Category Archives: editorial

So how many people know about the Stargate program, anyway?

I’m an unabashed fan of the Stargate franchise. If you’ve never seen it, this discussion won’t make any sense to you, so turn back now. If you have, though, I’ll relate the highlights of a discussion my family had about the SGC over dinner tonight:

Me “How many people know about the Stargate program?”
Son “I dunno.”
Me “Well, let’s try to work backwards.”
Son “Ok. There’s 25 teams, so that’s 100 people there.”
Me “Right, plus medical staff. Honey? How many people on the medical staff would you think is appropriate given what we’ve seen?”
Wife “Maybe around 150, including doctors and nurses and corpsmen and so on. They’re kept pretty busy. Plus psych personnel.”
Me “Plus kitchen staff”
Wife “Forty or fifty”
Son: Plus Janitorial staff
Me: “Right. Because even they’d have to have a really high security clearance, and it’s a bit facility in use 24/7/365, so, what, probably another 40 or 50?”
Wife: “What about scientists?”
Me: “Most of the long-term research is done at Area 51.”
Wife: “How many there?”
Me: “Well get back to that. We mostly only ever see Dr. Lee and Sam, but they make it clear there’s others around. Let’s say 20 or 30?”
Son: “Plus at least one space shuttle crew. And the crew of the ISS. And whoever unloads the recovered cargo from a space shuttle.”
Me: “Good point.”
Son: “And let’s not forget the USS Nimitz and that entire carrier group. I mean, yeah, they’re all dead, and the Navy said it was meteors, but a lot of Navy people must have been in on the cover up.”
Me: “Again, good point. Now, area 51: Honey, how long does it take to build an aircraft carrier?”
Wife: “Pretty close to a decade, I think.”
Me: “With tens of thousands of construction workers?”
Wife: “Oh, yeah, totally.”
Son: “I agree the Prometheus and Daedalus class ships were probably about the size of aircraft carriers.”
Me: “They were working on the Prometheus for a while before we saw it, but they can’t have been working on the Daedalus all that long. How many F-304s are there?”
Son: “Daedalus, Odyssey, Apollo, Hammond, Sun Tsu, oh, and the Korolev, which got blown up almost immediately. How many crew for an aircraft carrier?”
Me: “About 5000.”
Son: “They never have anywhere near that number. It’s usually in the hundreds. What’s a skeleton crew for a carrier?”
Me: “If you just want to steer and go forward for a couple days? Maybe a half dozen. If you want to actually DO anything, a couple hundred at least.”
Son: “So they’re probably on skeleton crews.”
Me: “that makes sense.”
Wife: “So we’re guessing about 10,000 people in Cheyenne Mountain, and, what, 30,000 or so in Area 51?”
Son: “At least. Probably more since they’re cranking those ships out one a year.”
Me: “They might be constructing them in other countries.”
Son: “Unlikely. Russia had to beg for one. Probably China, too.”
Me: “Good point. This is increasingly implausible. I could buy it when it was just Cheyenne.”
Son: “Plus the governments of Russia, China, France, England, and Canada.”
Wife: “And all the signatories of the Antarctica treaty. AND what about the contractors and stuff who build all this crap?”
Me: “True. They did say some alien tech was slipping into commercial products by means of corporate espionage by the contractors.”
Son: “Heck, that one guy managed to clone an Asgard.”
Wife: “What about Atlantis? Or Icarus?”
Me: “Let’s ignore them for now. They’re comparatively small operations.”
Wife: “yeah, true. So what do you think?”
Me: “Well, when we started I was going to say maybe 30,000 people, but now that we’re all looking at it reasonably, I’m saying at least 100,000 people, and that’s probably a lowball number.”

So what do you all think?


