So. Osama Bin Laden Is Dead.

And the world is a tiny bit better for it. Cool.

I'm not going to apply 'perspective' to this, because frankly, it's too horrible. I'll just say: congratulations, USA, you got your man. Well done.

Now, in the aftermath, can I make a few requests?

The first is to the USA. For fuck's sake, America -- please take the opportunity to make this mean something. You can start by having a look at the country you were before the WTC came down, and maybe trying to figure out how you can get some of that old mojo back. You could, for example, try putting 'Freedom of Speech' back as an everyday baseline of normality, and getting rid of those incredibly bloody depressing 'free speech zones' that Bush came up with.

You could maybe acknowledge that to date, all the groping and x-raying and all the hostile bullshit at airports has achieved precisely nothing -- that of the three attempted hijacks/inflight kablooies that have been attempted since 2001 (that I know of, anyhow) all were thwarted by vigiliant passengers and aircrew. So - maybe you could look at trying to treat air passengers as human beings again, and perhaps putting away all that fucking hi-tech radiation-scan shit before somebody turns into the freaking Hulk (and Prof Boylan sings about it without due cause)?

You might also take a look at that very badly named "Patriot Act", and see if you can't restore a few things to the people of the USA, including freedom from unlawful search and seizure, and maybe even a little privacy, eh?

And hey - if you don't have to spend quite so much money on chasing Bin Laden and on invading places where he might be hiding, maybe you could give some back to SETI, and to your NPR, and maybe to important bits of your infrastructure that have been growing increasingly worn-out and fucked up. Maybe? Could you?

As for the rest of the world - hey, there are plenty of you that could use this as an opportunity too. Here in Australia, for example. Maybe we could start being less goddam paranoid about poor bastards escaping from hellholes in shitty, leaky boats? I'm not saying we need to offer 'em gold-class citizenships and Prime Ministerial blowies... but is there a problem with treating 'em like human beings while we check their bona fides? Especially the kids, because frankly, I've got a real problem with treating children that way, no matter who their parents are, or what those parents may have done.

In short, folks, a bad man got what was coming to him. Now, maybe, we can start refocusing our considerable energies away from him and what he represented, and back on the things which actually used to make us, and our countries, better than he and his people in the first place.

Fuck knows, we've certainly paid a high enough price.

Superhero Movies

I've just been to see the new Thor movie, in (yet fucking again) 3D. And this after reading a review of the same film from one of my dearest friends, over here: Woland's Cat Reviews Thor.

It's not a good review. And viewed in one light, I can't really blame him. He's right when he observes that it's hard to get worked up when you know the main characters are fundamentally indestructible. And yeah, there's a lot of silly physics wedged into the storyline to explain the silly comicbook mythology of Marvel.

On the other hand -- it's a bloody superhero movie, innit? If you didn't go along expecting capes and CGI, lots of crashy, boomy fight sequences, trashing of scenery and improbable plotlines, what the hell were you doing there in the first place?

I can explain easily why I was there: I have two boys who love comics. And since Genghis had his weekly bass lesson at 1000, and the session for Thor began at 1045, it was easy to make the connection. I packed the Mau-Mau in the car as well, to give Natalie the morning on her own, and I even arranged for a couple of lasses from the ju-jitsu class (who are also comic junkies) to come along. Made for a nice trip all round, really.

And what did I get? Well, I got to see Natalie's new handmade violin. Genghis gets his lessons from a luthier who is himself a bassplayer, and the man in question is slowly, painstakingly, handcrafting a fiddle for Nat. Today it was fully assembled, though not yet varnished -- and honestly, the tone was amazing: rich and full. The instrument produces a huge sound, yet the tones are clean and pure. Once it's all done, it's going to sound fantastic. As it should... not a cheap toy at all. On the other hand, by selling off all the other fiddles that have come to a halt in our house over the last five years, Natalie has almost filled the bill already. And the sound of this new beast is so astonishingly good -- I had no idea the difference would be so great!

I also picked up a bunch of dark chocolate coated macadaemia nuts from the Coco Bean, as an anniversary present. Because yes, today Nat and I have been married for seventeen years. How the hell did that happen? I'm damned if I know.

They're good mac nuts. And I couldn't do a whole lot else: she's on call for obstetrics this weekend. That's how it goes.

