The Drink Tank 185 (2008).pdf

Fandom on Ininite Earths

The Drink Tank Issue 185

Yes, that’s a cover from Es-

pana, and yes, it’s a lot of fun

and yes...I’m pretty sure that Ape

is modeled on me. Always good to

have an Espana cover.

There’s fun afoot as John

Purcell and Taral have provided

pieces for this issue. Plus art from

Mo Starkey, Dann Lopez, Bill Rot-

sler, Genevieve (aka Tunaboots on

Deviantart.com) and more!

The following piece is from John

Purcell and is a great piece of faan

iction. It makes me laugh like a

mad man. And So, let us get to it!

Yet another vision of “Fandom on

Ininite Earths”

John Purcell

absolutely stunning. Her long, red hair

cascaded over her bare shoulders,

and the purple-and-orange loor-

length gown perfectly complemented

her igure. “Val, you look absolutely

stunning,” I whispered in awe. Lucky

me . Take that , Graham Charnock!

You’ll never touch her again, not after

what you did Friday night in the

consuite. Filthy old phart...

No, I wasn’t gonna rub anybody’s

face in this at all. But I did really want

to enjoy this day to its fullest. Having

the hottest babe in fandom for my wife

helped the cause.

“Yippee, skippee,” I said, and

ducked into the bathroom. “Be out in a

jiff.”

“You do that, Prostate Man.”

Val was always quick with the

rejoinders.

Moments later, we promenaded

to the elevators in the Hotel Deca.

Once inside, I pressed the button for

the second loor, where the Grand

Ballroom awaited our grand entrance.

When the elevator doors irised open,

we stepped out into Something Else.

Gone was the Hotel Deca.

Its elegant art deco ambiance, the

openness, the beautiful, plush chairs,

the wonderful color scheme, the

pleasant hotel staff... everything was

gone. In its place was some rinky-dink

dive of a hotel that reeked of stale

cigarette smoke, and the never-been-

vacuumed short pile carpeting was

permanently stained by spilled bottles

of Wild Turkey. Val and I stood there,

taking this all in, while one of those

just mentioned wild turkeys ran past,

followed closely by one of the greasiest

chefs I have ever seen.

“Hurry up and inish getting

dressed! We’ll be late for the awards

ceremony.” Adjusting my necktie,

I added, “And remember: this is

probably going on streaming video

through the Virtual Fandom Lounge,

so you’ll need to watch your language.”

My wife poked her head out of

the bathroom, sticking her tongue out

at me. “Oh, so now you don’t want me

to be myself. I see how this works.”

Shutting the door again, I heard the

latch lock. Hmm , I hmmed. Now I’ll

have to hold it for at least another ive

minutes .

I had to admit, this was the

most nervous I had ever been when

attending a Corlu. Granted, it was

only my third one, but even so, getting

nominated for a FAAn Award was a

pretty big deal. I had to explain to my

wife why this was so since she igured

the Hugo meant more. Not to me; being

named to the short list for the FAAn for

Best Fanzine was a heck of an honor,

and I wanted to be on top of my game

for the big show. So I iddled with my

necktie, making sure it was absolutely

perfect so that Curt Phillips and Guy

Lillian, who would both be probably

watching via the VFL, would be totally

envious of the whole shebang.

After what seemed like eternity

but was really only three and half

minutes, my wife exited the hotel

bathroom. Once again, she looked

“What are you talking about?”

Val shot back, glaring at me as if I

was stupid. “Come on. We’ve got to

get to the awards ceremony or we’ll

be late.”

“True enough. So which way’s

the Grand Ballroom? I can’t wait

to see the chandelier hanging from

an 18-foot ceiling. It’s made from

hand-blown glass and wrought iron,

according to the hotel’s website.”

Again, my wife stared at me

in disbelief. “What in the world are

you talking about? Which hotel did

you think we were staying at? The

Ritz-Sheraton? We couldn’t afford

anything like that! Heck, nobody

can.”

“Nothing is as it seems, or as it should

be. This is totally Not Right.”

She turned to me, smiled, and

said, “Look, you need to calm down.

I know you’re nervous about maybe

winning the Best Fanzine Hugo, but

you’re acting really weird. Take a chill

pill, hubby.”

I took a deep breath and sighed.

“You’re right. I am really nervous. But

that has nothing to do with this, this

sudden... change. I mean, what ever

happened to the Hotel Deca? When we

were getting ready for this that’s where

we were!”

Valerie patted my arm

affectionately, but also did so with a

very matronly attitude. “Boy, you really

are out of sorts, aren’t you?”

