Glenn Hauman: View From Above

…why the name View From Above?
You could suppose that I am trying to provide the simple above-the-fray
commentary. Or you could assume that I am delivering verdicts and
pronouncements from on high. While these things may be true, the main
reason is that I’m a tad, shall we say, oversized. How oversized? Oh,
I’m about five foot eighteen inches tall. And I have been known to wear
shoe lifts on top of that. And since I haven’t come across anybody
using the name as a blog name, I figured I’d best grab it.
And now, I have to finish packing as I’ll be out of town for a few
days. I’ll see you all on Monday, probably.

Actually, I’m stealing this one from Avram Grumer:
“If you quote a political speech and don?t link back to the full text
(or at least provide a good reason why not), I?m going to presume that
you?re lying. This is the web, people. Google makes the minimal
standard of good faith I?m proposing here pretty damn easy to meet.”
By the way, this is why I also distrust people who don’t allow comments
on their site– it shows that they aren’t willing to let other people
talk about their ideas. My favorite example of this, BTW, is John Ellis.
A shame, too– he’s so good on many topics, but he has a couple of
gigantic blind spots in his worldview that really skew his analysis.
Take, for example, his latest column for Fast Company, where he talks about leadership:

If adversity is the test of character, then so far, today’s
CEOs are failing miserably. By turns disagreeable, petulant, and
self-pitying, they have as a group failed their employees, their
investors, and their customers. They border on the pathetic.
Here’s what real business leaders do. They go out and rally the troops,
plant the flag, and make a stand. They confront hostile audiences, and
they deal with the press. They go after the short sellers. If the issue
is confidence, they conduct themselves confidently. If the issue is
trust, they make their company’s business transparent. If the issue is
character, they tell the truth. They do not shirk responsibility; they
assume command.
Here’s what leaders don’t do. They don’t blame underlings. They don’t
blame their predecessor. They don’t complain about press coverage. They
don’t whine about Wall Street. They don’t mindlessly cut research and
development. They don’t fire 4,000 people in the hope that it will bump
up their company’s stock for the weekend. They don’t obfuscate,
dissemble, or lie. They don’t hide behind a retinue of handlers and
lawyers and public-relations fools.

Perfectly reasonable. But does he apply the same criteria to our “CEO
president” who does all of the things he says leaders shouldn’t do? No.
Of course, there’s a certain amount of family loyalty– John Ellis is George W. Bush’s cousin. More, he was Fox
News?s senior decision desk official during Election Night 2000, and
called both the Florida and national election for George W. Bush, being
the first network to do so.

And yes, he doesn’t take comments on his site. Can’t imagine why.

There are a few new faces here, so I should try and get some ground rules down.

First, I split my time between a few different blogs– the one I stage manage for Peter David, which has little of me in it. There’s the Malibu List
blog, which is a group blog of all sorts of weird things, and then
there’s this place, where I post things of a more personal and
political nature. As a results, posts here tend to be longer, rather
than quickly tossed off links– although you will see a few of those as
well. (The other two blogs also explain why this one isn’t quite up to
full speed yet, and why some of the colors look weird, and so on.)
And who am I? Well, I’m an occasional SF author, editor, publisher,
producer, web designer, inventor, auctioneer, and business type person.
You’ll get more details as we go along but for now, back to work for me
finding new and interesting things to talk about…

So there I was at a wedding last night, escorting a lovely young lady
while my wife was out of town at a concert. I was seated at the table
with the lady’s aunt, Diane Sullivan, who also happened to be the
mother of the groom. We got to chatting, and she asked what I did for a
living. I mentioned that, among other things, I worte science fiction
form time to time.
“Really?” she said. “I used to work with Fred Pohl. I was the associate
editor of Galaxy and If and Worlds of Tomorrow
back in the mid-60’s.”
Boggle. If I was a coffee drinker, I would’ve been doing a fair
impersonation of Danny Thomas then.
If you’re moderately versed in the field, you have an idea of what was
coming out then. If you don’t here’s a partial list: The discovery of
Larry Niven from the slushpile. The serialized version of Heinlein’s The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress,
along with Niven’s “Neutron Star” and Harlan Ellison’s “I Have No
Mouth, and I Must Scream.” Samuel Delany. Issac Asimov. Roger Zelazny.
Yikes.
I’m going to try and drag her to the SFWA Authors & Editors Reception this November, I know there are a lot
of people who will want to meet her.
Oh, and the wedding was a happy event too. Although, to be fair, it’s
not the first wedding I’ve been to where the Imperial March from Star Wars was played– but it was the first one where I didn’t anticipate the possibility of it happening.

