The Desire Called Utopia and Other Political Fictions

A recurring theme here on my section of NFOTF has been the demise of the idea of utopia in the political rhetoric of the West.

I don't watch much TV, but my son has hooked me this year on the cathode ray crack of Lost (which itself has some interesting crypto-utopian threads -- who knew you could have a prime time hit series based on an updated Airport movie ensemble cast exploring the remnants of a 1970s social experiment gone astray (see the Dharma Initiative)). So, last night, watching it on actual broadcast TV rather than downloading it as usual, recovering from an intense week, I was curious to experience the newest Obama commercial.



I live in Austin, Texas. Our surprisingly important primary is imminent. The peppy 30-second spot brilliantly mirrors the commodified "live music capital" self-image of our town, with local images and a soundtrack that subtly positions Barack Obama as the official politician of the Austin City Limits Music Festival. (It seems to be working: there are viral Obama semiotes all over town, from restroom graffiti to rainbow-colored Warholian Obama faces posted by white collar workers in the windows of downtown skyscrapers -- the face of every race and no race.)

The ad is full of wonderful platitudes that have all the rhetorical vigor of newspaper horoscope entries: you can fill them with your own wishes and aspirations.

The best one, though, is the Utopian manifesto tagline (which I have also been hearing in his radio ads):

"The world as it is is not the world as it has to be."

The guy needs to hire some science fiction writers. Doesn't he know dystopia sells better than utopia?

Just ask John "hundred year war" McCain (via William Gibson):



Perhaps the general election campaign will be the perfect battle between Obama's communitarian Utopia and McCain's warrior dystopia. Stay tuned...

P.S. For the historically minded, check out the wonderful archive of vintage presidential campaign spots at The Museum of the Moving Image.

Michael Moorcock named Grand Master by SFWA

Famed British author Michael Moorcock will be honored as the next Damon Knight Grand Master by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America during the upcoming Nebula Award Weekend® in Austin, Texas.

The moved was announced by SFWA President Michael Capobianco after consulting with the Board of Directors and participating past presidents. The Nebula Awards Weekend will be held April 25-27 at the Omni Austin Hotel Downtown.

"As one of the early members of SFWA I feel especially honoured to receive the Grand Master award and particularly pleased that I'll be in Austin to accept it," Moorcock said.

Named one of the 50 greatest postwar British writers by The Times of London, Moorcock is best-known for his stories featuring the albino swordsman Elric of Melniboné. Other popular characters created by the prolific Moorcock include Jerry Cornelius and Hawkmoon, characters that, like Elric, are linked by their stories in what has come to be known as the Eternal Champion cycle. Among his many awards, Moorcock won the 1967 Nebula Award for Behold the Man, the 1993 British Fantasy Award and the 2000 World Fantasy Award for lifetime achievement. Other notable works by Moorcock include The Dancers at the End of Time and Mother London.

Moorcock is the 25th writer recognized by SFWA as a Grand Master. He joins Robert A. Heinlein (1974), Jack Williamson (1975), Clifford D. Simak (1976), L. Sprague de Camp (1978), Fritz Leiber (1981), Andre Norton (1983), Arthur C. Clarke (1985), Isaac Asimov (1986), Alfred Bester (1987), Ray Bradbury (1988), Lester del Rey (1990), Frederik Pohl (1992), Damon Knight (1994), A. E. van Vogt (1995), Jack Vance (1996), Poul Anderson (1997), Hal Clement (1998), Brian Aldiss (1999), Philip Jose Farmer (2000), Ursula K. Le Guin (2003), Robert Silverberg (2004), Anne McCaffrey (2005), Harlan Ellison (2006) and James Gunn (2007).

Until 2002 the title was simply "Grand Master." In 2002 it was renamed in honor of SFWA's founder, Damon Knight, who died that year.

More details about the Nebula Awards Weekend are available at http://www.sfwa.org/awards/2008/.

MEMORY: 7

Previous

Parric seemed to withdraw into his trance.

"Parric..."

"What are you suggesting?" Parric said. "I'm asking you for informations. You're not having any for me."

"Look, if you want to know who's behind this thing, it might be more productive to come at it from a different direction," Knowicent said, sitting before Parric with legs crossed. "You've accumulated a few enemies, as I recall."

"Not that I am knowing of."

"What about the Eldminster of Hahn?"

"The Eldminster is at cross-purposings."

"And the T'choulic Taman?"

"Again, cross-purposings."

"I see. Okay then, which individuals you've been at cross purposes with in the past are capable of engineering this moironteau variant?"

"None are capabling."

"Aren't you even going to think about it?"

"No needings to. None are capabling. Not T'choulic Taman, not the Eldminster of Hahn, not even Condros Fane. None."

"You went up against Condros Fane? Why hadn't I heard about that?"

