Category: photog’s Corner

Here you will find the stuff that shouldn’t be mixed in the other categories but interest me. caveat emptor.

Me Robot

photog Humor, My Fiction, photog's Corner, Science Fiction / Fantasy , , ,

When I received the call from RoboDriver I had been lamenting the fact that I hadn’t received an offer for a date in seven years.  That’s why I prefer robots.  They’re a cleaner breed.  They never have dandruff.

I arrived at the plant where the incident had occurred.  This was the only manufacturing site for the Higgs bosonic brain.  Of course there was a reason for this.  The instability of this boson was so extreme that the robots were constantly in a state of nervous exhaustion and frequently flew into a rage and killed everyone around them.  As you might imagine this was seriously cutting into profits.

I entered the office of the CEO of RoboDriver and he said, “Thank you for your swift response, ma’am.”  I retorted, “I prefer to be addressed as Dr. Daystrom.  She/her.”  He replied, “Alright Dr. Daystrom-she-her.  We need to troubleshoot exactly why one of our robots went on a killing spree in downtown San Francisco today and come up with an action plan to solve the problem and convince our customers to use RoboDriver for all their driving needs.”

Gritting my teeth over his insulting greeting I said I would begin a thorough forensic investigation that would include interviews with all of the witnesses, review of all of the technical documents for the manufacturing and quality assurance records, a comprehensive search of all similar problems over the last twenty years and an electron microscopy examination of the Higgs bosonic brain of the killer robot.  He asked, “How long will that take?”  I answered, “About forty minutes.”  He was taken aback, “How could you possibly complete such an investigation in forty minutes?”

I replied, “Because there’s no need to do any of that.  Everybody knows that the Higgs bosonic brain has a 100% failure rate within one week of installation and of the 1,343 cases of robot committed homicides, 100% of them were robots possessing a Higgs bosonic brain.”  He said, “Oh.  Well, you have a point there.”  I followed up, “But you know that already.  Why does RoboDriver continue to use the Higgs bosonic brain when the US Robotics positronic brain has a stellar record of safety and longevity?  US Robotics licenses their technology and has a good reputation for working hand in glove with their partners.”

The CEO got up from his desk and shut the door to his office and walked over to my chair, cleared his throat and said in hushed tones, “The fact of the matter is we were the victims of a hostile takeover by a venture capital group that installed a cost-cutting program that identified the fact that licensing Higgs bosonic brains instead of the positronic equivalent would save seventeen cents for each robot equipped.  Now after the fact, this savings seems to pale in comparison to the 1,343 wrongful death suits and the Justice Department’s grand jury indictments but all of that stuff won’t hit the fan until after Christmas so what we need is a band-aid to keep this under control until the December bonuses get handed out.  So, what can you do?”

I looked down at the floor and shuddered and told him I’d see what I could do.  I headed out onto the programming floor and using the clearance card I had been given by the CEO began writing some new code for the RoboDriver robots.  I loaded the code onto a server and began the download to the entire robot fleet.  I headed for the front door just as the first wave of murder-bots stormed the C-suite.  Well, so much for their bonuses.

The Blabbnoy Effect

photog Humor, My Fiction, photog's Corner, Science Fiction / Fantasy ,

The Galactic Corps had relentlessly pursued the evil anti-civilizational organization of Carpone from one end of the Milky Way to the other.  They had methodically identified and rooted out each level of Carpone until they had finally located the heart of the organization.  This galaxy spanning criminal conspiracy was headquartered on a planet called Sflprugm.  Sflprugm was as hard to approach as it was to pronounce.  All the space within a two-parsec radius had been planted with detection devices meant to alert Sflprugmians of any approaching danger.  Only the Corps’ ultra-advanced spy rays had allowed them to study Sflprugm from a safe distance and so size up the enemy.  And they were a worthy opponent.  The defensive screens that protected Sflprugm were beyond impregnable.  No imaginable fleet of battle cruisers could hope to breach the screens.  And the Sflprugmian fleet was as large as and as deadly as the Corps’ own.