It was all so strange to me. I had

to talk to somebody else besides my

wife. Twisting around in my folding

chair like a demented contortionist, I

tried to locate Randy Byers. He’d know

what was going on, I igured. But he

was nowhere to be found. “Where the

heck’s Randy Byers?” I muttered aloud.

The long-haired lady in front of

me turned around. It was Jay Lake.

“Nobody knows where he disappeared

to,” Jay told me.

“Huh?” That was the best I could

say under the circumstances.

“Oh, come on, you remember

what happened. A lot of people blame

Randy for bankrupting fandom by

hosting Corlu Zed at that impossibly

expensive hotel in Seattle. What with

all the other expenses and making it

BYOS (Bring Your Own Shiner), it left

a lot of people with virtually no money,

but who still wanted to attend cons.

Of course, it didn’t help that in 2010

She led me across the skanky

lobby to a hand-written lipchart that

listed the day and evening’s events.

“WELCOME TO ARKADELPHICON!”

was colored in big letters across the top

of the sheet. In slightly smaller and

neater letters was “THE 79 TH WORLD

SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.” Her

hand traced the entries half-way down

the page, ending with “Hugo Awards:

Meeting Room C.” “Eh?” I muttered,

rooted to the spot in consternation,

then had to run to catch up to Val,

who was already outside the door to

Meeting Room C. I lashed my name

badge to the gopher guarding the

door, who let me pass with a nod.

We made our way to the irst ive

rows, acknowledging the waves and

salutations of friends as we sat down.

My eyes wandered around the

room, taking it all in with complete

and utter confusion. “This doesn’t

make any sense,” I whispered to Val.

“Wotthehell...” was all I could

manage to say.

Val shrugged, and said, “A bit

quieter than I thought it would be.”

“What?” I couldn’t believe what

she had said. “Nothing looks amiss

here to you? This is supposed to be

the ‘luxurious Hotel Deca’ that, I might

add, is setting us back a pretty penny

just to be here. Where are the plush,

green lobby chairs? The trappings of

20 th century art deco that you oohed

and aahed over all weekend long? The

splendid high-columned entrance? The

delicious mahogany woodwork? And

where’s your red hair? When the hell

did you dye it brown?” She was still

in that gorgeous purple-and-orange

evening gown clinging to her igure,

which helped bring me back to some

semblance of reality.

Corlu was in England

and the WorldCon was

down in Melbourne

that same year, so the

exorbitant airfares hurt

fans, too. And then that

damn Garcia issued

the coup de grace by

not only hosting Corlu

in San Jose (of all

places), but charging

ridiculously high

fees to give personal

guided tours of his

computer museum.

Damn bastard killed us

all.” Jay spat the last

sentence out in disgust.

I was aghast.

“That’s insane!

But...but....I....” I

wheeled around, still

looking for Byers, my

eyes resting on my wife.

“That doesn’t explain

what happened to

Randy.”

A light touch

on my shoulder made

me jump and look

behind me. It was

living on a South Paciic

atoll under an assumed

name. Something like

Claude D. Monet. It was

never conirmed, but it

made for a great fanzine

article.” She smiled

triumphantly, then sat

back.

my sweaty and trembling hand. I

had been nominated for this award,

too, but I didn’t stand a snowball’s

chance in College Station against the

competition. “Let’s cut right to the

chase here, shall we? The irst award,

for Best Fan Writer, is...(ripping of

cheap envelope)...well, what do you

know? For the tenth year in a row, it’s

a tie: Dave Langford and John Scalzi!”

The two winners trotted up on

stage from opposite directions, doing

the appropriate muggings for the

cameras, playfully doing a tug-of-war

on the shabbiest looking silver rocket

I had ever seen. The base fell off,

clattered on the make-shift stage, then

rolled off the edge. Ted White kicked at

it, missed. Langford and Scalzi exited,

holding what was left of the award

between them.

Stan Robinson said, “Don’t they

make a cute couple?” A half-hearted

laugh went up, as if they’d been

hearing the same line for the last nine

years. Not missing a beat, Robinson

continued. “The next Fan Hugo Award

is for the best fanzine produced during

calendar year 2020. And the winner

of the 2021 Best Fanzine Hugo Award

goes to....(rip).... Pablo Lennis !”

A great cry went up, cheers and

jeers combined. I couldn’t believe my

ears. That pronouncement deinitely

did not help at all. The next thing

Robinson said made matters worse:

“Accepting the award for John Thiel

is Arnie Katz!” More cheers and jeers.