The movie? Oh, well. Actually, it was pretty credible. It looked great, of course. And with Ken Branagh directing, what could easily have been a leaden-footed mass of posturing exposition actually moved along reasonably well. Of course it's all basically an origin story, a setup for forthcoming sequels and for the planned 'Avengers' flicks - but it didn't do too badly.

I was particularly impressed by the dialogue from Thor and the Asgardians in general. In the old Marvel comics, the characters speak in hyperdramatic bad Elizabethan, full of "thee" and "thou" and "thy" and hammy images. In the film, the language was -- just formal enough to be impressive, just off-kilter enough to be suggestive of an older form, and still quite clear. Nice work.

Thor's fighting technique was another pleasant surprise. Whoever blocked out the fight sequences understood that the character is meant to be tremendously powerful: he came across as a very direct fighter with a few canny moves, but mainly reliant on speed, strength, endurance, and a fuck-off big hammer in one hand. Anybody else remember the Spiderman stuff from way way back -- Nicholad Hammond, I think? They made that Spiderman a kind of kung fu fighter, which was just bloody stupid. It would have been easy to give Hemworth a different fighting style - one more appropriate to an armored medieval warrior. But someone understood, and allowed the combat to help build the character.

Would I see it again? Nahh. I bloody hate 3D. An hour or two in those goddam Buddy Holly glasses, and my eyes are red, weeping pissholes. The movie's not worth it. But we'll pick it up on DVD, and I'll probably sit through it again with the kids.

Hemworth did well. He had the right combination of cockiness and gravitas. He could possibly go on to be a real player. And the man doing Loki was effective in his role too. Natalie Portman was... wasted, really, as Jane Foster, Thor's Earthside squeeze. But hell, it's a paycheque, and she played her part as effectively as always. Anthony Hopkins was a natural as Odin - fair casting there, and points to Branagh for getting Hopkins into a comicbook flick.

We rounded the day off with a bite of lunch, and a trip to the secondhand bookstore. Then we came home, and the girls went back to their family while I sat down with mine. Played a fine game of Scrabble with Nat and Jake... and now everybody's in bed, so it's to work, to work for me.

I'm Back!

Forgive the lengthy silence, please. I was otherwise occupied. The National SF Convention occurred in Western Australia this year, over the weekend of Easter -- which happened to coincide with ANZAC Day as well.

The NatCon is my Moveable Feast. Go look at the Aurealis Awards, the Ditmar lists - or even just that "year's best" list in the previous post. Most of those people are friends of mine, and more, they are like-minded peers. Not like-minded in the sense that we share the same politics and opinions, atlthough that can be the case, but like-minded in that sense of childish curiosity and energetic creativity which goes with the territory.

Writing's a lonely job. It's all the lonelier because even when you aren't locked away in your study, the people around you hardly ever have any real conception of what you're doing. Writing books and stories isn't the same as having a job, even if you treat it that way. It's different, and mostly, you do it on your own.

The larger conventions - and of course, because of my isolation out here, and Natalie's role as a doctor, and our three kids, I can only really afford the time to pick the larger ones - are the place where I go to stop being a freak. The first night in Perth, I dove headlong into conversations on 'the universe as simulation', on 'top-down versus bottom-up development of artificial intelligence', and 'intergenerational ethics and climate change'. I was more or less out of my depth at several times in each conversation, but I listened and learned and contributed and argued and I was absolutely rapt.

By the second night, I was at a room party, and there I was swapping wrist and armlocks with Alan Baxter (see that 'best of' list again) who teaches Choy li fut in Illawarra, and arguing trivia with a roomful of half-pissed people. And so it went. I think it was Saturday that I spent an hour and a half trading whistle tunes and off-beat music with Laura Goodin (thank you for the Rustavi Chorus, Laura - and the Chinese classical stuff too. I'm still following up on the others!). By Monday, I was reduced to discussing the cuboidal shape of wombat crap, though. One does get tired. And yet even that discussion spawned the possibilities of Dr Theophrastus Coprolite and his partner in research the Lady Prof. Fastidia Porcelaine in their endless battle with the fiendish Thomas Crapper and his hideous steam-powered water-closet automata... No. Don't ask. When it's done you'll know.

