Sense of Adventure

As every schoolchild knows, an invaluable resource for any homeowner is having a Crazy Tree Guy.

A Crazy Tree Guy is … wait. Is it possible there’s some part of that you don’t understand? He’s a crazy guy who works on trees!

More to the point, a Crazy Tree Guy is very knowledgeable about trees, possibly from residing in them, and does good work for cheap. He’s also in his way reliable: the Crazy Tree Guy won’t necessarily appear at the time appointed, or even on the day, but he will show up and do the work. Compare that to, say, the cable company…

Yesterday my Crazy Tree Guy reappeared on my doorstep. He’s a tall, skinny, middle-aged white guy who shaves his head and face, although I seem to recall seeing him with white stubble. He’s not a bad-looking guy, though in twenty years I can see him being the very image of Popeye the Sailor Man. He moves in an oddly stiff and abrupt way, a bit like a lizard.

He mentioned that after I hired him to trim the huge dead limbs off the big Siberian elms in my front yard, he had promised to come back this spring and clean the trees up for me. Actually he did the trees two years ago in August, and promised to come back last Spring. But what the hey: Crazy Tree Guys aren’t bound by your boring whitebread calendar!

Of course, as a self-employed (which in the eyes of the Corporate State means unemployed) full-time professional writer I don’t intend to fling handfuls of poo at Crazy Tree Guys, or anyone, for being unorthodox and free-walkers.

Anyway, I’d noticed the elms were sending up big bushy shoots from the roots and crowding the sidewalks, and had about determined to go out myself and do battle with them, possibly with the cool Ontario Knife Co. machete a friend gave me years ago. Or just my kukri. But, ah, one salient trait of Crazy Tree Guys is that they work cheap enough that I, not yet rolling in the dough, can afford them. So I told him sure. He then, in his inscrutable Crazy Tree Guy fashion, wandered off.

(more…)

So today I dropped a cool $124 and change on supplies at Costco. Eggs, facial tissue, olive oil … that sort of thing. I impulse bought a door mat for $19. Okay, so I’ve needed one for a couple years now. But it’s not a necessity.

On the one hand I suppose I need to be cautious, what with price inflation just starting to blow up. If I were smart I’d probably split for two tons of toilet paper. There’s something that’s going to continue to be in demand. Of course, a year from now that door mat’ll probably be worth a million dollars. Then again, a decent scavenged wood screw will go for more than my current net worth.

… Anyway, the mat’s going right back, it turns out. It’s huge. It’s not so much a welcome mat as a porch carpet. Ah, well. Shoulda read the specs closer.

Meanwhile … to actually talk about the nominal subject of this post … I saw what struck me as a leading contender for Worst Dog Toy Ever: the Plush-Toy Skunk.

Um. Leaving aside the cliché in the room, skunks are redoubtable predators who can quite savagely rip on a dog with powerful claws as well as teeth.

And now, not leaving aside the obvious … hello: they’re skunks?

Do you really want to accustom your dog to the idea it’s a good idea to play with them? What’s next? Cuddles the Rattlesnake? Mr. Sparky the Chewable Electric Cord?

It’s like giving your kid a Bath-Buddy Toaster.

Among the other somewhat bizarre and variegated wildlife we’ve got in my neighborhood, there indeed are skunks. How do I know? Well - and you’re not going to believe this, I know - I’ve smelled them. Especially in the Spring.

Love. It’s in the air, baby.

Well, our New Mexico weather is following its usual pattern. As seems to be the case most places, the seasons change quite definitely on or about the first of the month - not three weeks later, as per the bureaucratic (or fascist) calendar. And you can start sensing the onslaught of the seasonal change - not just by temperature and length of days, but the color and quality of light, the feel of the air, the smells - a week or two before.

Sure enough it’s begun to feel springlike here of late. The temperature’s trended up. Unfortunately that’s also meant we’ve started with the winds that makes Spring my second-favorite season as opposed to first. Yesterday, despite the fact it got above 60, the winds were savage, making it unpleasant to venture outside during the day. (Also, despite the warmth down here in the valley, the mountains were dusted with snow clear to the bases; a good deal remains today.)

Today I went to meet with a friend to walk by the Rio Grande Nature Center. When I woke up it was cloudy. When I left the house it looked as if it was clearing up and definitely wouldn’t rain. When I met my friend at the RGNC parking lot ten minutes it was solidly clouded over and seemed to threaten imminent rain. Ten minutes later when we left the pond it was clear overhead and getting bright.

So it remained for most of what would turn into a 9.31 mile walk. I’ve intended for a time to work up to 10,000 steps a day, as measured by my trusty Omron HJ-112 pedometer. While it appears the Japanese originally picked that as an auspicious number for steps in a day because of a cultural battiness for the number 10,000, it turns out actually to be a pretty near-optimal number of steps to take. Go figure.

