-=ConUtopiaN=- the MichiganFandom zine

Buck - Fiction by Freon

2009-03-01T21:04:00.002-05:00

“You know, Ms. Conrad, without your glasses, you don’t look so awful bad.”
The hooker stopped sobbing for twelve seconds, considering a notion that she could seduce herself out of the back of the cruiser. Had to nip that in the bud.
“Even better now that you aren’t swinging a knife at my partner’s throat.”
She started crying again. I shrugged, shutting the door on her. Better to keep a drunk in tune with reality.
I stuck her Iowa State ID into the clipboard, while Rosie got in. Somehow, she had gotten some coffee.
“Oh, oh, oh – you’re a goddess!” I dared a pull through the plastic lid, the aroma too tempting. We slid off the easement and backed into the street. “Who in Kerns is open this late?”
“The bellhop’s coffeemaker. They use the same stuff as the Casino café – and I thought you could use a little spoiling.” Rosie poked at the elbow bandage she’d put on the cut that Ms. Waneeta Conrad had afflicted there. “Thanks for covering me – might do the same for you sometime.”
“When’s the wedding,” said the drunk.
“Ms. Conrad, if you don’t mind,” I faced her momentarily and uncasually shut the plexi baffle, which she promptly spat on. “That’s nice. Thanks for cooperating. Keep it up, we’ll need samples later.” Unimpressed, I drummed my hands on the wheel and chewed my pen.
“I wanna talk t’ my agent.”
“Look,” Rosie said, pleasantly. “You had every chance to do that without pulling a knife. He’s a little off talking with you, tonight.” She examined her fingernails and babied her cup of coffee. “I suggest someone useful in your defense, Ms. Conrad. Try to think of who you wouldn’t attempt to kill--”
“Go stretch your neck.”
Glazed eyed glowed in the mirror, ringed with macabre streaks of eyeliner.
“---before you waste any breath.” Rosie’s voice trailed off. “Pete, is that something on the roadside?”
I squinted past her hand, to the curb ahead. She’d already grabbed hold of the spotlight. We stopped alongside what looked like a very large fur coat, or someone wearing one, in the gutter at Sullivan Reserve on Main. “I’ll call in. Can you see---”
“Oh, man,” Rosie sighed. She cleared her seatbelt and sprang out the door. “It’s somebody alright. Get on some gloves; I see a little blood here.”
I parked and rattled off a short call to Dispatch. Both of the city’s ambulance crews had remained in town, since Ms Conrad had been somewhat glancing in her earlier attack, and I’d turned them around. Either were half an hour out.
“A hit and run?” The enormous mass on the ground lurched. I came round the front of the car to see a hand reach up, clutching at the beam of the spotlight. “Easy, take it easy,” I said reflexively. I could see abraded elbow, bloodstains on the back of the palms.
“Jus’ lemme alone.” A deep voice, alcohol-slurred. “ Doin’ us no good, never before, and not now.” Then he gave a whallopping kick, barely missing Rosie’s shin.
“Hey, hey!” She stepped back. “You heard him, take it easy. Are you okay? Did you get hit or mugged or something? What do you remember?” She made to reach out a gloved hand, but another kick and a swat was all she got in return. “Pardon me!”
“I know this type, Rosie. Leave it to me.”
The lump on the asphalt regarded my words, and heaved a disgusted sigh. “Oh, here we go, now.” A face lolled into view, over hairy, naked shoulders and a braided mane of straight black. “Just what you mean by that, officer?”
I was close enough to smell the breath. The alcohol had been an improvement.
“I mean nothing by it, young man,” I began, very carefully. I looked him over from a safer distance. “You have any ID on you? License?”
“What a joke.” With a sarcastic laugh, he righted himself. “Look at me. Like I can ever fit behin’a wheel of a car. You people are lucky me and my brothers don’t jump that fence back there ever’ night, take a few of ‘em off the highway for laughs.”
“Sounds fun. Ever do it,” Rosie muttered, flashlight out, peering into the guy’s pupils and making it clear that she could use the aluminum tube as a smart little club if he tried to resist. Naked from the belly up, he had abrasions mostly across his face. Unsteady knees wobbled as he eyed my partner.
“I take the fifth. I wanna reservation lawyer.”
A cackle issued from somewhere behind the beam. “If he’s drunker than I am, you can let me go,” Ms. Conrad ventured.
“Shut it.” Rosie turned and marched off to the car. “I’m gonna go get some gauze.”
“Sir, you appear to be the victim of a hit and run. You don’t need a lawyer, you need medical attention. Get off it and cooperate.”
The guy narrowed his eyes. Drunk hate flared in them. He pulled himself from the ground. “Get off what?”
He stood, wavering, his head and hair rising above the car’s searchlight and into darkness. A pair of bloodied arms crossed a wide chest. Below, coarse black velvet pulsed all the way to the tail.
“Someone bagged a buck!” Waneeta Conrad howled mercilessly.
Limping on massive forelegs and advertising a badly skinned rump, he trotted uneasily to a bus stop bench a few feet away, grabbed a fannypack lying there and tossed it carelessly in my direction. “Get off my high horse? That a po-lice joke?”
I caught the bag before it could strike me in the face. I showed my revolver, and chose a voice that would carry over the fence to the reserve, as well as my car’s onboard video camera.
“Actually, yes. Wanna hear another one? You’re coming to the station on the hood of this car, if you don’t calm down right now and give us a story.” I flicked the leather stay from the holster, resting my left thumb on the hammer. “Let’s start again: Are you alright, sir?”
The species card hit the bottom of the deck, for the time being. The centaur steadied himself, looked me over, and bellowed a quick chuckle of bravado. “Just take the ID, biped. Then we talk. Nobody’s puttin’ me down as no damn John Doe.”
#
“Do you have any idea how much booze a centaur needs to get this drunk,” asked my partner, leaning on the fender while we waited. Waneeta Conrad had mercifully passed out.
“Never thought they could get drunk! Bored sonovabitch tried to kill himself with booze.“
I dragged off the last of my coffee. The radio APB had been easy. ‘Be on the lookout for a latemodel pickup, southbound on Main, may look like it has recently hit a wall.’ I regarded our centaur, the vic with the attitude. “He’s not real keen on us.”
“All the same. They---” she admonished herself. “He leans pretty hard on the reservation crutch.” She sighed, frustrated. “Why can’t people just make something of themselves? My momma would’ve beat the daylight out of me for drinking at this age.” She shook her head.
“She never had to choose between the unemployment line and guaranteed Federal aid if you all stayed on-campus.”
Rosie peered past me. “No offense! I just don’t get it. It’s a waste. He’s a wiseass for his age, too. I mean, I can apologize for myself. Who’s feeding him this bigotry?”
“Nobody. Too proud to blame himself. You heard him. Kerns is a dead-end town. Casino won’t hire four-footers, and there’s no jobs left in this state.”
“Why are we the bad guys? We can fit into a car, we can get jobs, and we don’t need special housing. So we’re the bad guy for not complaining?”
“We’re The Man. Rosie, you just listed half the breaks. Being a centaur is a handicap … but just go tell them they’re handicapped as a species. Equal opportunity be hanged. They’re trapped. They hate us for it.”
Chiron limped over, scratching his chest. “I’m not under arrest,” and started to amble away.
“You have the right to press charges, Mr. Chiron. “ I held out a hand to give him pause. “…And it’s technically against the law to leave the scene of a road accident, even if you’re the victim. Wouldn’t you like some justice for a change? The ambulance can treat you---”
The centaur stopped, amused. “I’m surprised you didn’t call a vet.”
“Truth is they’re certified both ways,” I conceded, “under the circumstances.“ I nodded in the direction of the fence. “Do us the favor. We want him as much as you do.”
Centaurs evidently sober fast. I faced an unwavering glare. “He went out of his way to hit me.”
“I could see that from where we found you. You’re within your rights to have justice done. We won’t tolerate this.”
His mane bristled. “Justice? I think you don’t know justice from jack, officer.” He turned, pacing, wringing his hands. “Maybe I wanted to get myself killed.”
“It’s not out of the question---”
“What do you care? I’m just another buck. Momma will make more, right?”
“Who says?” I was a fool, lecturing a boy four feet taller than myself, but I stood my ground. “Who says anything about your momma? Who says I don’t know exactly what you’re going through? You wanna be treated like a stupid buck, go ahead. Ask for it.”
Chiron fell silent.
“Look, we’re not here to fix all your problems. We can’t.“
The buck started angrily. Then, resigned: “I know you’re the law. But Your Law. Not ours. I’m drunk, underage, and I’m lucky you’re not arresting me.” He dropped his arms to his flanks. “I just want for there to be an outside. You know?”
Rosie stood and walked back, tending to a chirping radio. I called after her. “Kill the spotlight too, Rosie. While you’re at it?”
In the sudden dimness Chiron cantered, silhouetted against the lights of his home – the reserve. He became an awesome reverse constellation, a looming, brooding void among flickering lights. After a moment, I followed and soon caught up. We stopped at the fence.
“Ron, you’re seventeen years old.” I reached out and nudged the centaur’s elbow when I saw the tears. “When I was seventeen I had everything I wanted, and I still wanted out. This place is a low hill in a deep hole. The further you go – alone – the worse it gets. No matter who you are.”
Rosie called from the car. “EMTs are four miles out.”
“Alright. We’re not going anywhere.”
After a long moment, Chiron turned to me. “I can just go back.”
“It’s up to you.” I fell back, holding my palms up. “Justice, Chiron. We’ll trip all over ourselves, maybe look like complete idiots. Bear with us.” I looked at him earnestly. “Have a little patience, and we’ll give you dignity and respect. That’s the law, yours and mine.”
Rosie whistled, from the distance. “Pete, it’s Unit Five. They stopped the pickup on Merollis Avenue. The guy’s pissing drunk. Somebody must be having a sale.”
Chiron blinked, and looked from me to the waiting cruiser, and back. He took a step forward. “If you have the time, then so do I.”

Victim - fiction by David M. Crampton

2008-10-19T11:10:00.002-04:00

"I don't want to die."

"What's that?" The old man, wrinkled, grizzled, and spotted with age, leaned close to the younger man, straining to hear.

The younger man coughed, trying to clear the wetness from this throat. "I don't want to die." His voice broke; it was more of a plea than a statement.

"Oh, ho, you ungrateful bastard. What I wouldn't give to be dying right now." He jabbed the younger man, lying broken and bleeding, with the end of his cane. The younger man screamed and trees shook. Leaves fell to the ground. "That's right! Feel that pain, compressed into these few moments!" A sneer spread across the old man's toothless maw. "Stretch that hell over decades, and that's my due. You don't want that, do ya, boy!"

The young man felt something wet on his face. Was he bleeding or
crying? "I don't..." A fit of coughing overwhelmed him, and the pain
threatened to make him pass out. He fought for consciousness, spending his precious strength of will to fight the ornery geriatric. "I don't want to die."

The old man cleared the phlegm out of his throat and spat it onto the
ground next to the young man. "You don't have a choice, you ungrateful prat. It's happening, and you ain't going to stop it this time." He waved his cane over the young man's chest again, threatening more pain. "Just accept it."

"I don't..." The cane came down again, and it felt like a cinder block.
This time, the pain won, and the young man passed out.

"God, I hate you." The old man walked away from the broken form,
limping through the rain of leaves falling from the tree branches.

The doctor pushed up her sleeve and checked her watch. "I'm calling it. Time of death is 3:28 am." She pulled the sheet up over the young man's face, and sighed.

David M. Crampton is the author of The Remembrance

ISBN: 978-1-4116-1174-0
http://www.davidmcrampton.com/

It's Them or Us.

2008-10-17T08:48:00.001-04:00

Yesterday, while on the road to pick up my wife from work, I took time to watch and admire how kids coming out of a high school were playing, smiling and having fun while waiting for the bus. I mused that it must take years to learn to stop doing that, comparing it to how grown men stand twenty feet apart around perfectly good sheltered bus stops up in Pontiac, instead of under them together. I wished that we could be so carefree.

A block up the road, traffic on Evergreen suddenly went bad and I had to make a detour. And then, only a little afterward, helicopters and police cars were everywhere. Someone had just jumped out of a car right here and shot four of these kids, and I found out later that one's now dead. You probably saw it on the news, and I was there.

I don't know how disturbing I can make it sound, that I was surrounded by smiling faces who are now crying for the loss of one of our own. I want you to be disturbed.

Everybody out there with a kid in school, do me a big favor and be a little more family to them. Be a little more real to them than their friends for a moment, because some of their friends are bad friends who will eventually get them killed.

The news is now full of this story, which gives you images of troubled
neighborhood, troubled school, troubled city police system, and troubled streets.

These killings are not taking 'their kids' away from us. They are taking our kids away from us. You just have to be there to see how much all kids deserve to live and learn in peace, just like people who watch the news, not those who make it.

We're living here with the threat, and this isn't happening 'somewhere else'. Your kids need to know they belong with family first, and gangs
last - if at all. Even the mayor isn't a role model. You are. Own up.