Something that’s been bothering me about Christianity

Something that concerns me about contemporary Christianity in America:
I perceive an increasingly anti-intellectual trend. I’m not saying this to rag on the church. I’m a Christian myself (Albeit a potty-mouthed one who writes just weird, weird, weird stories that occasionally cross the line into theologically suspect areas).
The thing is that more and more of late I find us opposing things like Psychiatry, and Medicine and Science and Nuclear Power and Space Exploration and Genetically Modified Foods and realistic studies of History and so on. In essence, more and more we’re taking the hippie-shit view of things (I *SAID* I was potty-mouthed. What did you expect?). We’re more and more on the wrong side of stuff. We take the Promethean view that if we go too far with Science then God will get all vengeful on us, or we take the paranoid view that Psychiatry and Book Learnin’ are just the devil’s way of poisoning your mind.
Some years ago, the preacher in the church I’m nominally a member of gave a sermon in which he advised – insisted, really – that people on psych meds trust God and throw thaat stuff away. Now, having spent a lot of time around mentally ill people – it runs in my family, and I’m manic depressive myself – I recognize that as an incredibly wrongheaded thing to do. Much like saying “Play Russian Roulette and trust God will protect you!”
Well, no, that’s just dumb. Yeah, God healed people in the past, but He appears to have subcontracted that job out to us. We’re pretty good with these things called ‘Doctors’, and honestly it’s pretty egocentric to demand the God of the entire universe cure your flu when you could just as easily cross the street and get a vaccination at Wallgreens.
I am nominally a member there. I go rarely, usually for functions other than services. I haven’t been able to find a church I like better, and if I’m honest, I do kind of enjoy worshiping at St. Mattress of the Pillow on Sunday mornings. So, yeah, I’m lazy. I can’t blame it all on doctrine.
Still, our obsession with these things sometimes borders on the paranoid.
The Accelerated Christian Education school that my son went to for a while taught him that the sun is not nuclear. Why? Well, evidently the people who wrote that lesson couldn’t figure out why God’d need stars that last billions of years when the earth is only gonna be around for 7 or 8,000, so it must be something that’ll burn out. They cited fake evidence of it getting dimmer and smaller in recorded history. I dunno what it’s supposed to be powered by. Coal, perhaps.
Oh, and check this one out: The same curriculum said that God created the earth with a thin globe of ice completely encircling it, supported entirely by air! The ice broke, which fell to earth and caused the flood. Now firstly, that kind of structure violates the basic laws of physics, and would break up in less than a day, not however many thousand years there were from creation to the flood. Secondly, it violates the Bible itself, which says (Paraphrased) that God intended us to see the stars, which you couldn’t do through a mile of ice, no matter how clear. As to the compressed air that allegedly held this thing aloft, well, again that wouldn’t work (Physics!) but they claim that this higher oxygen pressure and protection from radiation from the non-nuclear sun is what caused people like Methuselah to live to be (nearly) 1000, and our puny short lives are because we don’t have it anymore.
Did you know that Jesus was supposed to come again in 1988? I did. I got taught that a lot in 1981. It has to do with a completely illiterate misrepresentation of a passage. And they did the math wrong, too. By a Jewish calendar it shoulda been 1987. Dopes. Oh, and NATO is the Antichrist. Or maybe it’s this Pope, I mean that next one, I mean the one after him. Nope, nope, it’s this one for sure. No foolin’! This endless – and illiterate – aggressive appetite for destruction gets tedious. I have a theory about it, but I’ve already rambled too long, so we’ll save it for another day.
The obsession with evolution: whichever side you take on it, IT IS NOT A SALVATION ISSUE. At no point does the Bible say “Believe, Be Baptized, and Renounce the Works of Charles Darwin.” We’ve wasted a century and a half on something that is not going to affect whether you get into heaven or not. It’s just silly. I imagine some of us are going to have a lot of explaining to do when we get to heaven.
St. Peter: “So you did missions work?”
Dr. Duane T. Gish: “Oh, yeah, tons of it.”
Pete: “Awesome. So, what? Smuggling Bibles into the USSR? Preaching to people in Africa? Building homes for the homeless in poor countries as a reflection of the love of Christ?”
Gish: “Better!”
Pete [excited]: “Awesome! Tell me about it!”
Gish: “I spent 70 years teaching people that they are not, in fact, a monkey’s uncle.”
Pete [Blinking in disbelief. Sighs heavily. Picks up phone] “Gabe? Yeah, it’s Pete. I got another one here that is in need of mandatory psychiatric evaluation. Can you please send over some orderlies? Thanks.”
Again: I’m not ragging on Christianity. I’m a Christian myself. I make no claim as to how this works in the rest of the world. Maybe Lutherans and the Revolutionary People’s Catholic Church in China have this stuff knocked and locked, I dunno. Good for them if they do. I don’t even claim to know how it works in the BIG denominations in the US: Methodists, Lutherans, Anglicans, whatever. All I know is that in us puny denominations and independent churches, which I grew up in, and which I’m most comfortable with, we seem to have made a wrong turn, and are aggressively resisting backtracking.

My Diary: Day 18,198: In which I realize I’m Overwhelming

I realized yesterday that I’m overwhelming. Not in the “Oh, he’s so wonderful,” sense, but more in the “Randy is exhausting, and I just can’t deal with him,” sense.

There’s any number of examples: I’ve been in and out of bands and writing songs and making music since 1988. Why? When I started out, obviously, I hoped I’d get a big break and be a rock star. Everyone does. By 1990 or 91 I’d realized that wasn’t going to happen, but I kept on doing it. Most of my friends had already given up on that sort of thing by then, but I kept going.

My goal? Never clear. Mostly, I think I just wanted to include a song or two on the mix tapes I sent my friends to let ’em know I was still doing this. I never did, of course, because making music and recording it are very different, and recording it in 1991 was way harder than now.

Oh, and let’s take the mix tapes, shall we? I made ’em. I made a lot of them. I was very interested in very many very different kinds of music, so I made mix tapes that I sent my friends. Two or three a year. If you were unlucky enough to be my girlfriend or on the shortlist of best friends, you got more than that. We called it “The Randy Records and Tapes Club.” Eventually I switched to CD.  I slowed down a bit, to one or two a year.

I got less and less response every time, and had to keep needling people to find out what they though of “Astronauts,” by “Desk,” featuring backing vocals by Aimee Mann, or a long-lost They Might Be Giants B-Side, or a Cold Water Army song or an unfinished Roy Orbison track or my Ska obsession or what have you. Oh, and Screamin’ Jay Hawkins! I don’t think anyone on the planet likes him but me, and BOY was I vocal about it.

Finally, around 2007 I sent out a really good double-disk mix, and I didn’t hear back from anyone. Not a peep. When I pressed, I was angrily told that it was just too much, that we were all 30-ish now, and weren’t interested in hearing new crap, and please knock it off. Depressing.

