July Continues

July 15. Happy Birthday to my older
sister, Wendy.

July 18. We kick off the rodeo at work. Not a western rodeo, but a competition between aircraft, crews, and ground equipment. Included was a crew from "Isreal," according to whoever made up the map of C-130 parking spots.

July 23. As part of the rodeo three survivors of the famous Doolittle Raid (see the movie 30 Seconds Over Tokyo if that name means nothing to you) were in attendance. I was thrilled to death to see these brave men and sneaked away for a few minutes to get an autograph. The card on this pages gives an historical and graphic outline of the raid. If you can't read the names they're R.E. Cole, Tom Griffin, and Ed Saylor.

July 18-today and beyond. Hot as hell and busy. Still getting rid of materiel other bases left behind.

July 24. Paid off second mortgage.

July 25. No hot water. Cool bath is not fun even in this weather. On same day installed faucet in the kitchen sink at my older girl's house. Took me hours to get over the vertigo I suffer from working on things above me--physically, not skill level.

July 25. Went to used book store to buy 30 Seconds Over Tokyo, On the Road, and The Day of the Locust. Used up so many brain cells remembering who wrote the latter I forgot 30 Seconds.

July 26. Got scalped at the casino. Linda won.

July 27. Plumber fixes water heater. Two thermostats and heating elements. Tells me what a great unit I have. Yeah, that's why it didn't last 10 years. Good-bye $608.93.

Three days left in the month. I hope the M's remember how to play baseball and the weather cools off. If I wanted this kind of misery I'd live in Arizona.

Tough Jim Gaston

Tough Jim Gaston, alias Brian Trainer, recently returned from Europe, where he played before the crowned heads of many nations. Well, heads of some type. Tough Jim is a dynamite guitarist who plays lead for top Northwest underground group The Moops as well as Portland band Rock Residue. He just had heart surgery and we here at Chez Cap'n wish him a full and speedy recovery.



The Moops: (l-r) Cap'n Bob Napier, Dave Lewis,
Tough Jim Gaston.

Opie's Pals

Yesterday I saw an early episode of The Andy Griffith Show. A group of Opie's friends were featured and among the gang were Rusty Stevens and Keith Thibidouix (which might be misspelled). If the names mean nothing to you, note that Rusty played Larry Mondello on Leave It to Beaver and Keith was Little Ricky on I Love Lucy.

I love catching moments like this.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere a Sign

I saw a sign today by a guard shack: "Audio does not work on speaker."

Back From the Woods

I've just spent five days in a cabin below Mt. Rainier with some kindred souls being lazy, gluttonous, and hermetic. A fine time was had by all. The occasion is called Tankon and, but for the odd behavior of one fellow, was much like all the others. I finished a book that was way longer than necessary called The Big Horn Legacy, worked on a couple of apa zines, and watched some DVDs. Among the more enjoyable ones were Charlie Chan in Paris and Blue, White, and Perfect, a Mike Shayne movie with Lloyd Nolan. Also enjoyable, and with better budgets, were a British series abou H.G. Wells and another British show about which I have no recollection. We also saw a documentary about Harlan Ellison and a couple of the guys saw Flower Drum Song. We started to see For Your Consideration but stopped before the halfway point. The mood just wasn't right.

While I was away Kristine went to nurse camp at a local hospital and Stephanie figured out a math problem that had been needling her. Linda went to the funeral of an old friend's father.

Now, back to my regularly scheduled life. Bwaaah!

Stratus Symbol

I just got back from a car dealership where my older daughter, Stephanie, got a 2000 Dodge Stratus. It's red. Driver's of Washington State, you've been warned.

Wow, a Leave It to Beaver marathon for July 4th. And the Mariner's beat Boston again. Life is good.

On the way home from the dealership I stopped at Office Depot. My printer needed paper. I found what I wanted and it ran $7.29 a ream (500 sheets). Expensive, but not as bad as a lot of the other brands they had. But wait, they had a three pack of the same paper for, for $24.99. Hold it! If I buy three loose packs at $7.29 each I pay $21.87. That's $3.12 less. What does all the extra cost cover, the box and strapping tape? See my earlier post about the pricing on the taco and enchilada dinners. Who figures these prices out? Someone who reads the results of math testing in schools?

Happy 4th. Try not to be a statistic this weekend.

A Slan in Seattle

I belong to three Amateur Press Alliances/Associations, or apas. One is Slan-Apa. Last night I drove to Seattle to join four other Slans and the wife of one to meet a visiting Slan from Florida. After a hilarious drive to the hotel thanks to a difference of opinion between the driver and his wife over the easiest way to get there, we met the visting Slan at the hotel's bar. Hours of happy chatting and a little happy hour eating and drinking wiled the night away. I don't get out much, so this was a great chance for me to do a bit of socializing. Thanks all, for the company.

The names have been omitted to protect the innocent.

Taste of Tacoma

I attended the abovementioned event yesterday. On the way in to Point Defiance Park I was given a little container of hummus and a wooden spoon. I took a couple of bites of hummus later on. Ptui!
For my taste I had a sample of Indian chicken-on-a-stick. That's East Indian. Not bad. For my meal I had a Korean dish. Chicken, rice, broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots. Not bad, but not worth the $7.00 they--and everyone else in an obvious conspiracy--charged for a dish. On stage was a Fleetwood Mac tribute band. Not bad but for two minor things--the girl was no Stevie Nicks and the lead guy was no Lindsay Buckingham. It might have been better if they'd amped up the vocals. I'm also wondering if FM needs a tribute band at this time.
A walk through the games section appalled me. Three bucks to throw one dull dart at one leather-clad balloon to win a prize full of diseased Asian stuffing that retails for 17 cents. I passed on the games. I'm not a fan of rides, either, so I didn't even consider them. The main attraction was the pretty girls in summer clothes.
My mother-in-law lives a block from the park entrance and my young daughter set up a cold drink stand at the corner. I sat with her and her boyfriend for most of the afternoon, watching the passing parade and laughing at some of the clowns in their silly outfits. Do teenage boys have any concept of how assinine they appear? Guess not, or they wouldn't look that way.
To my amazement, bottled water outsold soda by about ten-to-one. I've always been nonplussed about people paying for water, and it amazes me that they'd prefer it over Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, or Sprite. And they all cost the same.

I feel bad about letting June 25 go by without my usual mention of Custer's Last Stand. But yes, it was that day in 1876 that Uncle Georgie and about 260 men of the 7th Cavalry were slain by Sioux, Cheyenne, and some other tribes' warriors. To correct a couple of misconceptions about the engagement: The 7th Cavalry was not wiped out. The regiment's strength was about 1250 officers and men. The number of men in the battle was close to 750, so only about a third of the combatants died in the fight. The faction with Custer was wiped out, true, but the Reno-Benteen factions dug in and held out until June 26, when relief appeared and the Indians retreated. Next, it wasn't a massacre. The men died in battle (okay, the wounded were slaughtered, but we're not supposed to mention that).

Next up: Fourth of July. We'll see how the anti-firecracker ordinance plays here in the City of Destiny, alias Wired City.

We'll Remember Always, Graduation Day

Last week Kristine (left) graduated high school, with honors. We're busting with pride. My other girl, Stephanie (right), finished her term at TCC with an A in both of her classes. More pride. Kristine will start at the University of Washington in September. Steph will stay at TCC and plans to transfer to the UW when she gets her AA.

Last month I completed the editing on The Toyman Rides Again, which is slated to come out next March. My editor did a good job with the technical parts of the manuscript, but was oddly timid about the use of brand names.

I quit taking guitar lessons at the end of May. My only reason is to decrease expenses now that I have a couple of college girls bleeding me white. Not that I'm complaining. I want these kids to get all the advantages in life they can.

I'm now on Facebook. I'm not sure I understand the need for it, but I don't want to be a Luddite.

I saw the latest Star Trek movie. The plot, characters, and acting were fine but the asinine MTV effects that permeated every action scene and some of the non-action scenes drove me up a wall. Thumbs down just for that.

I just finished Sue Grafton's T is for Trespass, a story of identity theft and a totally amoral woman who passes herself off as a nurse to loot an old neighbor man's estate. Protagonist Kinsey Millhone also handles a couple of smaller cases--finding an auto accident witness and serving eviction papers on deadbeat renters. Kinsey has new wheels; a tough Mustang to replace her trademark VW, lost last time out. I thought on one occasion she went about finding someone in a roundabout way instead of the more direct and simple one (one which she employed later on, btw). In other words, a spot of padding. There were a couple of coincidences that I noticed with a humph and they made me wonder if I would have dismissed them as inconsequential if I'd seen them in a book by a different writer. And by different I mean one who wasn't making an advance of millions. That got me to thinking if it was fair to expect a writer who makes huge advances to write a flawless book while showing forgiveness to one who makes a pittance, like me. Or should every book be judged equally?

I have sleep apnea and have had it for about 30 years. I've had a CPAP machine for maybe 15 years, but except for a short time when I first got it I've rarely used it. But I started using it in April and the result was so startling I have been using it nearly every night ever since. If you don't have apnea here's what you're missing: You never experience deep REM sleep during the night. Loose tissue at the back of your throat clogs your breathing tube, causing thunderous snoring. You have to breathe harder and harder, your heart has to work harder, and once in a while your breathing stops completely. You don't know it, but you wake up dozens or even hundreds of times a night. You wake up groggy and stay that way all day. The mind functions poorly, and in my case I think it made me grumpier than normal. Now, using the CPAP machine, I feel alert and rested all day, even a little smarter. If my bad back would quit bothering me I'd be like a new man.
Anyway, if you are a world-class snorer I suggest you get checked out. Sleep apnea can be a killer, and at best make you a walking zombie. This applies to men and women, although it's more common in men.

Some Good News

No sooner did I post my gripe about Ticketmaster than I got a phone call informing me that my other daughter has been awarded a $1500 scholarship from the Masonic Lodge. I'm not a member, either. Hooo-eeee!