So today I took 16,457. No, seriously. And that’s just counting between the time I parked my car and the time I climbed (gratefully, I’ll add) back in.

(more…)

So I got back late from writers’ group (fun and productive!) and am trying to wind down. Per my habit I’m sitting on the floor writing and spending quality time with Emma as she chews her rawhide bone.

Something at Steve Stirling’s must’ve smelled real interesting, because a couple minutes ago she left off her chewing to sniff most intently at my left hand and forearm. And, aside from Steve’s, they haven’t been anywhere unusual.

Anyway, as Emma sniffed the left side of her face got all wrinkly like a Shar Pei’s. Usually it’s her forehead that rumples up, not her muzzle. And it just struck me funny. Looked cute and silly.

I’m told purebred Shar Pei tend to have respiratory problems becaus, I suppose, their nasal passages are convoluted. Fortunately Em’s got a pretty much Lab nose, and it doesn’t seem to give her trouble. But sometimes the Shar Pei comes out in surprising ways.

Okay, it’s late, I’m easily amused. What can I say?

Sorry I’ve been a bit out of touch. Lot going on. Much of it is writing, which is a great good thing. But I’ll try to post a bit more. Not that anyone’s really just hanging on by the fingernails waiting for me to update my blog.

Thanks to everybody who turned out for the signing. I told you a good time would be had by all. And what do you know …?

I just had a big old boatload of fun Saturday at Page One. And as I said, I’m not even in the book. Although as it turned out I was called on to sign copies of various earlier Wild Cards books. And even one or two copies of Inside Straight, for people who apparently wanted to get as many WC authors’ autographs as possible.

We had a good turnout. I’d have to say at least a hundred people and probably more. We got a number of folks from ASFS, including the lovely and irrepressible Pat Rogers, Kevin Hewett, Craig Chrissinger, and Dawn Barela. Various WC authors not in the book appeared as well (so those who wanted as many signatures as possible kinda hit the jackpot), including Laura Mixon, Sage Walker, Gail Gerstner-Miller, Walter Jon Williams, and of course me, as well as Royce (Chip) Wideman and Parris, non-writers who contributed characters to the pantheon. To my pleased surprised a goodly contingent of non-Wild Cards NM authors also came out and supported us, including Pati Nagle and her husband Chris Crohn, Laura’s husband Steve Gould (whose movie Jumper comes out next week!), Robert Vardeman, Steve and Jan Stirling, and Jane Lindskold and her husband Jim Moore, Joan Spicci, and Ty and Jayné Franck. (Anyone I overlooked, please forgive me.)

What was coolest, though, as others in the group also noted, was how many faces we didn’t know. This wasn’t all just the Usual Suspects turning out, grateful as we all are to them for doing so. We got a lot of new people not just to attend, but to buy books. And that’s no bad thing.

The audience seemed to enjoy the presentation in advance of the signing proper. I did. When it was over a lengthy line formed for autographs. I had intended to come and listen to the opening show, then maybe take off. Instead I had such a great time hanging out and talking with people I never could tear myself away.

I also noticed that after the signing finally ended, and most of the regular public drifted away, the area Page One had set up in front of the signing tables with twenty or twenty-five chairs was mostly occupied by various NM SF writers talking to each other, reminding me once again what an incestuous community we are. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

As we packed up Caroline Spector asked the gentleman from Page One who’d run things - profuse apologies; I’ve spaced on his name - how many books sold. He said about seventy-five, plus some put on hold by people who weren’t able to make the signing. While that left a lot of copies out of the 200 they had on hand, he seemed thrilled. That’s pretty good sales for New Mexico. And it’s not as if those’re the only copies that’re going to get sold.

The Wild (Cards) Bunch and select others adjourned to a nearby Garduño’s Restaurant, where super-agent Kay McCauley threw us a swell reception. There, thanks to the kind offices of Melinda, I actually got to meet our editor from Tor, Patrick Nielsen Hayden. I also met a couple of Parris’ very nice friends from Ireland, Paul and Sally. Paul, as he puts it, swordfights for a living - being a notable re-enactor and movie stunt guy.

Laura got concerned because one of her adolescent daughters wasn’t answering her cell phone. Eventually the strayed lamb was heard from. I told Steve I didn’t reckon they’d have much trouble from young men wanting to date their daughters. All they need do, I said, was point to Steve and say: yes, Dad wrote a novel that got turned into a movie starring Samuel L. Jackson. I mean, Samuel L. Jackson. That ought to cut down on the nonsense.

Of course, it also means the daughters will never actually have a date until they move to a different continent and change their names. But what’s that to parental peace of mind?

Many thanks are due to Page One, PNH, and Kay, all of whom did wonderfully well by us. Also Craig, who gave us a nice review in the previous Sunday’s Albuquerque Journal.

Parris said the whole get-together was “a lot like having the band back together.” John Miller said it was the best signing he’s ever participated in.

