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Archive for the ‘obituaries’ Category

It’s really a shame that Hell is just a myth created by the paid priests of the ruling classes in the Middle Ages to mollify peasants upset that their rulers were getting away with doing bad things with no punishment during their lives (note that Hell is never mentioned in the Bible). Because if Hell actually existed, there was no person more suited for that eternity in the flames than Henry Kissinger. Kissinger never met a dictator that he didn’t want to coddle, or a protester that he didn’t want to shoot, or corruption that he didn’t embrace. For over forty years after he retired he hung around advising the worst amongst us in how to be even worse. And now he’s gone.

It’s a bloody shame that Hell is just a myth (even if you’re a Christian you shouldn’t believe in Hell because it’s not mentioned in the Bible and the Bible is the defining document of what it means to be a Christian). Because Hell would be the only afterlife worthy of Henry Kissinger.

Sigh.

— Badtux the WIshful Penguin

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RIP Petey 2017 – 2023

Petey was the beloved pet of an elderly lady down the street, Miss Dooty. When Miss Dooty died, Petey was thrown out on the street and eventually showed up at the feral cat colony that I feed.

Petey swiftly made friends with the other community cats, including Creampuff, a seal-point long-haired cat who behaves as if he was also once an indoors cat that was dumped. Petey and Creampuff both acted like they wanted to be indoors cats again, coming into my house for a few seconds when I was bringing the food out and yelling at me that they wanted their food. I delayed because I needed to prepare a cat room for them to keep them isolated from my own cats while I treated them for fleas and worms and verified that they had no diseases that my cats could get. I was going to do that last week but hurt my back doing gardening work, so I did not get it done until Friday evening so I could bring the cats in on Saturday morning.

Creampuff showed up on Saturday morning.. Petey did not.

I got a call today from someone relaying the bad news that Petey had been struck by a car several blocks away and was deceased. He died literally hours before I was to bring him in.

Creampuff is in the cat room right now, lonely because he no longer has his friend Petey. I am sad and feel guilty because if I’d only done this the previous weekend when planned, Petey would still be alive. Petey had joy and fun and seasons in the sun, my last video of him on the Thursday before he died is him playing with Creampuff on my front lawn. But he should have had more.

So it goes.

— Badtux the Sad Penguin

 

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Snowy the Cat

If you’re going to San Francisco / Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair

Snowy was a local feral, and very wild. I trapped her after her first litter of kittens and adopted the kittens out and had her neutered and vaccinated. Unfortunately she was way too wild to tame and adopt out — she really made that trap shake rattle and roll.

This winter she started sleeping on my back covered patio in a kitty pile with Patches, a neutered male feral, initially on the rear door mat. I put out cat beds and made a little kitty tent by putting a blanket over a sawhorse. She spent the winter sleeping in a cat bed with Patches when he was sleeping, and sitting under the shelter of the covered patio waiting for him when he went out on patrol. Later, when the weather warmed up, she would move out to this stump, or to the back corner of the yard, or to the side yard where she would sleep under the lemon tree.

This morning I realized that I hadn’t seen Snowy for several days. So I went walking around the neighborhood, looking in all the places that ferals hang out, seeing if I could see her. Then I went to the back patio and looked behind the blanket. She was lying there dead, eyes closed, no obvious injuries. Checking the security cameras, she staggered there at around 4:45, looking like she was having more trouble than usual breathing. She never came out. She likely expired shortly thereafter, likely from a combination of her asthma and a kitty cold.

Just another small life that accomplished nothing of note and that no one will remember. Just like all of us here.

– Badtux the Sad Penguin

Her kittens, who hopefully have a better life in their new homes:
Kittens!

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RIP John Prine

Dead of COVID-19 at age 73.

His first self-titled album would be a “best of” compilation for any other artist. Get it if you can. Many of his other albums had some good songs on them, but this is the classic one.

He considered himself halfway between Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash. Not a bad place to be.

— Badtux the Music Penguin

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David Roback 1958-2020

David Roback was the music side of Mazzy Star, making beautiful music to go with Hope Sandoval’s words. Eventually Hope’s quirks got on his last nerve and Mazzy Star broke up, after which he produced other people’s music. He was only 61, way too young, but his influence in the music world was bigger than his reputation outside of it. RIP, David.

– Badtux the Music Penguin

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John McCain dead at age 81, the day after his family announced they were ceasing medical treatment.

Senator John McCain was a bridge back to the Republican Party of Barry Goldwater, a bridge back to a Republican Party comprised of men of principle who differed from the Democrats insofar as methods went, not about the overall goal of a more prosperous nation and a more prosperous populace. In his later years he pandered to the extremists in his party far too much in an attempt to maintain his relevance, but he still had that core of decency missing from far too many Republicans today.

I can’t say I agreed with McCain about much of anything, but I respected him. That’s something that’s not true of most of today’s Republican clown posse.

– Badtux the Obituaries Penguin

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R-E-S-P-E-C-T

So one of my office-mates was new to the United States from China back in the 1990’s. He didn’t know Aretha Franklin from Benjamin Franklin, and there was a trade show in New Orleans and the person he was with says, “Oh, Aretha Franklin is in town at the House of Blues! Let’s go!” And he says “Who?”

It was a night he still remembers, all these years later. “She had such a BIG voice!” he exclaims, hands sweeping wide. “I didn’t know someone could sing so BIG!”

That she did. That she did. Even at the age of 73, in the video above.

Aretha Franklin, R.I.P.

