Bugs... I Hate Bugs...

...You know, like Indiana Jones and snakes? That's me with bugs. Snakes? No problem. They don't even have any legs. But bugs... who said six or eight legs was normal anyway?


So tonight I was making my way back from Manteca. My son had spent the weekend at grandma's, so we did the "meet you halfway" thing. I was running low on gas and pulled over to a gas station in Gustine, or thereabouts. And as I was pumping my gas, Something dropped out of nowhere right down my shirtfront and into my cleavage, beg your pardon. So I'm thinking, that's weird, what was that? I did a quick check and couldn't see anything. I did the little dance where you flap your shirttails and spin around. Nothing. Hmph. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just some piece of trash and it fell out.


So I get back in my car and turn back onto Highway 5. You know Highway 5? Remote, godforsaken, nothing for miles Highway 5? And as I'm driving, I feel something creeping in my right sleeve...


Of course, I react. I reach over and grab my sleeve and there is definitely Something In There. I shudder. The car shudders. And suddenly I realize what a precarious situation I'm in.


Did I mention I was driving on Highway 5? Dangerous, reckless driver filled Highway 5?


And. There is Something. Alive. In My Clothing. With Me. And. I. Can't. Pull. Over.


And it's seven miles to the next turn off.


Seven. Miles.


There are moments in life where I'm quite proud of myself, and I believe I deserve some bragging rights here. I stay calm under pressure. It's what I do. Calm. I mean, I ask you, could YOU drive Seven Miles with Something Alive in Your Clothing with You?


So I grip the wheel with a kind of grim determination and try to ignore the slight burning sensation spreading out from the spot where I think IT may have bit me, and I'm running worst case senarios through my head, thinking, Okay, Black Widow, if IT is a Black Widow then I've got one hour to get to the hospital and get the antidote... How far is it to the nearest hospital? About one hour... Shit. Not good. Don't Panic. Don't Panic. No, IT can't be a Black Widow because Black Widows don't wait on the ceilings of gas stations and then drop on you... BUT Brown Recluses could. Shit. Maybe IT is a Brown Recluse. Oh. That would be Bad. Those are Very Bad Spiders. Might not kill me, but IT's bite is very poisonous and very painful... Shit. Don't panic. Can't be a Brown Recluse. IT can't be. If a Brown Recluse bit me I would be in severe pain. And I'm not in severe pain. Am I. Maybe I imagined the whole thing. Maybe I just imagi...


And then IT wiggled...


Nope. Didn't imagine IT. IT is still there...


All this for SEVEN MILES.


And I'm thinking. I Will NOT let this thing beat me. I am bigger than IT. I am smarter than IT. I refuse to let some Stupid BUG get the best of me. My name will not be associated with a 10 car pile up on Highway 5 because of a Creature that is 1/nth my body weight.


Finally, we get to Santa Nella and I pull over behind a gas station. I calmly (Calmly, I say) remove my seatbelt. And then I rip my shirt off.


My son, the wiseass, quips, "Well, that was hot." Oh, and did I mention, his 16-year-old best friend is also in the car with us. Ask me if I care. Modesty means nothing in the face of Something Alive In My Clothes With Me.


So I raise up my arm and I ask my son if he can see anything, any swelling on the back of my arm, and he says no...


Then I hear a buzzing coming from my lap... I look down and there crawling out of my shirt is...


A BEE.


A Bee. In November. A fucking BEE. In My Shirt. With Me. For Seven Miles.


We dove out of the car. I felt along my upper arm, and sure enough, right at the crease near the pit was a small protrusion. This was where I really lost it, I'm sorry to say. I just couldn't bring myself to pull out the stinger myself. Oh, but this is me, remember. Me losing it is putting my head down on my arm and taking deep breaths while saying to my son, "I really can't handle this. Please take the stinger out." And he did.


Next quest: Capture the Bee. IT was still in the car. Fortunately, IT had decided to make friends with the dome light, so capturing it was a simple matter of popping a Starbucks cup over the top of IT and throwing IT, cup and all, into the trash.


My son says, "Good thing you're not allergic to bees."


And I says, "I AM allergic to bees."


But not the deathly, stop breathing and go into convulsions kind of allergic. I'm just sensitive. I swell up like a balloon. The last time I was stung by a bee, I lost the use of my entire arm. But that was when I was a child. I haven't been stung by a bee in years. WTF? What was a BEE doing lurking around a gas station at night in the middle of November?


Maybe I shouldn't have thrown that cup away.


Maybe IT was an African bee.


Maybe I'm going to die after all.


Is my right arm tingling? Is it going numb?


It's going to be a long night...

Nobody Ever Brings Anything Small...

Harvey and I sit in the bars... have a drink or two... play the juke box. And soon the faces of all the other people they turn toward mine and they smile. And they're saying, "We don't know your name, mister, but you're a very nice fella." Harvey and I warm ourselves in all these golden moments. We've entered as strangers - soon we have friends. And they come over... and they sit with us... and they drink with us... and they talk to us. They tell about the big terrible things they've done and the big wonderful things they'll do. Their hopes, and their regrets, and their loves, and their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar. And then I introduce them to Harvey... and he's bigger and grander than anything they offer me. And when they leave, they leave impressed. The same people seldom come back; but that's envy, my dear. There's a little bit of envy in the best of us.

~Elwood P. Dowd

Gone to SiliCon!

This is my first year serving behind the scenes at a convention. I'm really looking forward to it. It's kind of surreal when I think about that wide-eyed teenager walking into her first TimeCon in the old convention hall in downtown San Jose. And now here I am, in the thick of things, helping to make stuff happen. I like that. It just feels Right.

Excerpt from The Bunny Suicides

I just discovered these today. Too too funny!


Click here for more.

Tough Pairings

See Calamities of Nature for more....

The Story Oasis is Online!

"The world is a fucked up place for a little friendly turtle."

~Anonymous, left at the Story Oasis, Burning Man 2008

You know how you wish for something, and then it appears, like a mirage in the desert? Only it's not a mirage; it's real. That's how I found the Story Oasis at Burning Man.


I didn't even know it was there. I was just out, walking the Playa, following whatever whim called to me. Strangely enough, I had been thinking of a story I wanted to write earlier that morning. And although I had brought paper and pen with me, I didn't want to sit in my tent when there was so much to see and do. And the story was unique to Burning Man as well. So I thought to myself, in the thoughts that I think, that there wasn't any rush; if I were ever to write it, it would only be for my own pleasure. Where would it ever find a home?