The point is, I love these people and when I get to spend time around them, the ideas bounce, ricochet, regenerate, and return tenfold. There is nothing like a roomful of slightly tipsy SF writers. Seriously. I remember telling Ellen Datlow at one point that if I had Robert Bloch's timestopping pocketwatch from "That Hellbound Train", I would happily pull the pin on history... and her only comment was something like "Go ahead! That would be great!"

So it was a long, long weekend, but never long enough.

Started badly, though. Against my own better nature, I booked a Deathstar flight to Melbourne on the Wednesday, leaving at 1330 to get a 1600 flight to Perth. I did this because Qantas won't land in Launceston, and the Virgin insists I have to go through Sydney to reach Melbourne, at a cost of two or three extra hours in the air, and another $500 on the ticket price.

And to no great surprise, I wound up on the Virgin anyway. Because about the time I had to leave for the airport, Deathstar texted me to say my 1330 flight had magically become a 1930 flight, which really wasn't going to get me to my 1600 connection without involving closed timelike curves, which I still don't understand. They offered me a Thursday flight, which would have been okay - but then rescinded it, and said the best they could do would put me on the ground in Perth around midnight, Friday.

Fucking great. And so I took the Virgin alternative.

There's no way I can list everything I did, and all the people whose company I enjoyed. I had a truly marvellous time, though. Chaz kindly invited me out to dinner on Sunday evening, so I missed the awards ceremony (for which I'm quite grateful, really). I also got to meet his absolutely lovely wife, and I was plied with fine wines and twice-cooked pork belly such that when the day comes that Chaz visits Taz, I shall have to work hard to make the occasion properly special.

Seriously? Note to Chaz: food brilliant, wine excellent, company best of all. Now: finish at least one goddam piece of writing!!! Because it's in you, and that's what you have to do.

Peter Ball: the more time I spend in your company, the more time I wish I had to spend in your company. I shall write a manifesto on this topic sometime very soon, I feel.

Angela Slatter and her inseparable companion Mme Hannett: my pleasure, as ever, ladies. Thank you!

Alan Baxter: it's great to meet someone you've encountered online, and discover that they're even more fun. Next time, though, I want striking drills. After the Gentlemen's Entomological Society Meeting, of course. And beware the Cancer Puddings!

Cat Sparks and the Redoubtable Rob Hood: any gathering with either or both of you in it is guaranteed to be more fun than it truly, legally should.

Laura Goodin: tunes, music, White Rabbit beer, epistolary possibilities, and the adjective 'snockered'. Good lord. When did I hear that last? Thank you, Laura!

Simon, Sue and the Andromeda Table: note that most punters prefer the orphan to be kicked, rather than spared. A depressing fact, but it does sell magazines.

Ian Nichols: well, yes, actually it does sell them. But even when it doesn't, it keeps the punters still long enough for you to move in for the kill. Salut!

Russell: I have the Bristol Stool Chart. Your shirt is in development. Beware.

Paul Haines: solidarity. And all my best. Call me when you need the fucking fences put up, you bastard. I can't let you fight wallaby wire and star pickets on your own.

Amanda Pillar: your Paranormal Noir story is well underway. In fact, two of them. I'll send them both, just to irritate you.

Ellen Datlow: Thank you once again, as ever. And don't forget - next time you need a roomful of incredibly dubious snacks, I'm your man!

Kate E and Rob: Viva, Brizvegas! Kate - I'll send you 30,000 words or so in a few months.

Kaaron: Wow! We actually got to chat! Admittedly, it was in a large, crowded pub, and you were under attack from Cajun Zombie Chicken hordes, but nevertheless, it was a chat. And it was face to face! And you're so much less scary than your stories. Not like that Haines bastard...

(Slowing down now...)

Tehani: I hope the car repairs go well. And if I had to choose somebody with whom to be trapped on a Perth highway for three hours, awaiting towing and repairs, I could hardly do better, could I? Thank you!

Helen and Terri: and yes, also there in time of potential disaster. Terri... you really, really need a map, lady. How can you lose a bloody airport? Helen - grilled haloumi! Yay! And... a southward drift? Here's hoping!

Alisa and Chris -- Chris, it was a pleasure to meet you. Another time, when Alisa's NOT the convenor, it would be cool to take a bit of time. In the meantime: well done, sir. And Alisa? Very well done indeed. I had a really good convention.