If your kid is in or near a posse right now, sit him or her down and tell them you don't want to see them dead someday over something as stupid as wanting to 'belong' in a gang. Our 'us' has always been and always should be more important than THEIR 'us'.

Take a little time, okay? For me?

f [Detroit, Oct 17]

Sticks and Stones - fiction by freon

2008-08-12T10:13:00.001-04:00

Professor Tripp sat back from revision and looked out the portal, trying to glimpse the star system toward which he'd been rocketing, nearly two dozen years all spent concentrating on one thing and one thing alone. The language.
The only commonality Erandii speech had with Earth's was the mechanism; vocal cords and tongue, forcing atmosphere through what passed (barely) for lips. Ancient audio communiques, all one-way, of course, finally established that the Erandii were not only understandable, but so much more complex that computer aid was a necessity, even for a master.
A meeting was inevitable, so who else would they send first but the premier Erandii-Earthtongue authority? In six days, his vessel - first ever Earth Emissary to Gam-Erandii - will set down on a world that, finally, appreciates his talents. He rubbed his studious head and gloated for a moment. As the first human to set foot upon this planet, those tongue-tied clowns of lowly Earth couldn't have chosen any better.
“Barbarians, all of them,” he spat. “Hell can have them. Here is the cradle of true civilization - Erandii!”
-
He staggered to the foyer, punching at the sky and cursing the blue-green sun at the top of his oxygen-fed lungs. The precious translator glanced smartly off the ground, showering Tripp's feet with the orange dust of Erandii soil. With a well aimed kick, he launched it at the makeshift consulate's wall, only to have it bounce back to within hearing range, still functioning perfectly. An anguished wail, and Tripp pulled his only other piece of gear from his environment suit and shot himself through the head with it.
-
The semicircle of gray-skinned elders parted to let the hoverbed through with its otherworldly contents. The stoutest of the five, Qaadeel, turned away and retrieved the human's talking machine, prodding the controls to no avail with his snouts. He looked up with nine apologetic eyes and frowned at his subordinates, hearing their words played out dutifully by the little box as they chittered, quiet and forlorn.
The box spoke, though no one listened. "Like, so he goes, 'no way', and, like, freaks in colors! Like, so we just looks at him, y'know?"
"Huh, yeah. Like whoa. So we like, axe why he can't do the do, dig? Like, dude, how could we not dis him, y'know? Know what I'm sayin'?"
"Dude. Talked just like my grandfather. Huh."

Sticks and Stones first appeared online in 1999.

See You in Utica...?

2008-07-28T11:22:00.002-04:00

Our 2008 Charity Fundraiser is the Susan G. Komen for the Cure Breast Cancer Three-Day.

My wife Shalla Schmidt is currently in training for the weekend event
which centers on a sixty-mile walk to raise donations to advance
research of Breast Cancer and Breast Cancer Treatment. She is
currently very comfortable at 9-mile training walks and will be
moving up to 10 miles in training this coming week, and is 75% of the
way to her donation commitment to qualify.
On August 16, MichiganFandom will hold a get-together to hopefully
celebrate Shalla's qualifying for the Three-Day. Donations made at
the meetup at DAVE AND BUSTER'S in Utica Michigan (location 144) will pretty likely lock in her qualifying donation minimum of $2200 to
participate in the Walk. BE A PART OF THIS. Consider it a challenge
to the Stilyagi membership, MichiganFandom, MOWFO, the Dorsai, and every other group we know of who gather frequently as a fannish
community. Come to D&B at Hall Road and M-53 and we might make it worth your while.

DAVE AND BUSTER 45511 Park Avenue Utica , MI 48315 586-930-1515 - we have NO group reservation. Mob rules.

Dave and Busters offers excellent evening hospitality for all ages,
including dinner, drinks and a huge arcade. A fun evening can be had
for under $25 and if you donate by check when you come out on the
16th, you can be one of THREE who will eat for free.
That's right. A donation of $10 or more gets you a raffle ticket and
three winning individuals will get a 16 dollar value Eat-n-Play combo
deal (select entree and a $10 Game Card) on me. The Saturday hours of the meal deal are til 5pm Saturday and our makeup day is Sunday
August 17 for this meetup.

DAVE AND BUSTER

All you need to do is show up. Grab a drink, find me and get a name
badge. We won't have a group space set aside because we're not asking for RSVPs. Instead see me and then go have fun. We'll gather for the drawing at 4pm in the Midway.

The 3-Day website can also take donations - if you can't come out and see us on August 16 swing on down to the site and help Shalla on her
way to the event. Their link is here.

If YOUR employer offers matching 501c3 qualifying donations for your
personal contributions to the Fund, they can be solicited here.
...but we'd much rather see you in Utica too...!

freon

ConRep: OmegaCon 1

2008-03-20T13:29:00.013-04:00

or, GETTING THERE WAS NO FUN - STAYING WASN'T A PICNIC EITHER

OmegaCon happened for the first time at the Birmingham Sheraton in downtown Birmingham Alabama. Yours Truly reported on this inaugural effort!

My flight got off the ground 2 hrs late thanks NWA. Gate C19,
9:30-Onboard computer said something's wrong with the engine. So they replaced the computer. New computer said 'Um, you shouldn't fly. There's something wrong with this engine..."

1/4 mile forced march to gate c46 and a waiting replacement plane.
12:15.AM, sixty souls and a tortured stewardess. They offered free beers for consolation. I had Mountain Dew. Keeping my edge.

Round trip air fare - Birmingham ALA: $365 or royalties from 121 copies of AS1

Quoth Anne's text: take the shuttle to the Sheraton. Okay... No shuttle. Taxi. 65mph in a 35 zone. brief, exhilarating, illegal. $15 later, walked into the Sheraton Birmingham (low of 60'F btw) just as Last call for Alcohol went out.

Kept low profile, didn't introduce myself. Didn't recognize anyone else,
of course to my great disadvantage... I was standing next to Shaun and Nathan for an hour without a clue.
Hunger sets in. SubWay open. Outside. No, no walk-in. We have a
service window. She was scared because I appear to be wearing a SubWay employee uniform under those lighting conditions and thought she was being replaced!

Foot-long Sub sandwich:$7.50 or 2 copies of AS1

Anne presumably asleep, no one here believes in leaving contact list for front desk, so almost got thrown out of the hotel at 3:30am
Quoth hotel floor manager:"give me a name, any name to verify this with."
Gave the Conchair's name. No dice. Gave Anne's name. Anne Who? ALMOST said RICHARD HATCH (oh, yeah, let's just call his room at 3:30 am and ask him if he knows some bloke named freon). LUCKILY-
OmegaCon's man Nathan and local smof Paige Smith wandered past looking to unlock Dealer room for 5am(!) setup (for local TV spot) and I latched onto them long enough to prevent eviction from the lobby.

Me under the Big Lamp at the hotel cyber ward. I shared the lodgings with Doc Taylor and Doc Bradley most of the weekend.

I found out very quickly that the hotel wireless was willing and able, and furthermore a 100MHz P1 laptop works better than the gaggle of GigaHertz eye-candy hardwired to the hotel network. Lyssa and Kevin found out the hard way.

This became my War Room. My Inner Sanctum. My Public Rest Area. No room please - Hotel Rate:$200/night. Urk. I'd have to write a sequel and a novel to afford that.

Waiting for Anne to wake up and tell me who's room she's in.

Very heavy saving throw reflexes not to volunteer - I am a panelist in
waiting. I am a panelist in waiting. Repeat. Deep breath. Coffee. Deep breath. Have already helped a few and it's not 5am yet. Have to watch that.

Having a plan that allows for adventure: priceless.

Jedi Charlie Stephenson and Paige Smith are costume gurus down here.

They're overseeing the live news report for ABC channel 33 - showing off one or two of their best.

Charlie stepped on a pair of scissors last week while prepping for Omegacon, hence the cast and crutches.

Another fella is showing off awesome use of floor mats - as armor on his Predator costume.

A note on culture clash - Sheraton also hosting Friday classes for the
local AMA. Explains the sudden inrush of fen dressed as nurses - uh oh, they ARE nurses. Guess what? They have ribbons from Larsen's on their badges. So they LOOK like fen! I'd rather bring back buttons.

Unfortunately, the ten or so College Basketball teams here, from all over the South do not look like fen. They're amused. And amazingly easy-going.

At least it isn't a barmitzvah.

Most of the Gohs had to find their own ways to the hotel apparently and somebody's offsite right now making a few thousand copies of the program book. hahahaha things do go awry... Hey! First year. Fuggeddaboudit.

Lyssa says Arrrrr... - first pirate I've spotted today. She's from Western MI actually.

There's a cool Duffman!

'Grandma' Ivey poses for photographers.

Anne just steps through the door. Apparently Gary is up to his eyeballs in tentative(!) lit programming and corrections. It's gonna be weird.

A few years ago I ventured out of Michigan for the first time to take in Marcon 39. One of the stunning things about the experience was that everywhere I looked, I saw people I thought I recognized. Not just by face, but by mannerisms, clothing, and what they did AT the con. It was incredibly spooky, y'know, like that episode of RECESS when the schoolyard kids went intramural for a softball(?) game and met their Doppelgangers on the opposing team.

Yes there are Doppelgangers here at OmegaCon. At least two Anne clones so far and one each of myself and Paul Haas. There's a Tim Murphy doppelganger. Anne had two, but since she was shackled to Operations, she never saw them; lucky us, or badaboom.

Andrea Dean Van Scoyoc's (above) husband is William Jones' doppelganger. Was that Joy Rosenberry darting through the hallway on a quest for protein? Nope. This place is spooky.

Ooo, Peter Chewbacca Mayhew is on Fox pushing
Omegacon. He'll be back later after touring the tv stations.

Back under the Lamp, I realize that somebody is playing Star Wars Ep 3 on the hotel channel. Okay, bonus. Never saw it before.

THE HYJINKS ENSUE:

Programming for OmegaCon's literature track was dynamite. I have to get this out of the way first off, because no matter how you cut it, it had and lived up to its potential from the word go. Every panelist I met this weekend seemed perfectly 'in' his/her element in each panel I attended, and generally held their panel in front of a flatteringly sized and receptive crowd.

That said, I should remark on how they cut it.

Friday afternoon Omegacon was still awaiting program BOOKS. As Registration rolled its doors open for the light crowd at noon, the convention was relying on looseleaf program schedules, which we knew right away were going to be superseded by something bound, and much less error prone. As the evening marched on, program books did indeed arrive, but with a glaring omission: THE ENTIRE SCIENCE TRACK. Oopsie.

I'm under the impression that amends were swift and effective. Shaun, the convention god, quickly had a room found and cobbled up a time schedule for the science panels, which were headed up by such as Doc Taylor and David Finkelstein. The track rocked, and it's prime real estate was most enjoyed because the signage (eventually) pointed members directly up the elevators to the Science Room, and all was well for the remainder of the weekend.

My plan was to get audio from panels all weekend to feed Radio Free and possibly SFOHA if they'll take it. So out comes the PDA, armed with a memory card that boast a capacity of some three or four hours of recording time. Oh, how soon the plan crumbles.

Oh - and it was six before they stopped Episode 3, which had been REPEATING on the hotel channel. I think if I'd seen it once more I believe I could recite it. At which point I shall entreat upon someone to take my life.

7:30 pm I caught 90% of the Crackpot Science panel, and the ol' PDA beeped 'out of space' forty-eight minutes in. Cause unknown until later. That panel aired 8pm EST Tuesday March 18 and featured M Keaton and Chris Jackson.

Finding the fault of my audio equipment was easy but befuddling. Did you know that you could actually fragment a CompactFlash card? Me neither.

9pm - A tornado goes through Atlanta a hundred miles or so east of here. It's on all the televisions and half of the patrons know someone living 'round thereaways. Not great news.

1:30am - Anne and I discover the 'evil' Waffle House outside town with MK, Cheryl and Derek. Derek, by the by, drives like he's got a trunk full of moonshine and stolen DVD players. Loved it. Great company, and believe it or not, the food was super despite coming from a franchised oubliette off the side of the road.

3am A second storm front tried to blow the roof off the Chez-Raton after an hour of torrential horizontal rain, and then came a burst of pea sized hail. Roof leaked in a dozen places. During this the hotel was swarmed with dust bunnies and had to be vacuumed.

SATURDAY!

10am: Lunch with Anne at Casey's, the grille on the first floor. Tomato Basil soup deserving of awards. Coffee. Everything sings praise to Starbuck's, around here.

Noon - My main event panel featured "Reading like a Editor" (sic) with Julie Cochrane, Jackie Gamber, Baen Editor Jim Minz, local Michigan editor William Jones, and guerilla panelist MKeaton filling in (sound here got a little twitchy because they were at a long table). I told Jackie later at her author table that she was captivating - she had her hair down and several times her 'Clairol commercial-ready' pose had me cursing the camera's batteries for having given up the ghost.