Parric gave her a withering stare.

"Look, without more data from your end my options are limited. If you're certain an old enemy--excuse me, cross-purposing--isn't behind it, then that doesn't leave much. A new enemy is pretty much all that's left. Someone you don't yet know you're in conflict with." Knowicent sighed. "I can give you everything I have on the moironteau. The data'll only be of limited relevance, though. This creature's been completely re-engineered--if it's an oxygen breather now, there's not way to tell what other alterations have been made."

"And the footheads?"

"No telling. I've got dozens of potential analogs--everything from finger-long sleacath to oceanic fraust large enough to swallow a moironteau whole. As far as convergent evolution goes, that one's fairly common across a wide range of cosms."

"I'm thinking as much," Parric said. "You may be going now."

"If I had a specimen, a tissue sample--"

"Yes, well, I am not having samples for you. You may be going now."

"Don't go alone," Knowicent said. "Take Rumbroid and Coreace. Or what about the Junsturs? You're on good terms with them, right?"

"Knowicent--"

"Shit, Parric, I'd like to think we've moved beyond a purely client-customer relationship. But if you don't care about my concern for your well-being, think of Flavius. He wouldn't want you to get yourself killed, would he? I'll admit I don't know much about these things, but everything I do know points to these moironteau being designed to kill you. Unless you want them to succeed, the next time you venture out into the Nexus I suggest you do so armed to the beak and with lots of backup." She smiled. "Who knows? A great wizard like you, lots of hero-types would likely volunteer just for the glory. That's not even considering other magicians who'd want to learn by seeing you in act--"

"That is not being possible. Craftings are not magicings," Parric said. "Besides, what you're suggesting is againsting the tenets of my order."

"Right, right. Your all-powerful 'tenets of the order,'" Knowicent said. "Tenets which I've never learned from you in, what? Ten? Fifteen years? Care to enlighten me?"

"That is againsting--"

"--the tenants of your order. Right. Can't say I didn't see that coming." Knowicent ran her hand through the flickering mass of cables on her head. Her eyes narrowed an accusing glare at Parric. "And you've never broken them before?"

"Thanking you for the informations you're giving," Parric said, more sharply than before. "Payment for such is transferring to your accountings. You may be going now."

She started to protest, but Parric twitched an antennae. Knowicent's avatar dispersed in a spray of light.

Parric shifted, trying to regain his meditative state. His tail twitched. He breathed deeply then slowly exhaled.

Sighing, Parric sat up. He was too agitated now, too conflicted. Knowicent had that effect on him, always posing more questions than she was paid to answer.

His wing sent a sharp jab of pain in protest. Parric flinched, softening his movements. The wing would have to wait a little longer, until he'd regained his composure.

"And you've never broken them before?"

Knowicent, she who made a career of knowing everything, was oblivious as to how deep her words had cut. The tenets were meant to pose a continuing challenge. Many Crafters faltered. It was expected. But Parric had never heard of any Crafter of Onimik as lacking as he. He thought back to his multitude of failures against the moironteau and shuddered in shame.

He would do better the next time. He had no excuses.

Calmly, Parric extended his antennae and started Colloreep's Third Current. He hadn't performed the exercise in a very long time. He'd neglected all of his exercises for far too long. He'd start with an easy one, and work his way up from there.

Parric sealed the door, blocking it from all intrusion. Then he expanded the interior of his room seven leagues in every direction. Satisfied he now had enough space to practice the Third Current freely, he solidified the air, then inverted it before collapsing the entire mass into a singularity of pure energy.

Yes, he would definitely do better the next time.

Continued

Lost Books, Part VI: Moore! Moore! Moore!

Alan Moore's The Ballad of Halo Jones is, for me, a lost book in more ways than one. I lent my copy of the most recent edition to a friend, but I don't remember who, and none of the friends I trust enough to lend books to admit to having it. The frustrating thing is, the book is so good that I really can't blame them for wanting to keep it. And now it's out of print. Again.

In his introduction (I'm paraphrasing from memory here), Moore says that he wrote the comics for 2000 AD (a date that then meant 'the future') in an attempt to escape the magazine's formula of heavily armed muscle-bound men blowing things up. As a contrast, he told an sf story of an apparently ordinary young woman going shopping. Of course, the shopping trip involves robot dogs, cyberpunkish streetlife, non-lethal weapons such as Zenades (grenades which induce a Zen-like state of calm), and other diversions.

Halo Jones rises from hazardous poverty in a slum on Earth, to a crew position as a cetacean interpreter on a starliner, and finally to military service and genuine - but quiet - heroism in and after an interstellar war.

Like Gaiman's Sandman series, the book is essentially a collection of short stories with an overarching plot, where seemingly minor incidents and characters turn out to be incredibly important later. The moral of the ballad seems to be that there are no minor or unimportant people (or even unimportant rats): everyone matters.

