Yes, it is. No, it isn't.

First two weeks of class gone by, occasional tinges of panic and despair when I contemplate my teetering stack of grading, but I'm still walking amongst the living. I'm such a trooper! Go, me!

And tomorrow's my last day at the Day Job, and the new contract gig doesn't start till next Thursday, so that gives me a few days to grade and plan lessons and that sort of thing before my next class meeting. And then, one hopes, these journal entries will consist of content more interesting than these laments of being busier than a termite in a toothpick factory.

Doodles! If I owe you a doodle, can you give me a little bit more time? I've drawn about half of the ones I pledged to, and I'll be getting back to them soon.

Email! Do I owe you email? Nudge me if I do?

Haircut! Need one. Will resist taking on the job myself.

Mantis! I like the mantis form I'm learning. It's kinda baby mantis, but still neat and fun and very difficult for the likes of me. It's the jumping and kicking. I'm not so good with the jumping and kicking at the same time.

I could always dress like a slob at my Day Job, but I feel compelled to tuck my shirt in at the teaching gig, for some reason. And I notice that my gut doesn't hang over my belt the way it used to. So, it does seem as though all those funny and awkward attempts to jump and kick have had some benefit.

I think if I were a handy hobby and crafts guy, I'd devote my life to making hoax Sasquatch fossils. Kind of a dirty trick, but what a hoot that would be!

Today I showed one of my classes the Monty Python argument clinic sketch. I made up some stuff to make it sound like I was discussing the art of argumentation in an essay, but I admitted that I really showed it to them because I believe you shouldn't be able to get through college without having seen it.

It's my class. I'm in charge.

He did what?

Not having gone to the Hugos, I missed watching Connie Willis, one of the most accomplished writers in our field, being subjected to an on stage grope by Harlan Ellison. (To read other reactions, a good place to start is here.)

Not that it would have made it any less shameful and disgusting if Connie Willis were an unknown newbie, or not a writer at all. It's simply not behavior to be condoned. Not something that anyone should have to put up with, no matter who they are and what their level of accomplishment.

I think it does make a difference, however, that Harlan is a big name in our field, that he's been lauded by our industry in almost every way possible. It says, "Look, world, at one of our finest representatives. We heap our awards upon him. We select him for our highest honors, for we count him among our Grand Masters. This guy. Who gropes Connie Willis at the Hugos."


Congratulations, us.

***

(And sincere congratulations to the winners and nominees. Harlan's actions shouldn't detract from their accomplishments, even though that's what we're talking about.)

Blur Con

Holy crap, that went fast. Of course, I was only at World Con from Friday afternoon to Sunday afternoon, so I guess that's not too surprising.

Blur though it was, I had a really very nice time. I saw many, many people, and didn't get to spend enough time with any of them. And with the con in my home town this year, I ended up spending a lot of time with Los Angeles friends that I would normally spend with the people I more typically hang out with at cons, and though I regret not seeing more of the people I didn't see enough of, I can't regret at all spending time with the LA friends ... and, wow, what a convoluted sentence. It was kind of a convoluted con.

But I had a really very nice time in the Hilton bar and in restaurants and hallways and room parties. By happenstance, I ended up in the same bar cluster as George Mann from Solaris Books, who surprised me with an uncorrected advance proof of The Solaris Book of New Science Fiction, which includes "C-Rock City," my collaboration with Jay Lake. Looks like a really cool anthology, one that I will be happy to pimp when it comes out. And I also got to lay hands on my chapbook, which is even prettier than I expected, thanks to the skill and care of Tim and Heather. Always does my heart a little good to touch publications I'm in, and my heart was grateful.

So, in some ways it was a typical World Con, full of the kindness and generosity of spirit and acceptance and warmth that I've come to expect from World Con but try not to take for granted, with only a few experiences I can think of as bummers. Wish it weren't all the way in Yokohama next year.

Oh, and I even went to a couple of panels. Nothing typical about that.

There, now, don't you feel safer?