A lunch break saw me frantically uploading RadioFree soundbytes and checking my email. Spotting Jim Minz and Doc Taylor, I wandered over, sat with them for a couple of drinks and chewed fat about Baen. Returning to the Big Lamp, I found that some kind souls (Juan and Hulda, who I met at random some hours afterward and talked with for a spell) had turned my laptop, PDA, vest and cell phone in to lost and found.

I got a tour of the Chez-Raton Batcave, and claimed my paraphernalia as the kind security man showed me his bank of monitors, the likes of which lies somewhere deep in the bowels of every hospitality megaplex. Not a sight for the average traveler. I daresay, an exclusive.

I took the initiative and spoofed the panel 'Why use Pseudonyms' for twenty minutes, becoming a willing opening act for authors Mike Resnick, Louise Marley and Anne Aguirre (pronounced 'a-GEER-ey' and watch this name!).

10:30pm - Having met them on the dealer floor earlier in the day and photographed them eating lunch en masse, I hosted the interview panel with WANDERING MEN, a crew of writers for a D20 game systems designer who have started a book series together. They happily sat down with me and talked about their unique collaboration. That interview aired 8pm EST Wednesday March 19.

A supple conversation with David Finkelstein and wife made great intermission between panels. Amid this were sporadic requests from Operations to spread the swag books from Pyr around a little, which I did with 'done-that-before' flair.

Into the evening, the Workshop Track, which featured MB Weston and local author Jeremy Lewis, greeted me. Jeremy's family surprised us all with a BUFFET TABLE at the literature room on Saturday night. At a convention with NO CONSUITE, this was a very pleasant little secret which filled my tummy with spinach pies, chicken casserole dip, crackers, and a fruit plate or two. As such, we simply HAD to put the food somewhere because another panel was coming up - oh, dear what can a starving author do...

THAT'S NOT ALL, WHAT ELSE DID I WIN?

At Midnight, rumor that the fourth floor had open alcohol threatened to shut down the convention's own party. A hurried trip upstairs to 'investigate' yielded fen hurriedly emptying liquor into the gullets of those who were interested (and legal) before any more than Hotel security came along. Well, I was just at the right place at the right time, and imbibed a shot of absolutely terrifying (mission accomplished) tequila. With a glass of red wine (oh, take it! It'll go bad!) and a further peck of Crown Royal under my arm, I wandered sated to the Auditorium. What to my wandering eyes...

A Midnight Performance of WAR OF THE WORLDS (both nights) by Lee Shackleford Radio- I caught a stunning Saturday show and met the players later. I heartily recommend a radio-style performance at any con where I get a choice.

SUNDAY

Having to put down that starstruckedness was hard. Radio stars, all of them. I have an ear for that.

Anyway I plunked down for an early morning talk with Baen Editor Jim Minz and Doc Taylor, which was somewhat torn asunder by an argument about the War, but not before I found out Jim also sorely missed the golden age of GOOD CGI television - yeah we gabbed about REBOOT.

Just before tabletop hostilities peaked, I dragged Red Ranger, a fellow whom I like to think I rescued from political maelstrom, off for a three hour unscheduled introduction to "how Microsoft is laughing at us all", a 2am panel which I hosted to an audience of two. Y'all know I'm good at these. Red didn't fall asleep - forthwith he claims an AS1 freebie, signed and with my profuse thanks for entertaining an old fellow pirate. Long live the fighters, Red!

9:00am - Fresh and perky, sat in on "The Business of SF", a standard panel at cons everywhere, and a mingling point for writers, authors and publishing names from all over. Always informative and this time entertaining, we heard from Lou Anders, Lit Guest of Honor David Drake, Claire Eddy, Jim Minz, and Eric Flint.

Now, while I didn't catch the blockbuster panels and events at the Con, it's hard to say that I shortchanged myself in any measure when all weekend I was running into people like Ben Bova, David Weber, Richard Hatch, Billy Tackett and Patrick Burns. Suffice it to say they're doing FINE.

Finally bumped into David Kopaska-Merkel at the dealer's room - David's reputation precedes him: dailycabal.com Also, a version of PIG PONG (@2001) was the funniest short-short story to air on Radio Free Fandom when we launched it in 2001 http://michiganfandom.org:8000/. So sayeth the greenhorn who narrated it. 'Nother copy of AS1 to him with regards!

7pm - Nothing left to see? Hell no. Adventuring bands of fen caught me up and swept the hotel for stragglers.

Anne reveals who went through the muscatel cider...

The Dead Dog Party committee at OmegaCon - Break into the convention suite, get a free Tee shirt! (just kidding)

- my compadres Kelly, Doc Bradley and Anne stood at the helm. I worked competently with what I had and served hors d'oeuvres. They went to 3am, folks! Oldster that I was, I fizzled at about 1:30. (I couch this slightly with the small fact that I hadn't slept since Thursday morning.) Trust me, I didn't awake with a jerk, ;-)

Monday morning saw Anne Off to the fabled Shuttle bus, and bided my time for my flight.

Packing it in Monday afternoon (damn, what a long weekend) found me entering mellow denouement-mode with Gary Babb, the guy this whole thing spiraled from, in my opinion. No finer man. Profuse thanks to Gary for his hand at keeping the best first-con attempt I've witnessed in decades firmly grounded and ready for anything, and for watching it unfold with me all week.

Y'all have fun, and thank you so much.

freon

[final edits pending]

Technorati Tags: omegacon,conrep,literature,fandom,alabama,fiction

INFROMANT - essay by Freon

2008-01-30T09:11:00.002-05:00

The Year We Lose Contact
Have to rant for a moment - sorry to go all futurist on you.

Sure signs that Radio Concentration has already claimed your broadcast area as a victim:

1) Common street names like Bunert and Schoenherr are pronounced BUNNERT and SHOW-NAR.
2) Ads that you hear when you're out of state that sound identical but have local terms and places dubbed in
4) Morning shows that read the newspaper and cnn.com at you instead of writing items themselves
5) Songs coming in several remixes to fit the demographics of differing stations under the corporate umbrella
6) Money. Prizes. Ticket giveaways to sold-out concerts.
7) Memorable Beer Commercials.

Y'know, friends, we're doomed. Sorry. That's in the past - and look now at the telly of the future:

-=2010=1984=-

The big 'news' being that communities are protesting the second-rate status that cable is giving them by making public access television viewers use rf-converters to be able to view content on HDTVs which don't support analog cable/broadcast anymore.

Viewers Pissed about Taking it Up the Spectrum(sic)

Of course, Comcast HAS to comply (oh dear) by taking CATV into their pipeline (for a fee), and leaving the community with NO NEED FOR BROADCAST TVs and therefore NO BALANCED MEDIUM, beginning the moment the last television hits the curb. Duh. Sorry - that's what you get for buying what your government tells you to buy. Or what Sony tells your government to tell you to buy. Get the picture? It's not news. It's fallout. Community access has swallowed. We're on our own.

Why complain? Analog cell phones are finished as of this year. XMRadio is somehow still here against all reason, and as I've mentioned, Broadcast Radio is already rotted at the roots. I'm on a pulpit built by AT&T Broadband, and I can already see the death of dialup from here.

Smart people will always have public access, minimum requirement tools and freedom of information. Too bad we're running out of all four.
And you can quote me on that.

In 2010, everyone else just HAS to be satisfied with Coors, Fox 'News' and their next president - all chosen for them by that trusted one percent of the voting population, incorporated. What's scary? They ARE.

On Friday night, I bring NBC's broadcast of Orwell's classic, prophetic fiction '1984' with David Niven - 12am on RFF. Crack open a Blue and enjoy. ;-)

freon, doing his part by keeping the rabbit ears
LONG LIVE THE FIGHTERS-RADIO FREE ANYTHING

Freon is Canadian. If he's too loud we can deport him.

The One-Shoed Rascals Eat Pastry - fiction by Michael Marcus

2008-01-04T18:48:00.000-05:00

The foil-covered sky on this trancelike morning sparkles brightly over the molten fundament that defines the bottom of Lake West. Children of various ages and limbs hobble around the lake, waiting for the shoe fish to hop to the surface--without the food and leather, they will quickly die. Today, they are all doomed, for the One-Shoed Rascals are here. One-Shoed Rascals are lake-drainers, cow swallowers, and rampant nictophobes, capable of the most heinous butchery in the knifeless waters of Lake West and its major tributaries, the Wonk and Toto Rivers. Only the most fearless fishermen and carpetbaggers have tried to stop them; none have returned.

Even as this pointless exposition continues, the Rascals sight the children and propel forward with mighty swishes of their desperate tongues. One of the children yells out a cry of surprise as he finds a scuttle of shoe fish, hopping and crawling nearer and nearer a spot where they might leap momentarily out of the water and free themselves for a few seconds of their burden of their awkward, non-hydrodynamic shape. The other children gather around. This is the moment the Rascals attack.

Several swift spines surge from below the surface, sharply stinging the dead bejesus out of the unsuspecting kids, injecting them with virulent backward poison as they squirm in paroxysms of pain, dying even as their parents watch on. The Rascals drag them under with fiberglass harpoons hidden in their voluminous tusks. The elders observe the frenzy with detached clarity, shaking their heads. None of this batch survived the Rascal attack, time to breed more. One of the younger couples cries a little bit, throwing a birthday cake into the water after their dead five-year-old son.

The One-Shoed Rascals eat pastry.

Michael Marcus edits IF-X, the full-size comic anthology series published by Hamtramck Idea Men. 'The One-Shoed Rascals' appears in print in IF-X Issue 1 Vol. 1

MichiganFandom Streaming Video

2008-01-02T19:30:00.002-05:00

Testing - testing - is this thing on?
Viewer page
Thanks to donations of both equipment and bandwidth, we are making inroads on doing a fannish video channel. Right now our site features video streams that should open above right away in flip4Mac or Media Player 11. You might have to twiddle your ActiveX or script permissions for this page if prompted.

For people who can't seem to make that work, try one of the links below - sound quality can't be guaranteed, though, because your flavor of music player might not like what we're slapping together. We tried...

The sound track is normally our RFF audio feed, and our new media channel will have the added feature of live commentary and scheduled programming. We're pretty proud to offer this. If you want us to feature or schedule your material, give us a jingle at michiganfandom-owner at yahoogroups.com and we'll get back to you instantly.

IDIOCRACY (2006) - reviewed by Melissa Owsley

2007-11-10T22:38:00.000-05:00

Idiocracy is a frightening movie because, well, it could have been much better - and it had a ring of truth. It was done by the same guy who did Office Space, the classic movie representation of cubicle life.

In Idiocracy you have an average guy waking up after a few hundred years in which evolution has become devolution - at least in terms of smarts. This movie could have been so much more than it was. While mildly entertaining in an adolescent sort of way, it could have been much smarter and less vulgar while still conveying the downfall of civilization if we allow what has been happening to continue to happen.

What is happening? Advertising and corporatization of everything in our lives leading to people never ever using their brains. The fact that no one even seems to know what a cow looks like unless they visit a museum or zoo. (Ok, I exaggerate, but not by much.) And the constant rewarding of moronic behavior.

I mean, really, H.L. Mencken was right about the public finally getting the leaders that were just like them - times 10 in this movie. The stupid keep reproducing, and due to societal factors, the smart do not. Maybe there is something wrong here?

I know that what could really be happening is stratification of society, but Idiocracy proposes that the average guy becomes the genius due to our continuous rewarding of the less than brilliant. If you bother to see this movie, I'd be interested in what you think.

Melissa Owsley is a frequent flier for MF and is webmistress over at pinatariders.org

FOR SALE - by Michael FREON Andaluz

2007-08-09T20:05:00.000-04:00

1993 Probe SE with factory ground effects, 16-inch
factory alloy wheels, 4-wheel disc brakes, 2.5L 24v
engine with 5spd Manual Transaxle, ABS, factory
keyless entry, power roof, and body color power
mirrors. In short, this is a Probe GT without the
spoiler or fancy taillight lens.

This car has been in storage for two years after an
unfortunate encounter with two logs, which fell off a
truck in front of it on the street. The first log hit
the windshield and cracked it. The second one went
under the car, took away both fog lights and struck
the oil pan.

The car did NOT leak any oil after the accident, but
the engine oil pressure went to zero when checked, and
it was not started again and immediately parked.
Recently it has been started and oil pressure is
normal but can drop at any time while driving. A
mechanic stated that the dent in the pan might be
shrouding the oil pickup. Whatever that means. The
owner of the vehicle is quite happy with her new
Pontiac Vibe, and now wishes me, a lowly science
fiction writer, to sell it on her behalf.

The car has a very clean interior but the driver's
door panel is loose. The roof has marks on it and
there is a small dent on the right rear corner above
the taillight, little dings along the right rear
fender ahead of the tire, and a small hole in one
ground effect skirt on the right side. The car has no
rust. Everything works but the air conditioning blows
warm air.

The car has four new tires on it which were installed
about eight miles ago and a fresh battery. Just before
the accident the exhaust system was replaced forward
of the catalyst with genuine Ford parts to the tune of
several hundred dollars, and except for the oil
pressure scaring the daylights out of anyone who
drives it, the car is really quite impressive. For
obvious reasons, driving away upon purchase is not
recommended at all, but promises to be an adventure
you may laugh about in the future.