… a glossary of blog terms. So if you’ve ever wondered how people can talk about Fisking the Wanker in a family blog, well, it’s not quite what you think.

But close. It is often an exercise in masturbation.

Patrick Nielsen Hayden has been doing a wonderful job on the, shall we say, uneven treatment between standard drug users and those who happen to be the governer’s daughter.

If it was anybody else, under the drug laws Jeb and his family would be kicked out of housing paid for by the government,
even though they didn’t use the drugs themselves.
Instead, I’d like to call on the citizens of Florida to vote in
November and do it for them. Assuming, of course, that they let you
vote.

From The Mysterious Stranger
by Mark Twain:
“Look at you in war — what mutton you are, and how ridiculous!”
“In war? How?”
“There has never been a just one, never an honorable one — on the part
of the instigator of the war. I can see a million years ahead, and this
rule will never change in so many as half a dozen instances. The loud
little handful — as usual — will shout for the war. The pulpit will
— warily and cautiously — object — at first; the great, big, dull
bulk of the nation will rub its sleepy eyes and try to make out why
there should be a war, and will say, earnestly and indignantly, “It is
unjust and dishonorable, and there is no necessity for it.” Then the
handful will shout louder. A few fair men on the other side will argue
and reason against the war with speech and pen, and at first will have
a hearing and be applauded; but it will not last long; those others
will outshout them, and presently the anti-war audiences will thin out
and lose popularity. Before long you will see this curious thing: the
speakers stoned from the platform, and free speech strangled by hordes
of furious men who in their secret hearts are still at one with those
stoned speakers — as earlier — but do not dare to say so. And now the
whole nation — pulpit and all — will take up the war-cry, and shout
itself hoarse, and mob any honest man who ventures to open his mouth;
and presently such mouths will cease to open. Next the statesmen will
invent cheap lies, putting the blame upon the nation that is attacked,
and every man will be glad of those conscience-soothing falsities, and
will diligently study them, and refuse to examine any refutations of
them; and thus he will by and by convince himself that the war is just,
and will thank God for the better sleep he enjoys after this process of
grotesque self-deception.”
Nominations for the loud little handful have already been filled.

Many people in this great land of ours are expressing concern
that certain people currently occupying the Executive branch of these
United States are making great pushes for putsches– that they will be
running images of all sorts of atrocities commited by Saddam, even
possibly starting Gulf War II, without any proof that we’re punishing
the people behind 9/11, all conveniently timed for the end of October
just in time for elections.
“There are no ulterior motives,” say the Republicans. “It’s traditional
to have Iraqi horror picture shows around Halloween.”

Thank you, I’ll be here all month. Try the veal and don’t forget to tip your waitress.

Arianna Huffington has some insight into “What have you done to help lately?”

Me, I’m going to see what I can do about contributing some blood. I bet you haven’t lately either, have you?

Eric Blair nails it when he says “it’s a bit surreal to be told that our nation is at war, and so our duty is to pretend everything is normal.”

From my Star Trek novel, Oaths.
Let me set the scene for you. Dr. Elizabeth Lense has been working
non-stop for days trying to fight a viral hemoragic fever that has an
entire planet, including most of her ship’s crew, under quarrantine and
a death sentence. She’s just been ordered back to the quarters she
shares with the security chief for a few hours of rest.