A note from my doctor to TSA screeners, to be carried on my person when I fly:

Our patient, Greg van Eekhout, has insulin-dependent diabetes. He will need to have blood testing equipment for his sugars as well as insulin and syringes on him. We do not consider him to be a security risk for flight travel.

I couldn't get my doctor to note also that I am violently allergic to magnetometers and x-rays. And long lines. And lack of leg room.

Nice rock. Or tree. Or raccoon. Whatever.

Things have gotten a wee bit frenetic. Classes started Monday, which means three back-to-back classes Mondays and Wednesdays, plus I'm still working at the Day Job until the end of next week, using vacation leave so that I can actually be physically present for the classes I'm teaching on a decomissioned air force base way out in the far-flung desert boonies. Fortunately, there's a Starbucks across the street from the campus. And soon it'll be pumpkin spice latte season! (The nice barristas at my neighborhood Starbucks broke into the pumpkin spice stash and gave me an early one, but I'm not supposed to tell. Ssshh!).

And things are looking pretty solid for the contract curriculum development gig, which should start in about three weeks.

Also, heading out for WorldCon Friday. And then recreational travel the weekend after that. And then, unless the gig falls through for some unforeseen reason, I'll be traveling out-of-state again a few days after returning from the recreational trip to get ramped up on the contract job.

Plus, trying to take care of general life stuff and maintain health and attend to the Kung Fu (and SarahP has a really great journal entry about Kung Fu and piano and writing and many other things, very much worth your time if you haven't read it yet), and trying to find time to drink beer with people, and drawing doodles for people who pre-ordered my chapbook (several done, more to go, and if I owe you one, give me a couple of weeks and I promise you'll have it) and, and, and ... (pant, pant, pant).

And then there's writing. I'm not. And, for once, I'm not going to beat myself up over it. When I drop the Day Job, I'll return to it. This I pledge. Until then, my only pledge is to stay afloat, to have fun, and to remember that sometimes the journey happens at a breakneck pace, but the scenery can still be nice. Even when it's going by in a blur.

Teaching and change

So, just this past Wednesday I got hired to teach three sections of English Comp at one of the local community colleges. Since then, between Kung Fu tests and being assailed by teams of paramedics, I've been, shall we say, rather energetically getting my shit together. SarahP was a huge, great help in this regard, having sent me a shload of stuff from when she taught comp at University of Arizona. I've taught one of the classes I'm teaching before, so that helps, too.

Also, I gave my two weeks at my current Day Job. My funding ran out in May, but nobody said I had to pack up and leave, so I've kept going in, and it looks like I could just keep doing that indefinitely, but I really hadn't planned on anything beyond May, and between teaching and the possibility of a long-term curriculum development contract gig with a university in California (which could still fall through), I thought maybe it would be a good time to move on. Huge pay cut, of course, but I think this will turn out to be a good thing.

But right now? Right now I'm being ... energetic.

Green belt

In good news, I did pass my Kung Fu test!

Bird form felt good, Tiger felt good, Reversibly Facing Four Opponents felt good, screwed up one nunchaku swing, some of my one-steps were a bit shaky until I remembered what I was supposed to do, sparring was weird (sparred a married couple), chin nas felt good ... Felt better overall than my last test. Woo!

Dude, this dream sucks

I had this nightmare? That these half dozen or so muscular alien/asylum orderlies were torturing me with noise and needles? And Lisa was there, trying to assure me that everything was going to be okay and the half dozen or so alien/asylum orderlies were there to help me? Only I didn't believe her and I resisted, desperately hoping to wake up from the nightmare? Only it wasn't actually a nightmare, and the alien/asylum orderlies were actually paramedics? Cuz I worked out at the Kung Fu school for five hours last night and misjudged my insulin dosage and had an extreme insulin reaction? And I think I now understand what a paranoid hallucinatory state feels like, which is to say, weird? Especially when you realize you're not dreaming or hallucinating?

Yes, I've had an interesting morning.

Waiting Up For Father at Pseudopod

My story "Waiting Up For Father" gets a dark and moody reading by Jonathan Chaffin over on Pseudopod. Check it out!

