From - Mon Dec 09 03:14:54 1996 Path: nntp.earthlink.net!news-out.internetmci.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!news.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!panix!news.panix.com!not-for-mail From: hlavaty@panix.com (Arthur Hlavaty) Newsgroups: rec.arts.sf.fandom Subject: Zine Date: 30 Nov 1996 08:28:59 -0500 Organization: PANIX Public Access Internet and UNIX, NYC Lines: 196 Message-ID: <57pcqr$86g@panix.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: panix.com X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.2 PL2] I wasn't going to run my zine (Derogatory Reference) in the newsgroup, but others are doing theirs, and this one includes a con report and a memorial to John McClimans, whom many people in this grou knew, so here goes: Things are going reasonably well. I'm still working on legal treatises and journals, copy-editing them and then putting the changes on disk with SGML. One minor benefit of my job is zine titles. A book about elderly and disabled clients reported a drug addict who stole to support his habit, and "little bitty chainsaws" were his favorite thing to steal. It doesn't have much to do with the book, but I guess the author found it amusing, as I do. I was going to call a zine that, but further thought about the image suggested another title: "Leatherface among the Munchkins." The most interesting case name so far is Power-Lift Inc. vs. Weatherford Nipple-Up Systems. I have no idea what the latter does; I got so curious I even looked the case up in the trial reporter, but I was not enlightened. There's also a case involving a firm called Borg Warner. I wouldn't want to get into litigation with them: Resistance is futile, and that's all, folks. (The name also suggests the image of Time Warner being taken over by some powerful, sinister, inhuman alien entity. Like Ted Turner.) With our financial situation improved, we decided to go to Philcon. I was able to get a day off, and Bernadette is getting more freelance work all the time, but was able to schedule around it, so we were able to go on Friday. Kevin was needed at his job, but planned to join us Saturday. We arrived at the con a reasonable amount of time before our scheduled 7 PM panels. Bernadette went to a panel on "How You Can Find Out More About SF." Unfortunately, people had needed to find out more about the panel; almost no audience was present. I joined Frederik Pohl, Michael Swanwick, and Diane Weinstein for a discussion of Theodore Sturgeon. This was not in any way a debate; we all agreed that Sturgeon was one of the best writers the field ever produced, and that his current near- forgotten status is a shame. Help is on the way, however. Sturgeon's genius mostly showed itself in shorter fictional forms (his most successful novel, *More Than Human*, is a fix-up comprising three stories), and all of his short work is being reprinted in permanent hardcover form by North Atlantic Books. The first three volumes (of a projected ten), The Ultimate Egoist, Microcosmic God, and Killdozer, have appeared already. My only reservation about the books is their completeness: Not every fictional word Sturgeon ever wrote is brilliant (though most are), but all are reproduced in these volumes. The books are introduced by current writers; Samuel R. Delany's preface to Microcosmic God is particularly thought-provoking. I attempted to close the panel on a cheery note by pointing out that other major writers have returned from critical oblivion. As late as the mid- 40s William Faulkner was vaguely remembered as a guy who might at one time or another have written a book about a corncob. After our panels, Bernadette and I joined Tasha Kelly, Rebecca Ore, and someone whose name I've forgotten for dinner at a nearby Denny's. It may be recalled that a few years ago the Denny's chain was sued for subjecting African American customers to long waits, poor service, and other indignities. It would appear that they have decided to improve the relative treatment of Blacks in the manner suggested by the old sick joke, "Lord, make this hand like the other one." I find it hard to imagine how they could be giving Blacks any worse service than we got, short of actual verbal or physical abuse. Terri & Bill Wells were kind enough to let us stay at their New Jersey home, and Bernadette and I found our way there without too much difficulty. Early the next morning the two of us appeared on a panel entitled "Is Reality Obsolete?" with John Baltadonis, Hal Clement, and John Norman. This went quite well, pretty much without rancor. Norman used the knowledge from his day job, as professor of philosophy, to set forth the issues at some length, but quite clearly. Clement thoughtfully presented the scientific materialist point of view. We got into the whole social constructionist approach: the idea that much of what we think of as objective knowledge is socially and politically conditioned. This can be taken too far; I have heard lengthy discourses on the social prestige given to science and scientists which give all sorts of reasons for this without ever mentioning that science actually works. Some people at least sound as if they believe that the law of gravity is something enforced by white male scientists. Bernadette pointed out on the panel, however, that that the best advocates of this approach are just most interested in talking about those kinds that are socially constructed. Likewise, good scientists, like Hal Clement, believe that they have an approach which gives the best available information in certain areas, rather than Absolute Truth About Everything, and confine it to those areas, although you wouldn't know it to hear some scientists (and their followers) talk. After the panel, I finally, after all these years, met Jim Frenkel, whose excellent