Those wonderful people at Ticketmaster

My older daughter wanted a ticket to see a band called Mindless Self Indulgence. The ticket cost $22. Unfortunately, the only way to buy a ticket was through Ticketmaster. I've used them before, always with reluctance and distaste, but these days their outrageous costs seem to have gone from bad to criminal. By the time I was finished paying all their fees ($8.00+ "convenience fee," $5.00+ "service fee"), charges and taxes the ticket ran $38.58. If I had purchased their $6.00 ticket insurance the total would have been more than twice the cost of the ticket. I felt like I had borrowed money from a Mafia loan shark by the time the dust had settled. Is it any wonder they're called Ticket Bastards?

Happy Birthday, Linda

My wife hit a birthday milestone today. I won't say how old, but she's now eligible for Social Security, or would be if she could afford to quit working. We'd planned to go to the new casino by Snoqualmie Falls, east of Seattle, but--would you believe it?--we had snow overnight and she decided to stay closer to home. Yet, we didn't want to go to The Emerald Queen, our usual casino destination. So we compromised and went to the Muckleshoot Casino in Auburn, just a short drive north and east. One of the big attractions of the Muckleshoot is their huge non-smoking area. The one at the Queen is the size of a three-car garage. So we gambled, hit the lunch buffet, and gambled a little more. I won a tad over $60. Linda lost, but not much (though to hear her tell it she'll be impoverished for life). Then it was home and the opening of some presents.

I can't think of any other news of late. I've read books by Rex Stout, Charles Portis, Peter Brandvolt, Elmer Kelton, Richard S. Wheeler, and Jory Sherman in recent weeks. All of them good, a couple of them fine.

Save Your Pennies

Yep, save those pennies and cash in those aluminum cans. You'll need them for the release of THE TOYMAN RIDES AGAIN in March 2010. I was afraid that with the economy the way it is my book might get canceled, but it's hanging in.

Interesting day today. A very elderly man from down the other side of our cul-de-sac came to my house in his walker, almost forced his way inside, and started telling me something. Unfortunately, he speaks only Russian. Fortunately, I have a nephew-in-law with a Ukranian e-bride and, with judicious use of a phone in speaker mode, was able to learn that "bandits were in his house" and I should call the police. I checked the house, which was empty (as best I could tell without walking in), and called the cops as asked. They arrived 30-40 minutes later and took the old gent away, after again using the services of my family translator.
Only one thing bothered me. The cop made a couple of notes on his memo pad. He asked me my name, which I gave him. Then he asked me my age. What in the name of Nimitz does that have to do with anything? I refused.

As this was going on a couple of other neighbors gathered outside and the guy next door told me someone stole his company truck as he went into a store to buy his morning coffee. He even walked past the thief coming out as he was going in. The kicker is he'd left the keys in the ignition and the engine running. He's an electrician and there were a lot of tools and parts in the truck that he'll likely never see again. I just hope he doesn't get canned for his lapse of judgment.

What did I do during the inauguration? Sat on the flightline in a pea soup fog freezing my tail off. That's a memory I'll take to the grave.

Book Cover

Here's the cover of the book I mentioned on my last blog. I like its pulpy look.

Happy Bleeping New Year

I'm starting 2009 with the flu. That's what I get for taking a flu shot this year.

I spent the time between Xmas and New Year's in Oregon, visiting with friends. One day they marched me to 500 Goodwill stores, book stores, and a couple of cheap eateries in the cold and rain, which probably helped lay me low. Nevertheless, I had a very good time and it was fun to talk of fannish things to kindred spirits.

One book I found in Portland is called Sex and Rockets, by John Carter (not of Mars). It tells the story of Marvel W. Parsons, alias John Parsons, alias Jack Parsons. As John Parsons he was a brilliant chemist who co-founded the Jet Propulsion Laboratory and invented the JATO system for aircraft (jet-assisted takeoff). His inventions are still used by NASA today.

As Jack Parsons he was a disciple of Aleister Crowley (The Great Beast) and practiced arcane rituals and black magick in his large L.A. home. My interest in Parsons is linked to the latter discipline, in that one of the kooks he brought into his life back then was L. Ron Hubbard, one of the biggest flim-flammers of history. About all Parsons got from his relationship with Hubbard was a business partnership in which LRH put up $1,800 and Parsons put up $20,000. Soon after Hubbard absconded with ten grand and Parsons' girlfriend. It was possible that this period of his life taught Hubbard how to practice mind control, use gobbledygook argot, and run scams on the trusting and naive, a skill he would put to effective use a short time later with his Dianetics/Scientology scam.

I wish there had been more about the Hubbard/Parsons relationship in this book, and less of the incantations and spells, but it is interesting for what it is--the life of a brilliant but confused and foolish man.

This is a new book and can be purchased at you local book dealer's or on line.

The Winter of Our Dissed Content

Our winter has brought us some lovely snow, but
it has made a mess of traffic, especially since no
one in this burg knows how to drive on dry roads,
let alone icy ones. The photo at right of Chez Cap'n shows that a white Christmas may be in the offing, if it doesn't rain and wash it all away.

Happy Birthday Barbara (June Cleaver) Billingsley. She's 93 today. Bill Crider's great blog reprints an article about her birthday and lists some of her screen credits, but they missed a couple of good ones. She was in The Valiant Hombre (a Cisco Kid movie with Duncan Renaldo), and Angels in the Outfield (1951, starring Paul Douglas). I've been seeking that Cisco Kid film for years.

Today I worked my final day for 2008. I say worked but I didn't do a damn thing, what with the weather closing down the flightline (I work for the Air Force).

Merry Christmas and/or Happy Holidays to all, and to all a good night.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Kristine

I'm having virus problems but I want to wish my darling daughter Kristine happy birthday. She's 18 today and I have no idea where the years went. Seems like only last week I was tucking her into a car seat or feeding her Gerber's strained peas. Thanks for being a wonderful daughter, baby. We love you.

It's also the birthday of my man George Armstrong Custer, who would be 169 if he hadn't given his life at the Little Big Horn.

Unashamed Plug

My friend Dave Lewis, from Portland, has a short story on a site called Reflection's Edge. Don't let the New Age title fool you. The story is a western (Texas in 1830) and told with Dave's whimsical touch. You'll like it. Trust me. Here's the edress:

http://www.reflectionsedge.com/archives/nov2008/tdasb_el.html

Oh yeah, he uses the name Evan Lewis for some reason.

A Busy October

I'm glad October is over. It was way too busy for a lazybones like me. On the 5th I took my younger girl, Kristine, to Arizona to visit my mother and two sisters. It was good to see everyone, but getting things in motion so we could manage to meet and do something usually ate up an entire day. I'm used to just popping out the door and burning up the road when I have somewhere to go.
My mother has a dial up connection to the Internet and I'd forgotten how sloooooooow that is. I couldn't get my e-mail, either. I had some serious withdrawls while I was there.

My big tourist excursion was taking Kristine to Tombstone. We saw the old courthouse (now a museum), the tourist trap western buildings, a film/diorama presentation about the history of Tombstone, and of course a re-enactment of the famous Gunfight at the OK Corral. The fellow who portrayed Doc Holliday was especially effective, although whoever wrote the script added a few facts of his own making, methinks. Like, Wyatt Earp's step-daughter was sweet on one of the Cowboys, as the McLaurey-Clanton faction was called. That may have been true, but none of the movies or articles I've seen mention it. More bizarre was the suggestion that Doc Holliday fomented the gunfight, and no explanation is given for this skullduggery. Finally, though no one can say for certain who fired the first shot at the gunfight, they have Doc starting the battle by shooting his scattergun into the air. Those caveats aside, we liked the show. And as an added bonus we were the first audience to see the re-enactment under a canopy. I'm glad they installed it, as sitting around in that hot Arizona sun is no pleasure for me.

I took a second week off work when I got back, catching up on mail and laundry for the first two days and doing something important and useful after that, I'm sure. Most of my weekends since were eaten up with family obligations or medical appointments. Like the colonoscopy I had on the 24th. What fun. The procedure itself was a snap; I slept through most of it, but that glop one has to drink the evening before is disgusting.
If you're wondering, I'm okay.

Now we have November and the election coming up in two days. It doesn't look good for McCain, and I hope Mr. Redistribution of Wealth doesn't screw things up any worse than they are. I've been tracking my tiny investment for the past month. At one point it was down about $10,000. Right now it's down $7,000. If the market goes up I might get back to where I was. I hope so, I need every nickel I can get.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY STEPHANIE

Nineteen years ago I beheld for the first time the tiny bundle of beauty who is my daughter Stephanie. Today she's a young woman of sensitivity, intelligence, and compassion who is trying to find her place in our complex world.

I've cherished your every moment, my little one, and always will.

This photo was taken when she was five.

The Arrow Falls

Lost another $1000. Thanks, Wall Street scum. UP THE REVOLUTION!

Hypermodern Cap'n

A few days ago I was making one of my semi-regular trips to Amazon to see if they still listed my first book, LOVE, DEATH AND THE TOYMAN. Mainly I like to look at their secondary market, the other dealers who attach themselves to Amazon like pilot fish on a shark to vend the same item, sometimes at a large discount, sometimes at greatly increased prices. I've seen my book go for as little as 47 cents for an ex-library copy to $50 for a new one. But the one I saw the other day really floored me. Just $500. Yes, friends, just five hundred dollars for an unsigned copy. If that doesn't say hypermodern I don't know what does.
What's more, a few days later the listing was gone. Shazam! Either it was relisted for a lower price or--and I can't believe this--some damn fool paid the five century notes.
Which brings up a subject that puzzles me. I've seen this book listed for a lot more than the retail price ($118 was the old ceiling) from dealers who, I think, never even owned a copy. They take an order, drop ship it from a distributor's warehouse, and never invest a cent in a product from which they hope to reap an obscene profit. There's something wrong with that. If they're going to sell a book they at least ought to buy it from the distributor and have it on hand. Maybe then they'd set a realistic price on it. When I check Amazon for a book I always check the used listings and get the one that's both cheapest and in the best shape for the money. If I want it new I'll pay retail, but not retail times two, or five, or fifty. Are there really suckers out there who patronize these hogs? I hope not.

