not quite no one. The day after the convention Suzette e-mailed me and said “Alright Randy, what is the matter with you?” Realizing there was no point in denying my problem to a Ph.D. in linguistics who was an expert in reading body language, I told her about the pain, the doctors, etc. She asked what was going on in my life. I told her, and she wrote back saying “I’m not a medical doctor, but I think your problem is…..and what I think you need to do is….” I decided to give her advice a try (hey, she’d kept me from making the Biggest Mistake of My Life). The pain abated immediately and has never recurred.

Once I had just gone through a really low point in my life. Much of it (though admittedly, not all of it) was due to things that others had done to me. After talking to
Suzette about it, she said “Well, you should be proud that you made it through this with your dignity intact.” I’ve tried to make sure I do that ever since. I don’t always manage, but I do try. I think of it as stumbling toward grace.

In my house there is a lot of art on the walls, but not a lot of photographic portraits. But in my lab (where I play music and work on art) there are three. One is myself and my family. The second is the last picture taken of my Dad and myself together. The third is a picture of Suzette. I’m not sure she would like the picture very much. She is not really smiling, but rather looking as if she were about ready to give someone some important piece of advice. Whenever I have found myself in what Suzette would have called a hard patch, I ask myself, “What would Suzette do?” The answer is usually “Probably something a lot smarter than what I’m going to do.” Like I said: stumbling toward grace.

Finally, Suzette was always trying to make a change—make the world a little better. Her Gentle Art of Verbal Self-Defense books are probably the best example of that. But she never stopped. When I learned of her death, I called George and he told me that even through her struggle with Alzheimer’s, she was writing a book—about what it was like to live with this horrible disease. So more people would know. So something can be done about it. He said he was going to put it together and publish it as a limited run hard copy and then as an e-book. So maybe that’s the way to honor Suzette: Never stop fighting what is wrong.

But don’t you weep, and don’t you mourn!
Don’t you wish that you never were born!
Keep your hand on that plow—hold on!

Hold on! Hold on!
Keep your hand on that plow—hold on!

Gonna come another brand new day!
The world ain’t agonna be this way!
Keep your hand on that plow –hold on!

Hold on! Hold On!
Keep your hand on that plow—hold on!
----Suzette Haden Elgin

Okay, so we've been watching the new version of Cosmos. I have to admit I had a lot of trepidation about this show. I have very fond memories of the original series (and admittedly I may be remembering it through rose-colored nostalgia because I haven't seen it --except for a few short bits on Youtube--since it originally aired). Carl Sagan was (and still is) one of my heroes. The show was beautiful; science and art all rolled into one hour long package for 13 weeks. It occurs to me that it was the first soundtrack that I ever bought (on LP! Remember those?). It introduced me to the music of Vangelis. How could anything compete with that?

It doesn't. But then, Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyessy isn't trying to compete with the original; it is a continuation, paying lots of homage to Cosmos: A Personal Voyage (especially in the first episode), such as returning to Sagan's Cosmic Calendar. I got a chuckle as Dr. Neal deGrasse Tyson started walking toward the Big Bang, reached in his jacket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. I also got just a bit weepy at the end as he was telling about the time he met with Dr. Sagan, who gave him a copy of The Cosmic Connection signed "to Neal, a future astronomer". After the episode, I went back to the lab, rummaged around and brought out my own copy of the same edition to show to Barbara (it is, sadly, unsigned).

I had heard that historical recreations were going to be executed using animated cartoons, and I was also skeptical about this, but it is nicely done, and very artistic. It was used in the most recent episode to tell the story of Edmund Halley's diligence in getting one the most important books in the history of science--Isaac Newton's Principia Mathematica published and how it almost didn't happen (the phrase "The History of Fish" still makes me giggle--and you'll just have to see the episode or do some research to know what I'm talking about).

The special effects are much better than the original, but well, there really was no CGI back in 1979, and they aren't working with a PBS budget----which leads to my one qualm:

Commercials. The original Cosmos , being on PBS had no commercials. The new Cosmos, being on the National Geographic Channel and (surprisingly) Fox, is interrupted numerous times for ads for car insurance or deodorant. I will give them credit, though; unlike shows on, say History or Discovery, the story picks up right where it left off--they don't insult your intelligence by taking 30 seconds before a seven minute long commercial break to tell you what you're going to see and then take a minute after the break to remind you of what you've already seen (Hello! I'm watching a show about science and I do not have the attention span of a gnat!). This is one of the reasons we dropped cable. BTW, I couldn't help to notice the irony that one of the commercials shown during episodes 1 and 2 were for the big blockbuster movie about Noah's Ark, but it was dropped during episode 3. Maybe it was because in episode 2, Dr. deGrasse Tyson, in talking about (gasp!) evolution pointed out that there are over 50 million species of beetles alone. Any rational person, hearing that, would have to soon conclude that a major portion of that boat must have been devoted to just to bugs (and where did they put the termites on a wooden boat?). I've heard that a lot of evangelical Christians are (not surprisingly) upset that the show is not giving equal time to "intelligent design" or creationism or whatever they're calling it now. To them I say, you have numerous whole networks devoted to your belief system, and not once have I heard of any of them devoting equal time to evolution, so until that happens, just zip it already!

Okay, I'll get off my soapbox. The air is kinda thin up here anyway.

Finally, in comparison of Sagan to deGrasse Tyson, the former was like a favorite uncle saying, "The cosmos is an amazing and wonderful place. Come with me, if you will, and let's explore it." (I still think of him as Uncle Carl). The later is like a science geek who drinks a lot of coffee, gabs you by the arm and says, "Look! Those galaxies are colliding! Let's get closer!" The bridge of Sagan's "spaceship of the imagination" looked (ironically?) like a cathedral. deGrasse Tyson's looks a bit like the the bridge of the Enterprise. But I'd gladly take a ride on either one.

And, thinking about it, since Sagan descibed the cosmos as "...everything that is, ever was or ever will be," if you were on one, eventually I suppose, you'd meet the other.

What a pleasant thought. Hi Uncle Carl!

So, I was driving to work today, and I got behind this pickup truck. The guy (Okay, I don't know, I'm just assuming it was a guy) was driving so that both of his driver's side tires were way over the line, so that the truck was at least 18-24 inches into the next lane. Needless to say, I backed off a aways, but not before I read his bumper sticker, which might explain his driving habits. It said: "I Don't Trust the LIBERAL MEDIA!"

Ya see, I figure this guy was so far to the right he had to lean hard to port on his steering wheel to keep his truck from falling over.

Hey Look! I'm still on Livejournal (but... is anyone else?).

So I just got my schedule for FenCon. When I filled out the schedule form, they wanted to know if there was anything that I didn't want to be scheduled opposite. I forgot to mention that I wouldn't want to miss anything that Charles Vess (the Artist GOH, and one of my [many] favorite artists), so I expected that I would find myself opposite some really cool demo he was doing or something.

Doesn't look like it.

It does appear that I am going to be on a panel with him, however.

I'll have to work really hard to not say something that makes me sound like a dork (those who know me know what an uphill battle that will be).

I also have short filk concert; it's only 30 minutes and I can pretty much do that with my ears closed, but I should start practicing anyway.

I have seen the trailer for the new Star Trek movie that comes out next May. It's going to be in 3-D.

I can remember watching the original series when it was originally broadcast (dimly, but still..).

The Enterprise. Coming at me. Firing phasers and photon torpedoes ('cause you know it will be).

In Freakin' 3-D!

There is no way that THAT isn't going to happen.