So I knocked it off. I started actually recording my own music, and eventually started putting it on youtube and nobody cares. If I get 13 views, that’s exceptionally popular for me. Again, if I push people, they get mad. “Nobody wants to listen to your stupid songs about Ocelots, or your weird-ass instrumentals, Randy!” Depressing.

Oh, and I write. A lot. I always have. I was head writer for Republibot for five years, and no one cared. When I quit, it folded, and nobody cared. I have this site you’re reading, and I’d be surprised if 5 people read it a month. I also had a fanzine (“Rampant Boingophrenia”) and eventually another one for heretical religious matters called “Sacrilege, Ho!” (Obviously I put a few of these online eventually) and my endless movie reviews and chat rooms and stuff. Nobody cared about any of this. Actually, I was irritating and/or scaring them. Depressing.

Then I started writing books, and NOBODY wants to have anything to do with you if you’re self-publishing books. Seriously: your friends who’ve talked about that novel for 25 years, but never actually got around to it hate you. People who actually write ignore you because they’re busy writing. People who don’t care about such things find it pretentious. People who do care about such things generally have more interesting stuff to check out than my nonsense.

Yeah, you might get a couple people who will buy the first book out of politeness, and never read it, or skim it and give you a nice “It had a good beat, and you can dance to it” review on Amazon, but after that, you’re done. I’ve got, what, eight books, seven of which are pretty good, and one of which is terrible. (No, seriously: It’s my crappy poetry. Stay away from that one) I’ve got four more in various stages of completion that I hope to have out this year.

That’s a lot of stuff! Nobody cares. Depressing.

Added to which I am reputed to be (As one person put it) a “Vigorous conversationalist.” What that boiled down to is (As another person put it), “Requiring way too much energy to talk to.” I can see that. I probably am a lot of work. I never talk about normal stuff like sports. I’m always on about whether or not Saul of Tarsus was part of the Herodian Royal Family, or my latest project that no one cares about, or what I’d do if I was making Galactica for a third time.

So, bottom line: I’m overwhelming. I produce more stuff than people can keep up with. And people don’t want to keep up with it. They want to read Dan Brown novels and listen to whatever was popular whenever they were in High School, and not have me wildly speculating about theology, or the Apollo program, or why Venus is better than Mars for colonization.


Nor do I. Maybe 1 or 2 percent of people are really interested in the giddy thrill of thinking or experiencing or seeing or hearing new things after their 20s. We’re all pretty set in our ways by the time we hit 50. We’re actually neurologically wired to enjoy learning less by that point: We’re supposed to have learned everything we need to by then. I never felt like I’ve learned anything.

This is not arrogance or elitism on my part. I don’t think I’m any better than anyone else. I’m just a flibbertigibbet. I chase after any new shiny object or idea that catches my eye, and I talk about it. A *LOT* Way too much. It’s my failing, not theirs. I don’t have a lot of impulse control in that regard.

OH, and I forgot to mention my mood swings. My mania and depression, and frequent unpredictable behavior. That’s tiresome as well.

So the bottom line here is that I’m just exhausting.

I get that now. I really do. I’m not depressed about it or anything, I’ve just finally identified the problem, and I’m a little excited about that.

The question, then, is what I do about it.

I got no clue. Please sound off if you’ve got any ideas.

Why California Leaving the US is a VERY BAD idea for California

This is an open letter to the people of California, intended to express why secession from the United States (“CalExit”) is a disastrously bad idea for you, and a pretty terrible one for the rest of the world as well.  Before we begin, I’m a political radical. My toenail clippings are probably more liberal than Bernie Sander’s entire body. I recognize that these appear to be pretty dark times for the US. However no night is ever so black that foolish actions can’t make them even worse. So, here are a few things for your consideration:

In no particular order:

1) It’s illegal. In the court case “White vs. Texas” (1869) the Supreme court of the United States ruled that unilateral secession is illegal, because, I guess, 750,000 dead people in the Civil War didn’t make that plain enough.  If you want your country to respect “Rule of Law,” you’re off to a bad start.

2) It’s Unamerican. You think, “Well, duh,” but let’s take that a little further: In the 49 loyal states, Democrats would be seen as traitors and cowards, much like they were after the Civil War. That war crippled your party for two generations. What that translates out to in modern times is that if you leave, no decent American would every vote Democrat in the other 49 ever again. You’d be handing the country over to the Republicans for generations.

Furthermore, once you talk about leaving you completely invalidate your opinion, and right to talk about problems in the US.

2) It’s Undemocratic. If California decides to leave, it means “I only believe in Democracy when I win,” and “I’m only American when it suits me.” Added to which, California is overwhelmingly Democrat. Pretty much by definition you’d be setting up a one-party democracy, which is pretty much the foundation of an authoritarian regime. More on this later.

3) It’s pretty cowardly. “We could stand and fight and organize and vote and work, but instead, we’d rather just pack up our ball and go home.”

