Right, starting over.
This morning I took my mom to the Science Fiction Museum. I am a charter member, though I didn't attend the soiree last Tuesday or anything. This was simply not the week for me to do anything besides work, take muscle relaxants and sleep. But I digress.
Really, I couldn't not be a member, even though it took a fair amount of ingenuity and pestering to get them to take my money. Beginnings are not terribly organized times, I tend to forget. From the minute I heard about the plans, back a couple years ago at Norwescon, I knew I had to join, whether it flew or fizzled. I was fairly sure it would fly, given the caliber of the folks involved, but it's hard to tell sometimes even then.
I deliberately didn't do more than scan what other people had to say about the museum before this morning. The impression I got was that most people had a favorable reaction, although apparently I missed a somewhat critical review during my self-inflicted email snafu.
I thought it was grand. The first three hours we were there we spent just looking at the Homeworld portion, and didn't even thouroughly exhaust it then - we simply discovered we were famished and went over to the Center House to get some food.
Ok, here is the "Joy admits to being embarassingly geeky" part, or at least one of them: there were parts of the exhibit that made tears come to my eyes. Hell, there were parts of the presentation Greg Bear and company made at Potlatch that made tears come to my eyes. This mental space is my home, and these are my people, no matter how much they irk and annoy. (Isn't that part of the definition of family - the people you love in spite of themselves?) I've known that since the Sci-Fi X-po I stumbled across in 1982 or so, when we went see Harlan Ellison speak and discovered the attached event that had brought him there. So it's oddly appropriate to me at least that my first visit to SFM be on Queer Pride weekend...
As I said, we barely skimmed anything past the first set of exhibits, so of course we will be going back. Yes, actually, all of the 'we' references in this post mean my mother and I - my devoutly religious, somewhat stay-at-home mom who nevertheless introduced me to SF as a child, and yes, took me to see Harlan the-irreverently-foul-mouthed Ellison at the Pacific Science Center's IMAX theater. I love my mother. Because she understands that content trumps form, sometimes... still, I continue to digress. I haven't written enough lately, and all the words are piled up by the door, and I keep tripping over other trains of thought.
I think I saw some of this year's Clairon West crop being herded through by one of the workshop organizers (whose names I constantly forget). Or maybe it was some other local SFish group, but there was an air of local pride before the out of town in the explainations I caught with half an ear.
I was fascinated by how much past ideas of the future say more about the current times than about any actual future, accurate extrapolations (waterbeds, the internet) aside. There is a fair bit of Star Trek memorabilia from the original show, and I was really struck by the mechanical switches on all of the devices. Big rocker switches - the sort that have been entirely absent from common devices for quite some time. It reminds me of how hard it is to escape enculturation sometimes, even when your are really trying to do so.