And so there I was, on walkabout, just barely conscious of the wish that there should be a place here for writers to write. And then there it was: a modest hut, providing shade, paper and pens, and typewriters. And you know. Well. I just had to, didn't I.


And right after I sat down, a lovely man on a bicycle, with an ice chest in tow, arrived and offered to fix me a drink. A gin and tonic, to be exact. So I sat there in the shade of the Story Oasis, drinking my drink as the desert winds blew and the sun began its slow descent, and I wrote.


About that same time, the owner and creator of the Story Oasis came along to change the battery which ran the typewriters. I was really glad I got to meet Ben and tell him in person what a brilliant idea his oasis was.


And now? The stories created there can be read online. I haven't found mine yet--I've only read through Wednesday morning. I think I was there Thursday or Friday afternoon. There is a wide variety of ramblings, quotations, stories, and poems. The quote above is my favorite so far.


So... go! Go see the Story Oasis and discover more. Click here.

iWanna iRoomba!

I am convinced that this nifty invention will be the answer to all my household needs... Well, at least it will keep my floors clean.

I'm adding it to my wishlist:

• One iRoomba
• One automatic mind translator (put together from old hairdryer parts)
• One droid that understands the binary language of moisture vaporators (and speaks fluent Bocce)
• One Doctor Who Mini RC Dalek Battle Pack

Actually, I have that last one already. And. It. Is. So. Cool.

Go on. Call me a geek. I dare you. You just want my wonderful toys.

Living in the Trees, Part II

Look! People more clever than me have designed and built actual treehouses! Click here for more!

Living in the Trees

I've always sort of fancied the notion of living in trees, like Lothlorien in Lord of the Rings or more humbly, perhaps, like the Ewok village in Return of the Jedi. Can you imagine it? Forests would thrive once more. Earthquakes would hardly be a problem; nor would floods.


And yet...


One does wonder where one goes to the bathroom. (I don't fancy climbing down the tree in the middle of the night).


And what do you do when it rains? Where does all the rain go? How could you keep it from coming in the windows and getting everything all wet?


Oh, and lightning. Hmm. Yes, lightning could be a problem.


And bugs. Can't abide bugs.


Sigh. My brave new world is once more deferred.

Top Ten Reasons Why *YOU* Should Go to Burning Man

10. Playa dust is good for you.


9. You get to see naked people (some of whom are under the age of 60).


8. You can walk through a sandstorm and pretend you are Paul Muad'dib in Frank Herbert's Dune.


7. You might meet a vampire. Or a transvestite. Or a transvestite vampire.


6. You can have your fortune told in the middle of a storm.


5. Nice people will fix you drinks.


4. You will find some really marvelous places to take naps.


3. You get to see lots of oooh pretty sparkly glowy things (kind of like Disneyland's Electric Light Parade, only weirder and wilder).


2. You get to see lots of things set on fire (including but not limited to the flaming parasailers--Burning Man's answer to Tinkerbell, I suppose-- But it just makes me wonder who came up with the bright idea-- I know! Let's jump out of a perfectly good airplane AND set ourselves on fire! That will *really* get their attention!).


And the Number One reason why *YOU* should go to Burning Man is:


1. Until you do, you'll never know how *good* an Indian taco and an ice cold Coke tastes after a week in the desert.

boom.

ONE...

The cottonwoods in their simplicity

talk softly on, as hidden waters talk,

an almost silent singing in the tree

that says, here is another way to be.

From "High Desert" by Ursula K. Le Guin

TWO...

Out here there is another way to be,

described by the high circles of a hawk

above what hides in the silence in the tree.

From "High Desert" by Ursula K. Le Guin

THREE...

The owl's call from the rimrock changes key.

What door will open to the flicker's knock?

From "High Desert" by Ursula K. Le Guin

FOUR...

I have to listen for it patiently:

a drumming canter slowing to a walk,

a flutter in the silence of a tree.

From "High Desert" by Ursula K. Le Guin

FIVE...

Something is always moving, running free,

as quick and still as quail move in a flock.

The hills out here know a hard way to be.

From "High Desert" by Ursula K. Le Guin

SIX...

Out here, there is another way to be.

There is a rising brightness in the rock,

a singing in the silence of the tree.

From "High Desert" by Ursula K. Le Guin

This is Serious Business, Not a Hobbit Walking Party!

Coast-to-Coast Walk

St. Bee's Head to Robin Hood's Bay

Well... Maybe it *will be* a hobbit walking party after all, especially as there are pubs and inns all along the way. Walk a bit... stop for a pint... walk a bit more... "Innkeeper, another round!" At this rate we'll be lucky to stumble through three days, let alone a 12-day hike across Britain.

But it's a grand plan, isn't it?

7 Days til the Burn!

Dancing Back the World

Today I saw a girl dancing outside the library. A black girl in a white dress. Just dancing.

She didn't have a tip jar out. She didn't look starved or even starved for attention. She was smiling.

People moved aside and gave her space. Many smiled. Some stayed to watch for a short time. At least until the light changed and they could cross the street.

Even from the 5th floor of the parking garage across the street, I could still see her graceful movements, still hear the plaintive strains of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. It was... transforming.

Do something. Do anything. Take back the world. For a moment. For a day. Maybe if we keep it up, we can change the world permanently.



11 Days til the Burn!

Syllabus Completus

It is done.

Hallelujah.




12 Days til the Burn!

Let Some Mysteries Remain

My dad is fond of Bigfoot stories, so my sister dropped by Felton's Bigfoot museum on the way to our weekend camping trip and picked up a book of true tales. And those became our campfire tales for this trip.

You see, my family has always believed Bigfoot was real, so we really dig stuff like that.

And of course there have been a number of hoaxes, but in spite of that, there seems to be enough genuine experiences to indicate that there is a very real creature out there.

And as the great forests of the world get pushed back, it would seem that there are fewer places for Bigfoot to hide, and that eventually he will be found.

And I don't think he should be found. For both our sakes.

Bigfoot is such a reclusive creature, it would be death to pull him out into the light.

And if he were found, and his existence proven beyond any doubt, what then? What stories would we tell then?

I think if he were found, something wondrous would be lost and a great mystery would be gone from the world. And that would be a tragedy.

You see, Bigfoot doesn't need us, but I think we need him. We need the Mystery. And therein lies the irony.




13 Days til the Burn!

I Camp for Beauty

Camping is not my favorite activity. I hate the bugs. And the dirt. And the inconvenient restroom facilities. Believe me, if I was a woman of sufficient means, I would be vacationing in a penthouse somewhere, or maybe an Italian villa. But I digress...