4) You will tank the world economy.  This is a big one: Firstly: The US Dollar is the most stable currency in the world. So stable that 8 other countries use it as their legal currency. (really) 29 other countries use it as their unofficial currency because their local stuff is a joke. 27 other countries have their currencies pegged to the US dollar, which means that a Belize dollar is always equal to 50 US cents, regardless of what the US dollar is worth internationally at the time. Now, the overwhelming majority of these countries are very, very poor, as you’d expect. Leaving the US would obviously cause a stock market crash the likes of which the world has never seen, and it would trash the dollar. Wouldn’t destroy it, but it’d trash it. What that means is that in leaving the US you’d destroy the economies of 64 other nations. Poor nations. Nations that are on the edge of starvation now. So your secession ends up with people all over the world dying of starvation, or reduced to homelessness, all to serve your selfish fanaticism.

Very humane of you! If you’re looking for a national motto, may I suggest “Pedicabo ego et Ceteri?”

5) Let’s discuss your own economy, too:  You’d need to come up with your own currency, as US currency would be void for obvious reasons. That means you’d have to go with fiat, or take out huge loans (Probably from China), or deal with runaway inflation.

Being as you’re not a member of NAFTA, you’d get no benefits from that, meaning big tariffs. That’s assuming you could get anyone to trade with you. I mean the US certainly would completely boycott you, right? That’s, what, at least a third of your economy? And Canada would be pissed because you trashed their economy, too, and also ‘cuz they don’t want to piss us off. Mexico might want to play with you, but then again you’d have plunged them into even worse poverty.

What about close allies of the US? If they have to choose between a short-lived rebel state like you, and their centuries-long relationships with the US, guess who they’ll choose. Because they know you’ll lose, and don’t want to back a losing horse, particularly because they need the other horse. This might not last forever, but if the US tells Japan “Boycott them,” Japan definitely will. Your primary trading partners will be China and Russia, and do you REALLY wanna climb into bed with them?

6) The US actually feeds about 1/3rd of the world directly or indirectly. Most of that food we give away, or sell below cost, as humanitarian decency. If you tank the world economy, we can’t afford to do that anymore, we’d have to take care of our own selves. That means people in the third world starve. Way to go, California! Your commitment to diversity and equal rights for all races will have caused countless deaths in countries full of non-white people! Well done! (That was sarcasm)

If you think I’m wrong about this, consider the food riots in the Philippines and Asia about a decade ago. During the Ethanol boom, US grain production shrank, as corn was more lucrative. This meant other countries didn’t get enough grain. People starved. People rioted. People died, man. Is your quest for Kalifornia Uber Alles worth the life of a single starving child? If you think it is, you’re just a terrible, terrible person.

7) So how much of California would you actually get to keep?  There’s about 100 Indian reservations in California. These are not in any way subject to the Californian government, and in fact by your own state laws and Federal and Tribal laws and even UN agreements, they’re not part of California at all. If they don’t wanna go, then what are you gonna do? Round ’em up? Throw ’em out? Surround them with troops? Go back to playing Cowboys and Indians to the death like your ancestors did?

On that subject, your military bases are US property. You’re not just going to inherit Vandenberg AFB and the San Diego naval base. Those are going to stay loyal to the US, and if you try to take them by force, they will kill you. Probably smiling while they do it. There are 100,000 US troops in your state. Most of them are not from California, and wouldn’t feel any particular loyalty to you you. Even those who are from your state may not feel any particular loyalty for traitors. Many a Southerner went north and signed on with the Union Army, you know.

Then there’s the millions of acres of other federal lands in your state which you have no say over. You just try to nationalize them and more than likely the military will kill you, probably with smiles on their faces.

8) Internal Opposition:  31% of your state voted Trump. That’s 4.5 million people. If you decide to secede, do you think you can stop that many people? Do you think you have the right to force your will on that many people with an illegal law? They’re mostly rural. they control the overwhelming majority of the state. If they don’t want to sell food to you – and they wouldn’t – what do you do? Force them? How democratic. Nationalize their farms? Good choice. Hitler, Stalin, Mao, and Castro were big on that.

If you try that, and they fight back, what do you do? You’re looking at a classic Vietnam situation where you control the cities, and they control the countryside.  You can’t do anything without them, and you WILL NOT have them.

8) World War III: Let’s talk about US’s military obligations overseas. NATO? Gone. At present we provide about 75% of their operating costs. If you tank the economy, we couldn’t afford to support NATO, and we’d have to divert resources to fight or contain you. Once the Arab world realizes we can’t support Israel, how long do you think it’d take ’em to invade? And how long do you think it’d take to wipe ’em off the map? And how many hundreds and thousands of Jews would die? Maybe millions? Of course Die faschistische Nation von Kalifornien doesn’t care about Jews.

With an aggressive Russia, the adversarial Japanese/Chinese relationship, and the mere existence of North Korea, the world is very reliant on the US as World Cop, even though I don’t like us having that job. It’s not a stretch to imagine your secession resulting in effectively a third world war. And remember: With Russia and China being pretty much your major trading powers, you’re their bitch throughout the war.

I’m not being ludicrous here. There are all very likely outcomes.

9) Finally, there’s the question of whether your nation would last the night. Assume you secede. The process leading up to that vote would take months. Months during which the US would have plenty of time to put together SEAL teams, extraction teams, Marine Force Recon teams, you name it. Once you sign the deal and light your fireworks, they’d come in. I’d guess within 24-72 hours tops, your entire government would be cooling their heels in Guantanamo Bay.

Bottom line, guys: it’s a whiny bitch move. You can’t win, you’ll kill a lot of people, destroy yourselves in the process, AND you’ll end up permanently pushing the country in directions you don’t want it to go.