Random Thoughts

Several months ago I got my annual statement for my Thrift Savings Plan, a deal we civil service types get from Uncle Sam (we put in X-amount, they add to it). Three days ago I looked at it on line to see how I was faring in the current economy. I was down $2,000. A few hours ago I checked again. Down another $1000. At this rate I should have nothing come Columbus Day, which will leave me on the horns of a dilemma. Should I track down a former Fannie Pack exec and blow his brains out, or just find a high bulding to jump from?

I saw the Veep candidates' debate earlier. Afterwards I checked with a couple of TV stations to see what they had to say about it. As usual, the liberals swore Biden won and the Conservatives gave the nod to Palin. In fact, one station's text-in votes gave Palin the win 88% to 12%. Another station said Biden won 56% to 33%, with others calling or texting in to say they didn't know. Why anyone would call to profess ignorance is beyond me, but they did. Personally, I think both debaters did well, but I expected Biden to do what he did, while Palin exceeded expectations. So I give her the marginal victory.

Toyman 2 has completed the editing process and is now in the capable hands of whoever gets it next. It was funny to reread it. It was as if someone else wrote the book and I was seeing it for the first time. It's no Connelly, as one fellow was kind enough to note regarding my first one, but in some places I impressed myself. Too bad I don't review for KKKirkus.

It looks like the Cubs are going to choke but the Phillies will get to the next round of the playoffs. I'm not a big Phillies fan, but one of their pitchers, Jamie Moyer, was a Mariner for years and I'd like to see him go to the World Series. He deserves it; he's a good guy and a good pitcher. He still has The Moyer Foundation in the Northwest, which helps children, and I expect he'll move back here when his playing days are over. Seattle was crazy to trade him even if he didn't have a good year in 2007. His record in Philadelphia shows what a difference some run support makes in a pitcher's performance.

No Joke

I came up with a joke I thought would be perfect for Jay Leno. I went on line to find how to submit it. After a couple of frustrating hours I finally disovered that they don't accept unsolicited jokes. So I sent it to Bill Crider's blog. Now I wish I'd saved it for this site. But on the off chance someone reads this blog and doesn't read Bill's (which you should: billcrider.blogspot.com), here it is:

Hurricane Ike battered the Caribbean so hard they renamed it Hurricane Ike Turner.

Badda-bing, badda-boom!

Which reminds me, I was in the dentist's office a few days ago and picked up a Readers Digest to peruse the jokes. Every one I saw was old enough to have moss. People are being paid $100 a pop to recycle bad gags that were wobbly when Grit was the only source of entertainment in the Corn Belt. Assuming these jokes are actually being submitted by the public and not tossed in by the staff and credited to some made up name.

Head 'em up, move 'em out

Saw the following kids' show credit while channel surfing: Assistant Puppet Wrangler.

Up and Almost Running

Yesterday I assembled the treadmill, helped by my younger daughter. First we had to empty out half the garage, which gave us a chance to dispose of some accumulated junk, and then I had to put the accursed contraption together, again with Kristine's help. Mostly it went well, but one step had me mumbling curses under my breath for about 20 minutes. After it was all together I plugged it in and let Kristine take the maiden voyage. By gum, it worked. Then I moved all the junk back into the garage (except for a space-hogging utility trailer). By then my back was sore and I was tired so I took an Aleve and settled in to watch TV. Soon I'll go out and take a 30-minute walk. Yep, Real Soon Now.

A Conundrum

I like El Toro and eat there at least once a week. But one menu anomaly has been bothering me since I noticed it a couple of weeks ago.

To wit: If you get Dinner #1 (two enchiladas, beans, rice, cole slaw), you pay $9.95. If you get the # 2 dinner (two tacos and the same side dishes as #1), you pay the same price, $9.95. But if you get a #4 dinner (one enchilada, one taco, and the sames sides), you pay $10.25. That's 30 cents more even though the enchiladas and tacos are cheaper if bought in pairs. It makes no sense, and has stopped me from having that #4 dinner. I asked the waitress about the odd pricing and she said she didn't know, that the owner set the prices. So I said to send over the owner. She said he wasn't there. A likely story. And don't suggest I order one #1 and one #2 and swap one of the entrees. The people with whom I dine always order the same boring thing, and it's neither of those choices.

I bought a treadmill. Now all I need is a place to put it. Oh yes, and the will to use it. More to follow, maybe.

Bi-annual Semi-annual Posting

Going back into the mists of time we have:

February: My first novel was remaindered. Still not sure of sales, but I do know there are no royalties on the horizon. I bought 25 copies to sell.

May: I was one of six guests of Portland's Friends of Mystery for a panel on Debut Authors. I think I was the only one to have just one book. However, one panelist's most recent book was his first work of fiction. It was a very nice event from the brew pub dinner beforehand to the kind comments after. Sold a few books.

June: I was one of a dozen or so Northwest writers invited to Powell's Books in Beaverton, Oregon, for a meet and greet. Sold remaining copies of LOVE, DEATH AND THE TOYMAN to the store. Thanks, Powell's. And be sure to order one from them. They're signed.

July: Summer Tankon again at the cabin of Frank "Two Ponies" Denton. Enjoyed myself as always.

August: Tankoner Dale Goble came here for five days to replace the roof on our deck. Did a good job. Linda and Kristine were on a cruise at the time.
Learned that my second novel has been accepted for publication by Five Star, who published my first. Tentative title is THE TOYMAN RIDES AGAIN. In this one, Jack Lorentz joins a troop of 7th Cavalry re-enactors on a trip to the Little Big Horn. They are opposed by a group of Indian activists and events snowball until someone is killed.
Went to a chiropractor for an old back pain. He said a flat left foot was the cause and sent me to a dippy woman who is some kind of foot specialist. $200 later I left with new shoes and arch support inserts. So far they haven't cured me. Time will tell.

September: Is only one day old. I stayed home from work, of course, and stained some boards for the deck. We lost four to rot because the old roof leaked.

October: Hasn't arrived yet, but when it does I get to enjoy a colonoscopy. Using the latest scientific techniques, they're going to shrink Raquel Welch down to a quarter of an inch and send her in on a tether. That ought to tickle my fancy--or something close to it. Film at eleven.

The only theatrical movies I saw during this period were IRONMAN and BATMAN: THE DARK KNIGHT. I liked them both but the latter asked me to suspend my disbelief way beyond my capacity to do so. Way back before CGI I was a comic fan, collector, and fanzine editor/publisher (in conjunction with various friends). I wish they'd been able to produce movies like this at that time.

Sadie/Mittens/Puddy Tat

It seems I never post unless an animal dies.

After 20 years as a companion and friend our little kitty is gone. Her name was Sadie, but over the years I've called her Mittens and Puddy Tat. She was generally well-behaved. She never scratched the furniture or bit and clawed us. She proudly left parts of birds and rodents on the front stoop and could be trusted to go outside without running off. She wasn't a lap cat, but if you laid down she'd happily lie on your chest and accept petting. I made up a song about that called "Quality Time" and the girls and I would sing it to her as we stroked Sadie's long fur.

But time caught up to the old girl. Lately she's refused her food, allowed her coat to get matted, and her eyes have leaked. She was supposed to be put to sleep three weeks ago, but I figured that as long as she could leap a six-foot fence I'd wait. Today was the day she was scheduled to be put to sleep, but she cheated the hangman. Yesterday morning she went out and never came back. We assume she found a quiet, private place to sleep the big sleep.

I wish I had a better photo in my computer of Sadie, but this is such a typical scene; opening the door to find her patiently waiting on the stoop. Good-bye kitty, and thanks for being our dear friend for all these years.

Brandy

Thirteen years ago Stephanie, then five, got a little bundle of fur for Christmas she named Brandy. Brandy was a chocolate Lab mix and as adorable as any puppy can be. A few years later Steff sent a photo and short essay about the dog to our local paper, which has a "My Pet" feature each day. By then Brandy was a big dog that went wild with happy excitement whenever anyone would visit.
Alas, Brandy had to be put down a week ago due to a serious medical condition. She was a good dog and is missed.

Five Months Later...

When last we saw our hero he was back from Summer Tankon in July 2007. In 18 days Winter Tankon beckons, which means I'm one heck of a slacker when it comes to doing this blog. People like Bill Crider, Mark Evanier, and Ken Levine manage to blog daily even if they're miles from home or feeling poorly. Ah, to have their fortitude. Ah, to have a life worth blogging about in the first place. But to catch you up a bit:

AUGUST: My cousin, Dennis Weaver, died. Not Chester from GUNSMOKE, a different Dennis Weaver. He was five months younger than me and apparently had a heart attack. Ironically, his father died two months before, almost to the day.

SEPTEMBER: My cousin George, born about 19 months before me, had triple bypass surgery. A real shock, since he was always active and in good physical condition. He did smoke, however. The good news is that he's recovering quickly and ought to be fine eventually. Dennis, George, and I were very close as teens and usually hung out together. The dynamic of the relationship could very well be likened to that of the three Texas Rangers on the TV show LAREDO. George was Neville Brand, the older and tougher one, while Dennis and I were Peter Brown and William Smith, always making Brand the butt of our jokes. Sometimes we got punched for our efforts, but that didn't keep us from doing it. To think that I am, by default, the healthiest man of that trio scares me.

OCTOBER: My older girl, Steff, turned 18 and finally got her driver's license. She's also back in school and doing well.

NOVEMBER: I became an official old geezer. I'm already thinking about whittling and spitting off the porch during my next summer vacation.

DECEMBER: Which is where we are now. I spent a weekend in Portland where I did some Xmas shopping (no sales tax) and joined fellow Moops Dave Lewis and Tough Jim Gaston for fun, music, and Chinese food.
My baby, Kristine, turned 17. She now has a boyfriend and is doing very well in school.

I'm also taking guitar lessons, working on my second book (will have it ready for submission after Winter Tankon), and telling anyone who will listen that Hitlery would be the worse thing for this country since The Civil War, The Great Depression, Prohibition, The Electoral College, and Scientology combined.