This weekend was a kind of trial run for me: I got out my tent and checked to make sure all the pieces parts were still in place for Burning Man next week (yay!). I have discovered that I will endure any amount of discomfort and inconvenience for Art. As the sages say, Art is Life; what else is there to live for?

And camping does have its moments. Moments like when the full moon comes out from behind the trees late at night and turns a meadow to silver. Moments like that.

And at moments like that, something deep inside, something small and dark and tangled, untwists itself, and suddenly you find you can let go of that breath you didn't even know you were holding and just...

Breathe.

14 Days til the Burn!

Children of Privilege

My final day of summer classes I was leading a discussion with my students--mostly high school juniors and seniors--regarding the need for social change in America. One girl commented that it was no good just "giving people stuff" (like health care!!!) because then they wouldn't be motivated to work.

I have heard this argument before. I'm sure greater minds than mine have found a suitable response. (At some point I am going to have to find out).

This argument bothers me, especially coming from kids from prosperous families wearing designer clothes and who only bother to get jobs in order to buy more stuff.

I think my response at the time was, "Really?" Nicely vague and open-ended, hoping to encourage a dissenting voice. But no. They were all in agreement. Social programs (somehow we had slipped from a discussion of health care to welfare) were a slippery slope and once people were given help, they'd never be motivated to work again.

So I asked them if they knew what it took to earn a living in this area. Did they even know how much it cost to rent a place of their own?

Blank stares all around.

Imagine this, I told them. In a few years, you will be in college or graduating college and getting your first job. What happens when your job doesn't pay for the basic necessities of life? Then what?

I gave them the example of a friend of mine. At 25 years old, her job at the bookstore didn't even cover the cost of renting a room. Just a room. Not an apartment. And that doesn't include the cost of food and transportation and clothes and... oh, yeah... fun stuff.

What did she do? they asked.

She moved back home with her mom, I replied.

What happens, I asked them, when that is no longer an option, for whatever reason? What happens when you can't meet the cost of living, but don't have a place to go?

I could see comprehension slowly dawning on some of them. But only some.

Class was over so the discussion ended there. But I got to thinking how 20 years ago, my sister was able to move out of the house at 19 years old and rent a 2-bedroom condo with her girlfriends. It was cramped: they had to double up, two girls to a room. But they could afford to share the rent at $200 each, plus additional expenses. These girls were not college graduates; they were working various jobs in business and retail. But they made it.

I don't think young people today have the same options. And sadly, I don't think they truly realize how very limited their options are.




15 Days til the Burn!

Electra Bunny

My rabbit has developed a fondness for chewing on electrical cords. This mystifies me. To date she has chewed through the cords of our Christmas tree, one lamp, and my phone charger, as well as making constant attempts with maddening consistency to get behind the entertainment center to chew the cords there.

First Question: Why isn't she dead? One would think biting through an electric cord *with your teeth* would be enough to short anyone out of existence.

Second Question: Why does she do it? Electrical cords can't possibly taste very good. And I can't imagine they resemble anything in nature that a rabbit would naturally be attracted to. Watership Down just didn't cover this bit.

Fortunately, I have developed the skill of stripping electrical cords, reattaching the wires, and repairing them with electrical tape. Because I'm talented like that.

Third Question: Why does she keep doing it? After being zapped the first time--and not dying--I would think the shock would be enough of a deterrent to keep her from coming back for more. But she keeps doing it.

I can only imagine that she has developed a taste for the stuff. I have a rabbit addicted to electroshock: Nibble. Zap. Ooh. What a rush.




16 Days til the Burn!

The King's Highway

The more I teach, the more I learn. This was taken from an article in an SAT-type exam (I cannot site the source, because it is not listed):

"The Constitution forbids Congress from building roads, because the framers of the Constitution understood road building as the first step toward creating a tyrannical, centralizing national government, and while the Supreme Court had years earlier decided that the right to establish roads stands implicit in the Constitution, no amount of loose interpretation could get past the explicit prohibition on building. Congress might declare a highway or rural cart path a post road, then, but it could not build a road unless the road served essentially as a weapon." [italics mine]

The article went on to explain that the highway system was developed post-WWII as the Military and Interstate Highway System in response to Cold War tactical scenarios. Put a guided missile on a train and the tracks could be easily targeted and severed. Put a missile on a truck and keep it moving on a highway and no Soviet missile could target it. When paved surfaces are cratered by bombs, the holes left behind are easily filled by bulldozers. Even damage from A-bombs and H-bombs could be put right in a day or two (barring radiation poisoning).

Road grades and curvatures, overpass and underpass heights and widths, are all set at military standard (so something like, say, a *tank* can get through with ease).

Powerlines do not border most highways so that military aircraft may land safely.

And you thought all that work on the highways was for your sake? So that civilians could drive swiftly and safely? Silly you.

Gives a whole new perspective on the saying, "All roads lead to Rome," doesn't it?




17 Days til the Burn!

The Truth is Out There

If a mall is evacuated in suburbia, but no news agency reports on it, did it really happen?

I was at Oakridge Mall in San Jose on Sunday. I had purchased a ticket to see the X-Files and had about an hour to kill, when suddenly we were told to evacuate the building. We never did get a clear explanation why, only some vague references to a possible fire.

The oddest thing is, there has been nothing reported in the news about this. Nothing. Not a word.

Is San Jose so overwhelmed with news items that a mall evacuation doesn't rate even a blurb? What *really* happened in the mall that day? I think it's a case for Mulder and Scully, my friends.




19 Days til the Burn!

Aliens Among Us, Part II

So this whole debate regarding other intelligences got me thinking about that Star Trek episode The Devil in the Dark. The whole reason that episode succeeded so brilliantly was because the Horta was not only *not* human, it wasn't even recognizably humanoid. When it comes to meeting "strange new life forms" out there in the far reaches of space, we are far more likely to meet a Horta than a Klingon.

Star Trek was never really about the aliens. It's about us. The Klingons are us. And the Vulcans. And the Romulans and the Cardassians and the Ferrengi (*especially* the Ferrengi--hahaha).

But the Horta, now... The Horta reminds us that what we meet out there will not be us. It will not look like us. It will not communicate like us. It will be so alien that we may not even recognize it as an intelligent being at first. We may mistake it for a rock. Or a monster. If we're lucky, it will *feel* like us. It will feel pain. And sympathy. It will desire to protect it's own. And it will therefore desire peace. If we're lucky.

In the meantime, we can learn a lot from these other life forms we share our planet with. They could very well hold the key to our survival, not only here on earth, but also as we take our first tentative steps outward.