So much for the facts. I am a writer of fiction, so I
will now add the lies.

The car was actually damaged while in pursuit of the
notorious leader of the Kerabusek Underground Psychic
Resistance Front, who is responsible for the mass
hypnosis that makes us believe that Paris Hilton,
Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears are all worthy of
media coverage.

Ringleader Sijhan Valjean, wanted in as many countries
as have international crime investigation
organizations, had just fled a losing gunbattle with
Interpol and Secret Service policemen at our famed
McNamara Terminal at Detroit's Metropolitan
International Airport, in a highly modified log truck,
carrying one ton of dynamite, two tons of pointy logs,
six full gasoline cans of E85, and a seventy-five
pound bulk pack of nailgun ammunition - as well as a
cadre of trained beavers who had been brainwashed into
believing that Boeing 747's were actually earthly
apparitions of G'whalla'dunn, their beaver pagan god
of twigs and soggy boughs.

In pursuit was my friend and confidante, a surly young
lady named Wistralia Davenport, a keen new reporter
for the Detroit News/Free Press and newly installed in
their world renowned investigational reporting squad.
After receiving several encoded messages addressed to
the newspaper's editor, Davenport was dispatched to
cover the arrival of the prime minister of our closest
ally in the war against mass hypnosis, the planet
Wholveer II, which only passes within the range of a
Boeing 747 once every seventy years. Trivia, yes, but
trivia not lost on a fetching young heroine with a few
brain cells to slap together.

Armed with the date, the target, and THIS VERY CAR,
Davenport headed off the multi-pronged and
multi-rodented threat, clashing fenders and trading
hand gestures that would make a sign language
interpreter faint. With speeds of nearly two hundred
miles per hour ticking off the instrument panel, the
two vehicles streaked west on Interstate 94, towards
Chicago and a brood of evil Beaver Cubs who were
mounting a repulsive force as well as surrounding the
Sears Tower with diabolical intent and sharp, gnashing
little buck teeth.

With only minutes to spare, Davenport's burly
cameraman, a husky blonde man named Hurl Bjornsen van
Bjornsen, crawled out the sunroof onto the hood and
lobbed his Hasselblad 35mm with 170mm zoom lens into
the onrushing wind, and therewith unlatched the
stakebed's tailgate toppling the log truck's rabid
cargo onto the highway, and making the most foul
pavement pizza anyone could possibly imagine while at
the same time knocking loose three rather scary
looking pieces of box elder, which had only hours
before been carefully liberated from an eighty-foot
specimen in Muskegon, sharpened to nasty points, and
loaded with four thousand pounds of similar cargo into
the Ford F-700 that was presently very close to
sending one of its forged steel rods through its
crankcase at seven thousand RPM in overdrive. You
should have been there.

To make a long story short, one log caught the truck's
driveshaft, flinging the drivetrain into a very sudden
state of not turning and instantly making a pile of
Brillo Pads out of the engine. The result was a nine
ton steel box doing a horizontal rendition of Scott
Hamilton's gold-winning quadruple-axel finale in the
1988 Olympics at Lake Placid, which took the Kerabusek
chief to his final doom. Skidding to a stop out of
danger but flat-spotting all four original Goodyear
Eagle RS-A's, was young Davenport, at the wheel of
THIS VERY CAR, arriving to capture the final moments
of a doomed plot that could have galvanized the world,
or at least made extraordinarily good television.

Pictures? Well, the camera broke, you see.

Did I mention I need an agent?

Freon writes from Pontiac, and sold the Probe for 12 bills.

Penguicon 5.0 ConRep - by Janine Stinson

2007-04-22T21:45:00.002-04:00

The Marriage Between Zones Three, Four, and Five: Penguicon 5.0, Troy Hilton, Troy, Michigan,

April 20-22, 2007

Now that Doris Lessing has won a Nobel prize for literature, it'll be fun to use the titles of her Canopus in Argos series SF novels as often as possible (yes, the nyah-nyah factor is included). But to be serious (relatively) for a moment, Penguicon could (if you squint just right) be seen as a confluence of science fiction (SF), computers, and SF fandom. Don't ask me what Zones One and Two are; go read the books!

One must note, at the outset, that the concomm of this convivial con make it quite easy to register for attendance. Pre-registration can be accomplished via regular mail with a check or money order payable to Penguicon, online with PayPal at penguicon.org, or at pre-con events scheduled at other cons before Penguicon. Their Web site provided dates and locations where pre-regs could be had, and day rates for the con were available for those who couldn't attend all three days.

It's a tradition among some fen who write conreps to provide a kind of travelogue format for their reports. I find this format dull and boring even in the best reports, so I won't use it here. If anyone's curious, my journey from northern Michigan was fine, I missed one turn, and since I stayed at a relative's house instead of the con hotel, I have no notes on the Hilton apart from public areas.

Six GoHs! One would think one was attending WorldCon with that many honored guests, but it's just one example of the encompassing nature of Penguicon's initial purpose (to bring together SF fans and computer folks). With each Penguicon, however, more areas of fannish and computer interest are added, to the point where it seems all aspects of SF fandom and computer use are included.

The guests this year were Bruce Schneier, Founder and Chief Technical Officer of Counter Pane Internet Security, Inc. (Tech GoH); Christine Peterson, Foresight Nanotech Institute, credited with the term "Open Source Software" (Science GoH); John Kovalic of Dark Tower Comics and Munchkin card game creator (Gaming GoH); Randy Milholland of Something Positive webcomic (Comics GoH); Elizabeth Bear (Author GoH); and Charlie Stross, Linux and Perl journalist and programmer (Author GoH).

Penguicon has also built a tradition of having what it calls "nifty" guests. These guests are people invited by the concomm to attend; whether their travel and accommodations costs are comped as are the GoHs, I don't know, but there's probably some incentive to show up. Some probably attend on their own dime just because Penguicon is fun. In 2007, the Nifty Guests were Rob Balder (creator of clip-art comic strip PartiallyClips online, associate editor of fanzine Nth Degree, filker, card-game co-creator of Get Nifty); The Ferrett (popular LJ blogger, editor-in-chief of StarCityGames.com, writer of several computer books); Clif Flynt (TCL guru); Eric Raymond (author of The Cathedral and the Bazaar, editor of The New Hacker's Dictionary, president of the Open Source Initiative, your basic computer ghod); John Scalzi (SF writer, blogger); Karl Schroeder (SF writer, technology professional); The Great Luke Ski (famed filker, artist); Tom Smith (another famous filker); Sarah Zettel (SF writer); Gini Judd (popular blogger); Sarah Monette (SF writer); Nick Sagan (TV screenwriter of several produced Star Trek-franchise episodes, novelist, creator of the phrase "Hello from the children of planet Earth" which was inscribed and placed aboard Voyagers I and II, and son of the late Carl Sagan); Howard Tayler (professional cartoonist, former Linux pro, inventor of the Chupaqueso [lovely fried cheese]).

Con chair John Guest ran what appeared to be a happy ship, reins just tight enough to keep it all moving forward, but loose enough to allow committee members and department heads to think for themselves when situations required it. Matt Arnold is a programming guru; he handled Head of Programming and Fannish Programming duties as well as handing out ribbons that said BWOP (and of course I've forgotten what that stands for) and writing a very good essay for the program guide called "The Knowledge Ecology."

Markell Lynch and Dan DeSloover put together an easy-to-use program book crammed with every imaginable con activity and then some. Charlie Stross' program-book photo (he's been bald for a while now, so this photo was like camouflage for the famous) and the footers caused some amusement. Lynch and DeSloover provided an excellent layout design, with photos to go with the guests in nearly every case and a logical program grid. The only frustrations I had with the program guide were those of my own making; I was in the Hilton at 10:30 on Friday morning, wondering where everyone was. Silly me. I forgot that most of the other people working at and/or attending this event had jobs.

According to "Introduction to Penguicon" panelist Rob Landley, the estimated attendance from pre-registration was 800-900 people. There were plenty of one-day attendees, from what I saw, so at one point or another the total might have hit a thousand warm bodies.

The Troy Hilton was big enough to make that many people seem comfy, and not so large that one tended to get lost. I never felt crowded at any of the panels I attended, nor crowded walking the halls even during the busiest times of the con. The huge Computer Lounge, at first, surprised me -- but then I remembered there were a lof ot Linux and open-source (OS) software people around, and it made perfect sense.

With eight programming tracks (fandom, software, crossover, games, anime, onstage, swordfighting and food & drink), anyone who claimed boredom had to be lying.

The Sanctuary Press Writers Workshop staff consisted of Anne Zanoni, Sarah Shefferly, David Loius Edelman, Willian Jones, M. Keaton, Tobias S. Buckell, Karl Schroeder, Elizabeth Bear and Michael A. Andaluz.

Panels I attended appeared well-populated. Some of the computer-track panels looked more sparse; when I passed doors just opening after some of them ended, I saw 5-10 people in the room, where the panel consisted of one person. The sfnal panels looked very well attended, and of course the chocolate ritual was packed. Oh, didn't I mention the chocolate ritual yet? It's exactly what you think it is, and a great deal of fun, as chocolate-related events should be.

Volunteering at Penguicon is certainly worth anyone's time. I ended up paying the top registration fee ($45) due to my last-minute decision to attend, and only had to work 6 hours to earn that back. Verifying volunteer hours worked was easy and painless (most of the time), and those who paid their registration by check got their checks back, those who paid via PayPal or credit card received cash, and this con reports it makes a profit every year. Besides, volunteering to work in the con suites was great fun, though tiring for an old phart like me. But I wasn't the only one over 40 volunteering, and it was refreshing to be around energetic, funny, reliable people while working. And the people who came into the con suites (I worked both) were the same sort of folks.

The dealers room seemed smallish for my tastes (I like lots of options - I get bored easily), but Penguicon is generally considered a regional con. However, besides the expected booksellers, an almost-instant T-shirt imprinting service (very popular), two jewelers (also very popular -- jewelry isn't just for women, guys), Renfaire clothing, and genre-related items were also on offer. Perhaps the Penguicon crowd isn't known for deep pockets, but the dealers room looked well attended most times I passed it or visited there.

Room scheduling for panels seemed well-thought-out in most cases, from what I saw. Inevitably, there was the lone panelist in a room big enough for at least three more panelists and a handful in the audience, but these things happen. From the panels I attended, the panelists seemed well prepared for their panel topic and the moderators kept things on track.

Penguicon 5.0 was the first con I've attended where I acquired ribbons. I found this a fun and engaging activity, and I do like silly things, so this fit right in. My collection included Compiler of Dreams from Freon, the first one I got, because he was the first person I saw whom I actually knew when I registered at the con; I Got My Rocks at the Amber Fox (the dearlers' room merchant who sold me the two silver dragon rings, one with a malachite cabochon); Chocolate Clergy (from the Chocolate Ritual panel Friday night, along with a prayer card); Do You B.W.O.P.?; "Not" Busted (I wrote in the "Not"); It's Not 42, It's Me; Consuite Staff (in last year's purple because Shar Nims didn't have any of the current year color); Busted (for being not busted; the qualifying question was "Have you ever been busted for anything?"); Tell Me Who You Are (from Charlie Stross, but I didn't; I just chatted with him briefly a few times); and "Nobody ever imagined a band of orcs would steal a database table." (Charlie Stross gifted me with this one after I complimented him on his International Pixel-Stained TechnoPeasant Day T-shirt). One woman had so many ribbons she wore them as a stole or a scarf (the phrase "ribbon slut" is most accurate here, and she described herself that way).

I skipped Friday's Geeks With Guns due to exhaustion from the previous day's drive. My pre-arranged lunch with a friend at 12:30 never happened. She'd said she'd been ill earlier that week when I talked to her on Friday, and as it turned out, she had in fact been sick all day Saturday. Quelle dommage. Discovering that Ops isn't supposed to open until 3 p.m., I grow impatient; I want to start having fun NOW.

My annoyance was amply assuaged with a sumptuous lunch at Charlie's Crab House, which is attached to the Hilton. Charlie's belies its name: it's an upscale, classy eatery and bar/lounge, looking more like what I imagined the dining room of a gentlemen's club to be rather than a fancy restaurant. Con wisdom advises one good meal a day, so this was going to be it for me. I have to give the wait staff props for treating me like I'd walked in with diamonds driping off my fingers, and I made sure to tip my waitperson appropriately for such excellent service. My French dip came with too many French fries, but that was my fault, I could have specified half as much or asked for a substitution.

Friday afternoon around 2:15, I went up to the 2nd floor and helped with setup in both con suites, then went to registration a few hours later to sign in. Freon (aka Michael A. Andaluz, SF writer and masquerade master) had parked himself in a chair nearby, so I plonked down next to him afterward and nattered for a while. On receiving my first ribbon from him, I wondered briefly whether anyone would think it meant I was a writer, and joked about that thought later.