Just something to think about.

No one is ever fanatical enough

There’s a Ballard novel that everyone but me hates – “Hello America.” I don’t think anyone I’ve read really gets it: They take it as an environmental fable or a dumb adventure story or just a silver-age SF writer beyond his prime. In fact, it’s slamming American liberalism. Ballard was British, and liberal at that, which effectively means his fingernail clippings were harder to the left than Bernie Sanders. As such he had a lot of criticism of our politics, which I can sum up by saying “Americans liberals are doing it wrong.”
Case in point: the American ecology collapses. It takes a couple decades, but everything east of the Rockies becomes desert. The government’s response is to pour more money into youth programs, which they feel will really bear fruit a generation or two down the road. So while they’re building the National Youth Center (A twice-life-size fiberglass replica of the Taj Mahal), the country literally ceases to exist. That particular president later retires to a Buddhist monastery in Japan where he spends the rest of his life attempting to attain Nirvana. Which is just sort of the thing American liberals did in the 1970s (The book came out in 1980).
So hundreds of thousands of Americans are abandoning America every year (The largest American ghetto was in Dublin) while the Government was shutting down nuclear power plants. Because those are bad. All the while they could have easily solved the problem, but were more concerned with social issues than transitory things like the economy or individual human lives.
This sounds like an uber-conservative book, and most of the (few) people I know who’ve read it take it that way, never realizing that Ballard was about as far from conservative as it was possible to be without a doctor’s prescription back in the day. (Seriously: He has some hideously disturbing books that my conservative friends should avoid. If you REALLY want to read him, contact me and I’ll give you a list of (comparatively) safe books) Instead, he was slamming the American school of liberalism, which he (Apparently) felt was just as goofed up and fanatical and intolerant and whacked-out-of-touch-with-reality as the right wing was.
Why not rag on the right? Its shortcomings were obvious, and everyone else was doing that sort of thing anyway. Ballard was not one to follow the herd.
What made me think of this was a conversation with a friend today, and a similar one a few days ago with someone else, talking about how they’ve more or less been pilloried for not being liberal enough for the liking of the current freaked-out crop. I’m not making a political statement here. I’m annoyingly apolitical. I just find it interesting when fanatics get scared and turn on their own. I don’t really care which side of the aisle the fanatics are on.

I am officially sick of Ancient Astronaut Conspiracy Nonsense

Had to block a dude this morning because of Ancient Astronauts. A bunch of people were discussing whether or not they believed in life in space. Pretty much everyone but me said “Sure.” I explained that since there is zero proof at present, the reasonable conclusion is either “I dunno” or “No.” I’m not religiously attached to this. If SETI started getting the alien equivalent of Beverly Hillbillies reruns from Zeta 2 Reticuli tomorrow, it wouldn’t upset me at all.

This prompted the standard “Well, there’s got to be life in space, since space is so big.” This, to me, is like saying, “Godzilla must exist because the ocean is so big.” It’s more about what you want to be true, rather than what you have evidence for. I’m religious. I know these things.

Anyway, since I’m no fun, people quickly left me alone, but this one dude kept insisting that aliens had been visiting earth for our entire history. I explained that was easily-debunked nonsense, and he started shoving Zechariah Sitchin and Eric von Danikin at me. He said I should read them, I should look around, I should open my mind, and then I’d believe. He preached the gospel of ancient astronauts to me. I said, “Fine, then you read this,” and linked him to some actual scientific stuff that proves pretty conclusively that aliens have never been there. I said “It’s only fair that if you want me to question my beliefs, you should be open to question yours, too.” He didn’t.

I also tried to explain that the question of whether or not there’s alien life has nothing to do with whether or not aliens have visited earth. The universe might be full of life, but if it’s just algae, it ain’t building flying saucers. And if there’s intelligent life at, say, Zeta 2 Reticuli, there’s about 600 stars within 100 light years of there, of which we’re just one. What’s going to make them pick us out of the crowd? Or what if intelligent alien life exists, but they’re sessile sponge-like organisms on the bottom of an alien ocean who just filter feed and talk about poetry all day? They’re probably not traveling much, either. Or, hey, they’re just like us, but better looking and still stone-aged. The Stone Age lasted a loooooooooong time. A long, long, looooooooong time.

So he couldn’t grasp this. For him, alien life = ancient astronauts. Aliens built the pyramids because everyone just *KNOWS* Africans are too stupid to learn how to pile rocks on top of each other by themselves. They need aliens to help them. Aliens who didn’t teach them how to make the wheel, for some reason.

(In addition to it just being scientifically stupid, I’ve always found the “Ancient Astronauts” thing to be horribly, horribly racist)

Anyway, eventually I just got sick of it and blocked him. That might have been overreacting on my part. I’m sure he’s a fine guy, content to watch a little Mork and Mindy on channel 18 (UHF) and talk to his friends in the trailer park about how the homosexual community is working to build landing strips for gay martians outside of Des Moines, Iowa, or that Burrow Owls live in trees, or whatever irksome things people who get all their scientific knowledge from Star Trek believe this month.

Just the same, I’m sick of it. I’m 49, and as part of my ongoing efforts to FINALLY grow up, I hereby declare myself old enough that I no longer have to take part in these kinds of conversations.