– Badtux the Music Penguin

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Author Harlan Ellison is dead at age 84. While somewhat expected — he has been in poor health for years, from a series of heart attacks and most recently a stroke — as usual for Harlan, he decided to do it when he decided to do it, dying in his sleep of natural causes rather than of cancer or a respiratory infection like most of his 80-something peers.

Harlan was a puncher, not a boxer. His specialty was the knockout punch in the first round, where you’d sit back in awe at what you’d just seen, and… well, that was it, KO. That was why Harlan’s best form was the short form, short stories that packed a wallop and then were done. As a result, he got far less fame for his literary output than he should have. His TV writing perhaps got more attention, but he grumpily noted that he’d written hundreds of television and movie scripts and only a handful ever got produced.

Harlan was a man who wore his heart on his sleeve without apology and without pulling punches. He was infamous at science fiction conventions for not suffering fools gladly, even to the point of making young people cry. Yet for all that, he was a bit of a mensch. Tales of unexpected kindness abound. Harlan was a bundle of contradictions that way.

BUt mostly what I remember are the stories he wrote. Probably thousands of them over the years, but there’s a couple dozen of his stories that just knock my socks off. Plus the anthologies he edited — “Dangerous Visions” and “Again, Dangerous Visions” — which are chock-full of excellent stories.

And now his story is over. Bon voyage, Harlan Ellison. Your time for screaming at the stupidity and hate in the world is over. Now it’s our turn.

– Badtux the Obituaries Penguin

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So Gardner went into the hospital for treatment of mild congestive heart failure, caught massive antibiotic-resistant infections while in the hospital, and has now shuffled off this mortal coil.

One of my greatest regrets in life is that I never managed to sell anything to Gardner. Because once you did, you knew you’d made it as a science fiction writer. I state that he was the best editor of short science fiction ever because during his 20 years as editor of Asimov’s Science Fiction, stories that he purchased and edited for the magazine won Nebula awards 40 times and Hugo awards over 40 times, as well as he himself winning Editor of the Year 18 times. His editorship of the magazine resulted in a magazine whose quality still astounds. I can pick up, say, a 1988 issue of Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine, and it’s still mind-blowing. You can’t say that about a 30+ year old issue of any other science fiction magazine.

Now, then there’s people who will bring up John W. Campbell. Yes, Campbell basically defined the modern science fiction genre. But: he was relevant for far less time than Gardner was. By the mid 50’s Campbell was basically irrelevant to the field. The leading edge had leaped over to Galaxy under the editorship of Horace Gold and, later, Fred Pohl, and most of the leading writers of the field had deserted him. Even during his glory years in the late 40’s / early 50’s the stories were laughably crude by today’s standards. You won’t enjoy many of them today. You’ll laugh at how ridiculous they are, perhaps, but you won’t enjoy them. Meanwhile, pick up any issue of Asimov’s edited by Gardner and prepare to have your mind blown. They were that good, usually 2/3rds of the nominees for the Hugo and Nebula for short fiction during his editorship of Asimov’s were first printed in Asimov’s.

The science fiction short story arguably hit its peak during Gardner’s editorship of Asimov’s. He published stories that were both literary and scientific, hard science fiction and things you could barely recognized as science fiction or fantasy. And they were *good*, tight and beautiful and full of impact and meaning. Not by accident, either. Joe Haldeman once noted that Gardner had gutted and filleted one of his shorter novels into being a novella to run it in Asimov’s, completely ruining it in Joe’s opinion at the time. The end result, “The Hemingway Hoax”, won both the Hugo and Nebula Award for Novella in 1991. Needless to say, Joe changed his opinion :).

That’s what Gardner was as an editor: Someone who could take one of the best works by one of the best writers in science fiction, and make it better. Sadly, as the Internet era took its toll on print magazines, it became harder to maintain that quality and eventually he retired as editor and returned to writing. He was a good writer too. But not as good a writer as he was an editor. (And I say this despite the fact that he won both a Nebula and a Hugo for his writing).

His work as an anthologist was also praise-worthy. Starting in 1984, he compiled the annual “Year’s Best Science Fiction”, a huge doorstopper of a book that collected the best short science fiction published in the English language, along with commentary about the works and the state of the industry. His taste at selecting stories for this anthology was as refined as his taste for selecting stories for his magazine. His work as an anthologist became perhaps even more important as the Internet gutted the traditional science fiction print magazines and the publishing of short fiction spread across the Internet to all manner of small sites, making it difficult for someone with a busy life like mine to find it. I mean, I subscribe to two of the traditional print magazines today (albeit delivered via Kindle now as vs paper, I just don’t have room for paper), but they aren’t anywhere near the quality that they were back in the last final gasp of the print magazines, during Gardner’s editorship of Asimov’s and Kristine Kathryn Rusch’s editorship of F&SF. The rest of what’s published in short science fiction is scattered all over the Internet or in small ‘zines with a circulation of sometimes and never. Gardner Dozois’s work at ferreting out the gems from around the Internet was tremendously valuable to the field, bringing together a fragmented market into something visible to science fiction fans.

So that was Gardner Dozois. He was 70 years old. We probably lost ten more years of his work. So it goes.

– Badtux the Sad Penguin

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Especially when the one is Bob Dorough, jazz musician and musical director for Schoolhouse Rock. Dead at 94 years of age, likely from complications of cancer.

I learned more grammar and social studies from Schoolhouse Rock than I learned in school. I could never forget what a conjunction was after this, for example:

You done good, Bob. You made the world better.

– Badtux the Obituaries Penguin

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