Having signed in, gotten my badge and various freebies from Registration and lobby tables (flyers for future cons, comics and graphic-novel artists and writers), I headed to the non-smoking con suite to relax and take a break before attending my first panel.

"Intro to Penguicon" got added after the program book was printed, so I was glad I'd seen the sign for it earlier. This is a very informative panel for Penguicon newcomers as well as con newbies in general. Attendees from the SF side are encouraged to ask questions of the Linux folks, especially in the Computer Lounge. I didn't get a chance to test this due to all the great SFnal programming, but the Computer Lounge, when I used it, wasn't very noisy even with the Chaos Toy in full-on mode and, given they had to use the standard hotel stacking-chair, reasonably comfortable for at least a 2-hour online session.

The Opening Ceremonies were hosted by conchair John Guest, dressed most nattily in a tuxedo (c'mon, go ahead and guess why). He introduced the GoHs and the Nifty Guests, most of whom were present, each of whom said at least a few words. When asked if he could dance, Bruce Schneier opted for the ConChair and Two Female GoHs Kickline (Peterson and Bear) response. Filker Tom Smith sang "March of the Penguicon" to commemorate Penguicon's fifth iteration, and he upheld his reputation as a sly, tricksy fellow with words and a guitar very well.

The DJ Brick dance was sparsely attended; apparently, it's the Saturday night dance most people will attend, not this one. However, this didn't bother me a bit, as I had dressed up to please myself and needed no one else to dance with, and in fact had the floor mostly to myself for the first 45 minutes. Not more than two dozen people total came and stayed for more than 10 minutes. One young man (younger than me, anyway) did as I did, and danced pretty much for the music and himself, and he was quite a good dancer. DJ Brick played all my music requests, and most everyone else's too, by the happy smiles on other dancers' faces. This is why con dances are so cool: you can go by yourself, with a partner or a group and have a great time. The youngers may be checking each other out, but I was there to dance, and dance I did; I stayed for over two hours, and hadn't planned for more than one.

I slipped in to Saturday's "Kaffeklatsche with Elizabeth Bear" just as it was getting started, and ended up sitting near Bear's end of the table. I'd brought my copy of her short-fiction collection, The Chains That You Refuse, in order to have something to ask questions about, in case other attendees ran out of ideas, but plenty of discussion ensued. At least a dozen people attended, including Bear's friend and sometime collaborator, Sarah Monette. The two writers spent some time discussing their collaborative efforts, and Bear spoke about the setttings of her Promethean Age books, researching the Shakespearean age, and answered questions. It was a relaxed, comfy version of Meet the Author, and everyone seemed to be pleased with the results. One woman admitted she'd be at the next panel Bear would be on, and said she hoped Bear didn't think she was being stalked, to which Bear replied, "Stalking can be good." I quipped, "You may regret saying that later."

After the Bear panel, I headed for the Computer Lounge to check email and read the news on Trufen.net, as well as make a brief from-the-con post there. I also read Peter Watts' Newscrawl, which was how I learned about SFWA president Howard Hendrix's very 'Net-public stand against Creative Commons licensing (he called writers who post their work under CCL online "scabs"), which provoked a storm of argument in protest. Follow me down this path for a moment: Isn't it odd that the president of the major (maybe even only) SF writers group is against a thing which has apparently increased print book sales for the writers (and one publisher, Baen) who've tried it so far? I mean, doesn't making one's fiction available through CCL pretty much amount to the same thing as browsing priviledges at the local bookstore? Here's another question: How much fiction has Howard Hendrix sold in the last three years? Hmmm. Do I smell sour grapes?...

By 4 p.m., the Con Suites were both in full swing, with at least three people on duty in the non-smoking suite at all times, likely due to all the special food events being held there, but also because there was TONS of food available. I heard someone say that over a hundred pounds of deli meats and cheeses were purchased for the weekend, and I think a store run had to be made by Sunday to get more. Understand, SF fen who are con-goers intend to stay awake as long as possible, in order to not miss anything that might be fun. The OS crowd stays awake all the time. ALL the time. I don't know when they sleep, if ever (are they they model for Nancy Kress' Sleepless, from Beggars In Spain? Who knows?).

The two con suites (one smoking, one non) were both fabulously stocked; the variety of items available, unexpected. The three fannish food groups (caffeine, salt, chocolate) were well-represented for the duration of the con, in more than one form each. I'd never heard of Open Cola before attending this con. What a concept! Caffeine came in coffee, colas, Penguin candies (the company is a sponsor), and chocolate, and smoking consuite (SC) maven Shar Nims told me that even after five years, she still has people unused to SF cons asking where they're supposed to pay for the consuite items. Poor dears. The amount of free (for paid attendees and guests) food and drink at this con would have staggered a medieval banquet staged for Henry VIII.

The nonsmoking consuite (NC) had medium to large crowds most times, probably because the liquid-nitrogen ice cream and Chupaqueso demos were held there, as well as the Brazilian steak service. This resulted in the NC suffering from over-programming at peak times ( LN ice cream sessions always brought a crowd), but the volunteers and con staff assigned to both suites powered through it all like worker ants. Plans afoot for next year to put the special food demos and services in their own room are in place for P6.0, which is a very good idea. Gophers and attendees alike will benefit from consuites that are less crowded.

Major props must be given to Shar Nims and Steve deHart, the smoking and non-smoking consuite ghods, respectively, for running what I can only describe as fabulous con suites. SF fen are used to finding coffee, hot water for tea, sodas and bheer (complete with Bheer Troll to check IDs so the concomm doesn't get hauled off to jail) to drink, and a variety of snackage and sandwich components to eat, along with perhaps some soup, chili, delivered pizza, and maybe hot dogs. This is not enough for the Penguicon crowd -- no, they had to have three types of coffee (regular, decaf, and something that probably amounted to jet fuel), bottled iced tea and bottled caffeinated & flavored waters in addition to all the other beverages, and the con's sponsor company, Penguin Caffeinated Mints and Energy Gum, provided several cases of their products in pocket tins that disappeared almost as fast as they were put out for the taking. Chocolates in penguin shapes and colors were offered and quickly snatched up. Crock pots, throughout the weekend, held everything from chili to meatballs to broccoli soup. Mountains of veggies piled on serving trays. No matter how crowded the consuites got, people were always (when I was there) friendly, accommodating, and willing to help even when not asked.

The special food events were, predictably, very popular. Liquid nitrogen ice cream tastes like standard ice cream, only kewler. Chupaquesos are fried cheese concoctions, to which meats and veggies can be added, made on an electric griddle. Brazilian steak is, well, what it says, but how it tastes...one will only know by trying it. Being a carnivore, I would give my right arm to have more of that steak.

This is the advantage of volunteering to work in the consuite: you get treated like a real person, with food and drink needs, by the Con Suite staff and your fellow gofers, and the special-foods events people will feed you. Copiously, if you let them. The pounds I shed on the dance floor Friday night could easily have been replaced in a few hours of working the con suites, if I'd eaten whatever I wanted. The lack of pre-packaged offerings was greatly appreciated; the smell of fresh food after four hours of playing Munchkin is irresistable.

The other advantage is that you get a chance to meet in person the people with whom you've only been in online contact. I managed to snag Eric Raymond's elbow long enough to introduce myself and remind him of why he might know my name (Steam Engine Time; long story, google it), and it was reassuring to see the light of recognition in his face.

The other place to meet people -- in this case, writers one admires -- is in the dealers room. Smart writers get to the dealers room at least once or twice during a con, because just being there is a great marketing tool for their work. The least stressful mode of doing this is for the writer to be wandering around the dealers room, and not sitting at a booth. This is how I came to have a copy of The Atrocity Archives signed by Charlie Stross. I recognized him, went up and complimented him on his T-shirt (I think it was the "Geek Orthodox" one, that day), and walked out later with a purchased, signed book.

After two hours of consuite work, I had to take a break. It was Work, too. I made a mental note that a sweatband for my forehead would have been of great use. Once I recovered with some rest, food, and water, I stopped at the signing table for Elizabeth Bear and Sarah Monette. I'd brought my copy of Bear's collection but, not having read any of Ms. Monette's work, I apologized that I didn't have anything of hers for her to sign. She was quite gracious about it. The three of us made small talk until their hour was up and it was time for them to grab some dinner.

"Technological Singularity? Or Technological Maximum?" featured panelists Charlie Stross, Christine Peterson, Karl Schroeder, and Eric Raymond. Occasionally high-flying (like way over my head) conversation between panelists and audience members on how valid Vernor Vinge's idea of the Singularity is now, and whether it's inevitable or not, included government, data processing,

the idea of the post-human, how the ability to multi-task on the Internet either improves or worsens a person's life, economics, fun hacks, and onward. Wish I'd gotten there for the start, although from the wide-ranging discussion, maybe it wouldn't have helped that much. Peter Watts' theories on mammalian behavior, specifically how activating the brain's pleasure centers keeps us doing certain things (Karl Schroeder called it "consciousness as masturbation," and I don't know whether those were his words or he was quoting Watts) and the idea that no pure altruism exists in the natural world, including among humans, were also explored. This panel did go off-topic here and there, and didn't really answer the panel question, but panel questions are often treated as discussion starting points.

During "Technology as Legislation," Karl Schroeder noted, "The Pill [was] the technological legislation of the female workforce," and I'd say he was right. Stross added that the advent of antibiotics beforehand made use of the Pill more feasible, because having the Pill without having antibiotics could have resulted in higher mortality rates (adult and infant, I would add) from STDs. Discussion veered off toward evangelistic tendencies in various human groups (Greens, religions, etc.).

The Mas-querade (hosted by Freon) was also new to me; I'd been to less than a handful of cons before this one, and never managed to attend a Masquerade at any of them. One guy walked by with a wireless Webcam on his hat, with a small screen underneath so you could wave at yourself. Never saw one of those at a con before, but they could become the next hot other-con item. At Penguicon, it just made sense. I was impressed by the level of skill and craft evident in many of the costumes. MarsDust.com's "Ivana" entry bore more than a passing resemblance to the "Metropolis" female robot, and deservingly won an award.

Mad Doc Geon" presented a computer-synched Robo Sapiens perfor-mance to the Run DMC and Aerosmith version of "Walk This Way," which was cheered by the audience. Seeing all those mechanical things (at least a dozen) moving together to music just blew my mind -- it was so SFnal! Then I was brought crashing back to reality by the appearance of the "catcher" -- the guy who wrangled the 'bots so they wouldn't fall off the platform. A great way to pass the judging period, certainly. "Holidays Go to Cannes" and "Ivana" tied for Best in Show, both worthy winners. A raffle was also conducted, and several people went home with some nice schwag.

The three hours in the smoking con suite (even though I don't smoke; the smell doesn't bother me at all) so Shar Nims could hit the evening's dance event were fairly quiet.

Too whacked from staying up late Saturday night, my only Sunday panel was the 1 p.m. "Counter-factual Universe," which turned out to be a well-done sort of RPG, with the panelists (Elizabeth Bear, Sarah Zettel and Tobias Buckell) acting as humans from other timelines (so to speak) and the audience trying to explain "real" humans and Earth to them. Each panelist maintained their role for at least half of the panel time (90 minutes). I arrived 10 minutes late due to having to rush to Registration to get my registration fee comped for completing 6 hours of volunteer time, and was slightly confused for a few minutes until I reviewed the panel description in the program book. Aha, I thought, they're channeling aliens. Well, no, Virginia, they weren't.

Counterfactual universe is the new buzz-phrase for alternate history, it seems, and it took quite a while for this to sink into my tired brain. But the panel worked no matter which way one viewed it (alien channeling or alternate human timelines), and the panelists maintained their roles quite well. It was my first experience with this sort of panel, and it seemed intended to amuse as well as inform how writers consider alternate timelines -- not to mention getting inside alien mind-sets.

Bear and Zettel carried their roleplay out to the audience by leaving their chairs and going to point out how some audience members were "transferring concrete matter" (taking notes) and "honoring other consciousnesses" (ribbons attached to con badges).

Charlie Stross was in the audience, and I had to restrain myself from squeeing with delight when I saw his T-shirt -- "International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day" -- as I'd read about its genesis only the day before in the Computer Lounge. Stross seemed quite delighted that his "minions" had answered his call and produced the shirt so he could wear it as close to the designated day as possible (April 23, after Penguicon concluded). Stross has, along with Watts, Cory Doctorow, and other writers, also used CCL to post his work for free on the Web. If he hadn't been wearing that T-shirt, the universe would have exploded. Or a lot of people would have bemoaned a kewl thing not done. Which is worse? You decide.

Hall events during Penguicon included a Robo Sapiens demo by Geon, belly dancing, and Tom Smith singing filk (rarely, as he always draws a crowd). There was also a patio event outdoors that had music in it, but I never went to see what it was about. I was resting on the hallway floor at that point, footsore and whupped.