To solve the problem of conquering the Sflprugmians the Corps turned to the greatest living scientist of the age Dr. Balbus Blabbnoy.  His work on trans-dimensional ballistics was required reading at the Academy.  He was tasked with calculating the trajectory of an anti-matter planet from the Psi-Gamma dimension and forcing it into our universe with just the correct entrance and momentum needed to collide with Sflprugm.  It was assumed that much of their fleet would be destroyed with their planet.  But the Corps’ fleet would be assembled to mop up the remnants.

Admiral Bowser planned out the exact coordinates for the fleet’s convergence.  It would appear out of hyperspace about five billion miles from Sflprugm; safely beyond the radius of destruction but close enough to pursue the remaining vessels.

Dr Blabbnoy would be on the bridge of Admiral Bowser’s flagship; The Superponderous and when zero hour arrived, he would throw the switch which would trigger a sub-ether wave that would activate a device in Psi-Gamma that would cause a sub-atomic generator to generate a worm hole that would translate the anti-matter planet into our space-time with devastating results for Sflprugm.

Balbus was on the bridge and Admiral Bowser noticed how extremely tired the scientist was.  He was mumbling something under his breath that the Admiral thought sounded like, “Was it X15 or X-15?  Now the Admiral had never gotten past high school algebra but even to his non-mathematical ears this didn’t sound promising.

When the clock ticked down to zero Dr. Blabbnoy screamed, “X15!“ and slammed the button.  For a few seconds nothing seemed to be happening.  The sub-space screens failed to show any irruption in the space near Sflprugm.  But while the navy was watching their screens Dr. Blabbnoy was looking out the front window of the ship and that was where he saw the irruption.  The missing anti-matter planet was about five hundred miles from the flagship and heading toward it and the rest of the fleet with about twenty seconds before impact.  All he could think to say was, “X-15!“

Suffice it to say that this was not the finest hour for the Corps or human civilization or even computational science.  But it was one of those examples from history of exactly the danger in not checking your work.  Or even more importantly having someone else check your work.  But most certainly it taught us to never trust anyone with a name as ridiculous as Balbus Blabbnoy with almost limitless power.  How could it not be a disaster?

The Sheldon Chronicles

photog Book Reviews, Humor, My Fiction, photog's Corner, Reviews, Science Fiction / Fantasy, SF&F Book Reviews , , ,

Larry Sheldon (25,501 – 25,587 N.E.) – Founder of the science of psycho-cosmography, famously quoted as saying, “Look, we needed more space so we invented starships.  What’s the big deal?”  Creator of the Sheldon Plan whereby the new empire was replaced by the new, new empire and the outpost world Zero became the Bulwark for this new order.  He was a secretive and reclusive genius who suffered from acute fear of other people’s body odor.  Some historians now believe his existence may have been apocryphal.

(Encyclopedia Publicius Domainius, 1023 edition)

Here he stood in the center of the galaxy, the administrative capital of the new empire; Titantor!  A world that circled the central black hole of the Milky Way galaxy.  Only an incredibly powerful anti-gravity field prevented Titantor from being ripped to shreds and swallowed by the gravitational force of its evil black star.  A steady stream of planets and debris had to be fed into the anti-gravity generator to keep this horrific imbalance in existence.  But such was the power of this empire and its vanity that the whim of the emperor was enough to maintain this cosmic madness.

And here he stood Bob Goodfellow, a fresh graduate of the Arcturus Community College and Creamery here to put his knowledge of psycho-cosmography to good use assisting Larry Sheldon to save the new empire from the forces of entropy that threatened to tear it apart and bring on a trillion years of barbarism and low credit scores for everyone.  And he was nervous.  Meeting a genius like Larry Sheldon was intimidating.  He could feel sweat forming on his forehead.  He wiped it away with a handkerchief.  And suddenly there was Sheldon walking toward him smiling and looking him over nervously, “Bob, good to finally meet you.  Yeah, I’m not big on shaking hands or standing downwind of people.  So, let’s walk with the wind in our faces and you following me at about a six-foot distance.  Thanks!”

