Friday, February 16, 2007

E.B. Frohvet, Ellicott City, MD, USA


Congratulations on your 1000th fan publication. And likewise on being overlooked again for the Lost Causes.
[Eeb means, the fan Hugos.] I’m beginning to think that not getting a Hugo is more of a distinction than receiving one from the blind fools who vote them. This appears an apt moment to raise again the notion of refusing a nomination. Publically, loudly, with one’s reasons on full display. I know you would like to have have one, but at this point, you’re merely propping up a failed system by participating.

Not surprisingly, I disagree. Aside from the old saw that being nominated is itself an honor, being nominated also carries substantial benefits – a cool rocket pin, great seating at the ceremony and access to two of the best parties at worldcon, the pre-Hugo reception and the post-Hugo nominees’ bash. I’ve put a lot into Challenger and consider such company part of the reward. I love being a nominee and hope I continue to be one ... and eventually that I get a trophy to take home. Perhaps when the Bird of Paradise flies out of my ass.

This doesn’t mean, of course, that I’m blind to the eye-piercing faults with the fan awards, most obviously the fact that inertia is the strongest factor in determining most winners and has overcome deservedness time and time and time again. And yes, I mean the L.A. Con IV winners, all of whom are nifty and talented people and none of whom merited this year’s awards.

So a final yes, there are myriad injustices with the fan Hugos. But quit the game? No way. I live and I’ll die hoping to feel that Bird of Paradise flappin’.

As long as we’re on politics, I decline to be the voice of contradiction for Challenger, for much the same reason I refused to be the voice of reason for Fosfax. Tim Lane once called me a “leftist”; I look forward to seeing what creative insult you can heap on me.

Sorry, but I think you’re an okay guy.

Jeffrey Copeland: Since we’re on a roll, the 84-year-old incumbent Comptroller of Maryland, running for another four year term, lost in the Democratic primary to a candidate who billed himself as “the real Democrat.” It did not help that the incumbent, long noted for putting his mouth in gear with engaging his brain, had in recent years insulted women, immigrants, the Korean-American population, did I mention women?

Chris Barkley: It’s possible, in the days before Political Correctness, that Campbell argued in favor of slavery just for the sake of being contrary. The late Robert Adams once started a panel by declaring that the human race deserved to die off, because we had polluted our gene pool by preserving “non-survival” types. Donald Kingsbury received a Hugo nomination, back in the day when it actually meant something, with a novel in which cannibalism was the chief source of protein.

Perhaps we should re-word Dr. Benford’s aphorism as “You shouldn’t write anything unless you enjoy the process of writing it.” It’s that treacherous word “fun” I have a problem with. Great literature, or even great SF, can be stimulating or compelling without being “fun.” Silverberg’s Dying Inside is not jolly reading.

Peggy Ranson: May I recommend pigeon pie? There must be someplace locally that will sell you a .410 shotgun. I doubt anyone is enforcing the local game laws …

Terry Jeeves: Actually the constant-flush straddle toilet is a very old form, dating back centuries. All it requires is gravity and a water source.

Thanks for sharing.

So, dude, how did you like the U.S. Open [Tennis Championships]? I picked both singles winners, though picking Roger Federer took no great leap of imagination.

I was very pleased that Andy Roddick fought his way to the finals and gave Federer a decent run for the roses. After all, James Scott Connors, King of Earth and Master of All Magnetic Forces, was his coach. Apparently he taught Roddick that you’re only as great as you think you are, a lesson for the ages, and the right to say “shit” is the right to play tennis!

They say Maria Sharapova is “arrogant” and doesn’t have any friends on tour. The great ones don’t need friends, they can buy as many friends as needed. I rather like her, and not just because she’s tall and blonde and pretty. She can whack a tennis ball.

Great athletes, like great artists or great writers or great anything, often seem arrogant, because they are so focused on their craft. Pretenders to greatness often are arrogant, because they think that appearing great is the same as being great. Anyway, I like Sharapova too, because she’s tall – 6’3”, right? – and blonde and pretty, and I love the squeak she makes when she drills that ball across the net.


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