I didn't experience any of stratification between the professional writers and their readers/fans reported by others at other cons. This may, in part, be because the writers invited (and attending on their own) are generally interested in talking to a variety of people, and have the sense to bring along a friend who can get them out of awkward situations when needed. The story of a fan holding a well-known writer hostage by standing on the writer's foot may be apocryphal, but the fan who buttonholes the writer for a long discussion about an essentially trivial point in a story is doing essentially that. Bear and Stross made themselves available quite often outside of panels, and in an Author GoH, that's something to be appreciated. I didn't see a lot of Karl Schroeder or John Scalzi, but that just means I didn't see them a lot; it's entirely likely they were as accessible to attendeed as their colleagues.

For my first time attending it, Penguicon felt very comfortable. Staff, guests and attendees with whom I had contact were uniformly personable, interested in conversation and willing to chat with anyone. It reminded me a great deal of my first Wiscon, and considering that that was the best con I'd yet attended in terms of welcoming feeling, that's saying a lot. Working in the con suites probably helped form that feeling for me, and I'd recommend the experience to anyone searching for a connection to the rest of Michigan fandom, or fen in general. Penguicon 5.0 was a well-planned, well-attended, well-run event, and I'd love to be able to attend P6.0 Maybe I'll see you there.

Janine Stinson reports for the National Fantasy Fan Federation - and us - from waaay up in Michigan's pinkie.

Why Bob Was Great - by MKeaton

2006-11-21T23:04:00.000-05:00

1. Bob was Bob.
Robert Heinlein was one of the driving and defining characters in the writing scene of his day. His personality and support for other writers as well as his uncredited collaborations earned him a love and respect from his peers that was outside of his writing. In many ways, the man meant more to SF than his work.

2. Bob was a writer for his time.
Robert feared no evil and no man. In an era defined by nuclear fear, he steadfastly wrote against the evils of communism. In a time when every good conservative was of prurient morals, he wrote with a libertine ease that should have been impossible given his political views. To fully understand how much of the power of his writing was due to the time when he wrote it (and remember, he was the first to do many things that have since been repeated and possibly done better), take a look at Starship Troopers. Specifically, the (lack of) racism in it. The hero is black and it doesn't matter to either author or reader because of the deft skill of the author.

3. The Moon is a Harsh Mistress.
Robert's real strength lay in his political books like Moon and Farnham's rather than (in my opinion) his more popular pieces of claptrap like Job and Stranger in a Strange Land. His ability, at a time when the nation lived in fear for the continued existence of mankind itself, to present the resilient, self-reliant spirit of humanity with all its 'never say die' swagger was like a beacon of hope on book shelves filled with dystopia.

4. Bob was not a children's author.
Except, really he was. He was one of the few writers who moved beyond a specific audience and wrote for everyone. Today, the books are lumped together under the heading of "Heinlein Juveniles" but his YA books were some of the best written (and still are).

5. Bob was prolific.
The dual edged sword of an author is that, if you write a lot, you write some bad stuff. You also write some pure gold and then there is a whole lot of stuff that hits some people right in the heart and blows past others. Robert did it all. This makes it easy for critic after critic to mischaracterize his work, and easy for a reader to overlook a great writer because of a few bad books. Job, Fear No Evil, and the like are bad books. Stranger in a Strange Land, I liked when I was in high school but now, when I reread it, I realize it's pretty shallow pap. But, the hippies who would burst into flame at the touch of MoonHM loved these books. MoonHM, in turn, is written simplistically and is not, from a purely literary stance, all that stunning, is a wonderful book because of the underlying themes. The Cat That Walked Through Walls is a puerile book until you know something of Robert and his personal life and his writing compatriots, and then you realize that the entire book is a huge Larry Niven style inside joke--suddenly a book with no point is a carnival of nostalgia and humor. Part of Robert's greatness was his ability to give something to everyone eventually.

6. Bob was one of my mentors.
He wrote simple, clean prose that worked. For this alone, he is worthy of study by any writer.

7. Bob loved his wife.
There was an intimate trust and bond with the reader in much of Robert's work that let him take the reader further than the reader would have allowed another author to go. Robert McKammon's Blue World is a modern example of this kind of trust/risk relationship with writer and reader that lets both go to darker places than either would comfortably go alone.

It's not a full list nor, I'm sure, one that everyone would agree with; but, in my humble but correct opinion, it is a fair starting point. Hope this helps.

~MKeaton doesn't blog. But his cat lets him write essays for us, from the sprawling metropolis of Hindsville Arkansas and/or Centerline Michigan

Review: PROTOTYPE (1983) - by Alex Hymark

2006-03-06T11:21:00.000-05:00

Starring: Christopher Plummer - David Morse - Frances Sternhagen - James Sutorius - Stephen Elliot - Arthur Hill
Director: David Greene
Run time: 92 mins
Genres: Sci-Fi/Fantasy
Released: January 2005 (DVD)
Review by A Hymark (Manchester MI)from IMDB.com with permission

Forget the campy alien-on-earth cliche treatments. PROTOTYPE delivers the smartest dialogue yet to be seen in SF film, in a contemporary of Mary Shelley's FRANKENSTEIN.
In a performance that brings smart dialogue and simple but telling cinematography to a deserving SF-savvy audience, Richard Levinson and William Link mark a cerebral triumph in this 1983 TV film starring Christopher Plummer, David Morse and Frances Sternhagen - now in recent DVD release. With such a well thought-out script, one is left to guess that the film was derived from the theatrical likes of Peter Schaffer or Arthur Miller, but with a tight and wholly spec-fic basis from classic SF matriarch Mary Shelley. In this unabashed homage to that story which began a genre, artifical life is brought to casual life as we know it - a curiosity, a property, a fellow living thing, and finally an entity in search of its purpose, place and destiny.

'Michael', the culmination of years of research by a Pentagon-sponsored program to develop a mechanical man, is introduced to us just as creator and mentor Forrester introduces it to an unsuspecting Mrs. Forrester, in an impromptu Turing test weeks ahead of schedule. Afterwards, convinced that the successes in the creature's first experience outside the controlled environment of the lab are a milestone in their careers, Forrester's research team discovers that instead of celebrating, they should now fear the control which the government has been preparing to exert all along. Forthwith, Forrester and his mechanical man go AWOL from the doctor's work, his team, and his own personal life - to see his creation through to its own self-determination.

There is no high speed chase scene. There are no gun battles, and no hunchbacked, ghastly half-made man shambling amok about the countryside terrorizing innocents. Only this bright and responsive albeit naive young man who never blinks, drinks, or realizes when he tells a stupefyingly appropriate joke. With this unseemly Pinnochio goes the doctor, a man who finds himself questioning his own intents and purpose as he tries to defend his life's work from those who would 'alter' it - perhaps to turn Michael to military ends, or to tap the knowledge of an artificial mind for more … human … purposes. The villain is only the looming threat of misuse of a great thing.

The film makes you think. Hard, too, because its social commentary and hypothesis is presented in a most stripped-down and unpretentious format, unencumbered by anything by which it could become dated or trivialized - no high budget special effects or quasi-horrific makeup cloud this film and no glib, idiotic dialogue or cornball voiceover pollutes it. In short, PROTOTYPE is a mind-grower not a mind-blower. Think of PHENOMENON without nonsense, or STARMAN without the glam of superhuman ability. DARYL without any kid stuff.

For all it's worth, 'Michael' is human enough that you want to cry at the mistreatment doled out to him for his innocence, but at the same time you are morally lost with Forrester, who is doggedly naive in attempting to save him.

In the end the only thing that gives hope is the basis for the title: PROTOTYPE is only the first, and of course there can be more.

If the shuttle's Canadian-made robot arm had a thumb, it would be up.

Alex reviews for IMDB.com - and us - from Manchester Michigan

The ConUtopiaN is Compiling Submissions

2005-11-03T08:05:00.004-05:00

The ConUtopiaN officially launches Dec 1st, 2006. There are several ways to contribute:

1)join MichiganFandom, a fandom related forum at Yahoo Groups. Essays and rants posted there can appear in ConUtopian but only if you let them. If we like it, we'll ask you first. Pictures are ok when attached (Don't send more than two) but don't specify any custom positioning. We honor all requests to remove pics with no questions asked.

fiction.michiganfandom.org -- Submit fiction up to 400 words. email sanctuarypress at gmail.com
reviews.michiganfandom.org -- Reviews can be ANY length. Commentary has a minimum word length of 400 words. If you have lots of reviews, submit them at sanctuarypress at gmail.com until we cave in and let you post directly.

comment.michiganfandom.org -- Essay material posted to the zine must first fit the guidelines of the michiganfandom community. They know what they like. Join them and you'll know.

news.michiganfandom.org -- Trivia and Event info: Any event that happens regularly will be added as a resource link. Your content info must be provided by that event's organization and NOT a personal email address. For that matter, sending a submission implies that you are the copyright holder of the information and/or are not voluntarily infringing on anyone's rights by supplying this to us. Likewise we make the very same claim on our zine and disclaim any ability to remove info found to be otherwise.

Any questions? email us: sanctuarypress at gmail.com ! IMPORTANT - include an email address in the BODY of your message or it will automatically be dropped as spam.

Radio Free Fandom Online

2005-01-08T12:47:00.019-05:00

RadioFreeFandom started as Radio Free ConFusion, a LPFM station that took to the airwaves at 87.9MHz FM in January 2001 at ConFusion in Troy Michigan. Its direct descendant, RADIO FREE FANDOM, is now broadcasting on the internet and occasionally records and broadcasts from one or another SF/F convention in Metro-Detroit.

Original Material Teleplays debuted at ConFusion 2001 included Nick Pollotta's Einstein and Carstairs, Gianni Bubonic, Clif Flynt's Merry Mischief at Miskatonic, When Muppets Attack, as well as several short stories - sprinkled in with a mix of random fannish music, Old Time Radio and live adlib antics.
RFF live is currently down for service.

Til then, listen in on our aircheck circa 2001. It's specially formulated not to choke your computer at DSL speeds.

Listen

URGENT ASSISTANCE -posted by freon

2002-01-08T10:55:00.000-05:00

Good for a laugh. If you're familiar with the typical Gold Coast scam,
here's some 'supplemental info' that you can pass on to people to further
'inform' them. Sheesh.

--------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Michael A Andaluz
To: danielibe@yahoo.com
Date: Thu, 21 Feb 2002 09:44:39 -0500
Subject: Re: ASSISTANCE

Daniel, as a poor, struggling editor I can only offer editing assistance. Please feel free to use the following instead and you may have more success!

STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL

DEAR Sir/Madam,

I am engineer Daniel Ibe, a spam acammer trolling for fax numbers, but posing as an engineer with some bogus federal ministry of petroleum Resources. I bought your email address from a bulk mailing outfit which, like myself, thrives on chokers like you. I told them I needed assistance on some information, although I did not disclose the nature of business to him since it demands absolute secrecy and therefore is transparently criminal to email recipients around the civilized world.

The tiny Republic of benin (not to be confused with Benin, a country with a capital letter as well as a capital city) a country in west africa (not to be confused with West Africa or west Africa, or West africa, three separate and distinct entities which for now we will just call 'more likely') discovered crude oil, black Gold, what cha call Texas Tea, that is - in port-novo (which is of course not actually Port Novo as outlined above). Since they are not members of ORGANIZATION OF PETROLEUM EXPORTING COUNTRY(OPEC) and therefore can't be bigger thieves than ourselves, they told me to cut-and-paste the following nonsense:

'request our assistance through our ministry whose subsidiary is the (NNPC),we were able to assist in drilling and excavating of this black Gold and also spot lifting.'

In other, more sensible words, they thought it would be more discreet to have me email THOUSANDS of peopl WORLDWIDE to deal with their huge secret oil discovery - with excruciatingly painful grammar, no less - instead of sending one damn memo that says 'confidential' on it. Sorry. Those beninites are stupider than dirt.

'As a result of the spot lifting an excess of (us$50.5m)fifty million five hundred thousand united states Dollars was recorded and it is in our favour, my colleagues then decided we should look for an honest and sincere person who would clear responsibility of this amount because the law of our country does not allow civil servants to operate foreign account.'

Again, you can probably tell that the foregoing, SINGLE SENTENCE was cut-and-paste shash that the lowly beninites have forced me to recite verbatim. I don't write this crap - but they told me to tell you, so there it is. The gist is that we're all crooks, and we wanted to find one honest and sincere person to supply a fax number so we can cut to the chase and hook you for some scratch.

Presently the money is safely kept in an escrow account secure from all eyes, including any regulatory commission that would ordinarily salt those eyes with warnings, red flags, scam-alerts, and litigation that would make your head spin off like a loose screw on a Volkswagen's carb.

We shall be meeting with you if you accept to assist us, secondly it would also afford us to know what percentage that will be given to you, for your assistance. If you have any questions please send them off a cliff; we're not customer support.

It will take seven working days to actualize this project and safely transfer into your bank account on our behalf and yourself. Oh, did I say 'into'? Sorry again. I meant 'let me know once it is all right to transfer the money'. Forget I mentioned the direction.

