Geekin' out at WorldCon 2006

I went to this year's WorldCon (The World Science Fiction Convention) with no particular expectations, part of my new policy to take things as they come and find something enjoyable in everything that happens. As it turns out, I had a "good time", and further it was time well spent.

One thing which made it time well spent was that I attended as many panels as I could get to. (Actually, since there were so many time slots where I wanted to be several places at once, I sampled more panels than I actually sat through.) These panels were not only on writing and the business of writing, but also on history, science, art, future projections... And some plain ol' fan stuff like Star Trek and Firefly panels.

So over the course of the con I got to see authors like Greg Bear, Vernor Vinge, David Brin, Harry Harrison, Robert Silverberg, Barbara Hambly, Cory Doctorow, Garth Nix, Gregory Benford, and many others talk about the field.

Harlan Ellison gave us an hour of his particular brand of stand-up ("If there's anyone I haven't insulted, raise your hand and I'll get to you"), but for all of his abrasive reputation he later signed in the hallway and stayed until every fan who wanted something from him was taken care of.

Ray Bradbury once again shared with us his particular energy and love for life and writing, and once again I marveled that he could do it so many times and each time it has been fresh and meaningful for me. He too stayed and signed, for as long as he was able.

There were JPL techies talking about space missions, and Hollywood techies talking about making effects. (And these people often attended each others' panels.) There were goofy fan panels, and panels where people seriously discussed if the human race could survive its own technological cleverness.

I set myself on "sponge" and soaked it all in. Oh, I didn't take in the super-specialized stuff like furry animals and filking, but everything else was fair game and it all went into the pot to boil down to an interesting amalgam. Exposure to the amalgam has already resulted in several new ideas for works.

I also found out that I had fallen somewhat behind the times where SF is concerned. One buzzword of which I had been ignorant is "The Singularity" -- everyone was talking about it, I heard the term used in one panel at least 20 times. (One person even used the term "post-Singularitan era".) Since I missed the "What is The Singularity?" panel, I had to look it up to discover that it is a projected new paradigm of exponential (or super-exponential) technological advance, especially in artificial intelligence in computers and partly based upon a paper crafted by Vernor Vinge way back in 1993 but recently gaining the power of a trope in SF literature. Suddenly, everyone is riding The Singularity Bandwagon, claiming that we are rapidly approaching a shift in human-machine interaction which will make the impact of all previous technologies seem mild by comparison. Food for thought. Is this prospect pleasant or disturbing?
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WorldCons (at least, the 3 I have attended) are especially good for displays on the history of SF, sometimes a bit heavy on the fandom side for me but interesting nonetheless. I spent some time going over the materials, lingering to admire the display of Hugo Awards from past years. While the basic rocket remains the same, the designers get to vary the finish and award base. They are to me lovely things, classy and dignified yet exciting. I'm gonna get me one.





The con had erected a "fan history wall" near the entrance. There was a section for each year going back to 1939, with historical highlights and notable publications for each year, and attendees were asked to sign in under the year in which they first entered fandom. I suppose I "entered fandom" when I first read an Isaac Asimov book around the age of eight, but I signed under 1976 which was the year I first attended a Star Trek convention.
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There was also a display of SF toys and props, to which I paid special attention. The theme for this year's con was "Space Cadet", and the display had a nice assortment of classic toy ray guns. Since I have been toying with the idea of constructing my own (no self-respecting Space Cadet would ever venture forth without his trusty blaster!), I examined them closely and took many reference photos.







There was also a handgun which purported to be an original prop from Blade Runner. I have heard there is reason to question the provenance claims regarding these weapons, but it looked cool nonetheless.



The high point in blaster geek-out came at the Forbidden Planet panel. The person who was supposed to present it backed out, but on short notice Bill Warren was able to get together a panel of people knowledgeable on the film. One of these people was Bill Malone, who has a substantial collection of FP props. (He got access to the studio lots to search for materials, saving some pieces from destruction. Sadly, he missed the incredible Astrogator console by one day -- it had been bull-dozed into rubble by the studio...) He brought an original blaster from the show, and after the panel was kind enough to let me examine and photograph it. And play with it. It's a beautiful piece of construction, especially considering that it has survived not only being in FP but also many another movie. (Just about all of the props from FP were used in other movies -- a fun challenge for SF film buffs to spot them in various B-movies.)




Some more photos of the Forbidden Planet blaster:

"Forbidden Planet" blaster photos on Flickr

It was very gratifying to see how many people turned out for the FP panel. Actually, this was a trend I noticed throughout the con -- while popular media was certainly well-represented, panels on science, history, and "classic" science fiction were often well-attended, sometimes to standing-room-only.
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Other displays included a "reception line" of robots including a very nice animated Robby and a nicely realized Gort (with real Visor Glow Action!), the Back to the Future DeLorean and the original BatMobile (which you could get your picture in for only $10 - next time), and a variety of costumes.
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I have posted elsewhere about my love/hate relationship with fandom. But this WorldCon was very good for me, a trip back to my roots and a reconnection with the excitement I felt when I first read Jules Verne and HG Wells and for the first time saw the C57-D come in for a landing on Altair IV.