I've read about 60 books so far this year, far fewer than I'd hoped. One was SHE, by H. Rider Haggard. What a chore. There was a good idea under all those layers of repetitive exposition, but I felt like I was hacking my way through a word jungle with every page. I don't know why I bothered finishing unless it was to compare it to the movie. I could only find the 1935 version on Netflix, and it wasn't bad. Helen Mack (who was far lovlier than the actress who played She) was enchanting, and the plot was distilled down to a decent adventure flick, though why they changed the setting to a polar region and not the African desert is beyond me. Anyway, I could have polished off 6-10 westerns in the time it took me to wade through SHE, and I kind of resent the delay. But, it was my call and at least I can say I finished the dang thing.

Some Guys Shouldn't Ad Lib

The TV was on as I worked today, so I wasn't watching it carefully, but I know that golf was on and an interview featured some golfer talking about his game. He said, "I'm aware of my weaknesses and I'm trying to make them stronger." Wouldn't we all like stronger weaknesses?

Stooged Again

Yesterday I felt the urge to visit the same Three Stooges slot machine I'd dreamed about (and won on) some months ago. To make a long story short, I hit four bonuses in about 20 spins and walked out after five minutes with $135.85 in my pocket.

Last night I finished AMERICAN DETECTIVE, by Loren Estleman. This is his 19th Amos Walker book and involves a retired Hall-of-Fame Tigers pitcher who wants Walker to offer his daughter's prospctive husband a bribe to take a hike. The young woman is about to come into a trust fund and her father thinks the fiance is ony interested in the money.
Before long there's a murder and Walker is bumping heads with powerful crime lords and gruff cops. Estleman's side-of-the-mouth dialogue is a joy to read, even if the plot has more twists than a Chubby Checker album. Although a private eye in the classic sense, Walker tries to make a concession to modern times by carrying a cell phone. The experience proves more trouble than it's worth. Back to deskbound blowers and shadowy tails.
I've always thought of the Amos Walker books as the closest heir to Chandler around, and this does nothing to change that idea.

Quick Quip

It occurs to me that many days I don't have a lot to say, but I have a stray thought or two that might be grist for the blog mill.

So today I'm watching a commercial for L.A. Weight Loss. A rather attractive blonde, standing in that "after" pose, is offering a testimonial about the efficacy of this system. She continues that since she is now so attractive and energetic she and her husband can step out and do things--like go to dinner.

Hey, isn't it all that dining out that chunked you up in the first place, Mimsy?

(more)

In a commercial for one of those godawful schools that teach young innocents to be dental assistants or fashion designers, a cute little airhead is listing her reasons for not attending a regular college. Among them: she wouldn't know anybody and would feel intimidated about speaking up.

What? Is she planning to attend Matchbook University with a coterie of friends? Is she anticipating asking foolish questions in a real college?

Just a thought. Okay, two thoughts.

BRAIN TO FINGERS, BRAIN TO FINGERS

On my previous post I typoed the word "cavalry." The irony of this is that I've corrected scores of people on eBay for misspelling that word. Usually they spell it calvary, which is a legitimate word, but has nothing to do with mounted soldiers. I saw so many different misspellings of cavalry on eBay I started keeping a list. To date I have 17 variants, all incorrect. One or two might be typos, as mine was, but usually they're just the products of people who can't spell the word and don't want to look it up.

Also, I'm a terrible typist. I never learned to touch type, and my two-finger method is quick but sloppy. I have a feeling it'll only get worse as I achieve my dotage. Sorry.

IT WAS 131 YEARS AGO TODAY

June 25, 1876, is the day Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer perished along with some 210 men of Companies C, E, F, I, and L on the hills above the Little Big Horn River. Another 50 to 60 men died with Major Reno and Captain Benteen on Reno Hill, about four miles away. That battle has generated more debate, books, movies, and emotions than any other in U.S. history--perhaps world history, as well. Exactly what happened, and when, and for how long has fed speculations from armchair generals young and old, pro and con, and at all points of the compass. Was Custer an heroic figure who perished trying to enforce a policy set forward by greedy, unscrupulous politicians? If so, he wouldn't be the first. Or was he a glory-seeker trying to recapture some of the fame he'd enjoyed as a Civil War hero? Everyone has his own opinion and it's not my desire to either change or reinforce what you think. I do want to pay my respects to thoe who fought and died that day, on both sides. And so I do. "Garryowen in Glory!" "Hoka hey!"

There a couple of myths about that day I'd like to clear up. First off, it wasn't a massacre. The soldiers died in battle. Second, the 7th Cavalry wasn't destroyed. Of the 1250 officers and men authorized to fill the ranks of the 7th, about 260 died. The regiment was brought up to strength and has lasted in one form or another until this day. Custer did not kill himself. Nor was he killed by Rain-In-The-Face and have his heart cut out (RITF probably mutilated Tom Custer, George's brother). Sitting Bull did not participate in the fight. No white man survived the battle who fought with Custer's five troops. A recent article in WILD WEST says there was one, but it's buncombe.

Speaking of those who fought and died, my Uncle Gene passed away yesterday after a long bout of Parkinson's Disease. He was a WWII vet and worked for Uncle Sam for many years. This marks the end of an era in many ways. While my mother and her sisters are still alive, all the men from that generation (my father and uncles) are gone. A daunting prospect, to be sure, and the realization that one day I'll be one of the oldest family members bums me out a bit.

Catching Up is Hard to Do

Since my last visit here I've spent three weeks in Charleston, South Carolina, bought my younger daughter a car, and got the local paper to agree to do a story on my book.

Charleston was hot, the school I attended fairly easy, and the tourist attractions interesting. I didn't know, for example, that rice was a major cash crop in the Charleston area before the Civil War. However, it was such a rotten job to keep the paddies up that they couldn't get anyone to work them once the slaves were freed, so the industry died.

As a result of the school I'm qualified (pending a certification review) to be a ground loadmaster. That means I can do most of the jobs a regular Air Force loadmaster does. I was already qualified for some of them, but this class expands the envelope. What it doesn't expand is my paycheck. A letter to my congressman will address this issue forthwith. When some of us mentioned to the guy that started this APEX (Aerial Port Expeditor) program his response was, "Just be glad you've got a job." Hell, I was glad to have a job before they added more responsibility to it. And who the hell does he think he is, some coal mine owner in 1890? What an arrogant ass.

OJ skated, Bobby Blake may have skated, and Christian Brando got off easy, but Paris Hilton is doing hard time in the Crossbar Hilton and I can't help feel a sense of satisfaction. If I'd never heard of this vapid, self-centered, no-talent brat I wouldn't have cared about her at all, but the way she and the media have conspired to shove her useless life down our throats has made me wish she would simply dry up and bust. That goes for all those other celebrity media whores out there. Who needs them?

And remember my 2008 Presidential Slogan: ANYONE BUT HITLERY!

Another Thumb Up

Noted critic Jon Breen has this to say about LOVE, DEATH AND THE TOYMAN in the May 2007 issue of Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine:

"Jack Lorentz, a Tacoma-based collectible toy dealer, is asked by an old lover to look into a mysterious death on the property of her husband's wealthy and influential family. The first novel from the longtime fanzine editor known as Cap'n Bob is a commendable job, including surprising variations on familiar hardboiled elements: the rocky romance, the dysfunctional rich, and the hero's loyal but somewhat unstable sidekick."

Now, if just 1% of EQMM's readers buy the book, I'll be happy as a clam.

I wonder when that element Jon refers to as the sidekick actually started. I'm guessing Robert B. Parker's Hawk was the first of any consequence, although I'm just pulling this off the top of my head. But Mike Hammer, Mike Shayne, Dan Turner, Philip Marlowe, Sam Spade, etc. were loners. Nowadays it's more common (think Coben's, Burke's, and Lehane's books for starters) for the hero to have an ally/friend who's basically a homicidal maniac. Waldo, the sidekick in my novel, isn't like that, and I should point out that I started this book a long time ago, before any of the others I mentioned hit the scene.

On another note, I have my first signing lined up. I hope everyone who can be in Seattle on St. Paddy's Day, March 17, will drop by the Seattle Mystery Bookshop (117 Cherry St.) and say hey.

Honest, Or Just Plain Stupid?

A little earlier I went to get some cash from an ATM. A woman was already there ahead of me. She suddenly turned and walked off; as I stepped up to the machine I saw it was still in use. The screen asked if I wanted another transaction. I hit NO, grabbed the receipt and card as they ejected and yelled for the lady to come back and get them.

Then it hit me. The card was in, the pin number activated, and the account there for the robbing. Not that I'm a thief, but I'd like to have had a chance to mull it over before I take the high road. Maybe I could have pinched, say, $100, taken it to the casino, and shared the winnings with her if I had any. Nah. It has been my curse in life to be pretty honest about such things. Were I not so I might be rich.

Great Anti-Cult Video

Don't hesitate, check out this great slam on the Scientology Organized Crime Family. Here's the address: //www.youtube.com/watch?v=7GmCa6hqpVQ

And You Thought MLK Could Dream

Last night I had a dream. In it I went to the Emerald Queen casino, sat at the middle slot machine in the row of Three Stooges machines, and made a high bet.

So today, since I was out and about and passing the casino on my way home, I dropped in. At first I played a Lobsterfest machine, which didn't do well at all. I moved to the one next to it and won some of my money back. I then decided to follow my dream and hit the Three Stooges slots. The row has an even number of slots so there's no real middle one, and there was a lady at one of the middle ones, so I played the one on the end. I broke even for a while, and then started to lose, so I went over and sat beside the lady, at what would count as a middle machine. About six spins into it, and playing 36 nickels a pop, I hit sevens all the way across and won $100. After three or four more spins to see if there was any magic left in the machine I cashed out and went home. Grubstake: $60. Cashout: $116.65. Not a fortune, but it bought me some gas and lunch and left me with a few bucks to play with.

I hope I have a dream like that again.

Rebecca Bunny, R.I.P.