RIP Gene Cernan, RIP Apollo

MY DIARY, Day 2096: It was Thursday, December 7th, 1972. My mom and dad and I, and a million of our closest personal friends, were standing along the banks of the Bananna river. It was long after dark. It was cold, the river stank, as usual, and it was crowded. My dad had long since given up me staying awake and standing, so he just carried me.

It was the night of the launch of Apollo 17, the last of the missions to the moon. Gene Cernan, who died yesterday, was in command of the mission. Back then, he was thirty-eight and I was five. (Going on six) I grew up in Cocoa Beach, and my dad worked for NASA at the Cape, so launches were commonplace in those days. I couldn’t really understand why this one was significant, why I couldn’t just go home and go to bed.

Then, around half past midnight: Ignition. The engines were the brightest thing I’d ever seen, brighter than the noonday sun, brighter than anything but a small atomic bomb. It went from a black Florida night to dazzling and hard to focus in perhaps a second. I remember roosters started to crow. I remember fish started flopping around in the river, thinking it was daytime. I remember a million breaths sucking in all at once in awe, and I remember the sound hitting us an instant later.

The Saturn V was – and remains – the most impressive rocket ever built, and the way things are going, it’ll probably stay that way. Tall as a 36 story building, six million pounds, it lept up quick – don’t be fooled by all that slo-mo footage you see on The History Channel, rockets are fast! – and tore off downrange. The intensity of light quickly faded to day-normal, and then we had an odd kind of second nightfall where it all faded to blackness again, with everyone standing around blinking and cheering with purple spots in our eyes. It had been the only night launch of the program. Decades later, I found out that it had been clearly visible as far away as North Carolina,  as far south as Haiti!

APOLLO 17 LIFTOFF FROM KSC. 12/7/72. REF: 108-KSC-72PC-42

I also remember the drive home. We lived less than ten miles from the Cape, but attendance for the final launch had been larger than any in NASA history, excepting Apollo 11, which sent Armstrong to the moon not quite four years before. So quick an age, so long a drive home. There’s probably a metaphor in that if you want to hunt for one.

It was total gridlock the entire way, with hundreds of thousands of cars on roads never intended to hold tens of thousands. I remember the white leather seats in the back of my dad’s car, trying to curl up and go to sleep, but it was so cold, and we hadn’t thought to bring a blanket. That drive seemed to go on forever, stop, start, stop, start, endlessly being jostled awake, irritated as hell.

Though I’d seen all of the Saturn V launches with my own eyes, I don’t consciously remember any of them, except for the last. Again, there’s probably a metaphor in there if you want to poke around.

Decades later, I developed a fascination for Apollo 17 for the same reasons we’re always fascinated by the last of some animal going extinct. In particular I grew more and more interested in Cernan. It was the end of an age. Though there have been sime impressive things in space since, nothing we’ve done in the years since has matched, or even come close to matching, the Apollo program, and that last launch was the most ambitious of all. When it was done, when they returned home about two weeks later, we went from actual physical explorers to voyeurs, gawkers, people who send robots off to do man’s work. It’s cheaper, safer, but dammit, it isn’t sexy. It’s not strapping a rocket to your ass and riding fire. Sure, hundreds of people have done that to get into space, to endlessly tool around in orbit for whatever reason, but even that isn’t nearly so cool as riding fire to actually get somewhere. 

APOLLO 17 LIFTOFF FROM KSC. 12/7/72. REF: 108-KSC-72PC-42

“Everyone remembers firsts, no one remembers lasts,” I wrote in one of my stories, “Everyone can tell you who the first man on the moon was, but nobody can tell you the last.” Well I can, it was Gene Cernan. It’s been 44 years since he left. I despair of anyone ever going again. The past is a country. The past is a lost continent, drowned by seas of time. The brave new world is past, and this timid age dares little.

Gene Cernan died the other day. He was 84, I was 49. A door slammed shut for me. There are other moonwalkers still alive, that’s not the point. Not to me, anyway. To me, Gene Cernan – moreso than Yuri Gagarin or Neil Armstrong – was the high water mark of the golden age of space exploration. He went to the most remote location of any of the six landings, he stayed the longest, he left last. He was the end. The last man, the last rocket, the last to strive, the last to try, the last, period.

Here’s a story about him I’ve heard, which may be apocryphal: He’d promised his daughter that he’d writer her name in the soil on the moon, where it would stay undisturbed for millions of years. In the massive workload and tight schedule of the mission, however, he forgot. He said that for the next 30 or so years, he couldn’t look at the moon without getting angry at himself for not doing it. I always thought that was cute.

Can I tell you a secret? My fascination with him led to me using a not-very-accurate version of him as a recurring character in some of my stories. If you’ve ever read any of my stuff, and noticed a slightly-manic grey-haired old guy named “Gene” turning up, that’s him. None of my characters ever say his last name, of course, though there’s plenty of clues. If you haven’t read any of my stuff, he figures most prominently in my novella, “Home Again,” and in my unexpectedly controversial short story, “The Cetian Sky.” He turns up here and there elsewhere and gets namechecked a few times, but he’s front and center in those two.

In the real world, Gene Cernan was every inch the hero. In my fictional world, where history followed a somewhat different road, I turned him into a full-on Moses of the Space Age. It just seemed appropriate somehow.