If you don't like comics, close your eyes and have someone read "I'll Never Forget Whatsisname" to you, and you may change your mind about the entire genre. It's that good.

CUSTOMER DISSERVICE

Last November, my mother overpaid her phone bill with a check for $800. That was sixteen times her normal monthly phone bill. When I discovered this, I started trying to get either a reimbursement or credit on her future phone bills. Over the next three months I talked to numerous AT&T customer service representatives and ended up with a bricolage of conflicting advice about what number to call—how to make such a claim—even whether I could talk AT&T on my mother's behalf. With only one exception, AT&T's representatives seemed to be polite and fair. But AT&T's customer service system is broken.

The problem first appeared on Mom's bank statement. It was identified on the statement as AT&T SERVICES CHECKPAYMT. Mom told me she'd thought the November AT&T bill said she owed all that money. That was highly unlikely, because the October statement showed a balance of $0.00. I promptly called the AT&T Customer Service number. The representative told me that I should call the Electronic Payment Center (EPC). Then I got busy getting Mom moved into Assisted Living. Mistakes like this check were one of the reasons I wanted her in Assisted Living! When I subsequently called the EPC, I was told that no, EPC was not the right number to call since it wasn't a bank draft or online bill pay—it was an actual, physical check.

At that point I thought I better check with Mom's bank. They told me that with checks electronically transmitted to the bank—that's what CHECKPAYMT means—the bank never gets the physical check. A check image will never appear in the bank statement. However, a copy of the bank statement should substantiate the payment and prove to AT&T to prove that the money was paid to them. Great! I called the AT&T Customer Service number again. This time around, the person who took my call listened to my description of the problem, including what the bank had told me; picked up on the fact that my patience was wearing thin; and managed to TRANSFER MY CALL TO MOM'S BANK'S AUTOMATED CALL SYSTEM. In other words, she got rid of me, but in a way that certainly did not bolster my patience.

On my next try a more helpful customer service rep told me that no fax or copy of the bank statement was needed. She said was filling out a claim for the overpayment. The claim would be investigated. She gave me a claim number and said I should follow up on the claim in a couple of weeks. Great ... maybe. At this point I knew better than to believe the problem was being solved just because somebody in AT&T Customer Service said so.

By the way, the backstory on AT&T landline phone service in Georgia, where my mother lives, is that BellSouth was taken over by AT&T. That was after AT&T had been taken over by SBC. The considerations in play in those corporate takeovers must have included big profits and the (formerly) good name of AT&T. Considerations not in play apparently included customer service.

The next time I called AT&T Customer Service I got someone who handed me off to someone else. The second person told me that she could not tell me ANYTHING—not how the claim was coming along, even if I did have a claim number; not how problems of this general sort should be handled; she could tell me NOTHING unless my name was added to the account. Now, every AT&T representative with whom I spoke up to this point had asked for the PIN Number from Mom's bill. One or two of them asked for the last four digits of Mom's Social Security Number. This representative said (a) knowing the PIN Number did not permit me to be given information about this account. (b) Knowing Mom's Social Security number would not help either. (c) My Durable Power of Attorney on Mom's behalf wouldn't do any good. Huh? Durable Power of Attorney is supposed to be for handling someone else's financial affairs, including in the event of accident or illness. But no. (d) My mother MUST get on the phone and VERBALLY INFORM AT&T that she wanted my name on the account.

My mother lives four states away and it upsets her to have to talk to strangers on the phone. I asked a cousin to walk Mom through it, which they did. While my cousin had AT&T Customer Service on the phone, she asked about the $800 problem. Answer: this Customer Service representative firmly informed my cousin that the ONLY way to claim the overpayment would be with A PAPER TRAIL meaning the PHYSICAL check. Which, since AT&T electronically transmitted the check to Mom's bank, AT&T presumably has!

There's a distinct pattern here, and customer service is not an apt name for it. AT&T Customer Service (sic) having wasted much more of my time than I had time to spare, I was ready to write off Mom's $800 as Alzheimer-affected bad judgment and thank my lucky stars I got her into Assisted Living when I did. But was her $800, not mine to write off or not. So I tried again. This time I hit pay dirt. Of a sort. I learned that—

(a) Mom and my cousin did get my name onto the account as an authorized person. Hallelujah.

(b) Somebody at AT&T had finally investigated the problem, ten weeks after I first talked to them about it. They noted on the electronic accounts records the following:

(c) Mom's $800 check was received in an envelope with an account slip that had the name, address and $800 phone bill of one of her neighbors.

(d) AT&T therefore assumed that she intended to pay that bill

(e) AT&T can do absolutely nothing to help Mom get her $800 back.

I'll think of it as the Alzheimer's tax.