I will appreciate your quick response through my e-mail address, and I am open to further question you may wish to ask in respect of this business transaction. Please kindly send the local non-emergency law enforcement access numbers for your city of residence, so that I may be tracked efficiently and cannot do this to thousands of others.

On second thought please report me directly to the authorities. Someone as criminally stupid as I am deserves the international ridicule, as well as a week in a wooden box with no view.

Best Regards
Daniel 'Solitary Bin Beri Beri Good To Me' Ibe

Complimentary Proofreading - it's an Art.

Freon edits the ConUtopian... for now.

When Muppets Attack - Radio Play by Shalla Schmidt

2000-11-14T21:58:00.000-05:00

You're listening to Radio Free Fandom...

Announcer: And now we bring you: When Muppets Attack or War of the Pastries! It was a quiet day on Muppetworld...

[Background sound of duck noises]

Burt: 3000 ready to go. Next week's shipment in production. Business is good. Hey! Careful with those!

[Sound of cascading crashes, accompanied by duck noises]

Burt (with frustration): Beauregard!!

Beauregard (dejectedly): Sorry.

Burt: Well, just get it cleaned up. These duckies are supposed to be on the truck in the morning.

[Arrow sound: whistle followed by thunk]

[Approaching feet]

Ernie (excitedly): Hey, Burt, I..Aaaahh!

[Loud thud, with many duck noises]

Burt: Ernie! Are you all right? You have to be careful.

Ernie: Never mind that! Look what just arrived!

Burt: Someone sent a pie to us by arrow?

Ernie: That's right, Burt.

Burt: Nice sling arrangement. But why not just have it delivered?

Ernie: There's a note. Here.

Burt (reading): 'To all muppets: We will crush your weak and pathetic planet beneath our heels. Your

rubber ducky factory is only the beginning. This pie will self-destruct in two days, but note the

lovely crinkly edge on the crust.' Ernie! Someone's trying to take over Muppetworld!

Ernie: Can we cut the pie, then?

Burt: No! It's an exploding pie, for heaven sake. Put it over there.

Ernie: Aaawww.

{Scene change}

[Crowd-style muttering]

Emeril: Nice party, Martha. Bamm!

Martha: Thank you, Emeril. I catered it myself. Have you had any punch? The butter cookies are

excellent. Made with butter. But from now on we are Lt Lagasse and Gen. Stewart! Lt, do you

know Magneto?

Emeril: Nice to meet you.

Martha: Magneto, who have we gathered together tonight?

Magneto: We have some great villains. Lex Luther, Mxzlplx, Sabertooth...

Emeril (in disgust): Oh, not that great slobbering idiot! Look, he's eating food right off the platters!

Martha: Lt!

Magneto: um...and villainesses, of course, Poison Ivy, Hexadecimal, Catwoman, Mystique. Oh, and we

have Barney.

Emeril (incredulously): What for?

Martha: Emeril! He's well known for being able to drive away or incapacitate most people over the age

of three. And he does lovely holiday wreaths. Magneto, who are all the men who are dressed

alike?

Magneto: Henchmen. Every villainous plan need a bunch of henchmen. Speaking of which, what is your

plan?

Martha: Good question. I should call the gathering to order. Have you tried the pastries? (speaking to

all assembled) Welcome, everyone, to my little tea party. Everyone get enough to eat? Good. As

you know, we are going to take over Muppetworld. Our plan is simple. From our base in this

remote region of Muppetworld, we strike at their vulnerable spots. We've already taken down

the rubber ducky factory. The cookie mines are next. After that, the public broadcasting system.

And once we have Sesame Street under our control, President Gonzo will be at our mercy.

Then, let the redecorating begin!! Yes, you have a question, Mystique?

Mystique: Why bother with this world? It's a joke. I don't need a rubber ducky.

Martha (condescendingly): From here we can send messages to all Earth's children. With Barney's help,

they'll be hypnotized. They will all make craft items for ME! I'll be the richest home decor guru

on TV!!...And, of course, you'll all be rich and powerful too.

Poison Ivy: What about the booster system that sends their broadcasts to Earth? We're not bombing that?

Martha (condescendingly) : No, we need that to broadcast our messages to Earth. Have you considered a

floral arrangement, Poison Ivy?

Lex: Martha, do the muppets have any defenses? How will they fight back?

Martha (condes): Well, Lex, they are muppets. Not a very violent group. Our biggest problem will be

Lou Zealand and his boomerang fish. Now, everybody will be part of a mission. Magneto will

hand out your assignments. After dinner, we take over the world! And have you all finished

your woven placemats? Sabertooth, that's not a placemat!

Sabertooth (quietly): Grrrrrr.

Martha: OK, people, enjoy yourselves! Barney, stop that singing.

Catwoman (purrs): Excuse me. I don't have an assignment, Martha.

Martha: I have a special job for you, Catwoman...

{scene change}

[Burning crackley noises]

Announcer: I know you can't see this, but the special effects are amazing.

Kermit: Hiho, Kermit the frog here, reporting from the local rubber ducky factory, which has just

exploded.

Count: One, one burning building, ah, ah, ah.

Ernie (sobbing): We only left it for a minute.

Kermit: I'm talking here with Ernie, owner of the factory along with his partner Burt. Ernie, can you tell

us what happened?

Ernie: We had just left for the day. We were heading back to Sesame Street when we heard a boom

behind us and turned to look. The building was in flames. Burt tried to run back in; I had to

hold him back.

Kermit: Uh huh. And do you know just what made the factory explode?

Ernie: Well, we did get a pie by arrow a couple days ago that said it would self-destruct.

Kermit: What? You got an exploding pie and just left it in there? I don't believe this.

Burt (tired): Ernie, we couldn't save anything. The whole place is a mess. All we could get out was this

one ducky. [Quack] What are we going to do?

Ernie: Take a bath?

Kermit: This is Kermit the frog reporting at the scene of the rubber ducky factory. Sheesh.

{scene change}

Miss Piggy: Oh, those poor boys! Rubber Ducky factory gone! Destructive forces poised to take over the

world! Who will save the day? *pause* I said, who will save the day!

Link Hogthrob: I don't know what you're implying. Are you saying it's my job to save the world from an

unknown evil menace?

Miss Piggy (sweetly): Link, you have leadership experience. The other pigs will follow you into space.

Link: Pigs in space? Hmm.

Piggy: Good. We blast off in three hours.

Link: What? I'm supposed to see my tailor this afternoon.

Piggy: You look fine. Now move! And remember, you're a leader.

{scene change}

Lex: Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?

Snuffy: Oh, it's just down that road, you can miss it.

Lex: Thank you. Magneto. Mystique. Tie up the mammoth and gag him. We must maintain the

element of surprise.

{scene change}

Pres Gonzo: General Hogthrob, we have to do something. The ducky factory was hit with an exploding

pie. The cookie mines are under siege and the biscotti darts are flying. Flaming saganaki has

Sesame Street up in smoke! Do Something!!!

Link: We have our best pigs on it. My crew is here in space looking for the enemy base. Lou Zealand is

fighting back at the mines. The Swedish chef is guarding the PBS station. We have a veritable

army of chickens marching on the 'Street.

Count: 245 chickens! Ah, ah, ah!

Kermit: We're going to see what Dr Bunsen Honeydew and Beeker have come up with. Over and out.

Dr B: Well, Pres Gonzo, since the enemy is using battle foods, notibly baked goods, we thought we'd give

it a try. This is our own pie granade. Comes in apple, blueberry, and cherry. Also, we have the

projectile crumpets. Deadly. Our catapaults will be firing this three foot wide donut. Powdered

sugar, you know.

Beaker: [Beaker noises]

Pres Gonzo: As a last resort, you can fire me out of a cannon at the enemy.

Kermit: Gonzo! We can't fire you at the enemy. You're the president.

Pres Gonzo: Not even once?

Rizo: Gonzo, Gonzo!! (panting) Some cows in the Elementary District just reported Big Bird was

kidnapped!! A bunch of guys all dressed alike and a woman dressed in black jumped out from

behind a tree and grabbed him. They dragged him into a spaceship and took off!

Gonzo: This is terrible. What will we tell Snuffy? He's still shaken up about the attack on Sesame

Street.

Kermit: Link, I mean General Hogthrob, get us an update every hour. We have to find out who's behind

this. And we have to find Big Bird.

{scene change}

Link: Piggy, arm missiles.

Piggy: You idiot, we don't have missiles.

Link (panicing): What! Don't have missiles? How do we attack? There are 40 enemy ships heading our way!

We're going to die! We're going to die!

Piggy: Some leader. Link, we have lazers! Oh, nevermind, I'll just start shooting when they get near.

["sounds" of space battle]

Announcer: Will the evil Martha Stewart and her dastardly gang take over Muppetworld? Will the pigs in space

prevail against the enemy attackers? Will the cookie mines be saved? Answers to these questions and

more after these messages.

Commercial break: Spatula City.

Announcer: And now we return to When Muppets Attack!

Martha: Now, first we clean the bird and remove it's organs from the chest cavity. These will make a

fine gravy. Next we're going to rub butter and garlic salt into the skin.

Mystique: She's nuts.

Martha: I've prepared the stuffing ahead of time. It's a nice cornbread stuffing with sage and parsley.

There. Now the stuffed bird goes into the roasting pan. Can a few of you help me lift this?

Careful! OK, into the pan.

[Ooofs and grunts of effort]

Martha: We'll roast it covered for the first stage and uncover it for the final browning. All right, into the

oven! Poultry should cook for about 20 minutes for every pound, so we should be eating in about

three and a half days.

Emeril Lagasse: Spice it up! Bamm!!

Hexadecimal: And they call me insane.

Martha: What was that, Hexadecimal?

Hex: Oh, nothing.

Martha: There, now, on to business. #1, what's the latest report?

Emeril: That fish guy at the mines is tough, but we have Seseme Street. Hexadecimal and Mxzlplx are

doing an aerial scan to see what the native have cooking. Also, there's our space fleet. They've

met the muppet fleet in battle. But that stupid dinosaur won't quit singing. We're getting

complaints from the henchmen.

Martha: Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't henchmen of super villains end up either beaten up or killed?

Emeril: That's right! Spices up the villain game! Bamm!!

Martha: Send out a memo, #1: Henchmen who complain will be issued red shirts.

{scene change}

Gonzo: Kermit, it's terrible! We don't stand a chance. The enemy's using battle biscuits and

catapaulting flaming cheese all over the streets! Plus the space battles!

Kermit: Calm down, Gonzo. Gen Hogthrob is reporting from his ship.

Link: Pres Gonzo, do you read me.

Gonzo: Go ahead, Link.

Link: Bad news about Big Bird. A pile of feathers was found not far from where he was taken.

Gonzo: Could it get any worse?

Link: Well, we've taken some losses against the enemy space fleet but we fired back in earnest...

Count: 28, 28 enemy ships falling to the ground in flames, ah, ah, ah.

Link: ...but appearently the ships contained only henchmen. They obviously expected heavy losses. Some

good news: Our spy, the Swedish Chef, has found the attacker's headquarters, in a remote region

west of the Elementary District. After that, he went to check on the mines.

Miss Piggy: We've discovered who the enemy is: Martha Stewart and a bunch of supervillians!

Kermit: That explains the ballistic scones!

Gonzo: Doesn't she know that people who live in marzipan houses shouldn't throw scones?

[General moaning]

Link: I have contacted Major Sam, the Eagle, about the ground forces. His battle hens are formidable.

And they're all angry about Big Bird. I've instructed them to attack the enemy stronghold, but

they'll need a diversion.

Gonzo: It's time to bring out the secret weapons.

Others: Bomm, bomm, bomm!!

[approaching feet]

Swedish chef: Hurda humda fjorda!!! Fishy wishy inda cookie!!

Gonzo: What?

Kermit: He said that Lou is having trouble at the cookie mines and needs help right away!

Chef: Himda apple cherry whooska wooska splat!

Kermit: The pies are flying on both sides!

Gonzo: Where is the space fleet now, Generel?

Link: Orbiting. Should I head to the mines?

Gonzo: Yes! Back up Lou as best you can. He can't have many fish left.

Piggy: I thought they were boomerang fish.

Gonzo: Only if they miss.

{scene change}

Poison Ivy: Can you believe that nutcase? I certainly don't need gardening tips from her!

Lex: She has to go and that lacky of hers. Not to mention...

All villains: The dinosaur!

Sabertooth: My placemat was as good as any.

Magneto: I think we're in agreement. Let's take the remaining henchmen and take her down.

All villains: No more country wallpaper!!

Accouncer: But the villains' plan was overheard...

Emeril: Martha! Martha!

Martha: That's General Stewart, Lt. Lagasse.

Emeril: Stop your foul whining! Our officers have rallied the remaining henchmen against us! They're

on the way to your office. It's mutiny!!

Martha: Well, you wanted it spicy...

Emeril: We're about to be shish-kabobs and you're joking?

Martha: I have a plan.

{scene change}

Magneto: I saw Emeril go this way, toward the Death Kitchen.

Poison Ivy: He's as crazy as she is.