In the spirit of exploration, I have been attempting Spock's mindmeld technique on my rabbit. I think she's beginning to understand me. I, on the other hand, have been experiencing inexplicable cravings for lettuces...




20 Days til the Burn!

Aliens Among Us, Part I

I was caught up in a discussion with some colleagues about animal intelligence, which was interesting because I just read an article on the subject ("The Truth About Dogs" by Stephen Budiansky). The article--and one of my colleagues--made the argument that animals are not necessarily intelligent the way humans understand intelligence, but rather we interpret their behavior according to that standard of intelligence that we set. Humans are very good at anthropomorphizing (lovely word!), especially pet owners. Therefore, the dog is not genuinely loyal, the human owner is interpreting the dog's behavior as loyalty; the dog may merely be doing its doggy thing because it wants a biscuit.

Where this theory breaks down, however, is our standard for intelligence. We are basing it entirely on our own--I would argue--limited perspective. Just because we are the dominant species on the planet does not necessarily mean we hold the only standard for intelligence. We may yet discover there are levels of cat intelligence, and dog, and horse, and gorilla, and dolphin, and whale. After all, although they don't speak our language, cats and dogs and horses and gorillas and dolphins and whales have learned to understand human very well. I'm not sure the reverse could be said to be true.

My colleague went on to argue intelligence based on a large brain, i.e. dogs and cats are smarter than rodents because their brains are bigger, and we are smarter than dogs and cats because our brains are bigger than theirs. But this theory breaks down, too. Dolphins and whales have bigger brains than humans; so who is smarter? (I went on to argue that the Neanderthal had a larger brain than Homo sapiens, but H. sapiens adapted better and outlived them... but I digress). So I don't think a large brain is the only answer to the intelligence question.

The thing is, I don't believe this kind of cross-species intelligence rating is particularly useful. Can we really say that a cat is smarter than a dog? (Or vice versa?) Or that a fox is smarter than a rabbit? (Or vice versa?) Perhaps the most we can say is something like Budiansky's observation that dogs must be smarter than wolves because dogs hooked up with humans early on and have since enjoyed the benefits of this relationship (evidence: dog populations number in the millions while wolf populations are dwindling). But until we truly understand what it means to be a dog, or a cat, or a dolphin, or whatever, then we really shouldn't privilege human intelligence as "smarter." Better adapted, perhaps, but not necessarily smarter. We may, in the end, discover that we are, as Douglass Adams writes, merely the third most intelligent species on the planet, rather than the first.

Which raises an interesting question: If we cannot open our eyes to the possibility of non-human intelligence on our own planet, will we even be capable of recognizing extra-terrestrial intelligence when we meet it?




21 Days til the Burn!

Steve Reeves is God

It was "Spookfest Friday" at Dann & Maurine's and we indulged ourselves in two Popeye cartoons, one really *awful* science fiction (and I use the term lightly) serial, and two Steve Reeves movies: Morgan the Pirate and The Thief of Baghdad. The dialogue was terrible (and poorly dubbed!), but the eye candy was *totally* worth it. (Actually, Thief of Baghdad was creative and fun--not bad for 1961).

Allow me to artfully shred that shirt a little more, Mr. Reeves... More body oil?... Why, certainly...

22 Days til the Burn!

Postcards from the Labyrinth

Today was my last day of teaching the 7th and 8th grade book clubs. We brought in snacks and movies to celebrate. I was surprised--pleasantly--that they chose to watch the older Labyrinth over the more recent Stardust. (The first question they ask when I tell them about a book or movie is, "When was it made?") They were shocked when I told them the movie came out when I was a teenager. I had a hard time convincing them that I used to look like Jennifer Connelly. (Have I really changed all that much?)

Even as I pressed play, I had my reservations. I thought, These kids are too sophisticated. They'll hate it and end up mocking one of my dearest pieces of nostalgia. But I was wrong. They were enchanted. They loved the goblins. And Hoggle. They thought the Goblin King was played by Michael Jackson. No, I told them, that's David Bowie. Is he dead? they asked. No, he's still very much alive and enjoying an active career. (They found that less likely than believing in goblins and skipped past the singing bits). There were some tense moments. "I'm going to have nightmares!" one boy exclaimed. There was laughter--not mocking, but from genuine pleasure.

As I watched them from the back of the room, huddled together in the dark, fidgeting and commenting (and then shushing), no more able to keep their thoughts to themselves than their hands and feet, it occurred to me that there is a remarkable similarity between children and goblins. Perhaps the reason why a 22-year-old movie can still have such appeal is related to how keenly children enjoy having that part of themselves reflected back at them off the screen--that maddening, mischievous, magical part.

And as for me? Well...

"Through dangers untold, and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City..."

I am no longer that naive, lost young girl. I made it there sure enough. Come to think of it, it could be I never left. Maybe if I stick around long enough, the goblins will make me their Queen.






23 Days til the Burn!

Guinness & Midol

How I spell "Relief." ;-)







24 Days til the Burn!

Watching the Stars Come Out

I heard Urban Astronomer Paul Salazar on KFOG this morning. I get so busy with life I forget how much I love stargazing. The Universe is an amazing place.

Paul used an image for the listening audience that I'll never forget. He said that the reason the best time to watch for meteor showers is after midnight is not only because the sky is darkest at that time (although that's part of it), but mainly because the earth has rotated around and is facing directly into the rotation. At that moment, we are facing head on into meteors and space dust and anything else we may meet along the way. That's when the show is at its most dramatic.

I don't know why I find that thought so captivating. I love the idea of standing, arms outstretched, on the outer rim of the planet with my face to the Universe and the whole of planet Earth thrusting at my feet, flying and firmly grounded at the same time. What a rush.

This reminds me, too, of the Mars landing a few months ago. I was at BayCon and I got to watch the landing projected onto a huge screen in a room packed with an enthusiastic audience. One of the things I love about moments like this is the human factor. For months, even years, the people involved with these missions work steadily, like automatons. But for these brief shining moments, all their hope and fear and joy rises to the surface. There was one man in the back of the control room who just couldn't stay still; he kept pacing, then he'd stop and grip the back of his chair, and then start pacing again. When the landing was complete, he jumped up and down and hugged his colleagues. I don't know who that man is, but I love him. I love him for caring, for putting his heart into it.

Sometimes, we do good work, we humans. Sometimes, we manage to approach things noble and worthwhile.




25 Days til the Burn!

Procyon Lotor Strikes Back

The "mystery monster" has been identified as the Procyon lotor--known in layman's terms as the North American racoon.