Within these strictures they covered the distance to the Titantor Senate building in about an hour and Goodfellow watched from the gallery as Dr Sheldon was cross-examined by the representatives of the Imperial Science Foundation.

The Pontifex Maximus grilled him, “Dr. Sheldon, you claim that using the energy output of fifty billion stars to turn the Smaller Magellanic Cloud into a jacuzzi for the emperor’s concubines will lead to the heat death of the galaxy.  Do you have any proof of this?”

Larry sat with his handkerchief clutched over his nose recoiling at the examiner’s overpowering cologne, “Well, the fact that the population of the empire has decreased from a million-billion-billion to seventy-eight would seem to be a relatively strong indicator, mathematically speaking.”  The Pontifex made a rude noise and scoffed, “What nonsense!  This mighty capitol; Titantor, on its own, is home to countless billions.  We see them all around us!”

Larry used his emergency inhaler and continued, “Yes, but they’re all robots.  In fact, it’s worse than the numbers indicate.  There are only thirteen women of childbearing age left and half of them are Vestal Virgins.  We’re going to have to really rethink a lot of priorities if this whole shebang is going to last past Wednesday.”

This sparked outrage and shouting among the senators.  The concomitant bad breath overwhelmed Larry and he swooned in the witness chair.       …     To be continued!!!!

A Great Science Fiction Story?

photog Book Reviews, Literature, photog's Corner, Reviews, Science Fiction / Fantasy, SF&F Book Reviews , , ,

Lately I’ve been thinking about this topic.  What makes a great science fiction story?  Can it be a great science fiction story if the story’s not great?  How about if the science isn’t great?  I think you know what I’m saying.  A great story, meaning great fiction, has characters drawn in a way that makes them compelling.  It doesn’t have to be Shakespeare but it can’t be two-dimensional cut-outs that wouldn’t make it through a toothpaste commercial.  And by the same token, what if the science is just stupid?  Sure, you can just say it’s fantasy instead and then the sky’s the limit.  But let’s stick to science fiction.

When I was a kid, I would have said that “great” science fiction needed the science but the fiction was not that important.  If there were enough star cruisers and anti-matter bombs and giant amoebas then all was right with the world.  In fact, the fewer human relations involved in the story, the better.  I was much more interested in the non-human characters acting “realistic” than any dialog between humans.  And the male/female dynamic was completely off the table.  The last thing a Lensman needed before, during or after a battle was a woman getting in the way.

Suffice it to say that time changes things.  I look at some of the “classics” of the golden age and I see a flatness to the story.  Now, this isn’t an all-encompassing criticism.  There are plenty of stories from the day that have nuanced characters and plots that reflect actual human personality types.  So, it’s not black and white.

Now, the modern literary science fiction has been described as having the opposite problem.  It’s all about human feelings and relations.  What isn’t as important is the “science.”  When that’s the case I will just declare that if a story doesn’t have any science at all then it isn’t a great science fiction story because it isn’t science fiction.  Period.

And without a doubt if a story has an exciting plot and memorable characters and also a clever science fiction premise then without a doubt it’s great science fiction.

So that leaves the other extreme.  What if a story is built on incredibly imaginative science fiction plot devices but the characters are cardboard cut-outs of human beings?  Can that be a great science fiction story?  In this category the works of Arthur C Clarke comes to mind and specifically 2001: A Space Odyssey.  Here is an epic tale stretching all the way from the dawn of Man to the first human interstellar voyage.  And yet the most human character in the book is HAL9000; a schizophrenic homicidal computer.  Now, is it an interesting story?  Well, yeah.  There are cave men and monoliths and moon bases and worm holes.  But honestly, do you find yourself rooting for anyone?  There’s just something so inhumanly stolid and wooden about everyone in the story that I feel that each one being murdered by HAL might be his happiest moment.  At least liveliest.

But anyway, I want to pose this as a question.  Can a technically engrossing sf story be considered great if the characters are ciphers?  What do you think?