About ten years ago I bought Kristine a bunny for Easter. She named it Rebecca. For a number of years I kept the bunny in my office, but there was a sanitation problem that caused me to finally put her hutch outside. I was afraid the winter weather might do her in, but she did fine. In the summer we'd put her in a pen in the yard on sunny days, and sometimes we'd let her in the house, as we did during a recent spate of cold weather. If you want to know what it's like to stroke a heavenly cloud, pet a bunny some day.

Yesterday the bunny was listless, and today when I came home I found her dead. Not really a surprise, but a sad thing to bear nevertheless. I hope she was happy here, just as we were happy to have her as part of our family for so many years.

Two smaller disappointments rounded the day off. I learned that I won't get my new, sportier glasses in time for Left Coast Crime, and the library on the Air Force base where I work has no funds and can't buy any new books, including mine.

The good news is that I wasn't nominated for Civilian of the Quarter for our squadron. Every single nominee from the old six-two lost, including the military people.

The Holiday For Primates Everywhere

Free At Last, Free At Last...

On this day in 1969 I walked out of the gate of the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, New York, with my Army discharge papers in hand. What a glorious day for me. I didn't mind the Army for most of my hitch, but the last few months were terrible and fraught with trouble. When I applied for a hardship discharge in September of 1968 it was approved in two weeks. It took almost four months for the actual discharge to happen.

Oddly enough, I recently made contact with a guy who was the company clerk of my outfit in Nam, the 595th Engineers. To backtrack a bit, I was in Nam when I was notified there had been a death in the family. I went back to the states, applied for a hardship discharge, and was attached to the HQ COmpany at West Point. The people in that unit did a lot of idiot jobs on the post: worked the rifle range, drove brass around, and clerked in various offices. Not exactly a front line fighting outfit. I was there with about five other strays and we were given a series of lowly jobs which we screwed up as often as possible. Eventually we were called The Outlaws. None of us gave a damn about the Army by then.
Now, 38 years later, I discover that the reason my discharge took so long was that the people in charge of our 201 files--without which nothing administrative can be done--lost them. Not just mine, but the files for a whole battalion. Guys whose rotations were up were held over in Nam because their files were lost. There was a huge dust up, the Inspector General started an investigation, and when the files were eventually found in a mismarked conex the personnel officer was court martialed. None of which made my life any easier during that long, long time I waited to return to civilianhood and get my life going again. And of coutse Uncle Sam can't compensate me for messing up my plans and putting me through a couple or three months of agony, but after all this time I know the reason for that unconscionable delay.
I hope they shot that damn personnel officer.

Back From the Forest

Back from Tankon. I returned to civilization on the 31st, as indifferent to New Year's Eve as possible. I've always thought it was a pretty stupid holiday. Anyway, Tankon was mostly good. The isolation, the fellowship, even the friendly arguments are fun. This year I was put off by a non-regular who showed up for two days, talked non-stop about how wonderful he is, and left. Never again, I vowed.
That aside, it was fun to see the dusting of snow on the first morning, to plunk at cans with my Daisy BB gun (I'm a hell of a shot, BTW), watch 10 movies and two cartoon series, read two books, eat, sleep, write, and leave the world behind. While we were there two ex-leaders died--Saddam and Gerry Ford--and because one of them died I got the day off today. A nice perk if you're a federal employee.
Thanks again, fellows, and especially to our gracious host, Frank Denton.

Earlier today I had the idea of doing a Net search for my old Army outfit (at least the one I was with the longest), the 595th Engineer Company (LE). I found an old e-mail from a Joseph Short. Hmmm, Joe Short. That name rang a bell. Later on the bell clanged loudly. A picture of Joe Short came into my head and then I remembered him well. Not that we hung around a lot, but we worked close by when he was company clerk at one end of a tent and I was operations clerk at the other end. He was coming in a few months before I faded out or we would have spent more time together, I'm sure. For one thing, all of us support guys were in one hooch.
Anyway, I e-mailed Joe and he e-mailed back saying he remembered me plus a few others I named. He also told me about LE (pronounced Lee--the LE in our outfit's name stands for Light Equipment, even though we had heavy equipment like dozers, scrapers, graders, dump trucks, etc). LE was a mule and our outfit's mascot. He lived on a patch of earth across the road from our tent and was tethered to a stake by a 50-foot rope so he could graze. He was the meanest jackass you could ask for. I have some 8mm movie footage of him chasing the sergeant who fed him. I also recall that LE was promoted to E-4 ahead of me. In '68 he was shipped back to the US. Joe told me LE died last year at Fort Riley, Kansas. He must have been about 40 years old. I hope his transition to stateside duty improved his disposition.

Tomorrow I return to work after nine days off. Luckily it's my normal Friday so I only have to work one day before my weekend rolls around again. Then it's time to settle down and get some real work done.

Tankon Beckons

In a few hours I'll be off to the wilds below Mt. Rainier for the semi-annual gathering called Tankon. Just me and four other curmudgeons at a remote cabin with every amenity but running water. Sloth and eating are the main entertainments, with reading, movie viewing, and chatting/arguing following close behind. I also plan to bring my laptop and write a bit.

Festivus was fine. I spent Festivus Eve in the dark and rain, holding a flashlight while Darryl changed the alternator on his van. Festivus morning I was awakened from a deep, restful sleep by Kristine, who couldn't wait another minute to open her presents. I got some nice presents and one really great one: a Daisy BB gun. I've wanted one since I was a kid, but my mother was one of those You'll Put Your Eye Out wet blankets, so I never had this rite-of-passage weapon. Luckily, some friends did and I shot up scores of non-refundable bottles one summer.
Later that day I went to my other daughter's house for some more presents and a good pot roast dinner. My girl, Stephanie, has been working so much at Taco Bell (Our Motto: Each Worker a Peon) she fell asleep after the presents were exchanged, so we went back home and declared it a good Festivus all around. I have three gift cards to use: $15 at Target, $30 at Home Depot, and $100 at Wilson's House of Suede and Whips.

Just in Time for Festivus

Don't delay, my well-hyped novel LOVE, DEATH AND THE TOYMAN is now on sale. The regular retail price is $25.95 but you can save a few pennies at places like Amazon or Overstock.com. Or you can go to Limehouse Books and pay a mere $54.16 for a copy. Holy Hypermoderns, Batman! What's that guy thinking?

There's even a copy in the main branch of the Tacoma Public Library. No, they didn't religion all of a sudden. One of my shills asked them to stock a copy.

Yesterday Amazon had one copy in stock. Today they have two. Hurry before they have dozens.

As I type this there are promos on TV for an interview Katie Couric did or will do with the wife of one of the men who died climbing Mt. Hood in Oregon.
Now, I'm very sorry these men died and I feel for their families, but I can't help but also feel that they're all a bunch of damn fools for leaving the relative safety of flat land to climb a dangerous mountain during the winter, especially when the weather recently has been horrible. These were totally avoidable deaths and the dead men would have been wise to think first of their families before risking their lives on a foolish venture.

K-Mart, K-Mart, Spare That Tree

The other day I went to K-Mart to buy a DVD for Kristine's birthday. That's all I bought, one DVD. I ran across the receipt a few minutes ago and was stunned. It was 19 3/4 inches long. Naturally, most of it was advertising for their wares or discount promises if one took advantage of, say, a one-day special on certain toys or jewelry.

I hate going to that store anyway, but getting a sales tag long enough to make a necktie kind of jerks my chain. Perhaps if I was a logger I'd feel different.

Tacoma's Libraries, Part 2

I happened to be downtown today and stopped into the Tacoma Library's main branch to see if they'd order my novel. At first I didn't say who I was and they thought I was just some patron trying to get the book. I finally told them I was not interested in reading it, but just checking to see if they had ordered it or indeed would order it.
That's when the bureaucracy started:
"We rely on reviews (LJ, PW, KKK)." I said I have had five published reviews and all were positive but one (asshole at KKKirkus).
"We don't buy just because an author is local." Well thanks for supporting Tacoma's arts, cousin.
And on and on about procedures and policies. It's like I stuck a quarter in a jukebox and got a recording of the Kiwanas' by-laws.

The Multnomah, Oregon, library system already has eight copies of my book on order, sight unseen, but my wonderful home city acts like I'm trying to get them to spread a disease. I was right the first time. The Tacoma Library System stinks on ice.

BTW, that last positive review came from the one and only Harriet Klausner. Or maybe she's the four and only. Rumors abound that she's the front for a reviewing factory. Whatever the case, she liked it. Frankly, I'm surprised. Pleased, but surprised. I didn't think she'd like a book like this.

Happy Birthday

Today is my baby's 16th birthday. Happy Birthday, Kristine. It's been nothing but great.

Also, this is the anniversary of the birth of George Armstrong Custer. He's 167.

Something Went Wrong

Well, I tried to give the Puyallups some of my birthday money but something went wrong. I ended up winning $45.11. Not a fortune, but as long as I walk out on the plus side I'm happy.

Getting back to the library rant, I posted a milder version of it on DorothyL several weeks back. I heard some very kind and understanding comments defending librarians and libraries, most of which said that it cost libraries processing fees even if they get a book or books for free. All well and good, but my library was willing to take the books as donations, so the fees can't have been a consideration.
Let me state for the record that I have no grief with librarians. It's the administrators and the idiotic bureaucratic rules that rankle me.

Another Milestone

Happy birthday to me. There are many advantages to being older but not a one of them is physical. The greatest advantage is that I'm one year closer to retirement. I plan to celebrate this occasion by donating some money to the Putallup Indians, one slot machine pull at a time.

Those Accurate Kirkus Hatchet Jobs

Not that I'm mad or anything. Here's what the malodorous pecksniff had to say about my fine book. My comments are in italics.