Sabertooth: Nothin' wrong with my placemat.

Magneto: Shut up, Saber. Mystique, what are you muttering about.

Mystique: Did you see the cookie mines? Weird.

Hex: She's crazier than I am.

Catwoman: I didn't even like the way she roasted the bird. Too salty.

Mystique: Tasted like chicken...

Lex: Not really a leader of villains, if you ask me. And I for one am tired of redecorating my den of evil

every other day.

[General chorus of agreement]

Magneto: We'll take care of her. She won't be a problem after today.

Mxzlplx: I could turn her into a newt.

Magneto: No, Mxzlplx, I think a light glaze at 350 for a few hours.

Barney: I love you all.

Henchman: That big dinosaur has to go.

[Sound of doors bursting open]

Catwoman: Where is she?

Lex: Here, Catwoman, she's on the floor over here. Give me a hand, Magneto.

Hex: She has an interesting color.

Henchman: I found Lagasse over here!

Lex: What's that in her hand?

Magneto: A bottle of fixative. Empty! She must have swallowed it. Would have killed her instantly. Is

Lagasse all right, Mystique?

Mystique: Dead. Holding an empty bottle of Dave's Insanity. What a why to go. Spiced up and out.

Lex: What now?

Catwoman: There's nothing on this world that any of us want...

Barney: I love cookies and duckies!

Catwoman: ...Except the purple freak. Let's get back to what we do best. Wreaking havoc with the

Justice League!!

[general cheering]

Henchman 1: I'm pretty relieved about this. Muppetworld is no place for us henchmen.

Henchman 2: You said it. Give me a superhero to fight anyday.

[Sound of breaking glass, with screaming]

Supergrover: It is I, Supergrover, come to stop your evil ways. You are all my prisoners. Come quietly,

or I shall unleash my army of chickens!

Mystique: Don't just stand there, Henchmen, get him.

[Sounds of battle: Biff, Sock, Pow, etc. Pained moaning.]

Count: 12, 12 defeated henchmen! Ah, ah, ah.

Lex: Mystique, they're henchmen. They never win in their first encounter with a superhero.

[a general "Oh, man! sound from the villains]

Sabertooth: I'm getting out of here.

Poison Ivy: A plan with no drawbacks.

[sounds of fleeing, with footsteps and yells, followed shortly by skidding-to-a-stop noises.]

Animal: Animal!!

Catwoman: What the hell is that?

Animal: Woman!! Woman!!

Catwoman, Poison Ivy, Hex, Mystique, and strangely enough, Barney: Aaaaaahhh!!!!

Chickens: Bock, bock, bock.

Sam the Eagle: Round them up, BattleHens! You cannot escape justice, evildoers.

[clucking and yells]

Sam: Good job, ladies! That one was for the Big B. Take them to the jailhouse.

Supergrover: Another battle with evil fought and won. It's fun being a secret weapon.

{scene change}

Judge Fozzy: ...and I sentence Poison Ivy, Magneto, Sabertooth, Mystique, Lex, Hexadecimal, and

Mx..Mxl..the little floating guy to 10 years in the cookie mines. Wokka, wokka. [bangs gavel]

Lex: What about Catwoman?

{scene change}

Catwoman: Where am I? How can that little creature still be tracking me out here. I even went

through a river, ughh!

Animal (distantly): Woman! Nice woman!

{scene change}

Martha: Looks like they fell for it.

Emeril: Amazin' what you can do with couple of carcasses and some paint. They looked just like us.

Martha: I am the best.

Emeril: Your arm is bleeding, Martha!

Martha: Don't worry. A bit of thread and I'll have that sticked right up. Put your finger on the knot, will

you?

Emeril: Amazin'. Field surgery. Who'da thought?

Martha: Everyone thinks we're dead, Emeril. Muppetworld and the children of Earth can't be ours, but I

have another plan. Microtransmitters in my line of sheets at Kmart. We will subliminally

control the world!!

Emeril: Oh, Martha, can't you see I love you!

Martha: Well, bamm!

[swelling music]

Announcer: And so Muppetworld is saved thanks to the bravery of Link, Piggy, Sam, Grover, and the

BattleHens! Stay tuned for more thrilling adventures!!

Shalla Schmidt's play was broadcast live at Radio Free Fandom

SERENDIPITY - fiction by freon

2000-02-08T02:38:00.000-05:00

The silver doors of the lander’s access bay slid softly to a halt, shedding a pale yellow reflection from the star we called µ-427 across the deck of our observatory ship as it orbited one of this system’s many unusual planets. Onto the gantry stepped our captain and chief observer, who we code-call Mr. “Muse” in the language of the planet below. Muse had just returned from the planet’s northern hemisphere, where it was agreed upon at the time of our arrival that the most promising specimens for study thrived. The development level of the natives had in recent g.t.u.’s reached a plateau a hair beyond the level of controlled simple chemical combustion; chemistry was in the midst of its golden age, and rudimentary world communications had been established. We were ready to leave.

Earlier, Muse had presided at a meeting to-day regarding the final phase of our mission – to anonymously usher these life forms of µ-427 into a new age of discovery, priming them for a rendezvous with the galactic civilization someday in the far-flung future.

Well, someone had to do it.

My commandant, sub-ordinate to Muse, was code-called “Bard”. Our real names were unimportant at the time, and perhaps remain that way. In the scope of this new world’s history we were but specks of dust in the eyes of its onward march to technological fruition. Without our help, however, the odds of the planet’s induction – let alone its survival as an extra-systemic entity – were in serious jeopardy. At many of our informal ‘meetings’ in the ship’s pub, Bard told me stories about prior glaring fiascoes – failures of the Galactic Guild’s original “hands-off” directives. They were tales of thousands of promising world civilizations, laid to waste by diseases that were curable by the Guild. Or simple tectonic shifts whose prevention would have been child’s play to Guild geologists.

Or war.

The ability to destroy a world by warfare is the most disgusting, said Bard, because nothing the Guild could ever do, no matter how covertly, has saved a race so paranoid, so bent on self-destruction that God himself had turned his back on them.

µ-427 was to be the first experiment in the Guild’s new, “hands-on” approach. Public outcry over the waste of such an amount of precious life throughout the galaxy had lately changed the Guild’s protocol.

“What now, then,” asked Bard, yesterday, as Muse returned from one of many scouting missions. Perhaps, as Muse had often claimed, his lollygagging with ship’s ballast like me kept him from being properly informed. (I was fortunate enough to pull barkeep duty for the conference, and so relate this story.)

“Paddy,” he called to me, as he motioned for a drink. He winked, and I poured one extra strong. “Now then, are we going to get into it, Muse?”

“What, now. Five minutes I’ve been aboard and already he’s on my back.” Muse pulled up a chair and stirred his Fennimur stew. “Ah, just as well, for time is of the essence.” He extracted a file cube and opened it. After a brief flash, a holographic image of the Space Exploration Guild banner materialized over the conference table. Shortly thereafter a brief, candid ‘news reel’ covering the history of the world below was projected into the thin air of the room, beginning with the end of µ-427’s latest ice age, and the rise of intelligent life on the planet. Thousands of years flashed by in glimpses and peeks, punctuated every now and then by meteor impacts, major geo-thermal turmoil (µ-427 was yet a very warm planet) and the occasional bio-evolutionary flush. At length the review slowed to within the last fifty g.t.u.’s of the little watery planet, and finally halted with a brief visi-dossier on warfare at sea and the rise of some tyrant on the land-heavy side. The lifespan of these small, loud bipeds was roughly one fifth that of our own, a fact which prompted Bard to joke about this race’s real significance within the Guild’s designs.

“I can see it now, Paddy. If we ever see these ‘beings’ (used loosely) walking the Guild Commons, it would be worse than dealing with the Kasparites of theta-024. Gods! Imagine having to relate with a native, his son, his grandson, and if you’re really unlucky, even his great grandson! Or are we just too slow for them?” Bard went on, comparing their methods of propagation to that of small rodents and primates.

Muse spoke again. “I think they’re ready. We’ve been watching their institutes of ‘modern’ sciences and it appears that they’re on the verge of discovering what we’ve been planning to give them, anyway. But,” he raised his goblet, “Since we’re already here, and I would hate to waste the guild’s precious R&D time, I say we move soon and at least get our names down for posterity for this… experiment.”

I came to the table to fill Muse’s cup, and caught a glimpse of a 2-d portfolio before him. Muse didn’t mind; with a crew of six, there was no need (or practical use) for secrecy. A group of four natives was depicted, separately labeled as “test subjects”. A chill of satisfaction crossed my body - four subjects meant four separate missions to the planet surface. Since Bard and Sensei, as pilots, had to remain on the observatory, that meant that I was guaranteed at least one trip planetside. I was truly ecstatic; I hadn’t been there yet.

“Four separate jobs, eh,” I piped up. Muse looked askance and shrugged.

“Nosey. Oh, well, you’d have found out today, anyway. Yes, yes, you’re hitting the ground tomorrow with me and the twins.”

I could barely contain my glee. For nearly two g.t.u.’s we’d been ‘scoping delta-mu, all this time safe in orbit over the northern geographic pole, dropping probes and listening for chance electromag transmissions. Occasionally Muse would man a lander for some up-close, but the Brothers Grimm and I had always stayed aboard, waiting for the word to go.

Bard snorted. “Lucky bastard. Hey, remember your buddy. Bring back a souvenir.” I nodded, wondering later what the commandant could possibly want.

“Back to business, men,” urged Muse. Our captain was getting around to the mission itself. “Where are the Grimm's? This is the only meeting we’ve got before the drop.”

“Oh, they’re below decks,” I said. “They’re on drill, duty-checking de-orbit specs. Something about recalibrating for the next comet.” I assured Muse that I would convey their orders afterward.

Muse downed his Fennimur and cleared his throat.

“We leave tomorrow. Your orders are explicit, and you must stay out of sight (we are a bit taller than the natives, and we have more arms). Here are the Grimms’ folders and these…” as he handed me a thin mem-plate, “… are for you.”

“Any details?”

“It’s all there. You can take the Uttajhlian. His name is Marconi or something like that. Bard gets the Jermun, Hertz. The Twins leave first, one from Inklund named Oliver Lodge; the other for a Russian called Tesla. We want them to know about trans-media communication. Start with the basics, boys.”

So, that’s it. We drop in a few minutes, and we’re as jittery as hantmuggens. Damn, but I hope this all works out.

~Freon runs on hamburgers and bourbon.

Michigan Fandom Version History

1999-02-03T10:25:00.002-05:00

A Chronology of 'MichiganFandom' online
Before 1999, MichiganFandom as we know it was a social network on eCircles.com (a dot-com crash casualty) and Shameless Self Promotions, a webpage that offered web art to fans between conventions. Events between conventions were either Pinatariders Drunken Costumer Convergences - mostly in Port Huron Michigan, or Arbornet meetups to sing Karaoke in Ann Arbor.

In March of that year, the common denominator in these two semi-regular happenings, an ex-IS guy turned SF writer named FREON, invited a bunch of fen friends to join him on a ONElist.com mailing list in search of more members who could tolerate that high-falutin' new-fangled flavor email with rich text and attachments. That list has evolved into everything you see here today.

1.999.03
- list: michiganfandom@ONElist.com
1.999.10
- Pinata Page on Shameless Self Promotions (Pinatariders Website)
1.999.??
- import email base from eCircles to michiganfandom@ONElist.com
1.999.11
- ONElist consolidated with eGroups
1.999.??
- spinoff: pinatariders.org (Melissa Owsley)

2.000.01
- Meetup: Karaoke at ConFusion 19100 (First Michiganfandom sponsored event)

2.000.04
- ConTraption 2000 canceled. Michigan Fandom comforts the refugees.

2.000.06
- eGroups becomes Yahoo! Groups
- First MichiganFandom Monthly Meetup (First event outside conventions)
2.000.08
- list: added Radio Free ConFusion
2.001.04
- eCircles abruptly disappears. 41 PinataRiders SubCult members vaporized.
- original sponsor and content provider themestream.com implodes.
- expanded Radio Free ConFusion to RFF with plans for ConClave.
2.002.02
- spinoff: Radio Free Fandom site (Malcolm Cleveland)
2.004.02
- list: AscentStage
2.004.03
- list: SanctuaryPress
- list: Mission Bonaventure PBEM
2.005.03
- list: Penguicon Writing Workshop (now SPWWCORE)
2.005.06
- spinoff: ascentstage.net, added Sanctuary Press sponsor for 1 year
2.006.09
- spinoff:Radio Conclave online (now RadioFreeFandom online)
2.007.01
- opened submissions for ConUtopian
- list: Tour de Nocturne costumers
2.008.01
- spinoff: Michiganfandom.org
- RadioFreeFandom goes 24-7 for WMP and iTunes
2.008.02
- spinoff: Sanctuary Press Workshop (freon)

-=Hotline For Wayward Souls=-

1-800-968-1498 - Travelers info for our MF fen nationwide - use this login:

travelers@michiganfandom.org