Rob’s blog of posts

One Night of Fire may well have been the most awesome insane public undeground party thing I’ve ever been to. For a look at the goings on, people have already started putting up Flickr sets of the event. (Not my pics, I only took a few scratchy camera phone shots I may post later if they came out at all.)

Really short version, because it’s now 6:40 AM, I’ve just got home and showered, and I have to wake up in a few hours…

• Blundered into Brooklyn, found my way to the Brooklyn Bridge, ran into some HHH folks
• Milled around the center of the Bidge, watched some dude climb a respectable distance up one of the support to lead the crowd in some sort of chant
• Walked up the Brooklyn riverside in an insanely huge unit, with the NYPD looking on nervously
• Took over the F train.. and when I say took over, I mean took over the entire train, standing room only, wherein we all got extremely hot and sweaty and had many singalongs
• A cop rode along in our car for a bit, trying desperately to act like she didn’t think the whole thing was insanely hilarious, although the patented NYPD facade of bored arrogant annoyance did crack once or twice
• Took the F all the way to Coney Island, wherein the party turned into quite a respectable outdoor rave on the boardwalk thanks to a great big massive DJ truck that somehow happened to be there
• After that, some fire spinners and fireaters performed their art on the pavement near the beach, while the NYPD looked on even more nervously
• When the cops broke up the fire spinning the party moved onto the beach, and many people stripped off and went swimming. I didn’t, but I really considered it. It was very hot and sweaty by that time, after the cramped subway and the Summer heat and the dancing, and anyone who knows me can tell you how much of a Summer dude I’m not…
• Sometime on the beach I gave away the pair of drumsticks I had been rocking out on fenceposts and subway ceilings with all night, as some guy had actual drums which I was playing and some girl wanted a turn. It’s cool, this is why I bring the cheap ones into the city.
• After the cops broke that up and told people to put their damn clothes back on, the after party commenced in a nearby beachfront restaurant/bar called Ruby’s. Nice place, it’s a bar with fluorescent lighting. As some drunk dude mentioned, it’s like being in a really fun classroom. At any rate I never drink and really don’t do bars, but they had orange juice (my love for which is legendary and a mater of public record) and corn dogs (which I never crave unless I’m near them and haven’t had one in a longtime, so have forgotten why I don’t eat the things.) I sat by the jukebox, where a trio of women in homemade wings were doing some very interesting dances. One of them gave me her ice cream cone before she left. Harmless public anarchy, fire, outdoor dancing, beautiful winged women, and free ice cream in one night. I love this town!
• Of course by the time I got back to Penn Station it was 3AM, and I had to wait for the 5AM “drunk train” back to Long Island. So, I got about an hours’ kip sitting on the floor in a corner of the station, and passed out again on the train ride amidst woozy club kids beginning their Sunday morning hangover, and obnoxious frat boys still on the tail end of their Saturday night “drunkest twunt in the world” contest.

And now I’m here, about to sleep for a couple more hours so I can go into the City again with Grey and some friends for a last hurrah before she leaves for Vegas and then Canada again. I strongly considered staying in the City and crashing out on a bench or something, but I was covered in a layer of sweat the consistency and odor of condensed cream-of-chicken soup and really needed that shower I just took.

Goodnight now!

This promises to be fun.

Share and enjoy!

A) HOPE pics coming soon from Grey.

2) Via Leo - The best Japanese cartoon ever

d) Anyone into going to Coney Island to see The Warriors with me this coming Wednesday?

%) What’s this I hear about free Space Mutiny swag?

Back on Monday!

If you’re there, track me down and I’ll give you something.

I just blundered upstairs to raid the fridge, and noticed a cageful of unexpected kittens in the bathroom. A grey one and a black one, which Fina informs me are provisionally named Fidel and Stalin respectively. Apparently my family just took them in. It seems that a friend of my mom has a male cat, who went out and knocked up some lady cat, who then disappeared leaving the male to take the kittens home.

A deadbeat mother cat. What a concept.

Hitchhike, one of the two grumpy old cats we’ve had for ages, is none too pleased with the situation. I split a piece of leftover roast lamb with him while we thought matters over. A houseful of four cats again.. I’m pretty sure the most cats we’ve ever comfortably had at once was three, with the fourth getting constantly smacked around by the others or just going nuts until we gave her away. But, we also had a dog in those days. Who knows?

EDIT: The final names for the little creatures are Che (grey kitten) and Stalin (blick kitten.) Phear.

OMG Space Minutes!