I tend to agree with both sentiments.

Okay, in response to thunderously absent popular demand, here’s one more bit on the Superbowl.

It’s the last. I promise. Really.

The real story was how the New York Giants defense just bulldozed the Patriots’ secret (or at least seldom-acknowledged) weapon: possibly the best offensive line in history. Sure, much as it pains me to admit it, Perfect Tommy is a great quarterback. Having Randy Moss (and the previously unsung Wes Welker) to throw to doesn’t hurt your offense either.

But I think the main reason the Patriots put up record offensive numbers this year was its first-line defenders of the “skill” (or at least the headline) players. Time and again throughout the season Brady had jaw-dropping amounts of time to stand back and wait for one of his receivers to get clear. And with receivers such as he had, they did.

But for the first time all year we saw defenders running through the Patriot O-line as if they were the 2006 Raiders. Brady seemed to get knocked on his kiester every other play.

And why was that? Well, granted, the Giants defense played like gods most of the game. But the Patriots offensive line played like gods for 18 games.

Now think back to what the Patriots were known for. Not just playing the starters every game to try to ensure they never lost; there are good arguments made that those teams who obviously coast to rest their starters after they have home-field clinched for the playoffs tend to check out early during thoe selfsame playoffs. The Colts did it this year, and they’ve done it before.

But the Pats didn’t just start trot their stud horses out to start every game, or even just leave them in until victory was reasonably assured. Remember what more they did, especially early in the season? They ran up the score like a football-factory college team.

(more…)

Just a few moments ago it seemed to me I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror.

Then I realized it was only Bill Simmons, the Sports Guy, screaming in anguish that the Patriots just lost the Superbowl.

Heh, heh.

Those predictions: the next Sports Guy column will have the theme, “We wuz robbed.” The one after will explain in great detail why the Patriots are still the Greatest. Team. Ever.

As for me … for the first and most likely the only time in my life I rooted for the Giants. I do not like the Patriots.

Okay. On to a subject at least a couple of my readers may actually give a carp about…

Was this an epically lame year for Superbowl commercials, or what? It wasn’t until the FedEx pigeon courier ad that I laughed or even cracked much of a smile. Perhaps the most egregious was the early animated Ad Genie commercial: not simply because it was completely lacking in interest, but because for a company that purports to sell its services as marketing experts to lack so completely any sense of what makes a successful Superbowl ad - humor, wit, the moondog bizarre, anything different - would seem to be nothing short of disaster.

One of the more amusing ad series was actually Fox’s own, featuring their new football robot mascot getting the grease kicked out of him by the Terminator, to plug their new series, The Sarah Connor Chronicles. It looked toward the end as if perhaps more robot jocks (but not those robot jocks) were going to gang up on Ol’ Chromebones -

- But my cable company lost the signal. With about eleven minutes to go in the fourth. And didn’t get it back until just before the Giants’ game-winning touchdown. That meant that I would’ve missed the two earlier lead-changing touchdowns, if I hadn’t finally found the signal on my little portable telescoping-antenna TV, so that I watched some of the most amazing Superbowl action in the history of the game on a three by four inch black & white screen. Way to roll, Comcast!

Anyway, that was wild. Sorry, but you’ll have to wait a bit for an after-action report on yesterday’s Wild Cards related hijinks. Quick summary: they rocked.

I can’t tell … and if you want some clues, go here.

Click there now and check it out. Seriously. I’ll still be here when you get back.

Y’all know, probably (and if you don’t, hang around a spell and it’ll all become abundantly clear) that I’m more than somewhat slightly skeptical and cynical about conventional Big House publishing and publishers.

That said, Tor Books so far are doing a bang-up job promoting our spanky-brand-new Wild Cards offering, Inside Straight. They’re actually putting some effort into it. And the just-launched American Hero site is a wonderful step.

I’m basically in love with the site. Along with a very fine-looking logo we have brilliant headshots of all the contestant aces (I love Toadie’s big ol’ eye just staring at you) taken from the big group pictures done by artist Mike S. Miller. Farther down, past the first of what will be a continuing series of “confessionals” by the contestants, and a description of the reality-television series which drives the plot for much of the book, we see the group portraits themselves, along with rosters. Fortunately you can click on the group shots for larger versions, which is a good thing, because they’re freakin’ gorgeous.

They’re also, according to the characters’ creators - I’m not one, incidentally - pretty accurate, allowing for a wisp of artistic license. Frankly, from what I’ve read, they’re far, far closer to the characters as described than most illustrations I’ve seen. Indeed, I wish I’d had these pix to refer to when I was writing my sequences for the (ahem!) next volume, Busted Flush. Since some of the characters pictured play prominent roles in my contributions.

Ah, well. I’ll have ‘em for Book Three. Provided I’m in the volume … which, I have to say at the risk of tempting Fate, is fairly likely … they’ll be great to draw upon.

(more…)