Nine things

1. Things are a bit manic right now, hopefully to settle down soon-ish.

2. Have been enjoying much reading of books lately: Patron Saint of Plagues by Barth Anderson, Assembling California by the mighty John McPhee in the compilation Annals of the Former World (and, boy, am I looking forward to reading Uncommon Carriers, his new book about freight!!!), and Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowel. All these books have given me happy.

3. Pseudopod, the new horror/dark fantasy podcast (and sister to Escape Pod) has made its debut. Hurray!

4. There was ridiculous snacking on Saturday. Breakfast at the City Bakery (granola, yogurt, fresh berries), associated with a visit to Poisoned Pen Central, a very fine mystery bookstore that only makes me wish we had a very fine science fiction bookstore, and dinner at Delux, where one goes for outstanding fancy burgers and over 40 beers on tap (I enjoyed the Rogue Hazelnut), and then ice cream at an old-fashion-y ice cream parlor deep in the white suburbs. Yum. Burp. Burst.

5. I have a Kung Fu test this week, probably. Not ready. Never am. Nonetheless.

6. There's other stuff that I'm nervous about that'll probably turn out fine and be good but it's the sort of thing that makes me nervous and hopefully it'll all be settled soon and work out well and then I can talk about it.

7. Many doodles to draw for people who pre-ordered my chapbook. I expected this to be fun, and I was right. Still time to pre-order and get a doodle!

8. Tim and Heather called to say they picked up the chapbook from the printer and that it looks awesome. Of course it does. They're the Best Chapbook Publishers Ever!

9. Picking at the novel. Picking. Picking.

Doodle deal

To increase my fun, I'm making a little offer for people who pre-order my chapbook, Show and Tell and Other Stories, from Tropism Press:

1. Pre-order the chapbook.
2. Email me to let me know.
3. Include a postal address.
4. I will send you a doodle.
5. I do not guarantee that it'll be any good, that it'll be suitable for framing, that it'll be worth money someday, that you'll want to keep it.
6. I guarantee that the doodle will be a doodle.

Jason Lundberg requested a robot, so this is what I'll be sending him:

Leaking hose

I forgot what my book is about. So, I figured I'd better read what I've written so far, cuz then I would know what my book is about.

I imagined it was probably about robots or something, and I thought I was in for an entertaining hour or two of reading, since I like robots, and if the writing wasn't totally, utter crap, then I might enjoy reading about the robots.

But it's not about robots. Not at all. There's not a single robot in the whole thing. I'm not sure what it's about. There's all these Norse gods and the end of the world and shit. It's a total mess.

Guess I can write about robots in my next book.

Guess I better finish this one, because I can't have a next book if I don't have a this book.

Don't I just sound totally pumped up to finish this book?

Oh, yeah, I am just so pumped.

Yeah.

Fug.

Pink belt

In class today I had to wear the special belt reserved for people who forget their belts at home. It's pink with two embroidered flowers, with "I forgot my belt" written on it in black marker.

I have never been prouder to wear a belt. Seriously. I'm considering "forgetting" my belt all the time now, just so I can wear the pink belt. The only problem is, there's another guy who wants to wear the pink belt, too, so we're in competition for it. But the other guy volunteered to dye one of his old white belts pink, so it may work out afterall.

I make that belt look good.

Breaking the laws of physics. With juice.

100% juice. With added ingredients.

The good kind of bladder problem

I think I've got a hole in my pocket. Either that, or I'm pissing dimes.

It's been a busy day

A fish. And a crab. And Cerebus:

Manifestos must wait for tomorrow

Today's doodle:

Run, runner!

Ah, Logan's Run. Almost more action, 70's mall shots, skiffy goodness, and partial nudity than a single-digit-aged Greg could handle. It was through Logan's Run and Planet of the Apes sequels that my love of sweet, vivid 70's sci-fi was permanently imprinted on my smooth brain. My friend Alan's dad worked in the prop department of MGM, and Alan had a real Logan's Run blaster. So jealous, I was. Still am.

Original Logan's Run trailer