Witness my latest mad experiment: random mixes that each last exactly one minute.

You can check them out (in reverse order) riiight about here.

I expect to post at least one or two of these per week.

Leave comments! The new pages are all naked from lack of comments.

Did the 2600 thing today, which was neat. I managed to give away all but one of my first set of Space Mutiny badges, which is neat.

It feels strange that the con is in two weeks. I have a feeling it’s going to be an unusual one. I’m not presenting anything this year, at least officially, but I am pimping PLA in a big way, and will be loaded with CDs and other goodies to give away, so definitely catch up with me if you’ll be there. I also have a few ideas for something to sully the spare track with, should they have one available.

I should be able to get the new series of tunes on SM started up over the weekend, and I’m also looking to release another issue of my long-forgotten zine sometime soon.

As I suspect is the case with most of you, when I’m reading a novel and get drawn into the story, my imagination puts faces and voices to the characters on the printed page.

Where those faces come from is usually arbitrary, with the notable exception of characters with established human faces behind them. In spinoff situations such as my beloved Doctor Who novels or the Star Trek books I used to follow, fans already know how Mr. Spock or Sarah Jane Smith looks and acts.

But with the unhindered characters who spring first from literature, the imagination is given total free reign. One is free to draw completely pure conclusions based on the text’s subtle clues of what Mr. Pickwick, Captain Nemo, Yonderboy, or Lord Vetinari are like.

Well, that’s the concept, anyway. In practice, certain outside influences are prone to invading. First and foremost in our modern society are the actors who have played the characters in adaptations. In some cases, the image of theactor fits surprisingly well with the character on the page; imaginary Jeff Goldblum will always be my personal Ian Malcolm whenever I reread a “Jurassic Park” book. And my mental Basil Rathbone always fills in well as Sherlock Holmes, though I refuse to picture him wearing the deerstalker.

Far more often, though, it becomes distracting. Stephen King once wrote how it’s nearly impossible for any human to read “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” after seeing the 1975 film of the same name, without picturing a madly grinning Jack Nicholson as Randle Patrick McMurphy. This can become aggravating, as the character is often referred to explicitly as a redheaded Irishman. At best, your mind stumbles over the narrative a bit. At worst, you end up trying to compensate with some horrific hybrid mental image of a pale, ginger-haired Nicholson. The film is a good film, but it messes with your ability to simply enjoy the novel free of preconception.

There is another, more insidious imagination-jammer than Hollywood actors, though, and that’s when I suddenly find myself casting people I know in real life into the roles of characters. I generally try to avoid this, but sometimes it just happens, forming a firm picture in my head before I have a chance to think up something better. Many a character in my library has been “played” by my friends, family, old teachers, coworkers, or whatever. I do fondly remember a novel in which the villain that was defeated by Doctor Who looked and acted a lot like my grumpy old boss from a toystore I pulled overnight shifts at one Winter. That guy owned that role.

However, sometimes this gets even more aggravating than I know how to deal with. The particular case I’m dealing with at present, the germ that started me ranting on this whole situation, is a paperback I randomly swiped off the shelf for bus-ride material. It’s “Independence,” one of the old novels based on Quantum Leap. It’s based on a show I loved in its day. It’s got a neat storyline. It involves the history of Long Island, where I live. It takes place during the Revolutionary war, a historical period which I find interesting. I haven’t read it in about ten years, so the plot twists are mostly new to me again. It’s got all the ingredients for an enjoyable read.. apart from one thing.

When I first read this, I was dating a girl who shall remain nameless. She bore a passing resemblance to the book’s description of one of the major charaters in the novel - the female love interest, no less - and before I knew it she was happily sprawled on my mental casting couch with a contract for the part.

Shortly after I finished the book, that relationship ended sourly, and I experienced my first grownup heartbreak. (Not because of the book.)

And now, I’m trying to reread that book. However, despite the fact that I haven’t seen or spoken to this girl in a decade and have no desire to, I can’t remove her face from the character. And it’s seriously interfering with my reading.

Can anyone recommend an imaginary plastic surgeon?

My sister Jo just called me to wish me a happy Fourth of July. From our conversation:

Rob: Today is, of course, the day when we celebrate the anniversary of aliens blowing up the White House.

Jo: Yes, it’s important to remember that day. It was a sad day. Kids today don’t know how it was back then, they don’t know anything about horror.

R: Indeed.

J: Thank God Will Smith was there to save the day.

R: Yes, the Fresh Prince saved us all.

J: You don’t see Bell Biv DeVoe doing that shit, do you?