Short Fiction Collected

photog Literature, photog's Corner, Science Fiction / Fantasy , , , ,

I have an old beat up collection of Ray Bradbury’s short fiction.  It’s called “The Stories of Ray Bradbury.”  It was published in 1980 and contains about a hundred of his stories.  These stories appeared earlier in a number of short story collections that came out over the years that Bradbury was writing.  And he also wrote after this collection came out so there’s nothing original or definitive about this collection but it contains most of the short stories that his reputation was based on.  And because it is such a large selection (almost nine hundred pages in a 9.5 X 6.5 hardcover volume), there are great stories and poor ones.  There is fantasy, horror, something like science fiction and even nondescript fiction.  And because it was written over the course of about forty years it changes.  The emphasis, the stylistic touches, the topics all change.  But the voice is always recognizably Bradbury.  For the most part he is interested in the people.  The science is not the story.  In fact, most of the time it’s just the excuse for poking and prodding the people and watching them react.  It’s a pleasure to walk through this old volume and relive old stories and find out how I’ve changed over the years.  Have my preferences changed?  Yes.  But my likes and dislikes have mostly remained the same.  Possibly I’m a little bit more sensitive to the quality of the prose rather than the surprise in the ending.

It’s interesting to consider that science fiction short stories have been declared a dead field.  No one buys the stories either in book collections or in magazines (paper or electronic).  And that strikes me as a sad situation.  So many of these short stories contain wonderful ideas and characters and images that stir the imagination.  But somehow, they no longer have any value in the present world.  Can that be the permanent state of literature?  I guess it could be.  Capitalism is ruled by the law of supply and demand.  So, there’s no demand for short stories.

Well, that’s too bad.  Maybe the future will include a manner for artists to exhibit their works for people similar to how musicians currently perform concerts.  A live presentation where the audience listens to the story or watches a video presentation of it in a format that can’t be pirated and therefore has value as a single use experience.  All that’s left is the memory of the story.  Of course, that’s what movies were but now they’ve also lost their value.  So maybe not.  But I find a book of short stories to be a treasure trove.  A hundred stories and maybe fifty are very good and ten are wonderful.  That’s a pretty impressive collection.  I think any prolific author would be satisfied with that track record.

One thing that Bradbury liked to do was string together some of his short stories into a larger framework.  He did this with turning his Green Town stories into “Dandelion Wine” and his dark carnival stories into “Something Wicked This Way Comes.”  And what that shows me is these short stories can be the seeds for longer fiction.  But if no one reads them and rates them how will these seeds ever sprout.  Oh well.

Let Jake Barter Work on That for a While

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Now that I’ve assumed the persona of Jake Barter, my whole life has changed.  Jake Barter is no ordinary man.  At the very least he has the training of a double nought secret agent and the social connections of Bruce Wayne.  His resume is a combination of special forces operator and philosopher king.  And because of this I told Camera Girl that she needed to treat me with much greater respect and an almost religious awe.

I don’t think she “gets it” yet.  You know what they say about a prophet in his own country.  Well, that goes double for a pseudonymous author.  I think I may now begin to write the memoirs of Jake Barter in my spare time.  I think he will be a picaresque character who gets involved in serious situations like wars, revolutions and social movements and ends up causing things to go south in horribly predictable ways based on his sloth, greed and phenomenal incompetence.  His only redeeming qualities are monumental overconfidence, enormous likeability and unbelievable luck.  I’m thinking I’ll start him off as a special advisor to Trump on constitutional law and then take it from there.

But seriously, I am thinking about new characters for future stories and I think the next thing I do will have a strong humorous streak in it.  And this is because I do enjoy making fun of things I don’t like and combining that with a writing project should make it a lot of fun for me.  But what I must do is decide if it will be in the same “universe” as “The Sniper.”  So far there isn’t a lot of humor there and maybe it would be better to separate a new project from a place with so much trauma lurking around every turn.  And that’s fine.  Making up multiple fictional worlds allows the author to escape from any traps he’s gotten himself into in the old ones.  You can get tired of a scenario or you just need a break from figuring out how to keep your characters from either getting killed or solving all their problems.  After all, either of those paths ends the story.  So, you have to be constantly threading the needle to maintain the overall “problem” but still carve out a piece of plotline to make the present installment interesting.