Into the office of toy collector [No, he’s a toy dealer] Jack Lorentz slithers [Her entrance is described more like someone wading through water, not slithering] the gorgeous blonde who once made a plaything out of him. [Untrue. She was his girlfriend] Fifteen years ago, Amanda walked out on Jack, breaking their engagement and his heart. Now she's back, wanting a favor. Amanda, it seems, married up into the snooty Howard family, among Tacoma's richest. Michael, Amanda's husband, has developed political ambitions. But there's a problem: a dead, possibly murdered body discovered on their property. Though the Howards claim not to know who it is or how it got there, they sense looming scandal. And for reasons not really persuasive [It’s pretty clear they’re trying to hire his reputation, not his abilities], they've decided that the Toyman, a former investigative reporter, is the man for them. Nobody expects Jack to find the murderer, Amanda explains. They just want him to "investigate and submit a detailed report." About what? he might sensibly have asked, but doesn't. [How about what he finds, what he concludes, who he suspects, who he can clear?} Instead, he signs on, albeit reluctantly, and as a result becomes involved in a variety of messy situations, including a re-entanglement with amorous Amanda. At length, Jack cracks the case, but not before a bizarre confrontation with the villain, who has the drop on him. Attempting to delay his demise, Jack pleads for a chance to say goodbye to Lester, his pet hamster. It's a measure of the prevailing absurdity that the killer, lips curled, says, "Go ahead." [This one really galls me. The attempt to say good-bye to Lester was a ruse and a small part of a larger scene, one I thought was well done. What’s so absurd about the killer granting the wish?I can’t say more without revealing the ending.] One of those what-were-they-thinking debuts. [Maybe that it wasn’t so bad a book and that they’d make a few bucks off of it and that it deserved to be published]

It appears the syphilitic hosebag who wrote this failed to comprehend the plot turns and character motivations everyone else got. But to turn her failures into my failures makes me wish I knew the name of this living incubator for yeast infections so I could correct her deficiencies, using my fists to punctuate my sentences. Not that I'm bothered by any of this.

Happy Birthday, Stephanie

Seventeen years ago today my first child, Stephanie, came into this world. Beautiful then, beautiful now.
Happy Birthday, sweetheart.

Spunky: R.I.P.

AT 10:30 this morning I brought Spunky to the vet's to have her put to sleep. She was suffering from kidney failure and arthritis. This morning she was under the trampoline in the backyard on cold, damp ground and looked miserable. We'd already decided today would be the day she'd have to be put down, and the state she was in made it clear it was the necessary decision.

That doesn't make it easy, but the poor dog was suffering badly. She was 13 and a sweet, gentle animal. We'll miss her.

Here she is five years ago, during better times.

Are All Library Operators Stupid...

...or is it just Tacoma's?

Here's the scenario. Several months ago I checked out a western by the late Bill DeAndrea, one from his Lobo Blacke series. A month or so later I got a letter from the library saying it was overdue and I owed them ten bucks. Somehow, I'd forgotten that I'd borrowed the book; I thought it was mine (I rarely get books from the library since my own is better stocked). I decide that for a few dollars more I could say I'd lost the book and decided to pay for it.
I went to the library with this offer and was told I owed $31 and change. What? The book couldn't have cost more than $15. Turns out it was about $18. PLUS they wanted me to pay the $10 late fine on top of that, plus tax.
Hold the wedding, says I. Why should I pay for the book AND pay the fine? And since when is an ex-library copy worth full retail?
They were adamant. So was I.
Anyway, I think fines are bullshit.
Some weeks after this I decided to return the book (plus a tattered paperback Kristine had misplaced after checking it out on my card). So, according to their lights, I should owe only $20, a fine I have no plans to ever pay.
However, I receive many review copies every month and I thought of a brilliant way to both get the library off my back and increase their stock. I offered eight pristine new hardbacks as a payment for the fines. The books I offered were worth ten times what I owed.
That's when the bureaucrat hit the fan.
The head of the branch library I approached decided such a decision was above her authority and promised to consult someone higher up. After ten days of high-level discussions, no doubt involving a bevy of middle-management pencil gnawers, I was told they must decline my offer. Their ultimate fear was of setting a precedent. "What if someone should offer us furniture?" I was asked.
Decline, I said. You're a library. You buy books. I'm offering you ten times what you want. You save money. I also told them I'd have other books to offer in the future, free of charge.
I was given some malarkey about their computer and accountings, but I know they can wipe out a fine with a keystroke and it won't destroy their ledger.
I finally got the phone number of someone higher up the ladder to call.
What galls me is how impotent this bureaucracy is. It's like no one has the courage or brains or authority to make a simple decision, even one favorable to them. They are paralyzed by the prospect of dealing with a situation that requires someone to show foresight and initiative.
I've always been favorably disposed towards libraries, but when I hear the inevitable cry about their budget woes next year I'll be saying tough turkey. You had a chance to make a killing and you rejected it. And they can expect my vote to reflect this disgust.

Who is mysterydick (and why is he saying all those nice things about me)?

Powell's City of Book in Portland, OR, is taking preorders for my book for $30.95. That's five bucks over retail. You can get a better deal at Barnes & Noble, but they don't have the following review:

"Strap yourself into your easy chair and get set for a wild ride. Love, Death, and the Toyman is very likely the world's first hardboiled toy dealer novel.
Actually, hero Jack Lorentz is a former hardboiled investigative reporter turned baby-boomer collectible trader who gets sucked back into action by a sexy ex-finace and her aristocratic in-laws. Jack confronts a cast of wicked and wacky characters in his quest to discover who dumped a body (or is it two?) on the family's exclusive resort property. It's a whirlwind tale of mystery, sex, love, politics, humor, snobbery, adultery, violence, tenderness, Doo-Wop, a Lone Ranger wrist watcht and a Betty Boop mantle clock, sweeping you along to a slam-bang finish. It's a shotgun blast in the pants! Buy it!"

Rated five out of five stars by mysterydick

This is the first review I've seen from someone outside my circle of family an friends, and it's wonderfully flattering. Whoever you are mysterydick, thank you.

Fuzzy and Tsunami, RIP

Not a good week for small animals at Chez Cap'n. My Thai Fighting Fish, Tsunami, died three days ago, and my rat, Fuzzy, passed away overnight. It was a bit of a relief that Fuzzy went. He'd been suffering from two serious maladies for months (crippled and blind), but was always spirited and would crawl out of his house looking for a treat whenever I entered the room. He was at least three years old, which is ancient for a rat, and I like to think his time here was comfortable and happy. Attached is a picture of him taken when he was healthier.

The Cover

As threatened, here's the cover.

Show Me the Proof

Yesterday I got a box of uncorrected proofs of my novel, LOVE, DEATH, AND THE TOYMAN, due from Five Star in December. They're bound up like books, albeit with soft covers. I'm beginning to get the idea this thing is actually going to see the light of day.
If I can remember how to do it I'll publish a picture of the cover. I'm not sure what it's supposed to represent, but I realize the publishers are limited by what they can glean from public domain art. There's a bit in the book about a red tattoo on the derriere of the beautiful female lead. I volunteered to perform a nationwide search for the perfect posterior and paint the tattoo on myself, but my generous offer was met by silence. Too bad, it would have been the best cover since Mickey Spillane's ex appeared nude on the dj of--dang, was it THE ERECTION SET? Bill Crider will know.
Anyway, make room in your Christmas budget for a copy of this future collectible. The royalty you create may be mine.

Louiefest

On August 19 I joined Dave Lewis, his friend Drew the Omaha dj, Tough Jim (alias Sir Trafford) Gaston, Alex Mills, and my daughter Kristine for Louiefest 2006. The intent of this gathering is to have 1,000 guitars play the song "Louie, Louie" simultaneously. Year one came closest, with around 750 players. Year two drew half that, and despite the promoter's claim I think this year topped out at around 200. In addition to the mass "Louie, Louie" playing, there were a number of local bands entertaining on one of the five stages located around Spanaway's Spinker Center athletic fields, a custom car display, and vendors selling anything from jewelry to real estate.

Kristine called this her Day of Misery. She didn't want to attend and had a bad time except for the "Louie, Louie" part. In truth, I wasn't that overwhelmed by the local groups and it seemed like I spent a lot of time walking around in the hot sun.

For those who don't know, "Louie, Louie" is a song that was recorded by The Fabulous Wailers in 1961 with modest success. Two years later The Kingsmen did another verson of "Louie, Louie" and had a big hit. The song also caused a sensation because the lyrics were so garbled that a rumor spread claiming they were obscene. It got so bad that FBI agents would attend Kingsmen concerts, notepads in hand, trying to write down what the band was singing.
Because both The Kingsmen and The Fabulous Wailers are Northwest groups, the song has had special signifigance in this part of the world. Some years ago a movement grew to have "Louie, Louie" declared the state song of Washington. It failed.

I must admit I've never been a big fan of the song, although I don't dislike it.

To see and hear the spectacle, log on to:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=CXFXDqg5aG0 I think that's a zero at the end.

I'm the chap in the red tee-shirt, Drew's in the black one. Tough Jim has the yellow guitar, and Alex is the young guy. Kristine is the cutie with the ponytail. The woman with the camera is Laurie, Alex's mother. Dave took the video with a camera hanging around his neck, thus the MTV effects.

By the way, a drawing was held before the song started to pick 10 Guitar Heroes to perform on stage with the bigger names. Dave and I were both picked but refused the honor. What kills me is that right after they drew my name for that they drew one for a free Epiphone electric guitar. Missed it by this much.

The promoters--Wailers Performing Arts Foundation--hoped to get The Guiness Book of World Records to accept this as a category, but it was not to be. I don't know if there will be another Louiefest (last year was skipped), but I hope so. If nothing else, I end up with a neat tee-shirt and a couple of guitar picks every year.