The Unexpectedly Adorable Reason I Like History So Much

When I was very little, our house was in the middle of nowhere and I had no friends. I watched a lot of TV as a result. All my knowledge of the world came through the tube, and while I recognized that not everything on it was real – for instance, I knew I Dream of Jeanie and Star Trek weren’t real, and I knew what a movie was – my grasp of the concept wasn’t much greater than that.

We lived in Cocoa Beach,  my dad worked at Kennedy Space Center, which was on the news every night, and in a lot of TV shows, such as Star Trek, Mission Impossible and the affore-mentioned I Dream of Jeanie. Prior to that we lived out west, in Montana, where there were lots of actual cowboys running around doing cowboy things. And there was no shortage of westerns on TV.

So when I was four or five my dad suggested that we take a vacation to England. I immediately began bawling my eyes out, screaming ‘no’. He asked me why, and I said, “Because Henry the Eighth will cut my head off.”

[Quick, “What have you been telling him” glance at my mom]

My dad explained that the British didn’t do that anymore. Henry had died a long time ago, and he only killed his wives anyway, so in any event, even if they did still do it, I’d be safe. I remember snuffling as my tears receded. “Really?”

In the end, we settled for Canada. Again.

The fun part of the story, though, is that while I knew some stuff on TV was fake and some wasn’t, I thought it was all right now. I thought space ships were from my area – which they were – and I thought that Cowboys were still out west – which they were – but I thought the Dust Bowl was still going on, and I thought Henry the 8th was still coming up with alternatives to alimony in London, and that it was perpetually World War II in Europe and perpetually the American Revolution in wherever the American Revolution took place (I was a little vague on that. Remember: I was maybe only barely five). I thought that the Indian Wars continued and  that Chicago was perpetually 1920s mobs fighting the feds, and that the Roman Empire was still around. I thought everything was now.

In short, I thought the world was a much more interesting place than it really was. Discovering that those events took place generations or centuries apart.

Because of my youthful misunderstandings, I think history was “Alive” to me, and as a result I’ve always seen it as fascinating, not just some dry ‘why do I need to know this?’ stuff you only learned for the test. It was real to me. It was now.


Ehhhh….maybe not. I’ve been telling myself this story for 30 years, but actually writing it out, the idea that a misunderstanding I had when I was 4 or 5 would somehow shape my entire life is kind of silly. I mean how many things from when you were four still affected you when you were, say, 22?

Oh well.

Adorable story, though. Probably not true, but still adorable.

Why I Don’t Tend To Collaborate More

I have this fictional character that I invented as a minor support character in one of my stories. Later I decided to tell some “Spinoff” stories about just him. At that point I wasn’t in a position where I could write, and a friend (Who’s name I am deliberately not using) wanted to do some collaboration, so I gave him-or-her my one-sentence rough outline for a short story, and he-or-she wrote it, and it wasn’t bad, despite him-or-her flat out not understanding the concept of ‘climax.’ (“And then everything was just better”).
I fixed the end, and we published it online. He-or-she did another one, based on another one-sentence outline, which was just horrible. I fixed portions of it, he-or-she un-fixed them, I fixed ’em again, he-or-she unfixed ’em. Finally I said screw it and we put it up on the old website.
I gave him-or-her the outline for story #3 and he-or-she just stalled for more than a year and said “Well, I’m not feeling it,” so I wrote the story myself, which incorporated details from his-or-her two stories. I gave him-or-her a 4th to write, based on a one sentence outline, and he-or-she started working on that (Which I assume means spinning paranoid theories about the Catholic church for a couple years and not bothering to look at the story) and I got irritated and wrote it myself.
He-or-she didn’t seem to care about that, and flat out refused to write another one-sentence-outline, so I wrote that one myself.
He-or-she got pissy and siad that this character should be his (or hers) to do with as he (or she) wished because I (Randy) created the character and the universe and he-or-she (co-writer) had had so little input, despite me trying for about four or five years at this point to get my friend to actually do crap. He-or-she then insisted on changing the direction the character was going in, his whole plot arc, including the concrete point we’d always agreed on for the conclusion of the story in favor of the vague notion of the character becoming “Kind of a planet” which contradicted any number of already-established details in OTHER stories. (I eventually argued him or her to “King of the Asteroids.” Ugh. Stupid.)
Anyway, sick of the situation I said, fine, whatever, just get through the story outline I gave you and then he’s yours to do with whatever you want, so long as you don’t break the rules of the universe.
Another year goes by, nothing happens. I talk to him-or-her about it, and he-or-she doesn’t have the slightest hook on the story. So we spent two hours on the phone where I help plot the thing out. I don’t tell the story, I just said what needed to happen, and what couldn’t happen, and my friend simply couldn’t get a handle on the technical aspects of it. I worked those out myself and handed ’em over. He or she said “Cool, I’ll get right on this.”
Six months later I checked in, and it turned out that not only had he-or-she not written a single letter, he-or-she didn’t even remember our looooooong conversation. I was upset and said “Get your ass writing!” He or she said, “Well, I can’t, because I have to rewrite those two stories you wrote first.”
“Yeah, the long one, and the other one. The other one is a conceptual nightmare.”
“You mean the one that got like a hundred online compliments?”
“Yeah, that one. It’s terrible. I need to do so much rewriting on that that I don’t even know where to begin.”
So here’s where the actual conflict of the story begins: Harlan Ellison has said that you can do whatever you want with a story while you’re writing it, change stuff, add stuff, remove stuff, whatever, but once it’s published it belongs to the reader, not you. You can’t go on editing the story once it’s on the bookstands. You can’t “Greedo Shot First” your story. It’s not fair to the readers, and it’s just a cheat, a sloppy, sloppy cheat.
I wholly agree. If something you don’t like makes it into a story, you just work around it in the next one. Star Trek never did the whole “Well, episode 15, where Riker came to grips with his homosexuality, never happened. Instead he’s straight as an arrow with a bad back, same as he’s always been” or whatever. Yes, you can “Bobby in the shower” away an entire season, but it’s a horrible thing to do, and you bleed ratings because of it. You should never never do that.
No matter how much we argued – actually argued. We never used to argue – he-or-she insisted that my already-published stuff had to be thrown aside entirely or massively rewritten to basically retcon his-or-her story which, by the way, he-or-she hadn’t written or even plotted out at that point. He or she couldn’t grasp the concept of *not* ripping the rug out from your readers’ feet. He-or-she would much rather gut two stories that were in actual books by that point in favor of the vaguest daydream of a story he/she was never going to write anyway.
Knowing that he/she was never actually going to write anything, I said, “Sure, whatever,” and ignored him/her from that point on. Later on, I came to realize that a lot of this was because he/she honestly believed anything done by anyone else to be just inferior crap, despite the fact that in the course off two decades my friend had only written, I think, three stories, and two of them were me kicking his/her ass to do it. Not a writer. Thinks he/she is a writer. Ugh.
This put me in a terrible situation, though: my friend is litigious. I was TRYING to put together a compilation of all the stories involving this character, but now there were two I just couldn’t use. This meant I had to ditch his/her stories, and write new, completely unrelated ones, to fill the gap. Which means that because goofus couldn’t comprehend the ‘don’t edit after you publish’ concept, I now have to do the vastly worse thing before I can put this damn book together.
Predictably, the project has now been on hold for 2 years, and I’m pretty depressed and unmotivated to finish it. I even had cover art drawn up for it, but it’ll probably never happen now. Fucker.
So that’s why I don’t tend to collaborate much.