I think I might want to do an extraterrestrial story.  I’ve played around with some short story / novella length things in the past but they just petered out.  I think this time I’ll try to storyboard a whole bunch of stuff first so I have a direction and enough plot lines and an overarching direction for the thing before I get really started.  And what is currently completely stymying me is deciding what kind of Earth this will be.  Will it be like the actual current day disaster we are living through or will it be some kind of “day after tomorrow” where we’ve gotten our act together and learned how to live like human beings.  Well, I’ll let Jake Barter work on that for a while.

Well, Spin the Wheel

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If a brutally long and tedious day starts and ends with good news, does that make it a good day? I would have to say yes. This morning started with the book cover for “The Sniper” arriving. And after returning from a long, grueling day trapped in the bowels of a drab New England city, bored almost to desperation, I finally have a deadline for the launch of my book. It will be out sometime between the middle and end of January. Now granted, that can be as much as two months from now but just putting a stake in the ground is what I need to coordinate the whole crazy flying circus of an effort. Covers and EPUB files and pdfs and key words and discount deals and reviews and project pages and pseudonyms and email lists and Amazon ads and heaven knows what else. Yes, a day that starts and ends well is a good day.
I was pleasantly surprised at just how accurately the cover art portrayed the scenario and the mood of the story. And the quality of the drawing exceeded my expectations completely. I’m extremely glad I went in the direction I did instead of a more generic cover. If for no one else than for myself. It makes the book real.


Now I have to confess that I have no idea whether what I’m trying to do makes any sense. Can a book from an unknown author with an extremely niche audience break out and find a generously sized audience? My rational engineering side says the odds against it are long. I’ll say one in a thousand.
But at the same time, a part of me is anxious to take the plunge. And that is exactly what I’m doing. It’s a roulette wheel spin with a big pot of my money plunked down on double zero. What could be more fun than that? Well, I guess winning would be more fun. But that’s well beyond my power to ensure. I’ll have to let fate have her say.
I guess now I know how every author since Homer has felt when his creation is about to be unveiled. And I’ll say it’s a good feeling. As Kipling said:
“When ’Omer smote ’is bloomin’ lyre,
He’d ’eard men sing by land an’ sea;
An’ what he thought ’e might require,
’E went an’ took — the same as me!”
Every teller of tales is part of the long tradition. You make up something in your head and you want to see if the audience resonates to the same vibration you felt. But the worst fate would not be if a lot of people didn’t like it. The worst is if no one ever hears it.
Achilles in the Iliad wanted to die for glory, for immortal fame. Well, I’d prefer to live but I’d forego any profit if I could guarantee that a million people read my story. That would be a form of immortality. Well, spin the wheel.

Thanksgiving 2025

photog Current Events, Life in Dunwich, photog's Corner, Reclaiming the Family , , , ,

Tomorrow is Camera Girl’s D-Day.  The family comes over for a twenty-six-pound turkey and all the trimmings.  I counted up the individual food courses and it came close to thirty.  So, this is ridiculous and I asked her if she wants to start cutting back on all this preparation or get the daughters to help and she shook off the suggestion as heresy.  Apparently, she lives for this.  And I’m glad.  I think we all would miss something if she didn’t put this particular menu together in the traditional way that everyone in the family now looks at as the only way to have dinner on Thanksgiving.  The grandkids have never known a different menu at Thanksgiving and that’s going back over twenty years for some of them.  All in all, that’s an amazing track record.

Of course, one day things will change.  One day the grandkids will start families of their own.  And they won’t be able to come to our house every year.  Or maybe we’ll just get too old to run Thanksgiving.  But for now, we live in that golden era where all the grandkids think this regime is eternal.  And I’ll let that be the party line.