---

The door opened to the cabin Lense shared with
Domenica Corsi. Like the rest of the ship, it was quiet and empty. No
noise in the hall, no chatter, just the constant background hum of the
engines.
“Lights, one quarter.” The room dimmed to a point that Lense could
tolerate. The silence, however, would get to her. “Computer, play
Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.”
The sounds of a string quartet filled the room and Lense collapsed into
a chair. She massaged her temples, trying to relieve some of the
eyestrain.
The computer beeped. “You have a message from Lt. Commander Corsi.”

A message? That’s not like her, Lense thought. She opened her
eyes?there was no music. She must have fallen asleep in her chair and
slept through the entire piece. “Computer, time?”
“The time is now fourteen hundred hours, twelve minutes.”She
did some quick math in her head?she’d been asleep a little over two
hours. “Tea, semi-hot, extra sugar, lemon, and caffeine.” The
replicator hummed and she took the suddenly appearing mug in her hands
and sipped. “Play the message.” She turned to the viewscreen on the
wall, but there was no picture, just audio.
“Hey, roomie. I know we’re both incredibly busy, with me trying to
keep things running smoothly down here and you playing with your test
tubes. I’m down here at the spaceport– we’re keeping the lid on here.
There are a lot of people who are trying to get in here and find a way
off the planet, and I’m keeping my hands full keeping the ships
grounded. I don’t want to distract you, so you’ll get this message when
you get it. No rush– if you get it and it’s necessary, there’ll be
plenty of time.

“From what I understand, there’s a chance that I may be stuck on
this planet for a very long time, either living out the rest of my days
here or just taking up a good two meters of it. I’m not worried about
it. I know you’re doing your damndest up there, but we’ve all gotta go
sometime. But there is one important thing you’ve gotta do for me.

“If I don’t make it off this planet, I want to make sure that my
little brother gets the axe. It’s a family heirloom, been in the family
for years and years and years. He always complained that I got it. It’s
under my bed– I never found a good way to hang it on the wall. He’s on
Cestus III, living in Pike City, his name’s Roberto. You’ll find– Get
back here, you!” Lense heard a sudden scuffle of background noise and wondered just what was going on down there.

“Got to get back to the situation at hand. You have to get the axe
to Bobby, or I’ll haunt you from one end of the galaxy to the other.
And don’t worry about me. If I had to, I’d have commandeered a
shuttlecraft to get down here and do my job. This is what I’m supposed
to be doing, just like you’re doing what you have to do. Corsi out.”

Terrific, thought Lense. Somebody else haunting me. Just what I needed.

She thought about Domenica Corsi, a woman that she’d shared a cabin with for a year and knew almost nothing about. Yes, but nobody knows anything about her. Except maybe Fabian.

Her eyes drifted to the drawers under Corsi’s bed. The
axe? What was that all about? Knowing Core Breach, it’s probably some
old Klingon cleaver, designed to slay seven targs with one blow.
She got down and knelt in front of Corsi’s bed, then opened the
drawers.
She didn’t see it at first– then she saw a wooden case about a meter
long, in the back under some civilian clothes. She emptied the drawer
so she could get at it, and took it out.
It was wood, but it had been sealed with a fixative; she couldn’t feel
the wood grain. It had a clear top, and through it she could see the
axe.
It wasn’t a Klingon axe at all. It looked like it was human made, and
apparently very old– the handle was made of wood and it was beginning
to show signs of age. The axe head rested on what looked like a
triangular pillow, a deep blue with white stars on it, and showed wear
on the red paint. This was no ceremonial weapon, it had been used.
And down at the bottom of the case on the glass, there was a brass
plaque. The inscription read:

A firefighter performs only one act of bravery in his life,

and that’s when he takes the oath.

Everything he does after that is merely in the line of duty.

In Memoriam — September 11, 2001

Lense knew the date, and realized what she had to be holding.

She reverently placed the box down on Corsi’s unmade bed, then turned and left to go back to sickbay.

---

We still remember. And we will still remember.
FWIW, all the proceeds from my Amazon sales today are going to the
September 11th Fund.