Toiling in the fields of creation

I was outside a bit ago, assaulting the verdant growth of weeds that are the result of the almost-daily rains we have been having.

I pull them by hand. I could use the mower, but hand-pulling is more effective to bring them out by the roots and doesn't leave a stubble to dry out into little upright spears (or, for the more durable weeds, leave a basis for new growth). Besides, the mower, while a very useful tool, is after all a noisy smelly man-machine, and when I pull by hand I can hear the birds and the wind in the trees and smell the dirt and my own sweat. And as the ground is saturated from last night's soaking rain, the weeds come out by the roots in great mighty Bunyanesque handfuls. Which I suppose casts my loyal dog in the role of Babe the Blue Ox.

For me, weeding is as much a philosophical exercise as a physical one. There is a very practical result -- a yard (temporarily) free of weeds -- but there is also a re-connection with consideration, and with cause and effect and cycles.

Some people viewing my actions from afar might wonder at the point of them, as I just seem to be pulling weeds here only to lay them down over there. But what I am doing is using the pulled weeds as a layer of mulch in a different part of the garden. I let them grow up high enough to provide some useful mass but not old enough to develop seeds, then I pull them up, carry them 30 feet, and deposit them in a thick layer ahead of the growing pumpkin vines. Thus I have turned a problem into a resource, and each year the mulched area spreads a little further across the garden and grows deeper and richer. (And as I carry the weeds across, I wonder what other things in my life might be repurposed in this way and what resources I am overlooking.)

Many people view weeds as a tireless enemy, and weeding as a tedious chore. I have met people for whom weeding was a childhood punishment, and people who avoid it at all cost. And many people seem to view weeds as servants of the devil. But the only practical definition of a weed is "a plant where a human being doesn't want it"; they are not inherently evil, merely unwelcome. Even as I pull them up, I have to be impressed with the robust vitality of the weeds. They throng into unused areas, often the first to colonize ground laid bare by other forces. It has been said that nature abhors a vacuum, and weeds are vigorous proof of that. Servants of nature, not tools of chaos.

The weeds have grown up thick enough as to create a microclimate beneath themselves, a miniature ecosystem. Though I try to be as gentle as possible, my actions are inherently disruptive; humans change ecosystems, it's what we do. My cleaned yard costs more than just time and sweat -- it also changes the lives of myriad small inhabitants of the area, the spiders and insects, earthworms and lizards for whom the change is as sudden as an earthquake is for us. I press on because it is necessary, but as I see all the scurrying ahead of and as a result of my scything hands, I am made mindful that I am but one user of this patch of land, among many.

I am pleased to see that the soil which comes up on the roots of the weeds is rich and healthy. I pride myself in always leaving land more fertile than when I found it -- I "made" this rich earth with my efforts and husbandry. But I am again reminded that to say that I made this earth rich is the height of arrogance; while my tending certainly made a difference, I was merely supporting and exploiting systems of richness already in place. It was the countless small creatures, the microorganisms whose complex interactions we are only beginning to grasp, who performed the labor and miracle of making this soil fertile. At best, I was an overseer.

As I reach down from on high to change their lives with a grunt, I am struck by another richness, this time a rich sense of irony. My all-but-godlike effect on tiny lives resonates for me in a very personal way.

I was not raised in any particular faith, and in fact could not tell you what faiths my parents were raised in. Proselytizers seem to sense this "void" in me, and it was at one time not uncommon for me to be approached by them several times a day, by people coming to the door or trying to get my attention as I walked across a campus. I tried a variety of techniques to forestall their attentions, ranging from polite to snide depending upon my mood and how pushy they were.

Then I came upon a technique which worked well, every time. When they asked my faith, I would say, "Oh, I'm a gardener" and keep walking. As this was not on the list of possible responses they might be expecting, they were struck into confusion long enough for me to make my escape.

I used this ploy for years, with great success. Then one day I was telling someone about my technique, pleased at my own cleverness, and as I spoke it struck me like a thunderbolt: I am a Gardener. It is my religion. Some deeper, wiser part of myself made me speak the truth disguised as a smartass remark.

The correctness of my realization washed over me. Absent were all of the problems I had with other religions. No one is excluded from gardening; a seed does not care the color or age or sex of the hand that presses it into the soil. It does not matter if the person who waters the seed is rich or poor, has large holdings of land or only room for one plant. There is never any question regarding the strength of a gardener's devotion -- it is there for all to see, in how well you have tended your garden. And there can be no question that there is something greater than oneself -- this is a sure knowledge which a gardener carries every day. The cycles of nature are paramount, rather than an afterthought. There is a celebration of growth and harvest, as well as a clear understanding of the need for death and decay, and how decay leads to growth.

I have always been uncomfortable with the idea of a trinity, especially as it seems to downplay the role of the feminine. For a gardener there are far more than three elements -- oh, there are soil and water and air, but there's also seed, and season, and me. And the teeming billions of little partners who are in and of the soil. A gardener is never alone in his worship.

Perhaps the nicest result of my realization that gardening was my religion was that I no longer felt at odds with other religions. I don't see how any person of any faith can take issue with gardening as a religion. After all, if God isn't a gardener, who is?