See? I told you that thing didn't come from the sea...




26 Days til the Burn!

Think Critically and Act with Deliberation

"Cherish therefore the spirit of our people and keep alive their attention. Do not be severe upon their errors, but reclaim them by enlightening them. If once they become inattentive to public affairs, you and I and Congress and Assemblies, judges and governors, shall all become wolves."

~Thomas Jefferson

"The logic of democracy begins with public education, proceeds to informed citizenship, and comes to fruition in the securing of rights and liberties. We have been nominally democratic for so long that we presume it is our natural condition rather than the product of persistent effort and tenacious responsibility. [...]

"[Civic literacy] encompasses the competence to participate in democratic communities, the ability to think critically and act with deliberation in a pluralistic world, and the empathy to identify sufficiently with others to live with them despite conflicts of interest and differences in character."

~Benjamin R. Barber, America Skips School

Click here and here.

27 Days til the Burn!

(Not Exactly) Cloverfield?

Terrifying monster attacks New York!

Well... one dead monster, actually, washed upon the shore...

An odd beast... Part dog... Part turtle?

I don't know... It looks fake to me, although witnesses are swearing that it's true. That head and flipper look pasted on, either photoshopped or otherwise.

I would think a marine biologist would look at that and say that no creature living in the sea would need shoulders and elbows like that... or legs, for that matter.

I'm skeptical. It's not that I don't want there to be mysterious undersea creatures. I think there are some. But I think they would be more blubbery with big googly eyes (or no eyes?) and tentacles... something that would bespeak living at the bottom of the sea.

And the body's disappeared. Why doesn't anyone phone a science lab when stuff like this turns up. Animal control? They called animal control? The guys who scrape squirrels off the highway and take stray dogs to the pound?

I'm voting "hoax."

28 Days til the Burn!

A Midsummer Night's Posting

My summer so far...

In Birthdays
My son’s 16th birthday was spent at BayCon over Memorial weekend (Actually, his birthday is May 30, which usually falls on Memorial weekend, but didn’t this year...). Brave soul that I am, I allowed him to invite two or three buddies to accompany him. So while I pecked away at my final term paper back in our hotel room, he and his friends ran amuck in the Santa Clara Hilton: “boffering” (beating each other with padded weaponry); picking up on chicks... er... making new friends with girls in bizarre costumery; and conducting a variety of experiments testing the nature of reality. Of the latter, one example involved (I am told) a trail of Mentos leading between the doors of two adjacent elevators in the effort to trap a Japanese businessman in an endless loop at 6:30 in the morning (the experiment failed, lacking the appearance of said businessman). Another involved a conversation Jared overheard while resting/hiding under a table during a brief respite from an elaborate game of hide and seek. The conversation, between a man and a woman, discussed the topic of reality. Unable to resist, Jared poked his head out from under the tablecloth and, quoting our favorite SF radio show Ruby, said, “Reality is what everyone agrees is real; what everyone agrees is not real, does not exist.” The man said, “Good point!” And Jared retreated back into his hiding place. You see, things like this can happen at a science fiction convention without anyone batting an eye. And *that*, I think, says more about the nature of reality than a stack of philosophy books.

My 41st birthday (July 26) was spent in my home with good friends old and new. We drank wine and ate tasty things and talked about travel and writing and other creative projects... Along with completing another Darkover novel, finishing up her own science fiction trilogy, and editing a second volume of Lace & Blade, Deborah is also actively supporting Live Long n Marry, Afghans for Afghans and Mother Bear projects. (These are truly wonderful grass roots organizations– click on the links to find out more)... While still maintaining the Joseph Mazzello fan club and website (which he originated back when Joseph was a wee lad), Mike is working on a new screenplay. (I can’t wait to read it, Mike!)... Guy’s wife Danielle and daughter Camille just got back from a trip to Mexico: part Spanish immersion, part art studio/museum tour. At an aquarium, Camille was actually lowered into a tank to feed the sharks! Way to go, Camille! Now Guy and Danielle are headed off to Sweden... Pete will be heading back to Singapore on business once again, while his wife Chris continues teaching music and a wonderful new dance form combining flamenco and belly dancing. (I have to take this class!)... Tony will be continuing his percussion training in the Fall, which gives our band such wonderful rhythm and keeps us all in synch... And Isabel, my Cabaret sister, is always on the lookout for another show to display her fine singing, dancing, and acting talents... But I have to say the prize for the evening went to Guy and the original limerick he read in my honor... ;-)

In Books
For the summer book clubs I’m teaching, I’ve read (and recommend highly!):

Whale Rider by Witi Ihimaera
Under a Blood Red Sun by Graham Salisbury
Seventh Son by Orson Scott Card
Goose Girl by Shannon Hale
This Boy’s Life by Tobias Wolff
The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd
A Separate Peace by John Knowles
Elsewhere by Gabrielle Zevin

Of the above, it’s hard to pick a favorite– they were all wonderful– but if I had to pick one it would be Goose Girl, the one based on the Grimm’s fairy tale (of course!).

For myself, the little casual pleasure reading I’ve done has included:

Finishing Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrel by Susanna Clarke
Starting Declare by Tim Powers (actually almost done with this one)

The former I couldn’t put down; the latter I’ve had to put down again and again. I can’t tell at this point if it’s just my schedule interferring with it, or if the book just hasn’t engaged me all that much. Fascinating premise, though.

I really should be studying. Really, really.

In Film
After a semester of Middle East studies, and watching films like The Battle for Algiers, and The Prisoner, and Until When..., I just haven’t been able to embrace my usual preference for foreign and indie films. So when I do get out to the movies, it’s been to see lighter fare: Iron Man, Indiana Jones, Wall-E, and The Dark Knight. I do love comic book heroes. And I’ll never tire of really well done animation.

In Music
Shadow Opera is doing great! We’ve been practicing new songs and keeping the old ones sharp. We had one really nice gig at Clos la Chance winery in San Martin in June which went really well. The crowd was very attentive and gave us some great feedback. One guy (a David Bowie fan) even ran in from the parking lot when he heard us playing his favorite song! (Ziggy Stardust, of course!) Later, when I sang Five Years, I dedicated it to him. We’ve done other smaller gigs– one at the bookstore and the other at community park– but the audience was somewhat lacking. We’ll be on a hiatus in August while Guy and Pete are out of the country, but hopefully we’ll get back to performing once September rolls around.