Why I Will Never Be On WHEEL OF FORTUNE

Earlier this week the WHEEL OF FORTUNE show held contestant tryouts at The Emerald Queen Casino, my favorite place to game. It's close, and I know which machines are likely to pay off.
Anyway, the call was for five in the afternoon. When Linda and I got there the line went through a sereies of switchbacks in the auditorium, across the second level, and halfway through the main floor of the joint. For all that it moved reasonable quickly. We were given yellow slips to fill out, which then went into a rotating drum, and eventually we got seated in the large theater. I don't know how many were in that hopeful audience, but at a bare minimum I'd say 500.
On stage was a cheap replica of the WOF board, a small upright wheel, and a table piled with prizes (hats, T-shirts, tote bages, etc.). Some bozo and a pretty blonde were also up there. The bozo's job was to whip the mob into a frenzy and the blonde worked the answer board, filling in letters with a marker during the test games.
It was made abundantly clear from the get go that frenzy and manic enthusiasm meant everything; playing skill meant zero. And most of the largely female crowd was only too happy to make fools of themselves toward this end. If you've ever read H.L. Mencken's essay The Hills of Zion, about a Fundamentalist camp meeting that takes on the emotional aspects of an orgy, you have an idea of what I witnessed.
The procedure was to call five people to the stage, briefly interview each one, and play a quick round sans spinning the wheen, just calling out letters. The purpose of the interviews were to test people for perkiness. The more agog the better.
Of the assembled multitude perhaps 35 made in onto the stage. That number could have been doubled had not Bozo, with his mike set to a level five times the necessary decible level, not flogged and prodded the crowd into a froth every ten seconds. Not much fun when the room is hotter than a burning outhouse.
After about 90 minutes of this spectacle we were herded out and another batch of candidates allowed to suffer the same ordeal. We were assured that more names would be selected from the uncalled slips at a later date, and those people would be given a chance to compete.
You have to wonder at some people. One old gent whose name was called to go on stage was so feeble his wife had to come along and hold him up. The topper was the woman who didn't speak English. What was going through her cabeza? If you watch the show you know the lame and the halt never get get on stage.
If you know me, my personality is not one of ebullience. I don't jump around like a drunken kangaroo every time I win a keychain. I don't care to make a spectacle of myself and I manage to keep my emotions in check, except for anger. Good to let that one out, I think. However, I'm good at word games and would likely be a good player. It irks me that the people who run WOF (and most other game shows) prefer a raving lunatic to a controlled, competent player. Perhaps that's why I like JEOPARDY best. They value brains over behavior.

On the way out of the casino that afternoon I decided to play the slots. I gave Linda $20, took $60 for myself, and started playing. I mean losing. Couldn't hit a thing. She wasn't doing so well, either, so she decided to try her luck in the non-smoking room. I headed over to a Three Stooges slot machine and started winning. I was ahead a bit when Linda comes back and shows me she'd trippled her $20. And right away I started losing again. I finally went bust.
Hmmmm... On my last six visits I'd won four times and lost twice. The two times I lost I had Linda with me. I even won when she was there but not around me, and started losing when she came back. Coincidence? I doubt it. On my future trips, I'll fly solo.

Take Two

I tried to post this yesterday, June 7, but it failed.

So, a belated Happy Birthday to my role model, Eddie Haskell. Okay, to Ken Osmond, who played Eddie on the best family sitcom ever, Leave It to Beaver.

We start war games at work next week. I hate that crap.

Correction

My post from earlier today said that our ports were being sold to Saudi Arabians. Not so. It's the United Arab Emirates, a country of 12,000 square miles on the eastern coast of the Arabian Peninsula. Still, that's close enough to Saudi Arabia for me. This whole idea of selling US companies or land to foreign nations upsets me.
I think the movie NETWORK was right. There will be no more U.S., or England, or Russia; only Exxon and Time Warner and Sony. I assume there have been s-f books based on the premise that the world is one large mall occupied by competing corporations. I'd like to read some of them one of these days.

Long Live Big Mac Brother!

Wave the Flag

I've just finished filling out an extensive and somewhat insulting form to insure that my government security status remains Secret. I accomplished this onerous task a little over two years ago, and it should not have been due until 10 years after that, but God forbid the people who are supposed to keep these records shouldn't lose them. It is reassuring to know that those responsible for our security are so efficient.

This taste of government efficiency got me to thinking about just how long I have been associated with the military. For openers, I was born in the Brooklyn Naval Hospital in 1947. As a Navy brat I lived in New York, Rhode Island, Louisiana, Maryland, and Virginia. I think I was 12 1/2 years old when my father retired from the service, but he worked for a year or so at the D.E.W. Line when I was 14-15. In 1966 I joined the Army and spent 28 months in that venerable service, including 13 1/2 months in Viet Nam. Skip ahead to 1979 and I started my civil service job with the Air Force. So we add 12 1/2, 1, 2 1/3, and 25 years and we get (mm, mm, carry the one...) 40 years and 10 months in Uncle Sam's embrace. Maybe 41 if you add in the odd days and weeks. Over two-thirds of my life. And I have to justify to this nation that I'm worthy of a security clearance? Meanwhile, this nation is selling its major shipping ports to the Saudi Arabians--the nation that spawned the 9/11 murderers. Wotta world!

Kristine dragged me to my second and her fourth viewing of the latest Harry Potter movie last night. I'm glad I went, as I'd forgotten a lot of what I saw the first time. I suspect that my poor recollection stemmed from the fact that by the time the film started I was bone tired from standing in line for 90 minutes after a long work week. I'm surprised I didn't fall asleep and snore up the theater. One of these days I may read the books, but at this point I'm not interested in switching genres.

Although, to be honest, I bought a couple of s-f paperback short story volumes at a thrift store last week. One is The Machineries of Joy, by Ray Bradbury; the other is The Year's Best S-F, 8th Annual Edition. I believe Bill Crider's warm reminiscences about his youthful s-f reading influenced my decision to buy these books. And, being short stories, I can nibble away at them as I wait for Kristine to get out of school, or when she's having her guitar lesson.

It always sounds like whining when you complain about bad officiating leading to your team's defeat, but this year's Super Bowl resulted in nationwide complaints and questions about the job the officials did. I thought it was an appalling display of incompetence and/or bias. Would Pittsburgh have won if the game had been called properly? Maybe. They're a good team and worthy of their appearance in the Super Bowl. But we'll never know, and a strong case could be made for the Seahawks winning if the zebras didn't destroy so many of their drives or nullify their scores. My ultimate reaction to it can be summed up thusly: "I is regusted."

We're Number One!

SEA-HAWKS! SEA-HAWKS! SEA-HAWKS! SEA-HAWKS!

I was calling for a 28-24 Seahawk victory, but they kicked Panther butt throughout the game. This is the first time a Seahawk football team made it to the Superbowl and we're all excited here in the great PNW. Can we beat Pittsburgh?

Damn right we can.

Freedom Day

I wanted to post this yesterday, Jan 19, because it's a special anniversary for me. It was on that day in 1969 that I got my discharge from the Army. Never was I so happy to get rid of an obligation. Not that I minded the Army during my regular duty, but when I got out I'd been cooling my heels at West Point awaiting said discharge. It took two weeks to have it approved (I was getting a hardship discharge, allegedly as the sole support of my mother) and another 2 1/2 months to make it happen. Those 2 1/2 months, during which I had no idea when my paperwork would come through, were awful. By the time I got out I had a burning hatred for the Army and just about anything else connected to the government. That made going to California and becoming an antiestablishment hippy a few months later very easy for me.

Because it was 36 years since I re-entered civilan life, you might think I'm a bit long in the tooth. But the truth is that I joined up as a drummer boy when I was six years old and was mustered out a year later. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

All this might seem odd considering that I now work for the Air Force and have for the past 26 years. Well, that's what I do for money, and the BS that I faced back in my Army days is still evident in today's action Air Force. On the other hand, I'm glad to have the job and there are even times when it's interesting and fulfilling. Like a couple of weeks ago when I was part of a team that supported a Medivac mission. A baby was flown in from Kadena AFB, Japan, for treatment at Madigan Hospital on neighboring Fort Lewis. There were a good 20 people involved in getting that infant from Japan to here, not to mention the load planners, air crew, ground people, and whoever had to authorize the use of the aircraft. When I went out to the plane I knew we were doing a Medivac, but I was expecting an adult on a gurney to be aboard. Was I surprised. The infant was in something like an incubator, and that was covered by a towel, so I never laid eyes on him or her, nor do I have any idea what its problem was, but my heart went out to the baby and I hope Madigan can help.

Another Year? I Haven't Used Up the Last One.

It seems that if I don't have a broken down car to report I'm out of conversation. Well, the car was in the shop again, but that was a couple or three weeks ago. Thank goodness it was something expensive. I'd hate to see my mechanic miss out on a first-class, around-the-world cruise on my account.

Christmas is over with and I enjoyed it. I didn't even let the crowds, lack of parking, and imbecile drivers bother me. I bought Steff a computer desk and spent most of the evening putting it together. I think there were 500 screws involved, and my power screwdriver was dead. I got Kristine a printer for her computer but beat it out of town before I had to deal with the installation. She probably did it herself; I ought to check.

The day after Xmas, I joined four other old reprobates for the annual gathering in the wilds known as Tankon. The venue is a cozy cabin belonging to Frank Denton. When I arrived this year Frank was there, having arrived a short time before me, and announced there was a problem with the electricity. We had enough to use the two overhead lights, but no more. No fridge, microwave, heaters, DVD player, or laptops (other than the limited battery). We kept the cabin warm using a wood-burning stove, but once we went to bed the fire died and my head and shoulders, not being inside my sleeping bag, were ice cold. I slept little, and finally got up and fired up the stove. Later that day the guys from the power company came and fixed the lines, and we were back to normal. We still don't have running water, but we're used to that.
We did the usual: ate too much, read, watched movies, chatted, argued, slept, wrote. At the end of six days I packed up and left, glad again to have had the isolation of Bestafar's Hut. I was also glad to get home to a hot shower and shave.
My New Year's resolutions are the same ones I break every year: read more, eat less. Maybe this time I'll keep them a bit longer than usual.