So many names. So many others! Rob Harland. Paul Kidd. Martin Livings. Liz Gryzb. Tansy! Young Shani. Emma Kate and her Divorce Tattoo. Natalie Latter. Peter Hillier. The irrepressible Ju... if I've missed you, please forgive me. Remind me at the next gathering, and the drinks are on me.

It was a brilliant long weekend, even if Perth didn't open for the whole damned time. I didn't go there for Perth, after all. I went for the ephemeral world that fell into existence at the Hyatt Regency, and fell out of existence again just a few days later. Like falling into the rabbit hole, or venturing into the mounds of the Sidhe, it is a different time and space. I now have so much writing to do I barely know where to start, and so much energy I hardly can bring myself to finish.

Thank you, one and all.

Aussie Year's Best

I'm just gonna post the press release verbatim:

Ticonderoga Publications is walking on sunshine to announce the contents for its inaugural Year's Best Australian Fantasy and Horror anthology.

Editors Liz Grzyb and Talie Helene have produced a list of 33 excellent tales by some of Australia's biggest names as well as some emerging writers.

The anthology collects 150,000 words of the best stories published last year from the Antipodes.

"We're pleased with the number of fabulous stories that were published in 2010 that we had to choose from,” Liz Grzyb said.

"You could hold this anthology up against any international collection - Australians rock for diverse voices, imagination, and compelling writing," Talie Helene added.

The stories are (alphabetically by writer):

RJ Astruc: "Johnny and Babushka"
Peter M Ball: "L'esprit de L'escalier"
Alan Baxter: "The King's Accord"
Jenny Blackford: "Mirror"
Gitte Christensen: "A Sweet Story"
Matthew Chrulew: "Schubert By Candlelight"
Bill Congreve: "Ghia Likes Food"
Rjurik Davidson: "Lovers In Caeli-Amur"
Felicity Dowker: "After the Jump"
Dale Elvy: "Night Shift"
Jason Fischer: "The School Bus"
Dirk Flinthart: "Walker"
Bob Franklin: "Children's Story"
Christopher Green: "Where We Go To Be Made Lighter"
Paul Haines: "High Tide At Hot Water Beach"
Lisa L. Hannett: "Soil From My Fingers"
Stephen Irwin: "Hive"
Gary Kemble: "Feast Or Famine"
Pete Kempshall: "Brave Face"
Tessa Kum: "Acception"
Martin Livings: "Home"
Maxine McArthur: "A Pearling Tale"
Kirstyn McDermott: "She Said"
Andrew McKiernan: "The Memory Of Water"
Ben Peek: "White Crocodile Jazz"
Simon Petrie: "Dark Rendezvous"
Lezli Robyn: "Anne-droid of Green Gables"
Angela Rega: "Slow Cookin' "
Angela Slatter: "The Bone Mother"
Angela Slatter & Lisa L Hannett: "The February Dragon"
Grant Stone: "Wood"
Kaaron Warren: "That Girl"
Janeen Webb: "Manifest Destiny"

In addition to the above incredible tales, the volume will include a review of 2010 and a list of recommended stories.

The editors will shortly begin reading for the second volume of The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror. Details are available from the Ticonderoga Publications website http://ticonderogapublications.com.

The anthology is scheduled for publication in June 2011. The anthology will be available in hardcover, ebook and trade editions and may be pre-ordered at http://indiebooksonline.com.

Lice: The Final Solution

You know what? I'm tired of these little bugs.

We've just gone through the second phase of the hair-washing treatment. You're supposed to do it seven days after the first, to ensure that lice hatching from any surviving eggs get killed off. So here I am, once again reeking of ti-tree and eucalyptus, with a houseful of people who smell likewise.

This is stupid.

I'm going to send the kids back to the school. Sooner or later, one of 'em is going to bump heads with another kid who's carrying travellers. And eventually, it's all going to come home once more.

I'm tired of this shit. I'm tired of smelling like eucalyptus. I'm tired of arguing with Genghis and The Mau-Mau and Jake about putting this crap in their hair. I'm tired of periodically checking for infestations. I'm tired of suffering horripilations every time I find myself scratching my head.

Here's an interesting article for you: Waxing Kills Off Sexual Pest?