taste has enlivened the sf field for many years. Unfortunately, he had a panel to go to and we did not succeed in making plans to meet again. Bernadette and I had an excellent lunch at the Den, a facility provided by the concom for program participants. Apparently, Cynthia Moreno and her crew have been doing this for years, but we just found out about it. They're doing a wonderful job. After lunch was the panel on "Alternate Sexuality in SF." Bernadette was on it in her twin roles as Pornographer and Bigamist, joined by Gary Bowen, author of the explicitly gay Diary of a Vampire; Cecilia Tan, whose Circlet Press publishes anthologies of erotic sf, one of which included Bernadette's story "None of the Above"; and Locus book reviewer Shira Daemon, chosen as Token (relatively) Normal Person. It went very well, though Bernadette pointed out that it should have been called "Alternative Sexualities," the actual title sounding like some sort of Book Club offering. Also, she could discuss, but not demonstrate, her deviant lifestyle, as Kevin hadn't gotten there yet. We were a bit concerned, but he showed up in the evening, having been delayed by minor annoyances at home. In the later afternoon, Bernadette got on a nonmetaphorical treadmill (blood sugar problems have inspired her to exercise more), and I went to hear Frederik Pohl's Guest of Honor speech, including reminiscences of the first Philcon 60 years ago. We went to our traditional Philcon dinner at the Chinese restaurant up the hill, with service and food that we probably would have thought highly of even if we didn't have Denny's for contrast. We returned to the hotel for the evening festivities, not including the masquerade. (I am drawn more and more to the perverse position of opposing formal masquerades, but favoring people dressing funny in the halls.) We considered braving the elevators to find parties, but decided instead to apply Juan Valdez's Theory of Searches, staying in one spot and allowing the rest of the world to find us. We did not stay long enough to meet everyone, but we found enough people to have a pleasant evening. The following morning Bernadette appeared on a panel with the lengthy title of "I Tripped Over My Favorite Writer's Backpack in the Consuite, and Now He's Not My Favorite Writer Anymore." This dealt with fan/pro relations. The high point was Diane Weinstein's tale of being instantly cured of excessive reverence for pros by encountering Isaac Asimov in full Sensuous Dirty Old Man mode. Fiction writers Rebecca Ore and Craig Shaw Gardner also had tales to tell, though none quite so dramatic. Another excellent lunch in the Den was followed by a panel on "Eternal Verities" (stories that last), with Bernadette, Ken Houghton, Elizabeth Anne Hull, and Immoderator Joe Mayhew, not one of those permissive sorts who let panelists go on and on about what they want to talk about. Then we had to head home. (I realize that my con reports resemble the old Encyclopedia Britannica in three volumes, the first of which was A. At least I don't write at greatest length about the trip to the con.) John McClimans It was about 15 years ago. I'd asked some friends in New York City if I could use their apartment to paste up a zine, and they told me that the door would be unlocked. When I arrived there, however, I couldn’t budge it, and I was pulling on the knob and probably making a lot of noise. Suddenly the door opened, and I was facing an immense naked man. We regarded each other cautiously, and then the noise-making nut and the naked nut realized that they were friends. (Our mutual friends had merely neglected to mention to either of us that the other would be there.) That was my first face-to-face meeting with John McClimans, but we’d known each other via zines and letters for a while. (Virtual friendships with people one has never been in the same room with are not something that was invented with the Internet.) He had written a number of extremely interesting and intelligent things, as well a statement that humanity is a cancer upon the Holy Body of Our Mother the Earth. I believe that the zine I was printing included his letter to that effect, along with my reply that people who think that way should begin the surgery with themselves. The letter was my introduction to a trait of John’s that sometimes bothered people: He was literally large, and he contained multitudes. He was polytheistic and at least bisexual, and he embraced, or at least entertained, contradictory concepts. He was willing to do his thinking on the page. If an outrageous and offensive thought seemed reasonable to him, he would express it, then later modify it, perhaps making a contradictory statement that would offend an entirely different group; he was always open to contrary opinion, unless the other person was really nasty about it. I hung out with him in New York for a while, but our wanderings took us to opposite coasts. Occasionally, I would have the pleasure of visiting him and his nontraditional family in Oakland, but mainly we communicated on the printed page, through amateur press associations. A few months ago, John’s diabetes required the amputation of both his feet, a situation he faced with courage and humor. (He said, "I am no longer a complete idiot.") As he was getting used to that, he suffered a major stroke. His friends rallied around him, and an e-mail list was set up to spread reports on his health. After some moderately cheery ones, we were told that he appeared to have about two weeks left. I wanted to write or call him to tell that I love him, but before I could get organized enough to, he died. They say he died peacefully, surrounded by friends. He is greatly missed. -- Arthur D. Hlavaty hlavaty@panix.com Church of the SuperGenius In Wile E. We Trust \\\ E-zine available on request. ///