What I’m Writing In 2017 (God Willing)

Good morning! Happy New Year.
After taking last year off from writing, I am officially working again as up about half an hour ago.
Some of you may recall my friend Jim Graham, who was the author of the “Scat” series surrounding the increasingly bizarre adventures of a 23rd century US Marine. If you don’t, the first couple books are currently free, so check ’em out. 
Anyway, he was about 80% of the way through the fourth book in the series, “Big Pharma.” Several months ago he told me he was dying of cancer, and asked me if I’d please finish the novel for him. I said, sure, obviously, and that was the last time we spoke before the end came.
Anyway, my friend’s book is the priority above any off my projects. I sat down this morning with a copy of the first book, (“Scat”) and started reading it. By the end of chapter 1 I had two full pages of notes.
Basically I think I’m going to re-read the entire series before I set pen to paper (“Finger to Keyboard?”) because I want to make sure I don’t introduce any continuity errors. I want it to follow his story, his style, his vision. I want it to be his book, not mine (Though I’ll gladly accept the “With Randall Schanze” co-credit on the cover that he promised me). Also, it’s British. I don’t want the novel to suddenly turn American. I want it to maintain the cadence and feel of something written by a Brit (Even if that does mean the American protagonist regularly says things like “Bugger” and “Sod off.”)
It’s a little daunting. Generally I write and that’s it. It pops out of my head. I write involving stuff I know, or stuff I just make up on the spot. Having to do a ton of research isn’t my normal style. I can do it, I will do it, but the length of time between me deciding to write one of my own stories, and actually starting on one of my stories is seldom more than a few hours. Here it’ll likely be a week or two, assuming real life doesn’t get in the way.
And I’ve still got no idea what the plot of “Big Pharma” is. I have the manuscript. I started to read it, but decided it needed to re-read everything from the beginning so I could be in proper context and mindset when I started.
Let me give you an idea what a great guy Jim was, though: As he was dying, he said that he had a pretty loyal core of fans who read all his books – moreso than me – and that he hoped my name on his project would increase *my* readership. No, really.
It’s an honor to be working on this.
In the larger scheme of things, I have several projects I’d also like to have finished this year, to make up for taking last year off. After Jim’s novel, I intend to finish my own longsuffering, way-too-ambitious novel, “The Fall of St. Grissom,” which I haven’t touched in more than two years. I’m going to be co-writing a sequel to “After Conquest,” I’ve got my obligatory annual book of short stories, and possibly a novel about my time in the very weird Accelerated Christian Education system in the 1970s.
Time permitting, I’d also like to revise my book of lyrics and poetry, “Everything is something’s food,” to be a little less sucky and a good deal longer, and re-issue that as a kind of second edition. I’m toying with the idea of a short book *about* the deservedly-forgotten series, “Man from Atlantis,” and I’ve toyed with the idea of putting out a book of grade-zed movie reviews, a’la “The Golden Turkey Awards,” which I thought might be fun.
We shall see.
Anyway, “Scat” and Jim come first. Check back here for progress reports. I’d like to thank my readers (I’m hesitant to claim I have fans) for their continued interest and their patience in 2016.