Hitting Things With Sticks– Who’d have known this was so fun? While Jared has been back east, I’ve sat in for music lessons with his guitar instructor. He’s teaching me some basic percussion. I joined the group session last Thursday and got to play along with the other students in a band setup. What fun! And I could actually hold the beat. What a surprise! I really should have done this as a teenager– puberty would have been so much more tolerable if I could have taken out my frustrations on clashing cymbals and other clickety-clackety things. This could be dangerous though... I think I’m getting a fever... and the only perscription is: MORE COWBELL!!!

On a classical note, I’ve managed to see the San Francisco Symphony twice this summer, once at the Flint Center in Cupertino and once at Cesar Chavez Park in San Jose. The Flint Center performance was a Cello concerto. I loved Lutoslawski’s Mi-Parti (1976)– It sounded like it could be part of a movie soundtrack for Star Wars or Harry Potter. I could *totally* picture Luke Skywalker stepping into the tree on Dagobah in Empire. Considering the time period, I wonder if John Williams was influenced by Lutoslawski. Mi-Parti was followed by Janacek’s Taras Bulba (1918); but the highlight of the evening was Dvorak’s Cello Concerto in B Minor, Opus 104 (1895). The beautiful Alisa Weilerstein played the lead cello. She was amazing. For a moment, when she first came out and faced the audience, you could tell she was aware of us, she took us all in. But as soon as she began to play, you could tell she was somewhere else entirely, transported into her music. And she took us along for the ride. It was as if the music came alive and the notes were dancing and swirling in the air around her. Her performance was so captivating, we completely lost track of time. Suddenly, it was over, and the audience was on its feet cheering. Brilliant!

The concert in San Jose was lovely as well– a Tuesday afternoon in the Park with Verdi, Dvorak, and Tchaikovsky:

Verdi Overture to La forza del destino
Dvořrák Allegra con fuoco from Symphony No. 9, New World
Tchaikovsky Andantino in modo di canzona from Symphony No. 4
Tchaikovsky Finale: Allegro con fuoco from Symphony No. 4

I was talking with my bandmates about this recently– How artists see music. Some artists say they see it in colors, others as language or mathematical formulae; some, like Tori Amos, meet actual personalities in these sonic shapes. Me, I see landscapes. When I listen to music, especially classical music, but other kinds of music as well, it feels similar to when I’m sitting in an IMAX theatre with the camera skimming over the surface of some intricate geography– but I don’t see colors or definition, just a sonic impression, like a bat’s sonar, perhaps. It’s easy to get lost in it; sometimes I don’t want to come back. ;-)

In Scholarship
In June, I attended the Children’s Literature Association’s annual conference, held this year in Bloomington, IL. I submitted a paper discussing Icelandic children’s literature, and was invited to join their international panel focusing on Iceland. The other two scholars were from the University of Iceland– Anna Heida Palsdottir and Dagny Kristjansdottir– and they told me later I was this big mystery: Who else could possibly know about Icelandic children’s literature? Was I Icelandic? ;-) I felt a bit like Cinderella. We went to lunch and I told them about my trip last summer.

I had a wonderful time and met many scholars from all over the world: Iceland, Russia, Greece, Canada, Ireland, and all over the U.S. I met award-winning author Peter Dickinson from England. And I had the good fortune to get reaquainted with my friend Susan from my trip last year. We booked a room together– and after my crazy (mis)adventures with the delayed flights and losing my cell phone, it was such a relief to arrive and find she had my bed all ready and a note telling me there were snacks in the fridge. ;-) (Thanks, Susan!)

(Note to Self: Next time, pack lighter, wear running shoes, and put cell phone in the *inside* pocket...)

In Teaching
As I mentioned earlier, I’m teaching summer reading courses for an SAT prep school. My students range in age from 11-16. I like the junior high kids the best. They are so full of personality. They are both maddening and enchanting at the same time. And they can’t shut up to save their lives. Really. I’ve threatened them with all manner of torture and punishment; nothing works. One of them, the youngest, said to me one day, “Don’t you just love us, Miss Tanja? Haven’t we changed your life?” Yes, Justine. Absolutely.

In Writing
Last semester, my short story “The Kindly Ones” and my long poem “Denmark, On My 40th Birthday” each won first place in the English Department’s Phelan Awards.

Also, I am now a regular contributor to Bookbird, an international children’s lit magazine. I submit what is called “postcard” reviews (about 150 words). My first review should be coming out in the Fall issue. It’s pretty exciting. *International* publication. Wow.

Now if only I can get one of my stories published...

So that’s it. That’s the update. Until next time...



29 Days til the Burn!

There *Are* Arab Superheroes!

...and they've been saving the world since 2005! Who knew?

See AK Comics Official Website and Wikipedia for details.

Or check out this Washington Post article.

This one is good, too: 9/11 and the Birth of the "Muslim Action Hero."

There is also a comprehensive list of Middle East superheroes on Wikipedia (That new X-Men character Dust looks interesting...).

The thing I like about AK Comics is that their superheroes are created by Arabs for Arabs, and their stories are centered in their world dealing with their issues from their perspective. However, I'm really glad that Marvel and DC have added characters of their own. It gives American kids (and other comic book readers [grin]) an opportunity to see images of Arabs that are *not* terrorists.

Using archetypes to fight stereotypes. Brilliant!

Iron Man and the Hollywood Arab Stereotype

Okay, at the risk of incriminating myself, I went out to the movies last night... (Instead of working on my homework? Gasp!)

;-)

It was all in the name of *research*! Yeah, that's it!

;-)

Anyway, I saw "Iron Man."

A portion of the movie takes place in Afghanistan. I made it a point to pay attention to the images they presented of the Arab characters as this is something we have been examining in my comparative literature course this semester. This, of course, distracted me from the purely visceral pleasure of watching a comic book hero movie; I hope you appreciate my sacrifice. ;-)

So, with my graduate hat on ...

I noticed that the filmmakers attempted to be even-handed about it. The bad guys are not introduced as Afghanis but under the title of their resistance movement (The Nine Rings, or something of that nature). However, the first and most prominent image we see--and in larger numbers--is the stereotypical terrorist figures: Arab men with weapons fighting from desert caves and willing to do anything they must, including torture, to get what they want. We are presented with some images of the "innocent" Afghanis--the helpless refugees torn from their homes--but this is done by the bad guys, their own people. And it takes an "American" hero to come in and save them. If they had left it at these polar opposites, I would be more critical; however, they also included an "intellectual Arab", a doctor, an educated man, who helps our hero and even lays down his life for the cause. But even this could fall under some criticism, because, after helping our hero, there seems to be nothing left for him to do but die.