So far as I know, Mom only blew $2-3,000 on a fly-by-night contractor, six or ten ostensible law-enforcement-related fund-raising organizations, plus the neighbor's phone bill. For the Alzheimer's tax, $2-3000 isn't much. Some people afflicted with Alzheimer's lose far more money than that, either by making mistakes or by being conned by unscrupulous contractors or people they know. In Mom's case, my best guess is that the wrong AT&T bill was mis-delivered by the Postal Carrier. Mom saw how much it was for but didn't comprehend that it was for a completely different person at a different address. Alzheimer's tax.... The lost $800 would cover only ten (10) days in Assisted Living. Assisted Living is expensive. It's just that with Alzheimer's, the alternatives to Assisted Living tend to be even more expensive.

In an ironic footnote to this misadventure, you might note the (sporadic) insistence from AT&T's Customer Service representatives on Giving Out Account Information Only to Someone Authorized. It sounds like something resembling customer service—protecting the customer's information as a service to the customer. Ah, but if you Google "AT&T privacy warrantless" you can read all about AT&T giving customers' communications records to the National Security Agency. Caveat citizen.

Lone Star Sleuths

Live in Texas? Not got any big plans for this coming Saturday? Then why not head over to sunny San Marcos for the Lone Star Sleuths shindig?

The Wittliff Collections at the Alkek Library, Texas State University-San Marcos, will host an afternoon celebrating Lone Star Sleuths, the new Texas crime fiction anthology in the Southwestern Writers Collection Book Series with the University of Texas Press on Saturday, Feb. 23, from 2-5 p.m.

Fifteen of the contributing mystery writers and the three editors—Bill Cunningham, Steven L. Davis, and Rollo K. Newsom—will talk with guests and sign books. Jesse Sublett and Kasey Lansdale will perform acoustic noir songs.

Scheduled authors include: Susan Wittig Albert, Neal Barrett, Jr., Paula Boyd, Susan Rogers Cooper, Bill Crider, A.W. Gray, Rolando Hinojosa, Joe R. Lansdale, David Lindsey, Ben Rehder, Rick Riordan, Jim Sanderson, Jesse Sublett, Doug J. Swanson, and Mary Willis Walker. Several of these authors have archives housed at the Southwestern Writers Collection, including Lansdale, Riordan, Sublett, and Wittig Albert, who co-edited the recent SWWC anthology What Wildness Is This.

There's at least three authors in that list above who readers of this blog should be well acquainted with--Joe R. Lansdale, Bill Crider and Neal Barrett, Jr.. I suspect it's a violation of zoning laws to bring those three malcontents together in a confined space, but whatcha gonna do?

The real reason to attend isn't to meet any of those high-falutin' literary types, though. Those in the know are going to turn out to see Kasey Lansdale (yeah, that'd be Joe's little girl, all growed up) perform for the gathered throng. If you've never had the pleasure of hearing her sing, it's best described as Janis Joplin meets Patsy Cline. No foolin' here--the girl is good.

Oh, I plan to be lurking around the event as well, but don't let that deter you.

The Ruby Slippers

Exclusive: Dallas County DA's office finds cache of JFK memorabilia

By JENNIFER EMILY / The Dallas Morning News

The Dallas County district attorney's office has unearthed a treasure trove of memorabilia from the aftermath of President John F. Kennedy's assassination in an old safe on the 10th floor of the courthouse.

It includes personal letters to and from former District Attorney Henry Wade, a gun holster, official records from the Jack Ruby trial, letters to Ruby and clothing that probably belonged to him and Kennedy's assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald, said Dallas County District Attorney Craig Watkins.

And conspiracy theorists will rejoice over one find: a highly suspect transcript of a conversation between Ruby and Oswald plotting to kill the president because the mafia wanted to "get rid of" his brother, Attorney General Robert Kennedy.

***

The purported Oswald-Ruby conversation took place on Oct. 4, 1963, at Ruby's Carousel Club on Commerce Street. It reads like every conspiracy theorist's dream of a smoking gun that ties the men to a plot to kill Kennedy.

Part of the two-page transcript reads:

Lee: You said the boys in Chicago want to get rid of the Attorney General.

Ruby: Yes, but it can't be done ... it would get the Feds into everything.

Lee: There is a way to get rid of him without killing him.

Ruby: How's that?

Lee: I can shoot his brother.

...

Ruby: But that wouldn't be patriotic.

Lee: What's the difference between shooting the Governor and in shooting the President?

Ruby: It would get the FBI into it.

Lee: I can still do it, all I need is my rifle and a tall building; but it will take time, maybe six months to find the right place; but I'll have to have some money to live on while I do the planning."

Later, Ruby warns Oswald that the mafia will ask Ruby to kill him if he's caught.

Gary Mack, curator of the Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza, laughed when told of the transcript. He has not seen it or any of the other documents found in the safe.