One of the movies I watched at the cabin (on my laptop, knowing the others wouldn't appreciate it) was BELA LUGOSI MEETS A BROOKLYN GORILLA, with Sammy Petrillo, Duke Mitchell, and an aged Lugosi. Petrillo's claim to fame, or infamy, is that he's a dead ringer for Jerry Lewis. Looks like him, sounds like him, and annoys me like him. I like Jerry Lewis impressions that exaggerate his goofy mannerisms, but to see someone act exactly as Jerry would act doesn't work for me. About the only thing that made this movie endurable was the pretty island girl. Better was THE ASPHALT JUNGLE, with Sterling Hayden, Jean Hagen, Sam Jaffe, and a very young and breathless Marilyn Monroe. This is a classic noir with dark streets, tough mugs, despair, lost innocence, and every bad act destined to doom the perpetrator. I loved it, with the possible exception of John McIntyre's lecture towards the end about the importance of cops.

Today ends the regular football season. The Seahawks are well positioned for the playoffs, but I wonder how they'll hold up against some of the teams they're apt to face. Sure, they beat the Colts last week, but the Colts' head coach was gone and some key starters were benched after the first quarter. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see. Seattle has never had a team in the Super Bowl or World Series, and this is the year it might happen.

Dinner awaits. May you have a safe and prosperous 2006.

Happy Plus One

Yesterday's birthday was quite nice. Linda took me to the local Indian casino and gave me $40 to play with. I played a penny slot machine, usually risking 20 cents at a time. After a couple of hours I was down to $11 and change. She'd lost the $20 she brought for herself and all but 36 cents of the fiver I advanced.
The casino has a buffet, so I piled a plate high and stuffed my face. After eating we realized it was getting late, so I figuered I'd just play a buck per pull and get it over with. I went back to one of the penny machines I favored and within five minutes had built my stake up to over $57. I took a couple more plays to make sure the streak was over, and quit at $54.99.
Back at the house we had some cake and ice cream and I opened my presents. A strap for my guitar, a DVD about Guitar Heroes, a season of The Twilight Zone of DVD, lottery tickets, cash, and some trifles. One set of lottery tickets were a bust, alas, but there are some for a drawing on the 22nd and I'm hoping for the best--which would include instant retirement. Well, I can dream.

Today was spent finishing my zine for Dapa-Em. I also watched the Seahawks scape by the lowly 49ers. Not a good showing, but any win is better than no win.

Happy Birthday to Me

Yep, today marks mumbledy-mumble years since I made my Earthly debut at the Brooklyn Naval Hospital. Frankly, aging stinks, but, as the pundits say, it beats the alternative. Linda is taking me to the local Indian casino where I'll wile away some time playing penny slots and wishing I was rich and retired.

Last night I took Linda and the girls to see Harry Potter, after we fortified ourselves on Mongolian grill. We all enjoyed the movie, and Kristine, my Potter maniac, can't wait to see it again. She'll have to wait a week anyway. I missing seeing the movie stairways, and I wish Hermione had a larger role, but I understand that it was impossible to cram everything into a 2 1/2 hour movie. The special effects are so good I never notice them. It seems like all that stuff is really there--the monsters, the magic, the sailing ship rising from the sea.

Reading has been eclectic, but I can recommend TRACE EVIDENCE, by Elizabeth Becca. The author is a trained forensic scientist and her knowledge of forensic procedures and evidence gathering adds a lot to this story of a nut killing young women with tenuous ties to him.

Marvin Albert's APACHE RISING is an action-packed paperback about a scout and troop of cavalry trying to thwart an uprising by an Apache leader. A number of compelling subplots add suspence to the story and Albert's writing is so precise you can feel the burning sun and taste the gritty, omnipresent sand.

More later...

Mama Mia, Hold the Kia!

I just got a call from the mechanic and the problem is a heater hose, not the head gasket. Maybe I'll keep the old bomb after all. At least until it's paid off, which is only 4 or 5 months away.

I confess I watch a lot of courtroom TV shows, and one thing I've noticed is that the bailiff is always in contrast to the judge. Note:

Judge Judy--White female judge / black mail bailiff
People's Court--Hispanic female judge / black male bailiff
Judge Joe Brown--Black male judge / white female bailiff
Divorce Court--Black female judge / white male bailiff
Judge Alex--White male judge / black male bailiff
Texas Justice--White male judge / black male bailiff
Judge Mathis--Black male judge / white male bailiff

I don't know what, if any, significance there is in all this, but it does indicate that someone thinks there ought to be ethnic/gender diversity between the judge and the bailiff (sometimes called the court officer).

I was at a thrift store earlier and checked out the books. I found a western from Belmont Tower (HOT LEAD, by Dwight Bruckner, 1977). I like finding books from the second-string publishers, and I wish there were more houses like BT around these days. We do have some small imprints, but most of them are of better quality than BT and its ilk.

For the first time in ages I hit four numbers on the lottery. I won $30, which I reinvested in tickets. I won $9.00 on them. I added a buck of my own and got $10 worth of tickets, which I parlayed into zero dollars. This has made me wonder if the lottery evolved out of Man's desire to get something for nothing or if there is an Intelligent Design promulgated by The Lottery Gods. Angry, vengeful, Lottery Gods, at that. I'm deep in matters like this.

Never Fails

I told the family last week that as soon as I got my advance from Tekno Books something would happen to eat it up--either my car or computer. Saturday I got the check, Sunday the car started having problems. I'm pretty sure the expensive head gasket job I had done 5-6 months ago gave out. Later today I'll take it to the shop--assuming it'll go that far--and have it repaired again. Then I'm going to trade it in on something else. I'm ashamed to say I've been thinking of a new Kia. Yeah, I know they're chintzy little jokes, but they're cheap and the warranty is pretty good. And I'm sick of used cars. Filling the tank on my pimpmobile is costing about $45 a shot. I need something with better mileage.
As you may recall, when I got my lawsuit settlement I had to immediately spent about half of it fixing that lemon. It is written on the stars, I guess, that Cap'n Bob is not allowed to have money. Thanks a heap, stars.

I want to wish Ed Gorman the best of luck with his cancer treatments. I've said it before and I'll say it again, no one has done more for mystery writers and the mystery community at large than Ed. Come back, Ed. We need you.

Sandra Scoppettone has recanted her statement that paperback books are on the way out. Her industry source didn't know what he or she was talking about, apparently. That's good news, or non-news as the case may be. And that source ought to get a job in the crumbling Bush administration.

How about those White Sox?
How about those Seahawks?

Fall Preview

The leaves are clogging my gutters, it's raining more often, and I'm colder at night. It must be Fall.

As always in this irregular blog, I have to backtrack. Let us cast our memories to late August. I flew to Milwaukee to visit old pal Beth Fedyn for a few days before driving down to Chicago with her for Bouchercon, The World Mystery Convention. The visit was generally pleasant, marred only by one of her dogs trying to rend my flesh whenever my back was turned. I solved that by not turning my back, but I could have done without the cur altogether.
When I wasn't being a chew toy for Cujo I had a nice time seeing the local sights, breaking my diet shamelessly, and invading used book stores. I loaded up on old western paperbacks that I would mail home later.

Then it was on to Chicago and B'con. I must admit I loved the city, at least the area where the convention was held, at The Sheraton Hotel near Lake Michigan. The con was a lot of fun, too. I saw old friends, made a couple of new ones, and reacquainted myself with the tasty libation known as the whiskey sour. Not that I've become a sot, but I'm not above having a cocktail or two if I go out to dinner. I'm lucky in that drinking heavily has never appealed to me.
Among the fun things I did at the con was have a look at the Navy Pier complex, take an evening excursion on a sightseeing boat along the waterfront, visit a park whose name I can never remember (the one with the chrome bean and the spitting woman), hike around the streets with various friends, touch a piece of the Alamo imbedded in the Dearborn Building, watch Bill Crider win the Don Sandstrom Memorial Award for Lifetime Achievement as a mystery fan, take in the view from the 80th floor of the Aon Building, eat a decent banquet meal at the same building, see Beth Fedyn get her B'con Fan Guest of Honor Award at the banquet, buying more books than I should, and meeting Polly the P.I and Elizabeth Becka.

Then it was back to Wisconsin to relax for a couple of days before flying home. My return flight was supposed to be Milwaukee to Minneapolis to Bosie to Sea-Tac, but bad weather in Minneapolis grounded our connecting flight. We were rerouted to Denver and thence to Sea-Tac, saving us an extra takeoff and landing. We also got in ahead of schedule. However, my luggage never got transferred so I had to go home without it. The good news is that it was delievered to my door the next morning, saving me from having to schlepp it around. It would be another week before the two boxes of books I mailed from Oconomowoc appeared, but by then I was caught up with deadlines for Dapa-Em, Slan-Apa, and OWLHOOT. I didn't have time to even open the boxes until another week had passed, and have since read only one of the books I picked up on the road.
That book is HEARTSTONE, by D.C. Brod, and I enjoyed it a lot. It's a modern fantasy/quest story with underpinnings of the Arthurian legend. If you've read Debbie's Quint McCauley books you know she's a good writer, but these are very different and show a completely different side of her talent. I also had an old western I read at work during slack time and finished it. Otherwise, my reading for September has been nil.

In a couple of weeks my Stephanie turns 16. I can't believe it. I remember the minute she was born as clearly as though it happened yesterday.
My other girl, Kristine, is going to try out for the school play this week. They're doing The Matchmaker, by Thornton Wilder. Kristine will be 15 in December. When I think of what a useless do-nothing I was at those ages I cringe. I really am impressed by the ambition and courage of both these kids. They sure didn't inherit that from me.

Do you remember the scene in THE GOOD EARTH when the couple with the new baby go a temple to thank the gods for their child? They keep the kid under wraps and protest that it's a sickly, ugly child and will be of no use to their family farm. They do this, we are told, lest the gods covet the child (who was in fact quite healthy and attractive) and take it from them. I know how they feel. I just had a bit of good news that I fear trumpeting lest the gods snatch it from my grasp.
But I'll risk it. Five Star has agreed to buy my novel LOVE, DEATH, AND THE TOYMAN. Imagine that. Me, a novelist. I've written articles for professional publication before, and tons of fannish works, but this would be the first time I'll have a novel published. Honestly, it doesn't seem real. It's like the head cheerleader is lusting after me--I know there's a second shoe waiting to drop. But, unless it does, I'm going to ride out this high for a while.