Robert Downey, Jr.'s character does have an interesting arc-- he starts out as a heartless weapons dealer but then has a sudden change of heart when he discovers that his own weapons are being sold to the "enemy." But his moments of reflection are neither loud enough nor pointed enough. And the ultimate "enemy" (caution: spoiler alert) turns out to be an American, but an American *businessman* NOT the government. I must applaud the filmmakers for attempting something of a mildly subversive theme, but ultimately this is an action movie and not too many people are going to be thinking that deeply about it.

What I found most disturbing is how the audience (mostly young people) laughed every time the Arab bad guys were killed.

For the comic book genre of films, this is one of the better ones, and you can just sit back and enjoy it. We do like our heroes: The American maverick with ingenuity out to save the world from evil and injustice. But I got to thinking... Wouldn't it be a refreshing change to see an Arab maverick with ingenuity save the world? That would be a different movie indeed.

Growing Up

My son is playing an extra in his high school musical, The Sound of Music. It's really kind of fun to see his interest grow in this area. I tried earlier this year to get him to watch the movie version and it didn't hold his interest; but put it on stage with a bunch of his friends and suddenly musicals are cool.

Also cool was his sudden catapult into a speaking role. One of the other students in the cast called in sick. He told me that the director rushed backstage, thrust a script into his hands and said, "You're the butler tonight!" He really had to think on his feet then. What made it especially nice is that my parents were down to see the show, so we got to see more of him on stage than originally planned. He did a fine job, displaying much grace under pressure.

Another highlight of the show for me was that a former student of mine (when I was teaching in the STAR program for Gavilan) was playing the lead, Captain Von Trapp. When I first met this boy, he was an outsider with awkward social skills and little confidence in his abilities. We took him under our wing and by the end of three weeks he was interacting freely with the other students and performing confidently on stage. And today he was up there on stage more confident and talented than ever. I couldn't be more proud than if I were his mother.

My son tells me that the students are talking excitedly about next year. They want to do musicals like Sweeney Todd or The Producers. I hope they're not too disappointed. It's a pity, but I don't think many parents would approve of those productions. Isn't it more important that these kids are excited about learning? Shouldn't we be thrilled that they are discovering a kind of theatre that resonates deeply in them, that speaks to their senses of humor and catharsis?

A Rose by Any Other Name

A pancake breakfast with good friends and a good two hours of reading a good book in the San Jose Municipal Rose Garden: Contentment!

I had only ever driven past this place at night, and then only received the impression that there was some kind of park on the other side of the iron fence. The roses are not yet in bloom, making it more a thorn garden than a rose garden for now, but it is still beautiful and well worth the visit. A perfect reading spot!

Marlene watches from the wall...

This is such a cool song. I heard it for (I think) the first time today, although it was released in 1985. How did I miss this? I wondered. Oh, because it was released in *London* and not in the US.

According to the chatter on the internet, this song may or may not be about Marlene Dietrich. But that is exactly who I thought of while hearing this.

Yeah. She watches me, too, Suzanne. She watches me, too.



Marlene on the Wall
~Suzanne Vega

Even if I am in love with you
All this to say, what's it to you
Observe the blood, the rose tattoo
Of the fingerprints on me from you

Other evidence has shown
That you and I are still alone
We skirt around the danger zone
And don't talk about it later

Marlene watches from the wall
Her mocking smile says it all
As she records the rise and fall
Of every soldier passing
But the only soldier now is me
I'm fighting things I cannot see
I think it's called my destiny
That I am changing
Marlene on the wall

Well, I walk to your house in the afternoon
By the butcher shop with the sawdust strewn
"Don't give away the goods too soon"
Is what she might have told me

And I tried so hard to resist
When you held me in your handsome fist
And reminded me of the night we kissed
And of why I should be leaving

Marlene watches from the wall
Her mocking smile says it all
As she records the rise and fall
Of every man who's been here
But the only one here now is me
I'm fighting things I cannot see
I think it's called my destiny
That I am changing, changing, changing, changing, changing

"If my life wasn't funny, it would just be true."

~Carrie Fisher, Wishful Drinking
Berkeley Rep, 8pm

Cinequest: The Call of Cthulhu

"In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming."

"That is not dead which can eternal lie,

And with strange aeons even death may die."

Based on H.P. Lovecraft's classic horror story and filmed as a silent picture as if the film were made when the story was written in 1927, The Call of Cthulhu is a work of creative genius. What makes it unique is the work itself: they just don't make film narratives like this anymore. Heck, they don't make book narratives like this anymore.

The plot moves forward with slow deliberation, as layer after layer of mystery is peeled away by a succession of characters, each of whom has his own story to tell. First is the Nephew, who is relating his tale to a man he has hired to destroy the research papers he has inherited from his Grand-Uncle. The narrative then turns to the Grand-Uncle's tale, who in turn relates the narratives of a young Boston man plagued by strange dreams, a Professor of Anthropology, a Police Inspector, and finally the Second Mate of a Norwegian ship. The narrative then returns to the Nephew who concludes by urging once again that the papers be destroyed.

What I found fascinating about this approach is that while most of our modern tale-telling retains a somewhat equal level of complexity--flashback, flash forward, reverse narratives, and so on--we, the audience, experience the events as they are happening. There is rarely a sense that someone is relating something that has already happened. Even when characters catch up to one another, we expect them to paraphrase or relate their adventures off screen: There is no need for us to witness it again for we have already seen it. There is a Show-and-Tell quality to old-style film making that is absent from the newer Show-Don't-Tell philosophy. And in response to this rapid, visual-based storytelling in film, books have also sped up their narratives and shifted to more image-based (rather than language-based) plots.

Another thing I found clever about their using the silent film format to tell this story is that we never hear anyone pronounce the nearly unpronounceable word "Cthulhu." I made it a point to listen to others' pronunciation when buying my ticket at the Box Office: we all mangled it. But perhaps that is a blessing. Perhaps pronouncing the name aright would summon the alien-beast-god from the pit.

Finally, I would like to close with a quote from Lovecraft's story, which was also used in the movie. It puts a finger, I think, on the horror we humans feel for too much enlightenment. I don't know if I entirely agree with it, but it certainly illuminates the tension we see between those who are pushing forward for scientific discovery and those who are recoiling from it.

"The most merciful thing in the world, I think,

is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.

[...] some day the piecing together of disassociated knowledge will

open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein,

that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light

into the peace and safety of a new dark age."