Tomorrow we’ll gather for the feast and sit down at 2pm.  I’ll have the honor (!?!) of carving the turkey and sitting at the head of the table as pater familias but all the power is vested in Camera Girl as boss of the kitchen.  She will be scurrying around making sure that the various dishes are available to people at all sections of the table (or tables, the crowd spills over onto a couple of smaller tables added onto the main table) and truth be told I don’t think she even eats a mouthful of food for the first forty minutes of the campaign.  But once the table is completely stocked and everyone has filled their plates for the first time she will settle into her seat and stay there until dessert is needed.  And this will be an assortment of home-made pies and other desserts.  The only thing I always insist on is the availability of several gallons of good quality vanilla ice cream.  Inevitably there will be several other flavors represented; chocolate chip, strawberry, even heretical flavors like cookies and cream.  But for me the gold standard is vanilla.  It is a pure element, possibly the quintessence of the Thanksgiving dessert.  And my grandchildren agree with me vehemently.  There was an open revolt one year when vanilla ice cream wasn’t clearly visible on the dessert table.  I joined in their cries of protest and Camera Girl was forced to head into the basement to the back of the freezer where the vanilla was hiding.  Since then, there’s been no more nonsense about it.

And after we’ve stuffed ourselves with turkey and fixings and dessert, the grandsons and I will head into the living room to watch our holiday movies.  Typically, we’ll bust out the Laurel and Hardy version of “March of the Wooden Soldiers.”  Afterwards I’ll try to put on one of the versions of “A Christmas Carol.”  I think they feel that the Alistair Sim version is definitive.  But we’ll see.

So, the site may be kind of quiet tomorrow but it’s for a good cause.  Happy Thanksgiving to all you folks out there.  Enjoy the day.

The Crisis of Modernity

photog Current Events, photog's Corner

If you’ve been around for seventy years or so you know that the way we live in these United States has been in constant flux for almost your whole life.  But if you think about it didn’t start there.  In fact, when was the last time that life was wholly stable in form and detail?  Well in some backwater areas of the world it’s probably much as it ever was.  But for Europeans you might have to go all the way back to the mid-1200s.  Back before the age of sea exploration.  So, feudalism basically.

And what was going on back then?  I guess most of our ancestors were serfs living and working on the lands controlled by the aristocracy.  So, was that better or worse than today?  Well, I guess modernity has a bunch of advantages over the 1200s.  Today you mostly get to keep your teeth into at least your middle age.  And you actually get to live probably into your seventies.  And your children mostly won’t die at birth.  And you aren’t illiterate and you can call Pizza Hut on your cell phone and have dinner delivered (assuming you have a job, which isn’t that sure anymore).

But I think the question can still be asked, “Are we living in a better world than pre-renaissance Europe?”  If I were to give an opinion, I’d say yes.  But not because of the material progress that we have to show.  But because I think there is the chance that we might be closer to some kind of breakthrough.

And what I mean by a breakthrough is an analysis about what represents human happiness and how to maximize it.  “Okay,” you’ll say, “but what do you mean by human happiness?”  And that is a fair question.  Because human happiness is hard to define.  I don’t mean that we figure out a way to have the larges tnumber of people hooked up to a dilute fentanyl drip all the time.  What I mean is we should figure out what human beings are meant to be doing with their lives.

If I were to guess I’d say the optimal human activity is learning how to interact with other humans in such a way that everyone feels like their getting something out of the deal.  So, let’s say you’re a pretty good carpenter.  Okay maybe life would be optimal if you could get paid a decent wage to make chairs or tables or porch decks.  And maybe someone else would want to be a Walmart shelf stocker.  Sure, he’s not as bright as the carpenter, but he’s hard-working and cooperative and he’s not really interested in owning all the latest “stuff.”  So, the idea is that somehow all this “AI stuff” really does pan out and we figure a way to systematize the whole human race so that we can keep this whole multi-billion human juggling act in the air without needing a war or a revolution or a great depression.  Now that might be something to brag about.

Of course, this is all a pipe dream but if you think about it, that’s what all of the geniuses have been talking about for the last couple of hundred years.  That’s the French Revolution and the Russian Revolution and Mamdani and all the rest of the people who get all stirred up.  Now, we all know that socialism doesn’t work.  But maybe that’s because it’s run by socialists.  What if HAL9000 ran it?

Okay, never mind.  We know how that ends, “I’m sorry Dave, I can’t let you back in the door.  Have a nice day!”