It talks about the troubles suffered by the Rotterdam Natural History Museum in its attempts to acquire a display specimen of the once-common Crab Louse, phthiris pubis. Apparently, they're having no end of difficulty laying hands on one of the little beasties -- and their best guess is that recent fashions in pubic waxing and shaving have made life very, very hard for the critters.

(Yeah. I have almost as much sympathy as you. I can hear a louse-sized violin playing right now...)

You get the picture, though. What with everybody going the Brazilian lately, crab lice are trundling down much the same path as the Dodo. And whereas a large, land-bound pigeon is actually an interesting sort of creature whose loss has been a matter of cultural note and some regret, a lack of pubic lice is by and large worthy of the same degree of mourning as, say, a sudden disappearance of bankers worldwide. Just to pick a random example.

So.

We managed to kill off smallpox by vaccinating EVERYBODY. We're getting so close to wiping out polio in the same fashion that it's almost a done deal. I vote the next vile creature we target for extinction should be the common head louse.

It's easy. All it would take would be one, simple, co-ordinated World Shave Day. The UN can organise it. Barbers and hairdressers everywhere can do one completely epic day of business - and then go on holiday for a month. (What the hell. We could even pay them to go on holiday. It would be worth it!)

Meanwhile, the newly bald world would gather up all that hair, and just... bury it. Or burn it. Or whatever.

And that's it. No more head lice, ever. Gone, baby gone.

One single day of world baldness, and I'd never again have to smell like koala vomit.

Milestones: School Camp

Jake is off to his first-ever school camp. He did the music camp thing over summer, so he's got the basic idea, but school camp is another step.

I believe they're going to be hanging around Port Arthur and various other convict-era sites. They've been studying colonial Australian history since the start of the year, so no doubt the programme for the camp will be aimed at tying into this stuff.

That will be a challenge, though. I turned up at the school this morning with Jake's case/pack in tow, and the newly built school hall was pandemonium incarnate. Kids, baggage, parents, and a few desperately harassed-looking teachers, ticking names off clipboards.

They're due to be gone until Thursday afternoon. The weather, naturally, is turning cloudy and rainy - as it should for a school camp. The kids are supposed to be doing the whole sleeping-in-tents thing, and Jake has taken a three-man job along. He's got a couple other lads assigned to the tent with him... which of course, is going to turn sleep into a non-event.

Jake's not much of a camper anyhow. He's going to spend much of the week being peeved about being wet, muddy, cold, crowded, etc. I've made him promise not to complain about the food, though. That would just be unfair. It's hardly the school's fault if they're not set to load him up with Oysters Kilpatrick and san choi bau and nasi goreng, is it? I'm sure the food will be perfectly healthy, and edible. He'll just have to deal with it.

Of course, we had to dodge the prohibition on snacks. It was a moral obligation. The kids are not supposed to carry any junk-food treats with them. I can understand that, but it's red-rag-to-a-bull stuff. Jake and I made a big batch of rich chocolate fudge, and now there are ziploc bags of fudge cunningly concealed throughout his luggage. Doubtless this will help assure his popularity for at least a brief period... until somebody blabs and the fudge in his socks gets discovered. But I reckon it's unlikely they'll find the rest of it!

Meanwhile, I'm prepping for the National SF Con. Doing a workshop on introducing fiction-writing techniques to RPG campaign/game design, with the aid of the inimitable Peter Ball -- another veteran gamer and fantasy writer. I'm also on the 'Great Debate', apparently. We're arguing over whether or not the universe and everything in it is actually a simulation. Those of you who have read Angel Rising will be aware I have a few thoughts on that, so it should be fun. Oh, and I'm also handling a storytelling game/event in the ballroom for one evening. Hopefully, there will be a few professional storytellers involved (as well as myself) and a couple bottles of wine. If it works, the meeting of the Gentlemen's Entomological Society should be a real treat. If it doesn't - eh, we'll drink the wine and improvise.

Right. Gotta go. Things to do today, and pretty soon it's time to go and collect my somewhat diminished school brood...

If These Guys Were Any Cooler, Your 'Net Connection Would Freeze

I don't actually spend my time browsing youtube. But occasionally, people send me stuff. And since my elder son (now known as "Jake") plays cello, and the younger son (now referred to as "Genghis") is a bassman, somebody sent me this:

Wow.

That is very, very cool.