~H.P. Lovecraft

Director Andrew Leman Producer Sean Branney, Andrew Leman Executive Producer Sean Branney, Andrew Leman Co-Producer Chris Lackey Writer Sean Branney Cinematographer David Robertson Editor David Robertson Cast Matt Foyer, David Mersault, Patrick O'Day Film Info 47min

Cinequest: The Substitute

The ominous "Ulla" -- Hide your chickens... er... and your children.

This film offers nothing new as far as it premise: The "my teacher is an alien" bit has been done--and overdone--for years now. But what it does offer is a fresh dollop of humor and a superb cast. The special effects aren't bad either.

Paprika Steen is perfect as the malevolent and sadistic "Ulla," the substitute teacher who turns up when the children's regular teacher falls ill suddenly from a case of salmonella poisoning (reference to salmonella becomes a subtle ongoing joke as certain inconvenient adults fall prey to this illness). The children know something is up from the first day; however, they are unable to convince their parents of this. There is a wonderful scene in which the kids and the parents are shouting at each other from across a room, the parents trying to be the voice of reason while the kids are trying to relay the reality of their situation. A truer representation of the generation gap was never seen.

Despite the efforts of the kids to expose her, Ulla always manages to stay one step ahead. After the children witness her consuming a live chicken in her gutted and unlivable house, they convince their parents to confront her once again. But of course, by the time they arrive, her house is neat and clean and perfectly presentable. Ulla uses tears and little jokes to completely disarm them. In one hilarious moment, she comes creeping out of the kitchen, growling, with big monster gloves on her hands. After their initial fright, the parents collapse into laughter, convinced once again of their children's overactive imaginations.

Jonas Wandschneider--reminiscent of a young Elijah Wood--is brilliant as Carl, a gloomy boy still trying to come to terms with his mother's recent death. His drive to expose his teacher as an alien intensifies when she starts dating his dad. Another hilarious moment results when he confronts her over dinner when his father leaves the room. "I know you're an alien," he challenges her. "You mean, like this?" she replies. Suddenly, her face erupts into dozens of tentacles that whip out across the table to roar in his face. Moments later, when his dad returns, Ulla is calmly sipping her wine while Carl is collapsed back in his chair, catatonic with shock.

The special effects are nicely done. There is never a sense that this is a low budget production, but neither do they rely on the effects to tell the story. The best bit is the arrival of Ulla's spaceship, a round silver ball which drops through the atmosphere like the ball of a pinball machine. The arrival of the spaceship is shown almost entirely from the point of view of a chicken out in a field, the only being to witness its arrival. Space invasion from the perspective of a chicken--I can't believe that has ever been done before. (I won't tell you what happens to the chicken--I'm sure you can guess).

The premise that the alien is here to discover why humans have love and empathy (the aliens only know war and hate) is a trifle heavy-handed, but it is kept to the background and doesn't interfere with the overall humor and suspense of the film.

Perhaps the best scene of all is when the children are being loaded onto the bus for their field trip. The parents think their kids are going to Paris, but the kids all know by now that Ulla is kidnapping them to her homeworld. The kids are all wailing and crying; some have to be dragged bodily onto the bus. One boy states, matter-of-factly, to his parents, "Once you realize you have sent your son to his death, you'll be sorry. You'll realize you were entirely reponsible. I feel sorry for you. Goodbye." Then he stalks onto the bus. The parents wave and smile, bewildered, as the bus pulls away, while the kids stare forlornly out the windows, glum faces pressed up against the glass. Just puts a whole new spin on the words "field trip," doesn't it.



Director Ole Bornedal Producer Michael Obel Executive Producer Michael Obel Writer Ole Bornedal, Henrik Prip Cinematographer Dan Laustsen Editor Thomas Krag Music Marco Beltrami Cast Paprika Steen, Ulrich Thomsen, Jonas Wandschneider, Sofie Gråbøl, Sonja Richter, Olivia Stenderup Garre Country Denmark Language Danish with English subtitles Film Info 93min Genre Sci-Fi

Life in the Bubble

True story.

This friend of a friend of a friend of mine was working at Disneyland in some kind of customer service capacity. And a lady, a visitor to the park, comes up to her and says,

"Do you think you could turn the wind down?"

Yes. That's what she said.

It gets better.

She went on to say, "Listen, I know you're not supposed to talk about the bubble, but I know it's there, so would you please just tell someone to turn down the wind? My mother is feeling chilled."

What universe does this lady live in? What bubble? Is Disneyland under glass? Did she pass through an airlock? Or is this an *invisible* bubble? Or possibly *magic*?

I know Walt would have a good laugh about this. I think I'll go visit his cryogenically frozen head and tell him all about it. I'm not supposed to talk about that, but since you know now you can come, too.

Cinequest: The Aerial

The sinister Dr. Y

Director Esteban Sapir has created a visual tour de force in The Aerial. This film quite simply blew me away both in story and style. It begins, like all good stories, like a fairy tale. A book is opened and the city stands up like a pop-up. The inhabitants of the city have been robbed of their voices. The story is told like a silent film, with subtitles appearing on the screen, but the characters have a unique ability to interact with them, gathering them in their hands or nudging them to one side. In the absence of sound, words take on a more physical aspect, and communication between people does so as well. The soundtrack is used well to this affect, also; for instance, when Mr. TV draws a question mark on the fogged up window of his car, we hear the screech of violins.

There are so many odd and delightful little moments it is impossible to recount them all, and really not necessary. This is a film to be experienced aurally as well as visually. And therein lies the irony: Sapir uses a visual medium to present a message about the power of words and the human voice. And while the conclusion is wholly satisfactory, there are still enough unanswered questions to leave one thinking about it for hours afterwards: Why is Mr. TV's chauffeur a rat? Why does the son of the Voice have no eyes? And why does Ana not give him the glasses meant to cure him? Why is the broadcasting equipment in the TV station shaped like a swastika, and the Aerial's like a Jewish Star of David? Who is the demented fairy (dancing in her glass bubble with a cap full of typewriter keys and a pacifier in her mouth) and what is her relationship to Mr. TV?

This is a brilliant, magical film. I hope I can find it on DVD one day, because it is worth seeing again.

Director Esteban Sapir Producer Jose Arnal Writer Esteban Sapir Cinematographer Cristian Cottet Editor Pablo Barbieri Carrera Music Leo Sujatovich Cast Valeria Bertuccelli, Alejandro Urdapilleta, Julieta Cardinali, Rafael Ferro, Florencia Raggi, Sol Moreno, Jonathan Sandor, Ricardo Merkin, Raul Hochman, Carlos Piñeyro Country Argentina Language Spanish w/ English subtitles Film Info 90min Genre Fantasy