More, people were turning and staring

at me, angrily shaking their heads or

smiling; some even looked as if they

just didn’t care.

I cried out in pain. “Why is

My mind whirled.

Numb from the

confusion, I decided the

only thing that I could

do was to sit there and

hope that everything

would turn out just ine

and make sense in a few

minutes. It wasn’t easy,

but it made me feel a

little bit better.

Six minutes and

thirty-three seconds

went by. Yes, I was

counting; I always do

that when I’m trying

to zen out. The con’s

Toastmaster, Kim

Stanley Robinson (who

still looked a lot like

me), approached the

podium. He cleared his

Claire Brialey, looking as sweet as

ever, but noticeably disheveled from

an apparently dificult train trip across

country. Mark Plummer dozed in the

chair next to her, his hands grasping

the latest issue of No Sin But Ignorance

in his lap.

“The last thing anybody heard

about Randy was a few years back,”

Claire told me in a hushed voice,

as if she was imparting some secret

information. “Rumour was he was

throat and began speaking. “Welcome

everybody to the 79 th World Science

Fiction Convention held in beautiful

Arkadelphia, Arkansas!” A smattering

of applause greeted that comment.

“Tonight we will be presenting the

Hugo Awards for achievements in

Science Fiction, beginning with the Fan

Awards. The irst one is for the Best

Fan Writer who published work during

the calendar year 2020.”

Val touched my arm, held

everybody looking at me? I’m not

Arnie Katz! I’m John Purcell! Editor

of Askance ! I was nominated for this

award, damn it all to hell! This year

was supposed to be my turn to win!

What the hell’s going on here?”

That made Val grab my right

arm so hard it made me wince. “Knock

it off! You’re making a spectacle of

yourself. Get up there and accept the

award.”

“ME??!!??”

“Yes, you!” she hissed. “You

promised John Thiel that if his zine

won this award you would accept it

for him. Now get up there and say

something nice about him, for once!”

Visibly shaking, I stood up.

People were applauding, and those

in our row scrunched up and slid

themselves out of the way as I made

my way to the stage. Ted White glared

at me as I began my approach to Kim

Stanley Robinson, who smiled and held

out the rocket-ship-shaped aluminum

foil award to me. I reached out, and

just as my hand was about to close

over it, I woke up in a cold sweat. Still

shaking, my hands were clenched tight

around the bedsheets.

“What a terrible, terrible dream!”

I said, relieved. “I dreamt that I was

about to win the Best Fanzine Hugo

award for Askance , and instead it went

to Pablo Lennis ! And I had to accept it

and say ‘nice things’ about John Thiel!

Egad!”

Grumbling, my wife Joyce rolled

over in bed, and said, “That’s it. You

need to see a doctor, Arnie. That’s the

fourth time this week you’ve dreamt of

being John Purcell.”

Taral

Two milestones for furry fandom

recently...

The irst is a new low in how

the fandom is depicted to the general

public.

I expect few of you would likely

watch a Canadian made sitcom called

Robson Arms, showing on CBC. It’s

about the numerous residents of an

old apartment house in Vancouver. I

never watched the program myself. In

fact, I had never heard of it until some

spots for the upcoming episode caught

my eye. With a sinking feeling I knew I

had to watch it.

to stay in BC, and was thinking of

relocating in Toronto. For someone in

BC, that’s like admitting you want to

leave the Shire and settle in Mordor.

In an effort to talk her out of it, a friend

takes her to an offbeat party where

people have an odd way of looking

inward to ind their true selves.

Even if you’re not a furry, you’ve

already guessed it. The two girls found

themselves surrounded by pathetic,

dancing “furries” in costume. One of

them removes his head and explains

all about the inner animal, and how

to get in touch with it. Meanwhile

the two girls make expressions like

they’d found a dead mouse in their

fresh garden salad. One of the

furries is even trying to shag their

leg. The costumes were so bad they’d

be laughed at if they had made an

appearance at any halfway seasoned

con. Just baggy generic pajamas with

a cartoon heads.

What I wonder is why furries

seem to have been taken such a hold

on the media that they get their butts

kicked like this so often. It isn’t the

irst time -- there have been magazine

articles, scenes on CSI, and entries

in books on curious sexual fetishes.

There isn’t one chance in a thousand

of anyone in the general public ever

meeting a furry, and knowing it. Nor

for anyone in the media who doesn’t go

looking for them.

Unfortunately, they do…

Perhaps that’s why. Furries are

one in a thousand, even ten thousand.

You can’t make fun of Pollacks,

One of the girls living in the

Robson Arms wasn’t sure she wanted

Milestones

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: